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reidrum · 3 months

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like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

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you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ��claim’ to be super happy.

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch, you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point.

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured.

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere.

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x oc

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tirednotflirting · 2 years

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#just looking through an internal job board bc i’m bored and #i am? actually qualified like. currently. for a position in the field i think i want to go into #and like mind you i will not be looking for a new job rn i am too tired for that #but it’s good to know i’ve got like. transferable skills #even typing this has made me want another cup of coffee my god

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formula-nyoom · 5 months

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Don't Get Squeezed | CL 16

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Driver!Reader

Summary: The unexpectedness of the Chinese Grand Prix brings the younger Leclerc sister placing higher than she's ever placed for the upcoming race. But with worries of a high placement and no experience racing this track, a crash seems like an inevitability.

A/N: Pardon my French(literally, I don’t know that much French and had to use google translate). While some would expect me to place this in Suzuka, I decided to go with China because I honestly had no expectations for that race and was stressed something bad was gonna happen the whole time.

~~~

The Chinese Grand Prix seemed to have an air of tense unexpectedness. Having not raced the track since 2019, none of the teams knew what to expect from this race weekend. With new car regulation, updated track maintenance, and the fact that 5 drivers have never raced this track before, it was well known that anything could happen.

Out of all the things, you never expected to qualify P10 at a track you’ve never raced before. It sounded like a miracle that you were able to fly your Haas into starting in the top 10. But while the team was proud of your efforts, you were very nervous.

“I’ve never started in the Top 10, Char! I only know how to start from the back, and honestly I think I’d prefer it there since it’s easier to avoid first lap crashes from the back.” You said to your brother as you paced your hotel room.

“That’s not true. You started from the top 10 and even the front plenty of times in F2. How is this any different?” Charles asked. You scoffed.

“En quoi est-ce différent? It’s different because in F2 I had a good car and was constantly lapping the others. I still don’t know how I managed to get my Haas in front of Sir Lewis Hamilton today!” You exclaimed.

“I don’t see what’s so surprising about you qualifying P10. That’s the same spot you ended the sprint race in.”

“That’s because, in the sprint I was able to climb my way from the back.” You told him. Charles let out an exasperated sigh at your own self doubt. He could partially see why you were nervous. Starting in a much higher position than where you usually qualify puts more expectations on your shoulder to do better. They’re even higher expectations then the one you already have with being a Leclerc. But Charles knew that you could do well, not just because he was your older brother but because he’s seen you drive. You may start from the back often, but your racing skills are phenomenal to where you constantly end in the points. Even if you were to drop from P10 at the start of the race, Charles knew that you’d be able to work your way back up and higher.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Charles’ thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, being met by Arthur with bags of food in his hands.

“Arthur, can you please help me reassure our sister that she will do amazingly starting in P10?” Charles asked as he let his younger brother into the room.

“Arthur, can you remind Charles that the only reason I did good in F2 was because I outperformed everyone with a good car?” You asked, taking the bag that was offered to you from Arthur.

“I’m confused. What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he set the other bags down. You sighed.

“I don’t think it’s a good thing I’m starting in 10th place for tomorrow’s race, considering how I’m much more accustomed to starting in the back.” You explained.

“I think she’ll be fine.” Charles said.

“What’s the main thing you’re worried about with being in the top 10 at the beginning?” Arthur asked.

“Getting squeezed. Everyone at the front is always bunched up trying to overtake at the start. I’m worried that I’m gonna get stuck in the middle since I can’t pull back or move forward starting in 10th place.” It was a common worry, one you had during every race. But it seemed to be much bigger now with your current grid placement.

“So don’t get squeezed. Keep your elbows out but be mindful of your surroundings.” Arthur said nonchalantly. You let out an exasperated sigh at your brother’s response. Charles saw that Arthur’s response didn’t help you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Trust me (Y/N), as someone who has started in the top 10 multiple times, awareness of your surroundings is key. It may be tempting to overtake right from the start, but if you're that worried about possibly getting hit by someone, just remember to leave a gap.” He told you.

“You’re one to talk about leaving gaps, Mr Inchedent.” You said, your own teasing managing to get you to smile. Charles sighed.

“Peut-être que je te pousserai hors de la piste demain.(Maybe I’ll push you off the track tomorrow)” He mumbled. You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

“Tu n'oserais pas!(You wouldn’t dare!)” You said, dodging the pillow that Charles threw back in your direction.

~~~

The weather seemed to know how nervous you were and decided to make it worse by making it rain. It was only a drizzle, not hard enough to cancel the race. But every driver knew how unexpected wet conditions can be when racing. Even a drizzle can turn a driver’s race upside down. You’d just hoped you wouldn’t be one of them.

Before having to get into your cars, you and Charles managed to get away from your teams’ garages and give each other a hug for reassurance. It was your guys' tradition before each race. A promise that you would make it to the end. Arthur was able to join you two this time and you were glad that both of them were here.

“Don’t get squeezed.” Arthur said, giving you a shoulder pat before following Charles back to the Ferrari garage. If Arthur wasn’t Ferrari’s development driver, he would be in the Haas garage supporting you. But he had to settle for supporting both his siblings from only one team garage today.

For the first time since joining F1, you slotted your car into the P10 spot after the formation lap while everyone waited for the lights to go out. You spotted your brother who was ahead of you in P2. You made eye contact with him through his car’s mirrors and gave him a thumbs up. Charles gave you a nod in return before you both directed your attention to the lights that were set to blink on at any moment.

Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink

The lights went out and everything roared to life. You slammed your foot on the throttle and your car cruised forward, steadily gaining speed. You immediately went to move to the outer edge of the approaching turn to hopefully avoid any front placement congestion.

“Don’t get squeezed.” You thought to yourself.

A lot can happen on the first lap. Hell a lot can happen in the first turn.

You didn’t get squeezed going into turn one. Or turn two and 3. There was a bit of sliding on the track because of the wet conditions but you managed to get your car under control. It was the last turn, the turn that a lot of the drivers struggled with throughout the week, where everything went wrong.

You weren’t able to see who it was that was trying to overtake you. You felt the hit to the side of your car and could tell that it was too hard based on how fast you and the other car were going. But by then it was too late to break as your car started to spin out.

It’s when the ground switches from asphalt to gravel that the car starts to flip….

And flip…

Your vision becomes a quick mixture of sky and ground as the car continues to roll. It’s too fast for you to properly brace for the impact with the barrier and all too quickly the only thing you see is darkness.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” The voice of Charle’s race engineer quickly comes over the radio as he brakes going into turn one.

“What happened?” Charle’s asked, trying to split his attention between driving and whatever his engineer is going to say next.

“Return to the pits. We are trying to get more details and will update you once you’re in the pits.”

“Did someone crash? Tell me what happened.” Worry started to build up in his chest as multiple scenarios flashed through his mind, his sister a part of many of them.

“There was a collision between an…Alpine…and a Haas.”

Charles almost lost control of the car going into turn seven upon hearing what cars were involved but quickly recovered.

“Tell me it’s not (Y/N).” Charles demanded. “Please, tell me it’s not my sister that was involved.”

The silence from his race engineer seemed deafening. He probably knew that anything but the confirmation that his sister was safe could send Charles into a literal spiral on the track.

“Come back to the pits Charles. Please.” It sounded like his race engineer was almost pleading with him and Charles reluctantly followed the orders and headed into the pit lane.

As soon as Charles’s car stopped in the Ferrari pitlane, he immediately got out of the car, not even taking the time to disengage his steering wheel. The pit crew tried to stop them but Charles pushed them away as he ran over to Haas garage. Charles’s hope rose when he saw the familiar white of a Haas car pull in, but it was quickly dashed when he saw that it wasn’t his sister pulling in, but her teammate.

Charles didn’t want to take that as confirmation that his sister was involved with the crash. He immediately ran over to the pit wall. His sister’s race engineer would tell him she was ok, right?

“(Y/N), are you ok?” Was the first thing Charles heard out of the engineer’s mouth.

“Tell me my sister’s ok. She’s answering, right?” The race engineer barely glanced at the Ferrari driver, focusing more on getting a response from their own driver.

“Are you ok? (Y/N) please respond.” The engineer said again. Charles wanted to take the engineer’s headset off, and ask that question himself. Hear his sister’s voice. Get confirmation that she was ok. But Charles’s eyes finally landed on one of the screens that was showing the replay of the crash.

You were approaching the last turn. For some reason Ocon decided to attempt an overtake when it was far too late and he got too close. His front wheel hit the side of your car, hard, causing you to violently spin. Charles' heart dropped into his stomach as he watched your car flip over and over on the gravel and it might as well have shattered when he watched your car harshly collide with the safety barrier.

“I’m getting no response.” Charles heard your engineer say to the team principal. Charles’ vision started to tunnel and all the noise around him became muffled. He didn’t even register that Arthur was now standing in front of him, trying to speak to him, but Charles didn’t hear anything.

His sister wasn’t responding

There was no movement from the car.

Is she breathing? She had to be? She had to be ok?

She’s alive right?

She was so worried about her placement and crashing. She wasn’t supposed to crash!

Charles’ brain betrays him as it thinks back to the one person he didn’t want to think about at this moment. This crash reminds him too much of Jules. It hits too close to home because the person in the car is his little sister. The little girl who was so enthusiastic about watching his karting races when he was younger. Who wanted to be just like her older brother and managed to race her way up the motorsports ladder. His little sister who made it into Formula 1 and who he gets to race alongside almost every weekend.

Both of you knew from an early age the dangers of being a race car driver. But despite every crash, you’ve always managed to walk away from it. But all Charles saw was your car. Upside down and wedged in a barrier. There was no sign of movement from what little he could see of the driver’s seat, and you weren’t responding to your engineer.

He couldn’t lose anyone else to this sport. Not after Jules…you had promised him that you would make it to the end-

“Charles!”

Charles snapped out of his panic state as Arthur yelled his name. He could tell now that he had begun to hyperventilate, and tried to calm his breathing.

“They want you to try and talk to her.” Arthur said. “Maybe you can get a response.”

Charles numbly nodded and took the headset that was being offered to him.

“(Y/N), it’s Charlie…can you hear me? Are you ok?”

The silence was so loud.

“....(y/n)....(Y/N)!”

Consciousness slowly came back to you as you started to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what was up or down. How did you get here? One second you were racing…and the next?

You had gotten squeezed.

“(Y/N)...can you hear me?” A voice came over your radio. Your arm trembled as you strained to press the radio button on your steering wheel. God, did everything hurt and you felt tears start to well up from the pain you felt.

“Charles…” Your brother’s voice was the first thing you recognized. The one thing you could recognize in the darkness and confusion of your current predicament.

“(Y/N)! Are you ok!” Charles asked over the radio. He sounded so worried and you mentally kicked yourself a bit knowing you were the cause of the worry.

“Charlie…everything hurts…I can’t move.” You told him. It was true. You felt trapped under your seatbelt and felt that one little movement would send pain throughout your whole body.

“Breathe sœur, breathe. Your car is upside down and wedged in the barrier. The safety marshals are trying to flip the car over to get you out right now.” Charles explained. That offered some comfort. You listened to Charles' advice as you tried to take deep breaths. You moved your head a bit to try and get awareness of your surroundings, but even moving it an inch sent a wave of nausea through your body. You felt the car shake and braced your body as the car was flipped over and your vision was filled with daylight. You had to take in more deep breaths before you could lift your head and make eye contact with the safety marshal who was checking to see if you were ok. You managed to give them a thumbs up, a sign that you were conscious, and they immediately went to help you out of the car. Fans cheered as they saw you climb out of the car with assistance. Signs of relief seemed to echo throughout the pitlane and Charles and Arthur practically collapsed to their knees with relief at the sight of you alive and moving. Charles looked to the sky and placed a hand over his heart.

“Merci Jules…” He quietly whispered before hugging Arthur tight.

Despite the immense pain and the swimming feeling in your head, you managed to wave your hand to the closest grandstand, sending the fans a message that you were ok.

Charles and Arthur watched as you were helped to the ambulance and placed on the stretcher. You would need to be taken to a hospital to assess any injuries and possibility of a concussion. Arthur told Charles that he would meet you at the hospital and call Lorenzo and Mama. Because despite everything that just happened…the race still needed to be finished. Charles would rather be in the ambulance with you than get back in his Ferrari and race on the same track that you had just crashed at. He wished the race didn’t need to be finished at all. But it had to. And if Charles had to race, then he was going to win. He was going to win for his little sister.

~~~

Next to all the flowers and get well cards, on your hospital bedside table was a beautiful first place trophy. Charles barely stayed on the podium after receiving it, immediately heading to the hospital you were taken to once the celebrations were done. When he arrived, he was grateful to hear that you only had a sprained wrist, bruising and a concussion. He wished you weren’t injured at all, but compared to how crashes go, you got off on the better side. Charle’s sent another silent thank you to Jules, as doctor told him that the halo was one of the main things that prevented further injuries.

“I think I’ll purposely try to start from the back for the rest of the season.” You said while sitting up in your hospital bed playing Uno with Arthur. The doctors decided that you should stay overnight to monitor your concussion.

“I think that may be a good idea.” Charles said as he sat next to you, watching the current card game take place.

“Or, you start on pole every race. You don’t have to worry about being surrounded by the other cars if you’re already in the front.” Arthur said, placing a card down.

“Yea but then the only view Charles would get the whole race would be my rear wing and I don’t know if that’s a view he can enjoy every race.” You said. Charles rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I should get the doctor to check your head again with all the nonsense you just spoke.” Charles said. “As I recall you’ve been chasing my rear wing throughout the seasons.”

“Uno!” You declared, placing your second to last card down. “Please Charles, it’s only a matter of time before I beat you at a race. Like how I’m about to beat Arthur at this game.”

“There’s no way you’re going to win. I know for a fact you don’t have any blues.” Arthur said, placing down a blue five. He gave you a sly smirk that quickly fell when you gave him one back. Without saying a word, you placed down a +4.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x driver!reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader

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atlabeth · 1 year

Text

come on back to me - nikolai lantsov

summary: five times you save nikolai and one time he saves you.

a/n: if you've seen my thoughts as i read through siege and storm and ruin and rising then you know that i am deeply in love with nikolai lantsov and since ive finally finished the trilogy i finally feel qualified to write about him lmao. i actually don’t think i’ve written a 5+1 which is crazy so here you go. i wrote this in like 2 days in a spurt of inspiration and im absolutely in love with it, so i hope you all are too!!

title from you’re the one by greta van fleet

wc: 7.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, canon typical violence, siege and storm & ruin and rising book spoilers (i have not watched the show), medical inaccuracies, nikolai's volcra era, hurt/comfort and a happy ending (as usual)

Os Alta

It all happened rather quickly.

One moment, you were in the infirmary mending a poor soldier’s broken arm. The next, screams were erupting everywhere.

You and the soldier locked eyes, and you did a final bit of healing on his arm before you nodded at each other and darted off.

The soldier grabbed his gun and went further into the palace, no doubt to find the royal family, and you adjusted the collar of your kefta before you ran out into the fray.

Nichevo’ya had surrounded everything, attacking anyone they could find, and their shadowy bodies were like a void’s blight on the land. You knew the sight would be forever burned into your mind.

You knew the Darkling was going to march on Os Alta, that he would have to do it directly to use his shadow soldiers, but this was so much earlier, so much worse than you’d expected. Enforcements were meant to come from Poliznaya. You guessed that was off the table.

You were fine at fighting—alright with a pistol and better with a dagger—but you were a Healer. You spent more time dealing with the aftermaths of battles, more skilled at setting broken bones and mending bullet wounds than inflicting them.

Times like these were the ones when you normally questioned your decision to not hone your abilities into a Heartrender, but now you would at least be a dead man either way. Nichevo’ya didn’t exactly have hearts to stop and organs to manipulate.

You had to get to the other Grisha. You had to make sure the Sun Summoner made it through this attack, even if it meant you wouldn’t.

You broke into a sprint, trying your best to ignore the crippled and broken bodies in the carnage. Your instincts tugged against you, but you knew there was nothing to be done. If you stopped to help a dead man, you would soon join them.

You nearly battered into a group of people from your speed and lack of attention, and you reeled to the side seconds before a head-on collision. When you looked up, drawing in ragged breaths in the one second of rest you’d gotten, your eyes widened.

You were face to face with the royal family. The King, the Queen, and Nikolai Lantsov. The absence was glaring.

“Grisha,” Nikolai breathed, and he grabbed onto your shoulders like a madman as his fingers ran over the embroidery. He might as well have been one, the way wildfire flickered in his eyes. “You’re a Healer? One of Alina’s?”

You nodded rapidly. “Are you—”

“I’m getting them to safety on the Kingfisher,” he cut off, “and she wants me to get that old woman as well.”

“Baghra—?”

“You’re a Healer?” the King interrupted harshly. Your heart stuttered—you’d never been directly addressed by the King, but you supposed circumstances like these called for different standards.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Are you hurt?”

“My wife,” he said, and your attention turned to the Queen. Genya’s absence had taken a toll on her, and the shards of glass sticking out of her side weren’t doing her pallid frame any favors.

“Madraya,” Nikolai whispered, his eyes wide, “I didn’t even notice.”

“Alexander—” her voice was ragged, her entire appearance pallid— “we’ve much bigger concerns.”

“Nonsense.” The King’s gaze bore into you. “We have time. Heal her.”

You screwed your eyes shut, your hands closing into fists for a moment before both opened and you nodded. “Keep an eye out, moi tsarevich,” you huffed, and you moved to the Queen’s side. Nikolai’s head perked up for a moment at your words, but it disappeared just as quickly as he adjusted his grip on his pistol.

“Of course,” he said wryly. “Not that I don’t trust your work, and not that I don’t trust my abilities, but it would be grand if you could do this quickly.”

“Working as fast as I can,” you muttered, ignoring the noises the Queen made as you pulled the shards of glass out with little care. Your mentors would be rolling in their graves if they could see you.

“Vasily is dead, by the way,” Nikolai said, attention focused on the nichevo’ya all around. Thankfully, you’d run into each other in a spot relatively hidden from view. Hopefully it extended to shadow creatures. “I know you were wondering.”

Your hands faltered for a moment, but it was hardly noticeable as you continued to work. He wasn’t wrong. “I’m so sorry.”

The Queen choked back a sob, and the King’s face betrayed the slightest bit of emotion.

“An awful way to go,” Nikolai muttered, more to himself than anything. “But fitting that he brought about his own end.”

His parents said nothing to your surprise, but you stood up from your knees and nodded at the King and Queen. “She’s healed enough. No internal bleeding, at least.”

“Healed enough?” the King repeated. “That is not—”

“It’s the best we can hope for,” Nikolai interrupted sharply. “We’ve already wasted too much time out here.”

He then nodded, grasping your hands with fierce desperation. “The crown thanks you, darling.” You’d never seen him like this—you’d never seen him fear anything. The Darkling and his creations were a good start. “I thank you, truly.”

“Just doing my duty,” you assured, and you pulled a small container out of the pocket of your kefta, leftover from your work in the infirmary before it all went to hell, and pressed it into his hand. “She should be alright, but I’ve been slightly rushed. Rub this salve on her wounds when you’re out of danger just to be sure.”

Nikolai nodded again, slipping it into his own pocket. “Keep our Sun Summoner safe,” he said. “Or else this’ll have all been for nothing.”

You nodded. “With my life.”

Nikolai’s eyes met yours, and something unsaid passed between you. Then his hands slipped off of yours, and he continued to herd his parents away from the chaos. You muttered a quick prayer to any Saints that would listen for their safety, and then you head off on your own way.

2. The Pelican

You thought either the bones in your hands or the wood was going to crack with how tight you were holding onto the side of the ship. Your heart was still hammering away in your chest—the adrenaline from the battle and Nikolai Lantsov’s sudden appearance and being shot at a thousand different times by a thousand different militiamen still had you quite shaken.

You knew the sort of chaos you were in for when you made the decision to travel with Alina Starkov rather than stay in the White Cathedral, but you think you hated being in the air like this even more than you hated being trapped underground with those zealots.

Someone called your name, and you turned to see Adrik a while away with wide eyes. You huffed a sigh as you reluctantly let go and hastened your pace to catch up with him. If he was sent to fetch you, then someone needed healing, and you couldn’t exactly hold off on the one thing you were good at.

Adrik led you over to a corner of the Pelican where a large portion of your group of Grisha were gathered. Tamar was kneeling next to whoever was injured, one hand splayed above their chest, and you took a deep breath as you forced calmness to wash over your mind.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked Tamar, but it was clear enough when he spoke up.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Just a flesh wound.”

“He was shot,” Tamar said dryly, “and he refuses to accept its severity.”

“So we meet again,” you said placidly.

Nikolai seemed to perk up when he saw you, any prior frustration absent from his face as he grinned at you and said your name. “If you’re the Healer here, then I guess I’m not so fine.”

“Am I ever going to be around you when you’re doing important princely things,” you said as you crouched on the other side of him, Tamar continuing to keep his heart rate steady, “or only when you’re injured?”

“This is a very important princely thing,” Nikolai said. “I’m showing my soon to be subjects that I’m just like them.”

“You were shot and you thought you were fine?” You let out a loose sigh and shook your head—it wasn’t worth getting into it. “Keep it steady, Tamar.”

She nodded, and you reached out to begin unbuttoning his outer coat. He wouldn’t stop shifting around, and it made it infinitely harder.

“Will you sit still?” you snapped.

“I am,” Nikolai said.

“You are not,” you asserted, and you undid the final button on his coat after a struggle, “and you are making this much more difficult.”

“My apologies,” he said. “Usually women that are taking off my clothes aren’t this angry with me.”

You scowled, only making his smile grow.

“You do it yourself if you want to be like that,” you said, letting your hands fall back to your side. “I’m sure the rest of your soldiers will listen to a Healer.”

“Ah, but none of them bravely threw themselves into danger for you,” Nikolai remarked. “I’m sure that earns me a few points.”

“Points that you’ve immediately lost by being this difficult with me.” You crossed your arms. “And you did not throw yourself into danger for me—you were in the battle and you got shot.”

“We came to save you all, and you are a part of it,” Nikolai said. “I’d say I definitely threw myself into danger for you.”

“You’re impossible.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Will you not even allow a dying man some honor?”

“You are not dying,” you said, “but you will be if you continue talking. Now take off your clothes and stop being so difficult so I can fix this up before you do die.”

He tutted as he shed his jacket and worked on the rest of his clothing. Princes were apparently fond of multiple layers. “For a Healer, your bedside manner is remarkably poor.”

“Don’t worry,” Nadia piped in, “she’s always been like this.”

“I have very fond memories of you healing my broken ribs,” Alina said dryly.

“All of you are still alive,” you said tartly with a glance back at your fellow Grisha, “aren’t you?”

“I think you made me wish I wasn’t,” Harshaw mused.

You scowled again and Nikolai laughed. “That bodes very well for me, considering how much I seem to irritate you.”

“You’re going to be fine,” you grumbled. When you turned back to him, he’d gotten down to his undershirt and unbuttoned it. Blood had spread across the white fabric, but apart from being shot, the wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It’d had the chance to fester for a bit, but with Tamar’s aid it hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.

You took a deep breath as you placed your hands on his chest—lucky as always, you could sense the bullet missed all his major organs—but Nikolai grimaced before you could even do anything.

“Are you alright?”

“Your hands are very cold,” he said and you just shook your head.

“How no one has wrung you by the neck is beyond me.”

“Many have tried.” He flashed that smile again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add your name to the list.”

You ignored him, taking another deep breath before you closed your eyes. You felt your power within you, the tug you’d grown accustomed to over the years, and you focused it into a single point.

You slowly worked on healing Nikolai, making sure you went from the inside out to stop any internal bleeding before you carefully wedged the bullet out with your knife. Surprisingly, he managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part. He watched you the entire time though, wholly unyielding, and it was unnerving.

Nikolai covered up his pain remarkably well, but you still caught the slightest grimace when you practically stuck a dagger inside him.

“Do you always try to injure your patients more when you’re healing them?” he asked innocently.

“You typically don’t make fun of the person fixing you up,” you said, and you held up the knife, “or the one holding the blade.”

“Surely you could’ve used David to get it out,” Zoya offered lazily. “Better than practically stabbing the King of Ravka.”

“I’m not the king,” Nikolai said. “Not yet, at least.”

“And I’m not stabbing him.” You held up the bullet with your other hand, then let it fall to the floor. “I just didn’t feel like digging around inside him.”

Nikolai picked up the bullet, and you frowned in question. He just shrugged. “To hold onto the fond memories of this battle and the kindest, prettiest Healer I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Someone snickered behind you, and you turned to see all of them just standing around—Zoya, Harshaw with Oncat perched on his shoulder, Adrik ignoring his sister to watch, even Alina and Mal were still there. At least Tamar had enough sense to stay quiet while she helped you.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snapped. “It’s hard to focus with you all watching me.”

Alina blinked, seeming to come back to her senses. You almost didn’t blame her—she had so much on her shoulders, it made sense to just want to stand and stare for a minute.

“Right,” she nodded, and she gestured at Zoya and the Squaller siblings as she started walking across the ship, “Adrik, Nadia, I need you all over…”

Alina's words trailed off as she got farther away, and the small crowd dissipated to find duties to carry out without their Sun Summoner to indulge their whims.

“Thank you for your help, Tamar,” you mumbled. “I can take it from here.”

She nodded and went off to join the others—the controlled state Nikolai had been in dissolved as she let go of the hold she had on his heart, and the slight daze in his eye went away.

“Are you always this mean?” Nikolai asked. You turned back to find him with that same unshakable confidence, same lazy smile even in the face of it all. It was no wonder noble and commoner girls alike tripped over themselves when he returned to Ravka.

It was no wonder Alina fell for his charms despite the tracker by her side—he always knew the right thing to say to make you feel like everything would be okay, and in the midst of Ravka’s endless war, that was a valuable quality indeed.

“I save it for irritating princes,” you remarked. With a final flourish, his wound was sewed up, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows as he touched the newly healed skin.

There was another slight wince, but he still smiled up at you. “Excellent job.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Grisha handiwork,” Nikolai said as he pulled himself up from the side of the ship. “Especially the healing kind.”

“It would do you good not to get used to it,” you said. “You may not be king yet, but Zoya is right. I’d appreciate it if you tried to stay out of my infirmary.”

“Do you not enjoy my company?” he asked.

“I don’t enjoy bringing Ravka’s only heir back from the brink after every battle,” you corrected. “You’ve got a lot more weight on your shoulders now, moi tsarevich.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your Ravkan. “Say that again.”

You frowned, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. Nikolai continued staring at you, so you sighed. “Moi tsarevich?”

He laughed, and that only soured your mood further. “What are you laughing about?”

“I recognized it back during the attack but I didn’t fully think about it,” he said. “It comes out the most with your R’s. You’re not Ravkan, are you?”

You paused at his sudden subject change. “You were focusing on my accent when everyone was dying around us?”

“Answer the question.”

Your frown deepened. “I am in most senses of the word.”

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Kerch.”

Your lips twitched. “Yes, but I don’t—”

“You still haven’t lost the accent somehow,” he continued. “At least, in how you speak certain Ravkan words. Is it Ketterdam?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than quiz your Healer on her childhood?”

“Perhaps,” Nikolai said, eyes twinkling, “but if you’re really my Healer, as you said yourself, I’m surely allowed to ask as many questions as my heart desires.”

“Your heart desires no more,” you said wryly. “I have other injured to attend to. Call if you find yourself actively dying.”

To his credit, he didn’t try to fight it. Just offered that same smile that weakened knees from the Kaelish to the Shu. “I’ll be sure to ring before I’m dead and buried.”

“Put your clothes back on before you do,” you said.

“Ah, but isn’t this your reward for putting up with the irritating prince?” Nikolai asked with a slight gesture at his chest. “I’d imagine you’d want to keep an eye on your handiwork.”

That sparked a rare smile of your own, and you bowed your head. “Moi tsarevich,” you said before you walked off.

You felt Nikolai’s eyes on you even as you approached an injured First Army soldier, and after the first few preliminary questions you couldn’t help but look back.

When you did, he was gone.

3. Monastery of Sankt Demyan

You sat on the Spinning Wheel, off to the corner so you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, staring at your hands as you tried to ignore the thousands of things bumping around in your mind. You’d been on the run with the Sun Summoner and a smattering of other Grisha for longer than you would have liked, but you had to accept that this was what life would be like until the Darkling was either defeated or destroyed you all.

It was a damning sort of fate, knowing what awaited you unless the impossible was done. At least it would be quick if the nichevo’ya tore you apart.

You grimaced. That was one thought that would do you no good—if you’d made it this far, from Os Alta under the Darkling’s control to Os Alta under Lantsov control to the White Cathedral and now to Fjerda of all places, what was one more piece of the puzzle?

A very big piece of the puzzle, of course, and there was still the intrinsic distrust that some soldiers—and even Alina at moments, flickers of it you could see in her eyes against her will—had towards you. You, like the rest of the Grisha here that hailed from the Second Army, served the Darkling until you’d switched sides. You wanted nothing more than to see the Darkling to his grave, for Ravka to be restored and for all of this to be over.

But you had switched sides in the first place, and you knew enough from the looks of those soldiers—they still believed that if you could betray the Darkling, you could always still betray the Sun Summoner if given enough cause.

You didn’t try to dissuade their views through words; it wouldn’t do any good. You just hoped the long hours you spent holed up in the infirmary healing the injured would. You missed Maxim if only so you wouldn’t have to do it all alone.

“Vlachka for your thoughts?”

You looked up, surprised to see Nikolai Lantsov of all people. You hadn’t held a true conversation with him since you healed him after his bullet wound. He’d been busy with princely things like banishing his parents and saving Genya’s livelihood.

You were thankful for that, at least. She’d suffered too much at the hands of the Darkling and the King.

“You’d need a lot more than that,” you said.

He smiled. “I’ve got quite a bit. Have you seen this place?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Just thinking. About our next move, about the Darkling, about what will be after this.”

“You certainly aren’t the only one,” Nikolai said. “Lately it seems to be all anyone can think about.”

“I’m sure you’d much rather have them thinking of you,” you said wryly.

“Oh, there’s plenty of that going on as well.” Nikolai smiled. “An even balance, I’d say.”

You chuckled again. “What brings you here, Nikolai?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to get to know my Healer.”

You huffed a sigh and looked away. “Why do you call me that?”

He was awfully good at feigning innocence. “Call you what?”

“My Healer,” you repeated. “Your Healer. I don’t understand it.”

“I like the sound of it,” he said. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

You felt your cheeks heat and you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not that. It’s just—”

“Because I can,” he continued. “Would you prefer lapushka? Milaya? Perhaps babya.”

You scowled as you turned back to him, and you hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You should stick to the seas and the throne, moi tsarevich. Comedy is not your strong suit.”

“I like it when you call me that,” he mused. “I like your accent, your voice.” He sat down next to you, mildly unexpected, and you hoped you did better at hiding your surprise than it felt. “There’s something soothing about it.”

“I am from Ketterdam,” you said after a moment. “You guessed right. Born and raised. When my abilities started showing, my parents put me on a ship to Ravka with a map, some vlachki, and the clothes on my back. I made my way to the Little Palace, pleaded my case to the Darkling, and I haven’t seen them since.”

Nikolai was silent, and you fully turned to look at him. “You wanted to know more about me. That’s who I am. A girl from Ketterdam in over her head.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Nikolai said. “You’re a woman from Ketterdam in over your head.”

You huffed a laugh, and Nikolai’s expression softened a bit. “Why did they send you away? If that’s alright to ask, of course.”

You shrugged. “Being a young girl in the Barrel is bad enough. If anyone figured out I was Grisha, I would either be dead in the streets, indentured before I could blink, or worse.”

“They thought it would be safer in Ravka,” he guessed. “In the Second Army.”

You nodded. “They couldn’t have known any of this would happen,” you said dryly.

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked.

“Every day,” you said quietly. “We sent letters when we could, but it was never enough. And those stopped after Alina left the Little Palace, obviously.”

You didn’t need to recount the months of the Darkling’s madness as he searched for his Sun Summoner. Nikolai might have been Sturmhond at the time, but you didn’t doubt that he had contacts in the Little Palace. You didn’t exactly want to remember it either.

“How about this?” Nikolai adjusted his position so he could look right at you, those smart hazel eyes enough to get lost in. You forced yourself not to. “On the slim chance that we make it through these next few weeks, when the dust has settled and I’m officially King, I’ll charter a ship for you back to Ketterdam.”

Your head whirled back to look at him, eyes widening. There was no sign in his eyes of a false promise, only that soft smile, charming as ever. You had the sudden, misplaced urge to wind your fingers into those blonde curls and kiss him.

“You’d do that for me?”

He nodded. “Of course. Only the best for my Healer, right?”

That got a laugh out of you, but the heat rose to your cheeks all the same. “That would be incredible, Nikolai. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He looked—gazed— at you for a touch longer than usual before he spoke again.

“There’s going to be a meteor shower later tonight,” Nikolai said. “One of my crew figured it out—he’s very fond of the sky, and he told me it would be… quite the sight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Was he—

“I’d like to watch it with you,” Nikolai continued. “Of course, I have to put on a display with Alina, but after that,” he looked over at you, hazel eyes gleaming, “I’d like to spend the night with you.”

It took a moment for your brain to fully process his words. “Moi tsarevich, are… you asking me on a— a date?”

“Just Nikolai, please,” he said with a grin. “And yes, I am.”

It seemed so trivial in the scheme of things. You were leading an impossible battle against the Darkling, and as a traitor to his throne, you would end up dead or worse if he caught you. The near entirety of the Second Army was dead, friends you’d grown up and honed your power alongside with ripped apart by nichevo’ya. Your chances for victory relied on the firebird, and no one knew a damn thing about it.

It was trivial. It was frankly ridiculous, for the prince— the King of Ravka—to be asking you on a date, especially when it was imperative for him to present a certain image with Alina.

But for all the triviality and ridiculousness and idiocy, you found that you’d never wanted to accept something so badly.

So you did. You nodded, smiled, brighter than usual. Nikolai seemed to have that effect on you.

“I’d love to.”

“Wonderful.” Somehow, impossibly, his grin grew bigger. Nikolai took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to it before he stood back up—you’d never been so thankful for his confidence, because you found yourself at a loss for words. “I’ll see you tonight, darling. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.”

You nodded again, and you knew you looked like a dazed idiot. The better half of a decade spent training as a Grisha and all it took was a kiss to your hand for your brain to stop working. You really had been at war for far too long.

Nikolai could tell every thought—or lack thereof—in your head by the overly pleased expression he wore as he walked away, and your entire face burned as you bit back your smile.

He knew exactly what he did to you.

4. The Bittern

Sergei sold you out.

That son of bitch had betrayed you all to the Darkling the first chance he got, and he’d been rewarded with a quicker death than any of you would get.

You’d been left fighting for your lives against the Darkling’s oprichniki, Grisha, and nichevo’ya alike, and as usual, you were hopelessly outnumbered. You knelt over Adrik as Zoya, Nadia, Harshaw, and David kept the crowd of enemies back, doing your damnedest to keep him from bleeding out from his nichevo’ya bite.

His arm hung at a bizarre angle, and you didn’t know how you would tell him and his sister you didn’t think you could save it. You were sure Genya’s whispered words were the only thing keeping him even slightly calm.

By the time the Bittern was in the air, precarious but afloat, you were about ready to collapse. It had all been too damn much, with the Darkling and Baghra and Nevsky, and now the poor schoolboy lying beneath you with an arm you couldn’t save.

“He’ll be okay,” you murmured to nobody but yourself, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead as you laid against the side of the ship. As okay as any boy who lost his arm to a shadow monster and went through what he just did.

Thank the Saints for Tolya keeping both Adrik’s and your heart steady during that ordeal, because you were sure your panic would have won over.

Everyone in your motley crew was injured in some way or another, and you were the only Healer. Soon you were back on your feet, pushing the horrors of the night out of your mind as you mended lacerations and fixed up bullet wounds.

Every so often, your eyes would drift over to Adrik. You’d healed him the best you could, but it wasn’t enough.

And then your mind went to Nikolai.

Nikolai.

In the chaos of the battle and the subsequent healing haze, you hadn’t even realized he wasn’t with your group. The Pelican had taken off before you all got to the Bittern, but Nikolai wouldn’t have left Alina on her own after all he’d done to ensure her safety.

You were almost too scared to ask, but you did anyway.

“Alina,” you asked, slightly surprised at the sound of your voice in the silence of the night, “where’s Nikolai?”

Her eyes were unfocused, arms crossed around her midsection for warmth despite the light that glowed beneath her skin. “The Darkling,” she murmured.

“Wh— what did he do to him?” you continued. “What in the Saints’ name happened to him, Alina?”

“He ruined him,” she whispered. “He turned him into a monster.” The look on Alina’s face broke you into even smaller pieces. “He turned him into a monster all because Nikolai dared to stand against him. He’s gone.”

Your grip tightened on the side of the ship as she explained what she had to watch, and your knees threatened to buckle.

Maybe it was stupid, but you hadn’t even realized you cared this much about the prince. The king, you had to keep reminding yourself. But the thought of him hurt—a hurt that you couldn’t heal—it tore your heart to shreds.

Only last night you were laying on a blanket next to him, staring up at the meteor shower through the glass dome. He’d never looked more beautiful than he did then, with the streaks of light illuminating his handsome features and those hazel eyes you’d grown to appreciate.

Few words had passed between the two of you, but once Nikolai had taken your hand in his, neither of you let go for the remainder of the night. That urge to kiss him came back in spades, but you never acted on it.

Saints, you wished you had.

“Do you think you can heal him?” Your voice sounded oddly foreign, but you didn’t even feel like you were in your body. Like you were watching it all happen from above, because this couldn’t have been happening. Not to Nikolai— to your Nikolai.

You were his Healer, and he was your Nikolai. That was how it was supposed to be.

“I don’t know,” Alina admitted, her tone strained. “My light might be able to help, but… but whenever I’ve used it against the nichevo’ya, against the volcra, I— it kills them.”

Her voice broke on the last few words, and you wanted to hug her. Alina didn’t love him, you knew that much, but anyone could tell she’d grown close to Nikolai over the months. She was hurting just as much as you.

You didn’t. You found that you couldn’t do much but stare into the night sky.

He was all alone. Forced into a monster, and now he was all alone.

It felt like ages before the Bittern finally landed, everyone’s teeth stained rust-orange and bones run deep with exhaustion. Everyone was still alive when you woke up the next morning, and after another check-up on Adrik, you went off into the woods under the guise of searching for kindling.

Really, you needed some time to yourself. After what had happened—Sergei’s betrayal, losing even more Grisha when you had little to start with, Baghra’s sacrifice, Adrik and his arm, and— and Nikolai—

It was too much. It was just too damn much.

You’d never gotten close like this to anyone before, never moved further than some useless flirtations and a few stolen kisses with various Grisha when you were bored back at the Little Palace, and when you finally did, with the damned future King of Ravka, this is what happened.

Guilt tore away at you as you plodded through the woods, and you let the tears you’d been holding back all night fall. You wished you’d been there for him. You wished you’d kissed him. You wished you were strong enough to take the Darkling down on your own for what he’d done.

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck, and you heard the rustling of branches. You whirled around to the source of the sound, taking a few steps to peer through the trees, and that was when you saw it.

Your eyes widened and your heart cracked all at once.

“Nikolai,” you whispered.

You’d have recognized him anywhere. Despite the shadowy veins splintering across his chest, the wings furled behind his back, claws and fangs in place of fingers and teeth—he was still your Nikolai. His blonde curls remained, his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, even his clever eyes—even if they were black instead of hazel.

The smear of blood around his mouth was a sharp contrast to it all. You wondered what—or who—had become his unlucky victim when he could no longer control his hunger.

Nikolai didn’t move as you stepped closer. His dark gaze was unreadable and you wanted to sob for what the Darkling had done to him.

“It’s me.” You continued to speak softly as you moved closer, saying your name in hopes of even a spark of recognition. “Your Healer.”

His eyes followed your movements, his gaze falling down to your hands. He pointed at them with a clawed talon.

You held them up. “My hands?”

You realized the blood around his mouth wasn’t the only bit of it on his body as your eyes trailed across his bare chest. There were cuts all across his arms and chest, most small but some deeper. He pointed at a thin scar near his abdomen, the only sign of the bullet wound you’d stitched up.

He wanted you to heal him. He knew who you were.

This time, a small sob escaped you, and your hand flew up almost on instinct to cover it. You brushed the tears brimming in your eyes as you moved closer to him, and you gently placed your hand on his arm. You felt his limb stiffen for a moment before they relaxed, and you couldn’t help your small smile. Your Nikolai was still there.

The thin cut vanished as you healed it, and you continued to do the same for the myriad of other injuries on his body. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, and some part of it was comforting. Nikolai was still there—his humanity was still there. This was the least you could do to make him feel the part.

Once you’d healed up the last of his wounds, you felt the glow of Grisha power inside of you. Nikolai grabbed onto your hand the moment you’d finished, and you looked up into his dark eyes as your fingers clasped around his talons.

“We’ll figure this out, Nikolai,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, the barest sign of the old smile you’d grown to love.

And then he let go of your hand, and he shot up into the air. It took only seconds for him to disappear, but your gaze remained stuck in place.

All you could think of was Nikolai’s dark eyes and the shattered shadows beneath his skin, the feel of his taloned hand in yours.

You would find a way to bring him back. You knew that much.

5. The Shadow Fold

“For Saint’s sake— catch him, Zoya!”

“You screeching at me isn’t helping,” she snarled, her hands held out above her as she summoned wind to break Nikolai’s fall.

It was almost laughable, how Alina ended it all with a bit of stabbing. First Mal, then the Darkling—now Soldat Sol and oprichniki alike were glowing like human lamps around the Fold. The nichevo’ya dissolved with the Darkling’s power, the same thing that created Nikolai’s monster—you screamed in general when you first saw him falling, and then you screamed at Zoya. It was a credit to her growth that she didn’t slap you first.

Thankfully, the updraft did its job, and he only landed in the sand at concerning speeds rather than very concerning.

You ran for him without thinking, not even feeling the jolt in your ankles as you lept from the skiff onto the sands. You no longer had to fear the Fold—the various Sun Soldiers that had gotten Alina’s powers had done away with the remainder in no time—and even if you did, you would brave a thousand volcra for Nikolai.

He looked so small, so vulnerable laying there in the sand, only clad in torn pants and a myriad of bruises. The last of the shadows receded when you finally reached him, and you didn’t try to stop the tears as they flowed freely down your cheeks.

“Nikolai,” you whispered, falling to your knees in the sand next to him, “Nikolai, can you hear me?”

You cradled his head in your hands, tears splattering in the sand around you, and then his eyes opened.

His beautiful hazel eyes opened and looked right at you, his lips tugging into a smirk as he said your name.

“Would you say this is an important princely thing?” His voice was husky, damaged from whatever dark thing that had taken a hold of him, but the usual lilt was there. “Or just another injury?”

You broke into full on sobs, unabashedly and unashamed as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug. You felt his arms around you as well, and he rubbed circles on your back.

“I had time to think,” Nikolai murmured, “and I think I’ll settle on lapushka.”

Darling.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and you moved away from him just so you could look at him, gaze at him, never forget his beautiful features.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I knew I would be,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I had you looking out for me.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice watery. “I can’t keep crying in front of you.”

“I think you’ve more than earned it, lapushka.”

You laughed again as you shook your head. “How do you feel? Can you still move all your limbs?”

Nikolai took his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with yours. His gaze didn’t move from you. “Limbs are fine.”

You let your smile shine unabashed as you squeezed his hand, thankful for the lack of talons. “Can you sit up?”

Nikolai visibly winced at the effort, but he managed with your help. “My chest hurts quite a bit.”

“You’ve definitely broken some ribs,” you murmured, “but it’s nothing I can’t fix up.”

“There’s nothing you can’t fix,” Nikolai said.

“Careful with all the praise. I might get used to it.”

“Good.”

You glanced over to see Tolya and Zoya moving across the sand towards you and you looked back at Nikolai.

“We’re going to get you back on the skiff, Nikolai,” you said. “I’ll get you healed up and then we’ll get you some clothes. Alright?”

“I told you,” Nikolai said, “this is your reward for putting up with the irritating prince.”

“That was for the prince,” you said, running a hand through his blonde curls to untangle them. “My reward for putting up with irritating kings is to make sure they’re clothed and healed.”

His smile shone brighter than anything Alina could conjure up.

The Darkling’s Skiff

You ended up below deck with Nikolai, Tolya, an unconscious Alina and Mal, and the Darkling’s body. It normally wouldn’t have been a cheery atmosphere, but you were just thankful to be alive after all you’d done. Thankful that Nikolai was alive and himself and that the Darkling was dead.

A First Army uniform was folded next to Nikolai’s makeshift cot where you sat next to him, and Tolya’s companionable silence was appreciated as he stayed by Alina and Mal to ensure they stayed alive.

“You broke a few ribs in your fall,” you murmured, your hands placed on his chest, “but overall, I’d say you made out pretty well.”

“Yes,” Nikolai said wryly, looking at his hands. Faint black lines ran across each of his fingers, where claws had torn through his skin. Though the other shadowy marks had faded, these appeared to be permanent. “Pretty well.”

“You know what I mean, Nikolai.” You moved your hand over his ribs and focused your power—by the slight grimace on his face, the itch that came along with Grisha healing, you knew they were mending back together. “You’re still alive. You’re you again. That means everything.”

“And your hands are still freakishly cold,” he mused. You smiled.

A moment passed before he spoke again.

“You know,” Nikolai said, and you felt his eyes on you again, “I remember everything. Everything that I did when I was that… that thing.”

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded, encouraging him on.

“I went to you,” he said, “and… you helped me. You weren’t afraid—you understood what I meant, and you healed me.”

“Of course I did,” you said softly. A smile tugged at your lips. “I am your Healer, after all.”

Nikolai placed his hand over one of yours, and your power wavered for a moment as your heart stuttered.

“One of your ribs is still broken, Nikolai,” you said. “I have to—”

“I love you,” he interrupted. Your eyes snapped to him, and you thought you misheard him.

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, as if it came as easily to him as breathing. “Forgive me for the lack of ballads and sonnets on how to express it—I plan to remedy that as soon as we’re back in Os Alta. But I love you, and it’s the one thing I’m sure of at this moment.”

You continued to stare at him, as if you’d suddenly forgotten how to speak. Nikolai was no Corporalnik, but you were sure he could hear how loudly your heart was beating.

“It’s alright if you don’t feel the same,” Nikolai said, “or if you’re not ready. I’m a very patient man.”

It was like your limbs had suddenly regained the ability to move, because something clicked in your mind. You took his face in your hands and you kissed him with a brazen fierceness you didn’t even know you had.

For a man with two bruised ribs and one broken one, he kissed you back with the same intensity, if not more. You poured all your fear, all your anxiety, all your worries about him into the kiss, reveling in the warmth of his lips and his hands and—

Tolya cleared his throat. “We’re nearly out of the Fold.”

You pulled away as quickly as it had started, Nikolai looking very pleased with himself as you fixed the collar of your kefta and looked over at him with eyes that were surely more pupil than iris.

“Thank you, Tolya,” you said, and you cleared your throat as well. Good of him to ignore the two of you. Embarrassing of you to nearly forget about your surroundings when you looked at Nikolai.

“Yes,” Nikolai said, mirth in his voice, “thank you, Tolya.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back to him, your lips still burning from his kiss, and you settled your hands back on Nikolai’s chest.

“No more interruptions,” you said. “I’ve got to get you healed and dressed before we’re off the sand.”

His eyes twinkled. “Whatever you say, lapushka.”

You had no idea what was next. The Sun Summoner died on the Fold, the Darkling’s reign of terror was finally over, and Nikolai was to be King. You didn’t know where you would fit in, though you were sure he would find a place.

But you loved Nikolai, and by the Saints, Nikolai loved you.

And for now, that was more than enough.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fluff #nikolai lantsov angst #nikolai lantsov the love of my life #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fic #grishaverse x reader #sadie writes

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prettieinpink · 9 months

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5K SPECIAL | CREATING YOUR OWN GARDEN𝜗𝜚

This is a guide to make your mind like your own garden flourishing with plants, flowers and butterflies. Having a good mental mindset, and being in the right state of mind is essential to being the best version of yourself.

This guide is divided into four sections: mindset, self-care, mental wellness and emotional intelligence. I hope you can take away something useful and take care of yourself! 💖

MINDSET

Your mindset can easily determine how you go through life. It influences how you feel, act, behave and your thoughts. When you have a poor mindset, it is going to be difficult to go through life, even if your life is easy.

However, once we grow and improve our minds, it is easier for us to navigate life, improve our well-being and increase our chances of success.

Before we get into mindset shifts, I want to explain how exactly you can implement them in your life. I feel like there’s so much talk about mindset, but no one exactly explains on how to implement them.

IMPLEMENTING

The first thing to implementing mindset shifts is making a conscious effort to be aware of your thoughts. If you want, practice mindful activities to improve your self-awareness of your thoughts.

You have to be able to catch a thought in its passing and whoosh it away from your mind. If you don’t whoosh it away, those simple thoughts build each time which can soon turn into the way you think.

Secondly, after increasing your awareness, identify what exactly about your thoughts or mindset you’d like to shift, and what you would like to shift to.

Thirdly, is to completely immerse yourself in that mindset shift. The mind learns through repetition, meaning that repeating it enough will make your mind learn it.

Set your mindset shift as your weekly intention, say affirmations, and prayer, read books on it, put a quote on your phone as your wallpaper, just make it so that mindset shift is constantly on your mind.

Lastly, do small actionable things that reinforce that mindset shift. I recommend you do at least one habit every day for this.

This is not the only method to implement mindset shifts, but for me, it’s the one that is highly effective. I recommend doing some research on your own, and making adjustments when needed depending on how you think.

MINDSET SHIFTS

This whole part we’ll talk about the mindset shifts I think everyone should at least try to implement in their lives if they want to improve themselves. These mindset shifts are my absolute favourites and they improved the quality of my life.

After each one, I’ll state a small habit you can incorporate that contributes to that shift.

Live your life with your highest self in mind.

This is more intentional living than an actual mindset shift, but still as important. Whatever you do throughout the day, consider if it aligns with your highest self. If not? Release it. Your highest self knows what's best for you, trust them.

At the end of the day, reflect on your daily habits, which include all habits you did today whether they were ideal or not. What habits aligned with your highest self and which didn’t? The ones that didn’t, why? How can you change or remove this habit to get closer to your highest self?

Rejection is just redirection.

As someone who has gotten rejected from the things that they wanted and felt so lost in the pursuit of fulfilment, this mindset shift saved me. You have to stop chasing the things that aren’t meant for you if life has proved it isn’t.

While I’m not saying give up after the first try, but try to step back and assess the situation. If you are qualified and ready for this thing, then why is it still not yours? Because it isn’t meant for you. God is trying to nudge you into a different path, recognise his signs.

To handle rejection better, look for the lesson(s) you’ve learnt, and the skills you grew and see if there is another area of life that you can apply them to.

Keep yourself on a pedestal.

I am worthy so much to me. It sounds like a weird sentence, but you should start treating yourself like a treasure and avoid giving out that same treatment to most people because you have your soul, which homes itself in your body. Every day, you are living through this soul and body.

So, why would you take care of someone else’s soul and body? You are never going to be the soul that lives in their body, or the body which homes their soul. Don’t neglect yourself in the priority of someone else.

Practice setting boundaries with others and recognising when someone wants more than what you’re willing.

You choose the life that you want.

You have choices and options every day to do things that will eventually have an outcome. Whether this outcome supports the vision of your dream life or not, all depends on how you choose to live your life now.

I don’t have a habit with this one but keep in mind that absolutely nothing is controlling you, and your choices are of free will. Circumstances can change, but that is why we have to adapt and be flexible.

Fear is a step to success

If you’re not scared, you’re not doing it right. Fear can hold us back, but that is why we have to twist fear into a source of motivation instead. If we were always in our comfort zone, stepping back when we feel a sliver of fear, we allow fear to dictate our life and its course.

You can’t be successful unless you do the uncomfortable. For this one, do something each day that scares you or makes you uncomfortable. It doesn’t have to be anything extreme, but simple things like exercising longer than usual or talking to someone who you wouldn’t imagine yourself with. Those little risks are so important.

Embarrassment is not a real emotion

This one is a bit controversial, but I do not believe in the concept of embarrassment. Yes, things can sometimes be awkward, but it is fully in your control if you want to feel ashamed or not. Being embarrassed only holds you back, and doesn’t allow you to live life to its fullest.

I would recommend doing a small risk every day as well, but of things that would usually feel awkward.

Progress over perfection/completion

Perfectionism which is allowed to be nurtured over time can create an avoidance mindset towards doing harder things in life. While we should strive for excellence in everything we do, we shouldn’t allow it to consume us.

(the avoidance mindset is when we put off/avoid tasks that we believe to be out of our abilities, and so that completion of the task is poor quality/not done well.)

This one is less common, but I know a few people who would not do a task if they knew it would not be fully completed in their desired time frame. However, each minute of work contributes to the results or completion of something.

Every day, do one thing that will add up to the completion of your long-term goals.

To welcome tomorrow, you have to let go of yesterday.

Living in the past makes us neglect our present self. I’m not saying forget everything that’s happened, but never allow the past to consume your mind. Acknowledge that you’ve been hurt, you’re longing or you were happier. Then, release it.

Journaling is the perfect way to stay in touch with the present. You can type it, write it, vlog, draw, or compose to journal.

Everyone has their beauty.

This one helped me a lot with comparison. I saw beauty, not as a measure or a value of someone, but rather something that everyone has uniquely and it cannot be valued. I have my sense of beauty, and you have your beauty as well. We are two different people with unique features, traits and qualities, so our ‘beauty’ can’t be measured against each other.

Define your beauty. You could be smart, feminine, book beauty or dark, flowers, creative beauty. You add your details to your beauty and never try to define someone else's.

To conclude this section, your mindset is very powerful. To achieve your goals, work on your mindset. Also, don’t try to work on more than one mindset shift at a time. Implement one fully then work on the next one. It could be overwhelming if you’re doing more than one.

SELF-CARE

The next chapter of this guide is about self-care. Self-care is important for maintaining balance in our lives and generally keeping ourselves happy. However, most people don’t understand the concept of self-care, so they just end up doing a bunch of random things and wondering why they don’t feel better.

Yes, you can coddle or pamper yourself when you want, but it is not self-care. While activities from these three things do overlap, do not confuse the terms with each other.

Self-care is simply what it says. Taking care of yourself. Taking care of yourself looks different for everyone. My idea of self-care will be different to yours.

REDEFINING SELF-CARE.

When you imagine what self-care looks like, it’s typically someone else’s definition of self-care which has been reinforced in your mind. You have to redefine your idea of self-care to match your goals, energy levels and circumstances.

Before you do, self-care is not always about taking a break. It seems that way, however, self-care can also be having the discipline to do the things that you don’t want to, but are good for you.

Here are some questions to help you redefine your self-care:

What does self-care mean to you? Does that meaning align with your current values and needs?

Do you have any negative associations or misconceptions of self-care? Why?

How do I feel in all areas of my life? (physically, mentally, spiritually, professionally). What areas need more attention and how can I improve that area(s)?

What activities bring me happiness, fulfilment and a sense of renewal?

What tasks do I have to do, which are good for me but I hesitate in completing that task?

How would I like to feel after complementing my self-care rituals?

Envision your life if it had complete balance and self-care incorporated. What habits would you be doing to support that vision?

My idea of self-care is completing all of my non-negotiables, maintaining a healthy lifestyle, taking somewhat productive breaks and talking to others daily.

THE SEVEN PILLARS OF SELF-CARE

Self-care has seven pillars, which you all need to take care of to have a balanced life. However, balanced self-care does not mean equal attention to each pillar. It means that each one is up to the same standard of self-care you’ve put for yourself. So, you need to allocate your attention appropriately.

MAJOR PILLARS

Physical - The well-being of your body.

Mental - The state of your mental health, mind and emotions.

Spiritual - The strengthening of your relationship with God while nourishing your holy spirit.

Personal - Doing things that bring you enjoyment and fulfilment + embracing your identity.

MINOR PILLARS

Social - Connecting with friends, family or even strangers.

Professional - Your work/school life.

Environment - Keeping your space clean and extracting anything that holds you back.

Major and minor do not add or take away the value each category has, it just means that major pillars may need more attention compared to the minor ones which may need less attention. Of course, you may need to focus more on a minor pillar, as self-care is individual to you.

I would’ve added a list of things that you could do for each category, but I want you to think about what you need for each instead of relying on strangers with different lives for self-care.

Maybe you need to focus on exercising and doing your hobbies more. Or you need to create a better work/life balance for yourself. It all depends on your values, needs and circumstances.

MENTAL WELLNESS

Mental wellness is the state of our cognitive, emotional and psychological functioning. When we are mentally well, we can cope better with challenges, develop a habit of having positive thoughts, and greater happiness and improve most areas of our lives overall.

There are a lot of things that contribute to our mental wellness, and I most likely won’t have everything here. Just a little disclaimer as well, it is completely normal to have a fluctuating mental state especially when we are going through unfavourable change.

DIGITAL MINDFULNESS

Social media is a huge part of our lives but is also the main factor of mental destruction. I’m not going to say delete all of your social media, but I want to introduce to you a few ways to mindfully consume and rules with managing screen time.

MINDFUL CONSUMPTION

To consume content mindfully, go onto apps intentionally and know what your purpose is when using that app. For example, if you want to find new habits that you can do, you could search on Tumblr or if you want a quick break from something stressful you can watch an episode of something on Netflix.

It doesn’t matter what the purpose exactly is, but the action of being intentional.

After you consume what you want, download images, and screenshots, and take notes or any documentation of what you found/learnt. This is more so the information is remembered/used.

Manage your notifications. You do not need notifications from every app. Except for messages and phones, I do not put notifications on my device. I believe that if something is important enough, I’ll remember to check my phone later without the help of a notification.

Only consume quality content. It is so easy to consume content that has obviously been reposted or is blatantly spreading misinformation. Only consume from people who you trust and you’ve followed/subscribed to. While yes, you can explore but be very mindful when doing so.

You should be decluttering, organising and deleting on your devices routinely. This reduces the amount of distractions on your phone and makes it more intentional. Only keep the things that align with your needs, values and goals.

DIGITAL BOUNDARIES

Have rooms or zones in the house in which you’re not allowed to use any devices or the devices you choose. For example, the bed, bathroom, office, when you’re eating at the dining table, etc.

An alternative is having a period of a day when device usage is not allowed. It could be right after you wake up, right before you go to sleep or just in the middle of the day. Either, I recommend you have a time or place in which device usage is not allowed.

While I encourage everyone to keep up with socialising with their loved ones and friends, I don’t support dropping everything just to talk to someone. E.g If somebody wants to text while you’re in the middle of a study sesh, just say you’ll talk later.

MANAGING STRESS

Stress is an unwelcome yet common feeling we all have. No matter what’s on your plate, we tend to stress a lot, especially in a society that is going so fast and makes us feel like we’re falling behind.

To manage stress, you need to be self-aware of when you feel stressed. A lot of people actually can’t recognise when they feel stressed, and I am one of those people. Instead, I rely on mental or physical signs that tell me I’m feeling stressed out.

SIGNS OF STRESS

Unusual lack of motivation or discipline

Feeling tired constantly even if haven’t done anything exhausting

Inconvenience impacts you more

Overthinking about small things

Trouble with sleeping

Low appetite

Focusing is harder

Crying or feeling tearful over small things

This is not the complete list of symptoms, but these are the things I feel/do when I feel stressed. Stress will look different for everyone, so you need to be able to create your own list of signs when you feel stressed.

CREATING A STRESS MANAGEMENT PLAN

Creating a plan helps you to be prepared to effectively address and cope with stress. It allows you to be more productive and improves mental health when you use this plan when needed.

Here are a few steps to creating your own!

Identify stress triggers. What do you dread the most? What makes you feel drained? What do you overthink about? Answer these questions to figure out what triggers your stress.

Assess your coping strategies. Notice if you have any ways of coping that are self-destructive, as this only contributes to your stress.

Choose 1-3 activities that are fun to you and are not self-destructive. These activities do not have to be productive or beneficial, but they have to make you feel relaxed and generally feel better

Choose one relaxation technique and one self-care activity. These are up to you, as we tend to neglect self-care relaxation when we’re stressed.

Optional, but have one person who you can talk to when you’re stressed. When we are stressed, we tend to look at the smaller picture but talking to someone else helps us gain a greater perspective on the matter.

PRETTIEINPINK’S EXAMPLE PLAN

(If doing something that is my stress trigger, slot a time in the day to do my plan.)

Journal about why I’m stressed

Make a cup of strawberry and mango tea

Read a nice story while drinking tea

Guided stress meditation

Eat some fruits

Another thing when creating you plan to not restrict yourself using time. Allow yourself to take as much time as needed to alleviate yourself of stress.

EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE

Being emotionally intelligent is a skill. It is the ability to understand, process and communicate emotions effectively.

There are times when we do sometimes let our emotions take over and they dictate our actions, thoughts and words. This is why we need to build this skill, to get that control over our emotions back.

Thinking before you speak is an oldie but goodie. What we say can drastically influence the current situation for better or for worse. If you think that what you might say is rude, offensive or crude, don’t say it at all.

Also, stay quiet! I am all for standing up for yourself when being disrespected, but you need to recognise when someone is trying to rile you up... They WANT a reaction out of you. Most likely to use against you. Silently exit the situation instead.

If you are someone who gets a lot of energy from big emotions like anger, dejection, sadness, and jealousy, try to channel that energy into something that requires you to have a lot of energy and is beneficial to you. Keeping that energy in until you blow up is a no-no.

Not everyone is trying to hold you back with ill intent. People’s previous experiences can influence the advice they give to you because they have your best interest at heart. They know that their method worked, which is why they’re advising it. These types of people don’t understand that there is more than one way, but they still love you.

Avoid prolonging emotions. When you’re sad, don’t listen to depressing music. When you’re angry, don’t consume ragefuel. It’s very easy in this age of consuming to amplify therefore prolonging emotions, but it holds us back. Process it, and move on.

Stop acting on a whim. Go where your heart takes you, but reflect on it and create a plan. When you do, you end up in unfavourable circumstances. The most common one is working so hard to get to a certain point, only to realise that you don’t even like it. This is why reflection is important.

Be kind even when you’re not receiving it. Kindness is only kind when we do it out of pure love instead of personal gain. Stop expecting people to be kind to you after you’ve been kind to them. Kindness is a debt-free action.

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ghcstao3 · 8 months

Text

(x)

It’s… different, having a teammate held for a genuine interrogation, and not just for some qualifying exercise they’ve all had to participate in.

Soap and Ghost’s fight hadn’t been very fun, for as long as it had lasted. Nothing like their spars where teasing remarks were made around skillful manoeuvres, where at the end of everything they knew what limits could be pushed and what boundaries to respect. Instead it was fought dirty, viciously, and only because Soap knows Ghost was he able to stand his ground at all.

In the end, though, as the targets were detained or killed and the illegal fighting ring shut down—Soap came out victorious, when Ghost had been tranquilized.

The lighting is hardly any better in their makeshift interrogation room, but it’s enough to show Ghost’s withered state since his capture; gaunt cheeks, new scars, hollow stare. He hadn’t come into the arena with a shirt, so he doesn’t have one now—and it hurts Soap to see the outline of his ribs with every haggard breath he takes.

Soap is off in the sidelines as Price pokes and prods his lieutenant for answers—Soap had been deemed too injured to risk getting close, even when Ghost had been restrained. He holds a melting ice pack to a swollen, split lip with the one arm that hadn’t been recently dislocated and reset. He’ll admit that Ghost did a number on him.

He just prays they can get the lieutenant back.

But as the days stretch on, it gets increasingly difficult to hold onto hope. With no information, no signs of breaking, no signs of Simon—he might become a lost cause. And Soap doesn’t think he’s prepared to accept that yet.

Two weeks later, after they’ve moved location and shifted accommodations, Price resigns to finally let Soap help. He’s in much better shape, though the same can hardly be said about Ghost; he barely eats, hasn’t spoken once, and no one on the team is sure he’s really been sleeping.

Soap’s approach is slow. Ghost has already been roused and restrained yet again, perhaps only to be pushed and questioned to no avail like every other time. He barely spares Soap a glance upon his entrance into the room.

Their eyes properly meet for the first time in years when Soap kneels on the ground before Ghost, almost pleading. As if in prayer.

Simon’s eyes were always warm. They were the colour of Simon’s favourite tea, flecked with honey gold when the light hit his irises at just the right angle. Now, his gaze is frigid, his eyes nearly black. It takes everything within Soap not to mourn then and there.

“I’m sorry,” Soap murmurs. “I was supposed to have your six.”

Ghost stares at him with indifference, his attention in a faraway place. Soap misses his lieutenant now more than ever.

“I’d understand if you never forgive me,” Soap continues, itching to reach out and touch, “but I at least need you to come back, yeah? Please, Simon.”

Ghost’s jaw twitches almost imperceptibly.

Against all orders Price had given Soap, and against all training that has Soap’s instincts screaming—he leans his head against Ghost’s knee. He exhales shakily and just… sits like that, for a little while. Ghost doesn’t move, so neither does Soap, and maybe this will be the best thing the sergeant could get ever again, so he relishes.

Soap almost misses the hitch in Ghost’s own breathing, but he certainly doesn’t miss trembling, curious fingers dragging through his mohawk, now nearly overgrown. Soap freezes.

Ghost’s voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper when he speaks, but Soap’s heart is pounding loudly in his chest as he listens anyway.

Quiet, broken, and nearly inaudible, something slips from Ghost’s lips for the first time in two weeks.

“Johnny.”

#this has not been read over and it is 4am so pls overlook any mistakes #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

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shanastoryteller · 3 months

Note

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA MY ONE TRUE LOVE!!! CAN I HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS CONTENT TO MAKE MY SOUL CONTENT PLEASE ✨✨✨

There are several titles that fall under the auror. When the ministry was first established, it was just inferior and superior, meant in the Latin way, but that fell out of favor rather quickly for obvious reasons. There was some talk of adopting the ranks of a legion used by the Romans, but since such ranks are still in practice in magical Italy, it didn’t the smartest idea. Tonks thinks that it was probably a Zabini who suggested it. Now their ranks are just numbered, from fifth to first, and junior, standard, and senior.

Everyone starts the same – fifth ranked junior auror – and works their way up one by one. Training is a year and if they make it through that, they’re a junior agent who better make it up to the first rank by the end of their third year, otherwise they’re likely getting cut.

There’s a track to speed through the junior phase and get to the land of securely employed standard auror, but that’s for people that have combat or specialized experience, usually for people who aren’t entering auror training straight of school like she is. Or for when they’d needed to replenish their ranks during the war and those applying had been fighting anyway.

Which is why she’s looking in confusion at the thick roll of parchment that Shackbolt has shoved under her nose. She’s only a couple months into training and while she thinks she’s doing pretty good, she’d also tripped over her literal two left feet during the first week of boot camp. Sometimes she changes in her sleep and doesn’t notice for a while, okay? It’s not like she did it on purpose. She’s pretty good at dueling, her mother made sure of that, but they haven’t even gotten to that part yet. “I’m confused.”

“Fill this out and give it back to me by the end of the week,” he says, already turning away from her.

She makes her arm extra long so she can grab his elbow before he gets too far away. “But I don’t have anything that qualifies me! There’s no way Bones will approve this.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks down at her arm. “Are you sure about that, Trainee?”

Oh. But she hasn’t really gotten a chance to show those skills off either, and being a metamorphmagus is impressive, but not that impressive. But she does as she’s told, leaving it on his desk and trying not to think too much about it.

Bones approves it.

Being on the advanced track has it advantages – blessed job security – but it also means she just gets a jump on desk duty, really. Apparently they don’t just send newly minted aurors out to battle dark wizards to the death, for some reason.

She sighs. She’s never been very good at paperwork.

How very not good she is at is proved when during her very first week when Percy Weasley shows up at her desk, looking even more sleep deprived than he had as a runty fourteen year old, which is impressive. He’s a lot taller now. Late growth spurt, perhaps. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying that much attention. He drops a stack of paper on her desk and she recognizes her own messy scrawl. “These are filled out incorrectly. I can’t process them like this.”

Her shoulders slump. She’d tried to pull other reports and fill them out the same way, but it was all so confusing. How she’s supposed to know how to categorize these things? Why are there thirteen different codes for a house robbery, anyway? And there are so many different sections, and she wasn’t even there, she just has other people’s notes to go off of, and they take notes like she did in History of Magic.

She’s going to be here all night redoing them and they’ll probably still be wrong and Kinglsey will regret ever pushing her through the advanced track and her mother will have been right, which is really the worst of all –

“Hey,” Percy says, and she blinks several times before looking up at him so she doesn’t embarrass herself. “I can – if you’re busy, I can just,” he reaches for the papers he’s dropped on her desk.

She slaps her hand over them to stop him, but instead his hand ends up trapped beneath hers. “No! No, it’s okay, I have to learn how to do this. It’s important.”

He stares at her with a look she can’t explain. “It’s just paperwork.”

“It’s my job,” she says stubbornly, “it’s all important. I’m going to be a great auror – the best auror. And that includes my paperwork.”

He smiles at her, which is suitably distracting from her own ruined night. She doesn’t know if he’s ever smiled at her before. He’d always seemed so stoic, nothing like his brothers. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yes,” she says, freshly determined, finally lifting her hand off his. Everyone else has figured out how to do this. She can too. She will. “But thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, then, “My dad has a muggle coffee pot in his department lounge. If you want. The password is rubber duck.”

She does prefer coffee made the muggle way. That’s how it’s made in her house, of course, with her muggle father, and there’s something to the taste that she thinks coffee loses after it’s third hour of being charmed hot or squeezed through by magic instead of just hot water and a little patience.

How does Percy know that?

Before she can ask, he’s already turned and walking away from her, and she barely has the chance to shout, “Thanks!” before he turns the corner.

#hi!!#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #harry potter #lance-with-a-chance-of-anxiety #siat #the end to birthday prompts #a month late but what are you going to do

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fairy-writes · 2 months

Note

Hello!! I really like u and think ur really cool! Can I request an rivals to lovers with hoshina? Like you've been rivals ever since high school and noticed that you both become a part of the defense force at the same time and the rivalry grew stronger and then like you've heard the other officers talking bad things about him and then instantly defended him since you acknowledge him as someone who is strong and wouldn't let anyone bad mouth about him despite being rivals and then he heard it

once again i really really really love u and have this friend crush on u <33

ONE-SIDED CONFLICT

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Rivals

Notes: Not my best work, but I don’t really know how to write Rivals to Lovers rip

I really hope you enjoy it, at least a little bit! Thanks for reading! <3

__________________________________________________________________________

Your rivalry with Hoshina Soshiro was more of a one-sided conflict. Well… that wasn’t explicitly true. He just got under your skin a lot more than you got under his. He always watched you with that shit-eating grin on his face, like he was watching something amusing.

And that aggravated you.

But… Nothing aggravated you more than people smack-talking him.

“Can you believe it?”

“I can’t!”

“Why would they bother letting someone with blades be a Vice-Captain?”

“I’ll bet you 1000 yen that he bribed his way to that position.”

You clench your hand around your coffee mug until it nearly cracks as you hear your fellow members of the Third Division talking about the newest Vice-Captain.

Hoshina Soshiro.

The very name gets your blood boiling and your heart racing. You were both blade users in the Defense Force. Perhaps some of the only ones. You were the only ones to primarily use blades. Sure, you could use guns and heavy artillery if the situation called for it. But there was something about slicing through kaiju flesh that gave you a certain thrill.

It also didn’t help that you and Hoshina had some sort of ‘rivalry’ going on. It wasn’t outright declared, but seeing as you two came from different clans that specialized in kaiju slaying, the odds were pitted against you from the start.

It was always, “Look at what Hoshina Soshiro accomplished!” and never, “Good job at rising through the ranks!” So perhaps that contributed to your upbringing and the need to take him down. But even so, you could acknowledge his skill and prowess with the katana and even more so with slaying kaiju.

Which is why it made you so angry to see other people try to tear him down.

Your coffee mug actually cracked when you flexed your fingers and started leaking said coffee all over the table. But you paid it no mind.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” You snap at your teammates, and they look at you dumbly. Almost like they can’t believe someone is standing up for Vice-Captain Hoshina.

He was just that, your Vice-Captain.

They should respect him.

“I’m sorry?” One of your teammates asks incredulously, and you roll your eyes.

“He obviously earned that position. So you should respect that. He wouldn’t be our Vice-Captain if he wasn’t qualified!”

“Perfectly said, Platoon Leader.” You flinch, duck your head out of reflex, and turn to see the man you had been talking about.

Hoshina Soshiro is watching you with that same shit-eating grin he always has on his face. He studies you with a calm expression. As if he didn’t care about what others were saying. And maybe he didn’t. But you certainly did.

Everyone turns back to their meals with quiet grumbles, but no one says what they had been saying to his face. He jerks his head to the side for you to follow him. So, you begrudgingly get up and follow after, leaving your cracked coffee mug and spill behind.

You follow your new Vice-Captain down the hall until you reach his new office. He leaves the door cracked open to give you an escape. That was the peculiar thing about him. He always gave you an escape from whatever you were doing. Whether that was sparring with him or studying together, he always gave you an out.

Hoshina claimed it was to preserve your dignity when he whooped your ass in whatever competition you competed in. But, more often than not, you didn’t need an out.

Because most competitions ended in draws between the two of you.

“Vice-Captain?” You ask, mildly confused when he comes to a stop before the large windows behind his desk that overlook the Third Division base. Captain Ashiro’s is a floor above his, but his office is still impressive in its own right.

“Y’know, fightin’ with your fellow teammates isn’t the best idea.” He said, and you huffed,

“It was hardly a fight.” You grumble, and he turns, his eyebrow arched and a look on his face that screams, “Really?”.

“We both know that infamous temper of yours would’ve gotten you into more trouble than was worth.” He borderline teased, and you can feel your ears burn with embarrassment.

He knew you well. That was one of the downsides of being rivals with him since high school. He knew all your tricks and tics just like you knew his.

“If I may, Vice-Captain—”

“Soshiro.” He cuts you off, and you stare stupidly, almost not comprehending the words that just came out of his mouth. But you gather yourself and push on,

“Fine, Soshiro. If I may, they shouldn’t be talking about you like that, regardless of how you feel. You’re pretty incredible with a blade, and they should respect that.”

Hoshina—no, Soshiro—stares at you almost as stupidly as you felt, eyes cracked open slightly in shock.

Then he begins to laugh.

And laugh.

“I think that’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me!” He wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye as he composes himself and leans his hands on his desk. Your ears and face burn, and you very nearly accept defeat and make your escape when he approaches you from around his desk.

He stops just before you, staring you in the eye with that same stupid grin on his face.

“How about we meet outside work, and you can tell me how incredible I am?” He teases, and you just nod idiotically. Captain Ashiro knocks on his office door and enters, saying something about the reports she needed for the latest meeting. You are then dismissed.

You stop outside his office and lean on the wall, cupping your burning cheeks.

Did you just agree to a date?

#hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 x you #kn8 x y/n #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no 8 #fairy writes

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moonstruckme · 9 months

Note

Omg I have another weird request. So I get really bad gas bubbles in my tummy, like to the point of curling up and crying. So what helps is tummy rubs. Can you do a cute thing with doctor remmy since he would know this and like not even care about the burps or toots 🫣🫣 it’s so embarrassing but it happens all the time mostly after I eat and I just want comforting hands of doctor Remus 🥺💕

Thanks for requesting love!

cw: stomach pains, mention of gas bubbles, and implied belching and passing gas

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 618 words

You hear Remus come home, but you can’t make yourself call out a greeting. You’re curled up on the couch, using the butt of your palm to try and push out the pain and gritting your teeth through the largely unrewarding process. You turned on the TV when you first laid down, but you can’t focus on it enough to distract yourself.

“Dove?” Remus’ voice moves from the kitchen into the living room, his footfalls quiet. Then he’s towering over the back of the couch, concern a line between his brows. It digs in when he sees you.

“Hi,” you manage.

“Hi, honey.” His voice stretches with a weighty compassion. He rounds the couch to sit by your feet, hand landing atop your curled legs. “Stomach bothering you again?”

You hum miserably. This is the worst kind of pain, in your opinion. Not harsh or biting, but buried deep, throbbing and tender like a bruise.

“C’mere,” Remus says, scooting closer to you and worming his hand in between your stomach and your thighs.

“Sorry,” you say, voice nearly breaking on a sob. He’s only just gotten home from work, and you’ve already given him a task he didn’t ask for. It’s hardly a sexy thing to come home to.

“Don’t be,” he replies softly, sliding his hand underneath yours on your belly. You slip yours out to let him work.

Remus’ hands are slightly cold from the chill outside, but they warm quickly, gentle but resolute as he applies a careful pressure to the bubbles inside your stomach. He’s far kinder than you had been, easing the bubbles out rather than punishing them. His slender fingers are deft and skillful. You find yourself relaxing even before the hurt has begun to lessen.

A belch rises up in your throat before you can warn him. You squeeze your eyes shut in mortification. “Jesus. Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” Remus says, bending over you to kiss the side of your neck lightly. His hand continues to knead at your stomach with a gentle lovingness. “That’s a good thing. Does it feel better?”

“A little.” You give him a wan smile. You wish you felt well enough to sit up and kiss him back. Your poor boyfriend hasn’t even had time to take off his scrubs; you definitely owe him a cup of tea after this, at the very least.

“Good.” The word eases off his tongue warm and buttery, and the smile he gives you in return is just as comforting. “I can see you thinking, lovely girl. You’re feeling poorly enough, don’t torment yourself extra.”

You cringe as another gas bubble escapes you. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet,” you say guiltily. “If I were you, my appetite would be ruined.”

Remus hums. “Well then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not me.” He grins, reaching up with his free hand to cup the back of your head. His thumb draws circles into your temple. “My appetite will be fine, dove. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I was squeamish, hm? Anyway, I couldn’t eat if I knew you were hurting. Helping you helps me.”

You burp again, more of the pain tingling out of you as you finally begin to relax. “I’m writing to the Vatican,” you sigh. “You need to be considered for sainthood.”

Remus laughs. It’s a rare, hearty sound, loud and deep and chest-tightening. You think that you’re lucky it hadn’t happened before he’d set to work on your stomach; you’re not sure your body would have been able to handle it.

“I’m not sure I’d qualify,” he admits, considering you with his tongue stuck in his cheek, “but I appreciate the thought, dove.”

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caesium-55 · 6 months

Text

—everything is orange. [ iii ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

masterlist.

“Are you feeling better now?” Lando asks, concern marring his handsome features. True to his words, he comes by your hotel room after he finishes the qualifying race. You don't expect him to. The race ended quite late in the evening and you're sure he has to prepare for tomorrow but he's knocking on your door by quarter to twelve and you let him in. He’ll start tomorrow in fourth position, he told you. You acted pleasantly surprised at his revelation as if you didn't watch an illegal livestream of the race on your phone earlier.

“Yeah,” you nod.

He lets out a relieved sigh, hand coming up to his chest, “Oh thank fuck. I was worried.”

“By the way, thank you for driving me home last night. I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“Did Jinnie tell you that?”

“No, it's in X. They saw you carrying me to your car.”

Your sleeping face on camera is going to haunt your dreams forever. The oily skin and your mouth hanging open. You don't sleep pretty. Knetizens like playing god, smiting everything not pretty, especially celebrities. You're not checking out Naver lately because you're scared of finding what's there.

“Were you doing something? I can leave if you're busy.”

“It's nothing important,” you wave your hand dismissively. “Just working on a song.”

Lando’s eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“You produce songs?”

You nod, humming.

“The reason I agreed to this PR stunt is to get publicity for my upcoming single,” you explain. You assume Lando already knows about it, the real reason why you're here. Despite that, you still tell him anyway. “Wanna hear it, boyfriend?”

“I didn't know you produce songs.”

“Well, now you know.”

He laughs at the dryness of your tone.

“Well, I’m glad you offered. I wouldn't mind listening.”

“It's all just basic melodies. Nothing concrete.”

You hand him a headphone.

“So you’re like KPop Charlie Puth?”

Lando takes the headphone.

“Please, I can't even compare to his producing skills.”

You press play on Demo_42.

You order hotel service food because he tells you he hasn't eaten and while you both finish the bowls of noodles, you converse with each other. Talking with Lando is easy, you find out. He knows how to keep the conversation alive and going despite the fact that you don't have much to say most of the time, that you frequently speak with finality. You praise him during the conversation once. He says he’s got practice from his teammate, who, like you, is a man of few words. He decides it is time to go back to his hotel at 2:50 AM.

“Thank you for today, boyfriend,” you say and if you sound too sincere, you like to think it’s because you’re a good actress.

A flustered laugh escapes his throat.

“I like the sound of that, girlfriend.”

A pause.

“I think I learned a lot about you today,” he scratches his nose and moves his hands as if he doesn't know what to do with them. “Thanks. For that.”

You wave your hand dismissively, as if to tell him that you don't need his thanks.

“Drive safe.”

“Good night, girlfriend.”

The WAG wardrobe of the day consisted of a Dsquared2 black suited jumpsuit and Versace crystal medusa ‘95 sandals of the same color. For accessories, you go with silver. Rings are your staple and earrings to pair. You don't wear a necklace.

When you reach for your racer jacket, a personal favorite that you think will absolutely be the highlight of your outfit with its white-red-black color combo, Jinnie stops you.

“Wear the McLaren one,” she orders, pointing at the McLaren jacket that sits on the couch. Orange. Bright. Easy to notice. It's almost as if it’s begging for attention.

You grimace.

“No.”

“[Name],” Jinnie’s voice holds warning. You ignore it. Obedience is not your strong suit.

“No.”

Despite your insistence, you end up leaving the racer jacket at the hotel and bringing the tacky McLaren one to the paddock. You secretly brought a black blazer and shove it inside your shoulder bag, which caused the bag to look like a Minecraft block. You pout childishly in the backseat of the car. You don't like orange.

“Stop pouting.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You hear Jinnie sigh, exasperated.

“I can't with you sometimes.”

You ask Jinnie to drive by a coffee shop. You tell her what you wanted to get—an iced Americano with five shots of espresso and Lando’s coffee—and she leaves to buy it while you stay inside the car and patiently wait for her to return. She insisted on getting the coffee herself and you do not dare to complain. You like it this way anyway.

Jinnie, like the day of the FP1, drops you off at the same parking lot. You hop off the car.

“Text me when you need help. I’ll be nearby.”

You give her a thumbs up and Jinnie drives off.

It's night time but you pull a pair of sunglasses on, toss a ball cap over your head, and a face mask to cover the rest of your face. The McLaren jacket is tied around your shoulders. You don't want to wear it but Jinnie insists it has to be on your being. You're waiting for an opportunity to take it off, perhaps at the garage. You can strategically leave it on an empty chair or any flat surface and act like you have forgotten it.

You carry your phone in your right hand, your paddock pass and a paper zarf with two takeout coffees in the left. You send a quick message to Lando.

you: here

He replies not even three seconds later.

lando: coming

lando: same place?

you: okk heading there now

you: you reply fast

you: do you always hold your phone while in the garage?

lando: it's either i reply fast or i reply a week later take your pick

You let out an amused snort and lock your phone. You begin walking.

You freeze mid-step. The path you took on the day of the FP1 is filled with people. It's not supposed to be this crowded. This is a place far away from the stands and the track and the general admission area. It's also a good distance away from the team garages and the food stalls. It shouldn't be this crowded.

Your hands begin to tremble and become clammy. You lower your head, gaze fixing on the cement pathwalk. The people haven't noticed that it's you. At least, not yet. That's good. You can still leave and hide.

This is not what we planned, says your conscience. You're not a coward. Why are you running away like one?

I’m not a coward. If you say it as many times as you can, perhaps it will become the truth.

You turn around but begin to hesitate midway as you remember something.

Lando’s on his way. You can't leave now.

You swallow hard and turn back up front slowly. You let out a shaky breath and force your heart to become steady. You clench your hands into fists in an attempt to get them to start shaking.

They can't see my face, you assure yourself mentally.

Your hands, now fists, are still trembling.

I can do this.

You walk into the den of lions, not looking back even once. You take deep breaths underneath your mask. Inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth; it's not going well for you. The longer you perform the breathing exercises, the more you think you're going to end up with a public meltdown.

They're all looking at you.

You can feel their collective gazes.

“Is that her?” you hear someone murmur. Your shoulders turn tense but you keep walking.

“It’s her, right?”

“I don't think so. She could be just a random fan.”

“Wait, look at the jacket. It has Lando’s last name stitched at the hem.”

A loud gasp, “Is that his personal jacket?”

“That's her! That's [Name]!”

Someone snatches your cap. Your eyes widen. You hurriedly turn your head to the side. Your sunglasses fly off at the abrupt movement. Your panic intensifies and you feel the air in your lungs running away and your throat closing up. The same way the crowd closes up on you. None of them even grant you the mercy of leaving a tiny gap for you to escape through. You are but a sheep in a den of lions about to be slaughtered.

You see faces and the backs of phones all pointing at you. They're all screaming your name, excitement apparent in their loud voices. You don't understand any other word they're saying, only your name. The chanting of [Name], [Name], [Name]; the tone slowly shifts into eerie the longer you listen to it.

They hate you.

They always do.

If this exact situation you're in happened two years ago, before the scandal, you would have adored the attention. You know how to handle a crowd confidently, the best at it among all the members of ORACLE if you dare say so.

But now, the attention is just….

You want nothing more than to hide from it.

No matter how you try to convince yourself that you can handle it, that you can handle when everybody looks at you, you can’t. You try to control how your mind thinks but ultimately, it is your mind that controls your entire being.

Someone snatches the face mask off your face before you can stop them. Now, you feel too naked, too bare. You slap a hand over the lower half of your face, dropping the coffee cups and your paddock pass down on the ground. You hiss when the coffee burns your feet. A chorus of surprised yelps. A few curse words are thrown in the air. Because of the spilled coffee, the crowd parts. You see a space and you waste no time weaving yourself from the people to try and leave.

The gap disappears when a person blocks it and you halt in your steps, almost colliding with the person. Your chin snaps up and your eyes widen, terrified, when Kang Geon Ho’s familiar face smiles at you. Kang Geon Ho, the sun to your Icarus, the one responsible for your downfall.

“Smile, [Name].”

A camera lens appear. The camera clicks just as a hand comes up to block it. Before you know it, the camera is wrenched away from your face.

“Fuck off, mate. That's too close.”

You’ve never never been more relieved seeing Lando there again.

The crowd grows impossibly louder. You have to cover your ears with your hands so the sheer volume of everyone’s screams won't damage your eardrums. Your eyes met Lando’s worried ones. He's frowning, you notice. You see his mouth move. He's talking to you, but you're not hearing anything and you can't read his lips either. You figure he’s asking you if you want to leave with him so you nod, a little too eagerly.

You don't expect him to throw you over his shoulder and make a run for it, a surprised scream already making its way out of your throat as your hands grip his hair so you won't fall.

username: livetweeting from the paddock rn and i think i just witnessed smth bizarre. i think i just saw a driver (or was it a mechanic??? idk really) running with someone on their shoulder

username: is there a kidnapping going on inside the paddock??

username: girl it's lando and his girl

username: what 😭😭

Your chest rises and falls in quick breaths as you try to catch your breath. You're leaning against the wall, both hands pressing flat against the wall for support. Spots are invading your visions, not disappearing even after finally standing upright. The bright orange color of the walls isn’t helping you either. You think you're going to lose consciousness or vomit your brunch or both.

“I think she needs to sit down,” the brunette sweetheart says. She was already in the garage when Lando pulled up with you in tow, locking hands with the guy you recognized as Lando’s teammate. It's a no-brainer. She's another WAG like you.

“No thank you,” you say in between heavy breaths. You start coughing. Lando rubs your back in soothing circles. “I’m fine. Just… I’m anemic.”

You need to start fixing your sleep schedule at your earliest convenience. Need to start exercising, too. You're not even this unfit before.

“Lando, mate, come on,” Oscar berates. “Is your IQ a single digit number?”

“I was just trying to get her out, mate!” Lando defends himself.

Oscar’s girlfriend shakes her head at the two. She draws closer to you, taking your hand in hers and pulls you away from the busy part of the garage and towards the back.

“I think it's best if we move someone less crowded, hm?”

You hear Lando protesting but you don't bother glancing back at him as Oscar coaxes him.

The girl makes you sit down in a monoblock chair she found, hands you a battery-operated mini fan that she conjured from inside her tote bag, and takes the empty space beside you.

“Are you thirsty?” You shake your head.

“Just dizzy,” you sigh. “Thank you, uh….”

“It's Lily,” she smiles. Lily is such a perfect name for a girl as sweet as her. You dip your chin to a light bow.

“I’m [Name].”

You and Lily watch the race together. She is pleasant company. She only talks when she needs to, which makes you happy because you’re not a person who’s particularly fond of chit chat. You don't hide your confusion as you both spectate the races projected on the large screen; you don't know what's happening for half the race. Lily is kind enough to explain everything to you. You know, you can tell if someone is intelligent when they are able to dumb down complicated information and explain it to another person where the information is easily understandable. Lily is definitely an intelligent woman.

“You're so…” you try to find the right word. “... Knowledgeable at this. Like not just the race and rules but the engines and cars and—”

You move your hand and hope it conveys what you're trying to say.

Lily giggles, “I’m studying engineering so I understand how the cars work. Most of the time, at least.

Your mouth forms an O, amazed.

She’s the type of woman you’d bring home to meet your parents. Oscar, that lucky motherfucker. You turn your gaze back to the monitor.

“You?”

You chuckle nervously, “I-I didn't finish uni.”

“I’m not finished with university either,” Lily says and you appreciate the underlying message in her words—there’s nothing to be ashamed about if you didn't finish uni. But here's the difference between you and Lily. She's going to finish uni some day. You're never going to.

South Korea is known for their high standards in education and you once received backlash when you shared that you only finished a year and one semester in university before dropping out.

“Psychology,” you tell her. “One year and one sem.”

“Psychology is such an interesting program.”

“Yeah.” It's the only course that the scholarship program you applied to is willing to offer to you. You didn't choose it because you wanted to. You were so poor you don't even have the luxury of a choice. “Agreed.”

You continue watching.

“Oh that was smart of him,” you note. “The red one. He’s going to win.”

“Ferrari?”

“Yeah. The one in front of Lando,” you point out.

“I think Lando can overtake him. Or maybe one of the Mercedes since they got fresh tires while the first two are still using their old ones.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but the red one slowed down slightly until Lando was one second behind him. Then, Lando activated the DRS—that’s called a DRS, right?” Lily nods in confirmation. “And then that, uh… buffered the DRS of the fast black car behind Lando. So with that, Lando is able to defend his place but since he’s busy defending his place, he can't overtake the red car at the front.”

Giving yourself an advantage in the guise of helping someone. You rub your fingertips together in thought.

“Only three laps left. He’s going to win. Lando will either come second or third.”

“You’re quick at this,” Lily compliments.

You shrug nonchalantly despite feeling suddenly shy on the inside at the praise, “I try.”

“They used to be teammates, by the way.”

“Who?”

“Carlos and Lando.”

“Oh.”

You turn out to be right. The red car—the Ferrari and its driver, Carlos Sainz—wins the Singapore Grand Prix. Lando is a close second. Everyone inside the garage screams in pure ecstasy when he crosses the finish line and the checkered flag waves above the livery. You and Lily stand to clap your hands, happy for Lando. Lily’s boyfriend finishes seventh and you clap your hands for her, happy for her and her boy.

“Let's go to the podium, boys!”

You and Lily sit back down on your chairs so you can watch the ceremony on the screen but a mechanic comes by, tugs your arm, and says, “Come on! Your boyfriend is on the podium!”

Your eyes widen and you glance back at Lily, who grins widely at you and waves her hand encouragingly. Go, she mouths. You gulp and bend your head low as you make your way out of the garage and into the open. You lost your cap, your face mask, and your sunglasses at the earlier incident so you feel too bare. You want to go back to the garage. The garage is safer.

But you know full well that the world will question your absence. Why wouldn't a WAG support her boyfriend on the podium? They’d doubt your relationship and that's the last thing you need to happen right now.

You purse your lips and follow the other McLaren mechanics, speed walking while they all jog. You watch the awarding at the front row, strategically standing near a tall McLaren aerodynamic engineer so you can hide behind him once you see a camera panning in your direction.

Lando shines on top. Even if he's only second, he shines as if he’s the race winner. You're proud of him. You’re not acting this time.

You slowly clap your hands and smile in a way a girlfriend does when his boyfriend does something incredible—lovingly and in awe. All the people in McLaren watch Lando with proud faces.

He’s loved, you realize. Very much so. By his entire team. He’s his team’s prince. That's why they worked so hard in protecting him to the point that they'll hire a fake girlfriend to kill the rumors that damaged his reputation. And when a team loves their prince, the prince shines.

You used to be like this, too. HAN Ent used to love you like this. Not anymore.

He meets your eyes and they look gray and you notice how they widen slightly as if he didn't expect you to be here. Then, he grins, lifting the bottle of champagne as if he’s trying to show it to you. You give him a thumbs up and laugh, covering your face as you do so.

You return to the garage after the ceremony and the fireworks display. You and Lily wait patiently together for your boyfriends—your fake boyfriend but boyfriend nonetheless; you’re unsure if Lily and Oscar and any other McLaren staff employee besides the PR team are aware of the nature of your relationship with Lando—to finish the formalities of a post-race. The podiums, the interviews, and whatnot.

When they enter the garage, Lily immediately goes straight to Oscar, who meets her halfway and engulfs her in a tight hug. Your heart softens.

You turn to Lando who stands closely behind Oscar. He's looking at Oscar and Lily before he trails his gaze to you. Shrugging his shoulders, he opens his arms. You raise a single questioning brow.

“Come on, girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You're sweaty.”

“You don't see Lily complaining that Oscar’s sweaty.”

Lando inches towards you. You take a cautious step back.

“Lando, no.”

A mischievous glint appears in his eyes. You prepare yourself to make a run for it.

“Lando, no. LANDO!”

He breaks out into a sprint. Naturally, you also make a run for it, not wanting to hug a very sweaty Lando.

You tire yourself quickly and your heels put you in a great disadvantage. Naturally, Lando catches in his arms in just a few minutes. You struggle against his arms at first then later, you resign to your fate despite not liking the feeling of sticky and damp skins. You're not the fittest person and Lando is a high-performance athlete; you fought a losing game.

“Oh, right,” Lando pulls away but still remains holding your wrists. “The team is planning to celebrate tonight. Do you want to come with me?”

With me, you note. Not with us but with me.

“Raincheck?” You're not sure if you’re using the right word in the right context. Hence, the questioning tone.

“Not a party girl, aren't you?”

You shake your head, “I prefer working in my hotel room anyway.”

“Oh right…. The song….”

“Mhm, the song.”

Lando glances at your surroundings. The mechanics are packing up everything now.

“I mean, I can miss the party.”

You raise a brow, confused.

“Why would you want to miss the party? You're second place today.”

Lando makes a weird noise that sounds like it's between an amused laugh and a disappointed groan, “Don't remind me. But yeah, I can miss it. Oscar already went with Lily anyway. I think it'll be suspicious if I spend the night partying instead of going with you, am I right, girlfriend?”

You roll your eyes, though not unkindly. He is right, you suppose.

“Besides, PR scheduled a hard launch today.”

Ah, dreadful hard launches. You need to make a new Instagram account just for Lando when you return to the hotel. It's a drag. You’ve never operated Instagram since 2021. You’ve kept burner accounts in Tiktok and X, formerly Twitter, but never Instagram. Not since the scandal.

“Okay."

Lando grins with glee.

“Come on, girlfriend.”

username1: IT’S CONFIRMED GUYS IT'S CONFIRMED

username2: AAAAAAHHHH F1TV HARDLAUNCHING THEIR RELATIONSHIP BEFORE ANY OF THEM CONFIRMS

username3: lando already did

username4: by accident 😭 does it even count as a hard launch

Lando snorts audibly from his place on the couch. You look up from your laptop and send him a confused look. You're inside your hotel room again, enjoying the silence while basking in each other's presence.

He shows you the tweet, making you cringe when you see your face on the screen.

“Did McLaren Racing tell them I was your partner?”

“I think so, yeah.”

You sigh.

“Well, it's nice to know they told everyone for us. At least, we don't have to do it ourselves.”

“Do I even need to hard launch you now?”

You shrug.

username5: lando wins p2 and girlie’s reaction was like:

username6: lmaooo why does she look so angry she be squinting at everything 😤 gurl never beating the bitchy allegations

username7: what kind of wag is this? she should just go back to south korea fr idk what lando sees in her

LandoNorris: Hi! To clarify, my girlfriend’s default face is angry but she's not angry, she's just confused. and she’s squinting because of astigmatism. She actually isn't sure what's happening because everything is so fast for her.

LandoNorris: And she's holding her bangs so it wouldn't fly away in the wind lol. She forgot to spray it this morning. Please don't misunderstand thanks.

username6: LANDO???

username8: lmao lando be suddenly remembering that he has a twt acc just to tell people not to badmouth his girl

username9: MORE LOWQUAL [NAME] SCREENSHOTS

username10: ugh she looks so annoying and fake fr

username11: get a life

Lando reports the hate tweet before he shows you your pictures.

“Your bangs are so thick. It's like you’re hiding a dozen secrets in there.”

You snort, “I might be.”

“What secrets?”

In the most serious, no nonsense tone you can muster, you say, “I killed my mother.”

Lando laughs.

username12: LANDO CAN YOU FIGHT BARK BARK

LandoNorris: 🤺🤺🤺

username13: i want lando’s girl 😭😭😭

LandoNorris: well too bad, she doesn't want you, she wants me

username14: LMAO CANT BELIEVE IM SEEING JEALOUS LANDO

username15: rip fuckboi lando, hello loyal and protective bf lando

LandoNorris: Well, cat’s out of the bag now 🤷

LandoNorris: But I'm still not very happy with what happened earlier before the race. Our relationship might be out now but it doesn't make it okay for all of you to gather around [Name] like what happened today. I sincerely ask everyone to respect us.

“Oh, that's a sick beat," Lando lifts his head.

“Sick?”

“I mean it's good. Good sick. Not like sick sick, fever sick.”

He’s saying the word “sick” a little too much.

“Woo, that wasn't very cool of me.”

“You're lucky I’m fake dating you even if you’re uncool.”

“Uh, rude?”

A phone ring interrupts you both. It's not yours.

Lando stands from the couch and walks away to answer the call on the balcony. You continue tweaking the bits. It still doesn't sound like it's worthy to be a single. This song has to be perfect. It doesn't have to be SOTY material, it just has to be the song. You have to make a mark to gain your relevance in the KPop industry back.

Lando comes back, his phone against his ear.

“Do you mind helping me out, baby?”

“What is it?” you ignore the way your heart wavers slightly because of the “baby.” It's not the word. You're used to hearing people call sweet pet names. It's just the way he utters it. You can't find a few accurate words to describe it. Affectionate? Soft? Real.

“My family kinda….wants to see you?” He pulls the phone away from his ear and covers the microphone of the gadget with his hand. He whispers: “They don't know we're fake dating and they just saw the race.”

“Oh,” you hurriedly fix yourself, straightening your hair and setting your laptop aside. Family wasn't in the list of the people allowed to know of the PR stunt. You're not surprised that Lando didn't tell them. However, you still didn't expect them to call their son over this. “Video call or…?”

“Video.”

You nod. You hurriedly smooth out the creases of your top.

“Do I look perfect now?”

“Beautiful.”

You give him a look. You won't accept anything less than perfect.

“You look okay, [Name].”

“I’m going to get my powder—”

Lando grabs your elbow, “No, you’re already beautiful. You don't need to reapply. Oh, look, hey Mum!”

Your eyes widen and you cover the lower half of your face with your palm as Lando moves the phone so the two of you can be seen on the screen. You shyly wave and his mother proceeds to scream. You jump slightly.

“Sorry, that was your sister.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head.

“You have a sister?” you whisper-ask.

“Yeah,” he holds up two fingers. “Two younger ones. They're Corales.”

Your eyes widen. Corale is the fandom of ORACLE. (You hate this name but that's what the company decided.)

“You're serious.”

“Dead serious,” Lando says. “That's why they called immediately. You're Cisca’s bias. Flo is OT7.”

You gape. You can't believe you're hearing this.

“I—”

Your surprise turns into horror. Lando's sisters are definitely aware of your scandal. As fans of ORACLE, they're certainly updated about it.

Shit.

“Let me talk to her. Let me talk to her. Oh my god, hiiiiii.”

You force yourself to smile and shyly wave at his sister. She squeals, excited.

“OH MY GOD, LANDO YOU FINALLY DID SOMETHING RIGHT IN YOUR LIFE.”

“Hey!” Lando barks. “Can you at least act like you respect me in front of my girlfriend please? Jeez, Cisca.”

“Let me see her—Oh my god, I will cry. Annyeong [Name]-unnie! Eotteohge jinaeseyo? Dangsin-eun neomu yeppeuda!”

You chuckle softly, “Hi, I’m doing well. Thank you for asking.”

“Your Korean is terrible.”

“Shut up, Kinder.”

“I think your Korean is wonderful. Lando is just being mean,” you say, making Lando gasp as if your words offended him. “I love your hair.”

She squeals again, delighted.

“She noticed my hair! Oh my god! I went to the salon today just to talk to you! Wait, you’re speaking English?”

“I can speak English, yes.”

You turn to Lando, “What’s her name again?”

“Cisca.”

“Cisca,” you repeat slowly, testing how it sounds from your tongue.

“She said my name!”

You chuckle.

“Kinder, you are never ever allowed to mess this up! If you break up with her, I'm going to break your legs."

Cisca gets shoved away and another girl replaces her on the screen. Ah, she must be Flo, you think. She and Cisca look alike.

“Hi [Name]!”

“Hi Flo.”

“Have I already told you I loved you?”

You're unsure how to respond, “Thank you?”

“That's enough,” Lando decides, moving the phone away. You hear a series of protests.

“No, no, that’s enough.”

“Don't gatekeep your girlfriend!”

Lando, like a brat, sticks his tongue out to the camera, “I will do whatever I want.”

“Is she going to be in Suzuka? I’m flying to Suzuka! I need to see her!”

“Bye Flo, bye Cisca, bye Mum. Tell Dad and Oliver I said hi.”

“Kinder!”

Lando playfully sticks out his tongue towards the phone and ends the call.

You can't help but feel relieved. You expected them to hate you. But they didn't. So you're grateful.

“That wasn't very nice. They still wanted to talk.”

“No. They just wanted to fangirl.”

You shake your head at him.

“By the way, you’re coming to Suzuka, right? With me?”

He said with me instead of with us again.

“When is that again?”

You can't remember dates very well.

“The 24th.”

“The FP1?”

“No, the FP1’s on the 22nd.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, “I have to go back to Seoul and talk to Yoon PD-nim.”

Further discussions about the whole agreement and situation has to be made. He sent you to Singapore only a day after accepting Yoon PD-nim's proposal. He didn't elaborate on the situation enough but has promised to explain after Singapore.

“I’ve never been to South Korea before.”

“You should come and visit then," you say, nonchalant.

“Okay, I’ll tell my manager I’m flying with you.”

You blink.

“Heh?”

Koreaboo: Former member of ORACLE, [Name] spotted today at Incheon International Airport with Formula One Racer boyfriend after the Singapore Grand Prix. Click the link to read more about this news.

koreabooo.com

“So you brought the boy along?”

“He brought himself.”

A heavy sigh goes past Yoon PD-nim’s lips. He lowers the paper in his hand to his desk. It's the revised contract with McLaren.

“What did they think about this?”

He’s referring to the contract.

“This isn't what was initially planned.”

“I know.”

“How did you get them to agree with your terms?”

Your terms, you note. His choice of words only remind you how alone you really are. The company is sending you as a soldier to a war you don't know how to navigate into and will do nothing to help you. They'll only wait for you to come back, either as a corpse or as a victor. If you return a corpse, they’ll dump you. Your contract is going to end in less than eleven months, it’ll be easy for them to do so. If you return a victor, they’ll reap all the benefits you sowed. You noticed a new McLaren in the parking lot today. Yoon PD-nim is already reaping benefits. If you're lucky, the only benefit you’ll get after this is a solo debut promotion and a contract extension.

“I did what I could."

You pushed a bluff and hoped it would go your way. Fortunately, it did go your way.

A proud smile appears on Yoon PD-nim's lips.

“I knew I was right in choosing you.”

He can never be so wrong.

A knock on the door ruins your concentration, causing you to draw a stray jagged line on the paper. You sigh, muttering a shibal beneath your breath. You do a quick glance on the time projected in your laptop—11:31 PM. You assume it’s Min Hee, a member of ORACLE who promised to come by earlier after her rehearsal for her solo in the upcoming MAMA Awards in November. It's still quite early to start practicing for the award show but Minhee always liked doing things in advance. When you open the door, your eyes widen.

It's not Minhee.

“Lando?”

#lando norris #f1 x reader #fluff #formula one #f1 imagines #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 #kpop idol! reader

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