#soft and quiet 2022 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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The Alpine McLaren Fiasco

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: The Alpine - McLaren Fiasco…and Felicity Piastri’s hand in it. (Or: why multiple F1 team principals are terrified of Oscar’s wife.) Set in the Summer of 2022.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The pen in Oscar’s hand felt heavier than it should’ve.

Zak was across the table, nodding. The contract was crisp, the numbers bold. The McLaren badge printed at the top of the page gleamed in the light.

He was about to sign to a Formula One seat.

It should’ve felt like adrenaline. Like fireworks. Like victory.

It was a seat. An opportunity. A shot at doing what he loved.

But Oscar’s thoughts weren’t on the track. They weren’t even on the car.

They were with Felicity. And Bee.

In that too-small apartment in Enstone with the leaky kitchen tap and the one bedroom that doubled as a nursery and an office and a place where Felicity folded laundry between uni assignments.

He thought of how Felicity had taped Bee’s drawings to the side of the fridge because they didn’t have enough wall space.

How she tiptoed around her own life so Oscar could chase his dream.

How she never once complained.

Not when they had to squeeze Bee’s crib into the corner. Not when she had to stack books on the floor because there wasn’t a bookshelf. Not even when the neighbor’s dog barked through Bee’s naps and the heat didn’t work half the winter.

She’d just kissed him good luck each morning and said, "We’ll get through this. We always do."

Oscar looked down at the contract again.

It wasn’t just a deal. It was a door.

A way out. A way forward.

A house with a garden where Bee could run barefoot. A kitchen big enough for Felicity to hum and dance and bake without balancing the baby monitor on top of a stack of unopened mail.

Space. Safety. A future.

He signed.

Zak smiled and shook his hand. Someone said something about celebrating.

But all Oscar could think about was going home.

Not to the apartment — to them.

To Felicity. To Bee.

To tell them that the next chapter had just started. That this dream he’d been chasing — this seat, this opportunity — wasn’t just for him.

It was theirs.

He’d come home with takeout, he decided. From that noodle place Felicity liked, the one too expensive to justify often but always worth it. He’d pick up Bee’s favorite yogurt. And maybe a tiny plant for the windowsill — something green and alive.

Because they’d be moving soon.

Because McLaren wasn’t just a team.

It was the key to building the life he’d promised them.

And for the first time in months, Oscar let himself breathe.

Not for the racing. For home.

The apartment was dark when Oscar slipped through the door. The kind of dark that came with soft exhaustion — not nightfall, just drawn curtains and a tired toddler finally sleeping.

He closed the door gently behind him, careful with the handle so it wouldn’t creak, and toed off his shoes without a sound.

The hallway was cramped, the kind of too-narrow that made it impossible to pass Bee’s drying artwork on the walls without brushing it. The kind of space that didn’t feel like it was built to hold a family — just borrowed time.

It had never been enough.

He found Felicity in the living room. She was sitting on the old sofa, knees tucked to her chest, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning her frame. The television was on low, but she wasn’t watching it. Just sitting there, staring at the quiet shadows on the floor like they held answers.

She looked up when he walked in, and he saw it — the tired hope in her eyes, and still, she smiled at him.

Oscar walked over slowly and dropped to his knees in front of her, right there on the fraying rug. He reached for her hands, holding them gently in his own.

“It’s done,” he said softly. “It’s McLaren. We signed today.”

Felicity blinked, her breath catching.

“Wait—”

“We’re going,” Oscar said, voice suddenly tight with everything he hadn’t let himself feel. “We’re leaving. No more Enstone. No more trying to squeeze Bee’s cot between the heater and the dresser. No more pretending this place is enough.”

Felicity’s hands trembled in his.

He squeezed them gently. “I’m buying us a house.”

Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“A real one,” Oscar continued, rushing now. “With a garden. And a bathtub that doesn’t leak. A proper bedroom for Bee. A kitchen where you can open both cabinet doors without hitting the fridge.”

Her eyes flooded.

“I want you to have somewhere that’s yours,” Oscar whispered. “I want Bee to grow up with a tree she can climb and space to dance and—and a door that locks properly, for God’s sake.”

A tear slid down Felicity’s cheek.

Oscar leaned forward, forehead resting against her knees.

“I’m sorry it took this long.”

Felicity moved, wordless, and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her like he’d never let go.

“I didn’t mind the small space,” she whispered finally. “I minded you thinking that Bee and I deserved more. That you failed us in some way.”

Oscar’s chest cracked wide open.

“You deserve everything,” he breathed.

Felicity laughed quietly through her tears. “A garden?”

“A garden,” he promised. “With lavender. And a swing for Bee. And enough room for your books and a kitchen table that actually fits all three of us.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at him. Her cheeks were damp, her smile trembling but real.

“I love you,” she said.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“Good,” he said. “Because I just changed our lives.”

***

The first sign that something was wrong came from the way Oscar closed the door.

Not rushed. Not dramatic.

But soft. Measured. Careful.

Felicity looked up from the dining table, where Bee was hunched over her coloring book. The late sun poured gold across the room, catching the faint frown on Oscar’s face like a spotlight.

He dropped his keys in the tray by the door and stood there for a beat too long.

Felicity’s heart sank.

Bee didn’t notice. She was busy sorting her crayons by colors again.

Felicity rose quietly, walked into the hallway, and touched his wrist. “Oscar?”

He looked at her. And just shook his head.

She didn’t press. She just waited.

Eventually, he exhaled — slow and low — and said, “Otmar told me I was driving for Alpine next year.”

Felicity blinked. “I’m sorry — what?”

“In the sim,” Oscar added, still stunned. “In front of some of the engineers. Who didn’t even know.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Not enough to shake. Just enough to sharpen.

“He blindsided you?” she asked.

Oscar nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene. I just… nodded. Finished the session.”

Finished the session. Of course he had.

Because he was Oscar — calm, controlled, collected to the core. Even when humiliated. Even when put in a position no one that professional should ever be put in.

“And did you explain—?”

“I’ve explained, Felicity,” he said, finally lifting his head. “They knew. My camp told them multiple times we were exploring other options. I said it myself. It was never confirmed. They never had my signature. They just—”

“Claimed you.”

Oscar looked down again.

Felicity’s mouth went tight.

She’d seen it too many times — the way men like that assumed ownership, assumed quiet meant compliant. That saying it out loud made it real. That playing politics in front of others gave them leverage.

Oscar had never played those games.

And now he was paying for it.

“They’re not just trying to control the story,” she said. “They’re trying to corner you. Back you into looking like the villain if you correct it.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guys. It wasn’t their fault.”

She nodded.

Of course he hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious.

They’d worked so carefully. So intentionally. The McLaren option hadn’t come from nowhere — it had been months in the making. Every conversation, every clause, every piece of it had been considered and weighed.

This wasn’t immaturity.

This was calculated.

And Alpine had chosen narrative over truth.

Felicity breathed slowly through her nose. “When are we releasing the statement?”

“Today, probably,” Oscar said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Mark’s furious.”

Good, she thought. She wanted him furious.

Because she was fuming.

Felicity could already see how it would play out — the headlines, the noise, the armchair contracts lawyers. The spin.

“You are not unprofessional,” she said, low and steady. “You are not a backstabber. You’ve been measured every step of the way. They underestimated your quiet.”

Oscar’s lips twitched. “That sounds familiar.”

Felicity smiled without warmth. “I’m used to it.”

Bee’s little voice drifted in from the other room. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”

Felicity turned toward the kitchen doorway, then looked back at Oscar.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, reaching out and brushing a hand down his cheek. “We’ve got receipts. We’ve got truth. And we’ve got you.”

Oscar caught her wrist, just for a second. Held it. “Thanks.”

Felicity smiled, this time real and quiet.

“Go say hello to Bee,” she said. “I’ll text Mark and check the contract files again. They wanted a public war, Oscar. They picked the wrong family.”

Oscar stood, kissed the top of her head, and walked to their daughter.

Felicity turned to her laptop and opened the Alpine folder.

Let them come.

Let them try.

She had the facts, the documents, the dates. She had Oscar’s name, signed only where he meant it.

And most of all—

She had no intention of letting anyone turn the man she loved into a villain.

***

The living room was a battlefield of open laptops, phones buzzing, and half-drunk coffee mugs.

Oscar sat hunched on the couch, scrolling furiously through Twitter and official press releases, looking about two seconds away from a full existential crisis.

Felicity sat cross-legged beside him, calm as a storm before the first clap of thunder, flicking through her own phone.

Bee was sleeping in the bedroom, mercifully oblivious to the fact that her father was at the center of a global motorsport meltdown.

Oscar scrubbed his hands through his hair. “This is a mess. This is an actual, full-on mess.”

Felicity hummed noncommittally, tapping something into her notes app.

Oscar looked over, wild-eyed. “Aren’t you freaking out?! Alpine’s posting like I signed a contract with blood and glitter, and McLaren’s playing it cool, and half the grid thinks I’m lying, and—”

Felicity set her phone down neatly on the coffee table and turned to him, entirely serene.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly, “we did everything correctly.”

He blinked. “But—”

“They made promises they couldn’t back up. They leaked information before confirming it. They tried to paint you into a corner because you’re young and polite and they thought you wouldn’t fight back.”

Oscar opened his mouth.

Felicity leaned in, smiling like a wolf in a fairy tale. “But they underestimated you. And they didn’t count on you having a lawyered-up, spite-driven wife who reads contracts for fun.”

As if summoned, the phone rang.

Mark Webber.

Oscar winced and picked up.

"Hey, mate."

The sound of pure exasperation poured through the speaker. "How the bloody hell are you so calm? We’ve got half of Formula 1 Management breathing down our necks, and the internet's lost its mind."

Oscar opened his mouth.

Then Felicity, without looking up, said mildly, “Tell him we’re fine. That Alpine leaked confidential information prematurely. That we have documented evidence of their breach of duty. And that the Contract Recognition Board is going to back us because we're right."

Oscar blinked at her. Then relayed it word for word.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then Mark said, very slowly, “Is Felicity there?”

Oscar handed the phone over like it was a live grenade.

Felicity took it without blinking. “Hello, Mark.”

“Hi.” A beat. “You’re terrifying.”

Felicity smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

Mark coughed awkwardly. “I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.”

“I know.”

There was another pause.

Then Mark said, almost reverently, “Honestly, between you, me, and the twitter post... I think Alpine’s lawyers should be more scared of you than of McLaren’s entire legal department.”

“That would be the correct assessment,” Felicity said pleasantly. “Would you like me to draft a bullet-point memo for Oscar to quote if anyone gets difficult in interviews?”

There was a stunned pause.

Then, almost meekly: “...Yes, please.”

Felicity grinned. “I'll have it to you in an hour.”

She hung up, handed Oscar his phone back, and sipped her tea like she hadn’t just calmly bent reality to her will.

Oscar stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

"You scare Mark Webber."

"And you," Felicity teased.

"Yeah," Oscar said with a soft, dazed smile. "But it's the best kind of scary."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, entirely relaxed. "You’re moving to the right team. You did nothing wrong. And if anyone tries to make you feel otherwise—" she smiled, all teeth, "—we’ll remind them politely."

Oscar stared at her, a little awed. Maybe a little scared.

Felicity sat back and sipped her tea. “We are legally sound. You are moving to a team that actually values you. And if anyone still doubts you after today?”

She smiled wider. Dangerously.

“They can sit on the grass and watch you win from there.”

Oscar blinked.

“...God, I love you.”

Oscar closed his eyes and let out a long breath, tension bleeding out of him.

He had Felicity.

He had Bee.

And somehow, even in the middle of the biggest motorsport drama of the year, that made him feel invincible.

***

The kitchen table had stopped being a place for breakfast weeks ago.

It was now Command Central — home to three laptops, two legal pads, a rainbow of highlighters, half-drunk mugs of coffee, and a folder so thick it had earned its own spot on the chair beside Felicity like an honored guest.

The tabs alone told a story: blue for correspondence, yellow for contracts, pink for press statements, green for legal precedent. She’d chosen the colors late one night while Oscar slept curled around Bee, and something about the order calmed her.

She needed the order.

Because the rest of it was chaos.

The headlines, the speculation, the deliberate noise. And beneath it, the truth — quiet, sharp, waiting to be weaponized.

Felicity clicked open the spreadsheet for the seventh time that morning. It was color-coded, time-stamped, annotated.

July 13 – Verbal confirmation Alpine was “exploring options” July 15 – Email from Oscar’s management to Alpine: “No signed agreement exists” July 22 – Internal Alpine memo leak to press claiming Oscar’s “contractual obligation” August 2 – Alpine public statement: “We have Oscar under contract.” [note: NO contract signed. Cross-reference clause 3.1 of FIA driver agreement terms]

She didn’t even have to read the lines anymore. They were burned into her skull.

Every time someone tweeted about Oscar’s "lack of professionalism," she opened this document. Every time a commentator said he’d "done Alpine dirty," she updated the footnotes. Every time someone mentioned loyalty, she added another timestamp, another receipt, another piece of ammunition.

Because she wasn’t letting them rewrite the story.

Not this time.

Not after everything she’d given up.

Oscar didn’t ask her to take on the case. He’d asked her to let it go.

But Felicity had been letting things go for years.

She let go of her family the day she chose him.

Not in a dramatic, slammed-door kind of way — but in the quiet way that people who love carefully often lose things. They hadn’t approved. Of him. Of the life. Of the risk. They’d said things like “This won’t last” and “He’ll never pick you over the sport.”

They hadn’t seen him at two in the morning, rocking Bee back to sleep when Felicity was too exhausted to lift her head. They hadn’t watched him leave for another test session with aching eyes and a whispered “Thank you for doing this. For letting me try.”

They hadn’t read the letter he wrote her on their wedding day. The one where he said, “Every podium, every contract, every bit of success — it’s all because you believed when no one else did.”

They hadn’t heard how her voice steadied his when the cameras shook him. They hadn’t seen what she’d sacrificed so he could grow.

She’d given up her family. Her country. Her parents. Her safety net.

But she’d never once regretted it.

And now? Now someone was trying to take the man she loved — not with force, but with assumption.

Like he didn’t deserve to choose. Like he should be grateful for whatever scraps they handed down.

Not on her watch.

Felicity pulled out a press release — Alpine’s, dated August — and highlighted a single sentence:

“Oscar is our driver for 2023, as per our agreement.”

Then she opened the corresponding legal file and added a note beneath it:

NO agreement signed. Misrepresentation of contractual status. Possible breach of good faith negotiation standards under FIA governance protocols.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t tweet.

She built her case, brick by careful brick.

Oscar would go to that hearing with his team — with Mark, with lawyers, with the truth.

But he’d also go with her preparation. Her structure. Her work.

Because if the world was going to talk about Oscar Piastri, they’d do it based on facts.

Not fiction.

Not noise.

At 1 a.m., Oscar padded in from the bedroom, hair rumpled, Bee’s stuffed frog in one hand.

“Fliss,” he said softly, “come to bed.”

“I’m almost done,” she said, not looking up.

He walked around the table and gently took the pen from her fingers.

“You’ve done enough.”

She looked at him, and for the first time that day, let herself breathe.

“I just don’t want them to get away with it,” she whispered. “With turning you into the villain.”

“They won’t,” he said, crouching beside her chair. “Because I have you.”

That broke something open in her. Not in the fragile way.

In the unshakable, I’d go to war for you kind of way.

“I gave up everything for you,” she said, not as a wound — but a fact. “And I’d do it again. But I won’t watch anyone try to drag you through the mud for having boundaries. For being smart. For knowing your worth.”

Oscar just pulled her into a hug. Held her there. Silent. Certain.

Because that’s what they were.

Not perfect.

But certain.

***

The days stretched long.

Not in the leisurely, golden-summer way. But in that suffocating, gray-laced kind of stretch where everything felt suspended — like someone had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again.

Oscar’s name was everywhere.

Not in the way drivers dreamed about. Not headlines about timesheets or potential or precision. Not praise for his cornering or racecraft.

No, his name was in the noise. “Contract Chaos.” “Alpine Stunned.” “The Rookie Who Said No.”

Oscar had stopped reading the articles two weeks in. Felicity hadn’t — she’d compiled a spreadsheet.

With sources. And timestamps. And quotes cross-referenced against public statements and private emails.

Oscar didn’t ask how many tabs she had open on her laptop at any given time. He just brought her coffee and kissed her temple before sitting down at his own screen.

Waiting was the hardest part.

They weren’t allowed to say much — not until the CRB hearing. Everything had to be careful. Measured. Legally sound. Which meant there were long, maddening stretches of silence where the world speculated loudly and they just... endured.

Felicity kept things steady. Quiet, but never passive. She chased updates with the precision of someone who’d spent years patching together stability from scraps. She spoke to Mark almost daily. She checked and rechecked contracts until she could quote clauses in her sleep.

Oscar trained. Sim work. Gym. Notes. Repeat.

When he wasn’t on a call with his legal team or being told to “stay calm” for the fifteenth time that week, he was on the floor with Bee, building LEGO cars and pretending none of it touched them.

Some nights, though, after Bee was asleep and the dishes were done, he’d find Felicity on the balcony, a hoodie pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes scanning the sky like the stars might offer answers.

“Do you think they’ll rule in our favor?” he asked one night, joining her.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she passed him her mug and said, “I think truth doesn’t always win. But paper trails do.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, took a sip. “Romantic.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “You married a realist.”

Oscar wore a navy suit and the most impassive face he could manage to the hearing. He also carried The Folder — the one Mark jokingly called “Felicity’s Sword.”

It was thick. Color-coded. Cross-indexed. Tabbed and terrifying.

The hearing wasn’t dramatic.

There were no shouting matches. No grand revelations. Just sharp questions, crisp answers, and lawyers who underestimated how well-prepared the Piastri side was.

Oscar didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to.

He did — once. When asked to clarify the correspondence timeline.

He pulled out an email, read it aloud, and then pointed out a contradictory press quote from Alpine dated three days after it that Felicity had found.

He didn’t smile.

But Mark did. Like a man watching someone drop a precision-engineered anvil on a house of cards.

The ruling came on a Friday.

Oscar was at the table with Bee on his lap, coloring quietly. Felicity was on speaker with Mark when the email landed.

There was a pause.

Then Mark’s voice: “We won.”

Oscar blinked. “Wait—”

“It’s McLaren. Fully binding. The CRB ruled unanimously. Alpine never had a contract.”

Felicity let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting in her chest for months. Bee dropped a crayon. Oscar stood, numb with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Mark was already laughing. “Mate, you’re officially a McLaren driver.”

Oscar turned to Felicity.

She was smiling. Not the careful kind — not the one she wore when she was holding things together for everyone else. But a real, wild smile. The kind that said, we did it.

He pulled her into his arms and spun her in the middle of their too-small kitchen. Bee squealed as they bumped into the table.

Felicity clung to him. “We’re free,” she whispered.

Oscar nodded, forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re going home,” he said, meaning McLaren. Meaning out. Meaning forward.

And for the first time since that awful meeting in the sim room, Oscar felt light.

Like gravity had finally let go.

“You’re going to drive orange cars now, Papa?” Bee asked him very seriously.

Oscar smiled, eyes wet. “Yeah, Bumblebee. I am.”

***

The ink was barely dry on the Contract Recognition Board’s official ruling.

McLaren had won.

Oscar Piastri was officially McLaren’s. Alpine was left scrambling to save face. And Zak Brown was feeling the rare, giddy high of a clean, decisive victory — but also the lingering shock at how ruthlessly, brilliantly, and perfectly the whole thing had been handled.

He leaned back in his office chair, rubbing his jaw, still half laughing in disbelief as Mark Webber sat across from him, looking far too relaxed for a man who had just navigated an international legal war.

“Okay,” Zak said finally, throwing his pen down with a clatter. “I need to know.”

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“Who’s your lawyer?” Zak said, grinning wide. “Because whoever handled this — the paperwork, the contracts, the way you all walked Alpine into a brick wall — they’re a shark. We need someone like that. Seriously. Name your price."

Mark’s mouth twitched, like he was enjoying this far too much.

Zak waited, half-expecting Mark to name some fancy law firm out of London.

Instead, Mark said, perfectly straight-faced: “She’s not a lawyer.”

Zak blinked. “What?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “She’s Oscar’s wife.”

Zak blinked harder. “His wife?”

Mark nodded, looking far too satisfied. “Yep.”

There was a stunned pause.

Zak sat forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait. Oscar’s married?”

Mark smirked. “He is.”

Zak threw his hands up. “He’s, what, twenty-one?”

“Married,” Mark confirmed cheerfully.

Zak stared at him. “And the woman who just ran circles around Alpine’s legal team is his wife?”

Mark chuckled under his breath. “Felicity. Brilliant, ruthless, scary when she wants to be. She reads contracts for fun."

Zak shook his head slowly, as if trying to reboot his brain. “How have I never heard about her? Or seen a single post, or interview?”

Mark shrugged. “Oscar keeps his family very private. Always has. Protects them like his life depends on it.”

Zak opened his mouth — and Mark, because apparently today wasn’t wild enough already, added, totally casual:

“Oh, and they have a daughter too.”

Zak actually choked. “A what?!”

Mark was openly grinning now. “A little girl. Bee. Two years old. Smart as hell. Already critiques Oscar’s driving sometimes.”

Zak pressed both hands over his face. "Married. With a kid. And somehow still the most put-together twenty-one-year-old on the grid."

Mark laughed. "Told you. Built different."

Zak dropped his hands and let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus. I thought we signed a rookie. Turns out we signed an entire bloody empire."

Mark clapped him on the back as he stood up to leave, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he had delivered to McLaren.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Zak just sat there for a long moment after the door shut, muttering to himself.

“Married. Kid. Legal assassin wife. ...We are so screwed in the next contract negotiation.”And somehow? He couldn’t even be mad about it.

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side.

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him.

“We don’t know that.”

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him.

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered.

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back.

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed.

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast.

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring.

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas.

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness.

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.”

—

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled.

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.”

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser.

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it.

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand.

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday.

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased.

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly.

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.”

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed.

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced.

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

“Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present.

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched.

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them.

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

—

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.”

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward.

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened.

“I hid in a storage room,” she added.

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes.

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.”

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance.

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them.

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man.

Maid of honour.

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm.

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up.

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned.

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal.

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck.

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief.

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again.

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled.

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.”

A few sniffles rippled from the front row.

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him.

Her Lando.

Her husband.

NEXT CHAPTER

755 notes · View notes

kxsagi · 19 days ago

Note

OK BUT LIKE

BLLK VROTHERS REACTING WHEN THEIR LITTLE SISTER ASKED THEM TO WALK HER DOWN THE AISLE

maybe rin and sae together

LMAOOOO I IMAGINE THEM SOBBING (we know reo and bachira did lmaooooo

LOVE YOU

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: LOVE YOU TOOO

THIS WAS SO CUTE TO WRITE

ft. mikage reo, bachira meguru, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, karasu tabito

mikage reo

the second the words leave your mouth: “reo, i want you to walk me down the aisle,” he genuinely short circuits. mouth hanging open, hand clutching his chest like an overdramatic disney princess.

“i… oh my gosh. you mean it? me? me?” he sniffles. hard. “don’t do this to me, i just got a facial.”

reo is acting like he just got nominated for an oscar. suddenly, he’s pulling up pinterest boards, wedding planners, and muttering things like, “okay, so your color palette is soft blush, but with maybe a mauve undertone… no wait, that’s too 2022. do we want more of a lavender-gray? do you want peacocks?”

the man is GONE. emotionally. financially. spiritually. he’s designing matching custom outfits for the two of you. he tries to hire a mini orchestra to play you down the aisle. he practices different walking speeds just to see which tempo feels the most cinematic.

and the night before the wedding, you find him curled up in a fluffy robe, hugging a childhood photo of the two of you and softly whispering, “my baby girl is getting married… what if i trip and ruin the moment? should i rehearse again?”

on the day? he’s sobbing. like, ugly crying. “you’re the most beautiful bride in the whole world. even if you’re not wearing chanel.”

bachira meguru

you go, “hey, i was wondering if you could walk me–”

“YES. YES I WILL. A THOUSAND TIMES YES.”

he jumps onto the couch like you just proposed. nearly knocks over a lamp. his shirt flies off somehow. there’s confetti? no one knows where it came from.

this man starts training. like, literally. he builds a fake aisle out of cardboard in the living room and practices walking you down it with a random bouquet of plastic forks.

“you think i can backflip down the aisle while holding your arm?”

“NO.”

“… what if i do it real slow?”

at your dress fitting, he gasps so dramatically the stylist flinches.

“OH MY GOSH. YOU LOOK LIKE A PRINCESS WHO FIGHTS DRAGONS AND HEALS HEARTS AND *sniff* CAN STILL KICK MY ASS.”

he cries into your veil. full on, snot-bubble sobs.

on the actual wedding day, he has to stuff tissues in his sleeves because he knows he’s gonna leak from the eyes and nose. halfway down the aisle he starts whispering nonsense like, “okay don’t trip don’t cry don’t scream don’t do a handstand–”

you elbow him.

“right. serious. majestic. i got this.”

immediately trips over your veil.

isagi yoichi

when you ask him, he blinks like he’s buffering. “walk you down the aisle? me?”

he goes quiet, then smiles. softly. that warm, older-brother grin. “i’d be honored.”

but two hours later you catch him staring at your baby pictures on the couch with glassy eyes. he tries to act normal.

“i’m not crying. i’m just… remembering. shut up.”

this man treats your wedding like the world cup final. printed checklists. a backup boutonniere. mints in his pocket. he even puts deodorant on his ankles “just in case.”

at your rehearsal, he holds your arm like it’s a sacred relic. guides you like a knight escorting royalty. whispers, “you’re so grown up now… don’t fall for any tricks. if he breaks your heart, i’ll break his knee.”

you laugh. he’s dead serious.

on the big day, he takes one look at you in your dress and just goes, “whoa.” and then his eyes water. but he doesn’t cry. no. he clenches his jaw like a soldier.

his walk is steady, but his hand is squeezing yours like he’s sending morse code for “i love you forever.”

itoshi rin

you ask, “rin, will you walk me down the aisle?”

“… why?”

“because you’re my brother, dummy. and i want you.”

he stares. then turns around and mutters, “… fine.”

you don’t hear a peep from him for days. you assume he doesn’t care. then you accidentally walk into his room and catch him… researching proper aisle etiquette on youtube.

he slams the laptop shut like you caught him watching something else. “get out.”

“… were you practicing your posture?”

“GET OUT.”

on the big day, he’s silent. tense. eyes sharp. suit crisp. he sees you in your dress and his whole face cracks.

his lips twitch. his eyes look glassy. but he holds it in. barely.

as he links arms with you, you hear him breathe, “you look really pretty.”

you glance at him.

“… shut up.”

he’s definitely crying on the inside. 100%.

before he hands you off, he looks the groom straight in the eye.

“don’t hurt her. ever.”

that’s not a threat. that’s a promise with consequences.

itoshi sae

you go, “sae, will you walk me down the aisle?”

he stares at you like you just asked him to do your taxes in a clown suit. “… why would i do that?”

you pout. “because i want you to.”

he shrugs. “i guess.”

but then you hear him cancel a madrid training session the next week. he shows up to fittings. he critiques your groom like a stoic wine connoisseur.

“his handshake is weak. is that really who you want?”

“sae.”

“… fine. 6.5 out of 10.”

he’s the calmest one on the day of, until you put on your dress. then he blinks a little too slowly. clears his throat five times.

“… you look alright.”

“that’s it?”

he glances at you again. “… you look better than alright. now stop looking at me like that.”

(he totally cried in the car on the way home. never admits it.)

nagi seishiro

you ask him and he just mumbles, “ugh, sounds like a hassle.”

but then you add, “there’ll be snacks at the reception.”

“what time’s the wedding again?”

he tries to convince you to be carried down the aisle like a princess so he doesn’t have to walk.

“what if i just teleport you?”

“this isn’t an anime, seishiro.”

“unfortunate.”

he forgets he’s supposed to wear a suit and shows up in pajamas until reo throws a bowtie at his face.

when he sees you all dressed up, he blinks. “… you’re sparkly.”

he doesn’t cry. but he does hand you a gummy bear from his pocket and goes, “for strength.”

(you still have it in your purse.)

kaiser michael

“you want ME? the MICHAEL KAISER? to escort you down the aisle?”

he flips imaginary hair. “obviously. i’ll have to outshine the bride a little, but i’ll try to tone it down.”

you threaten to replace him with ness. he shuts up.

he insists on glitter. refuses to walk to “boring music.” tries to choreograph a slow-motion runway strut.

on the actual day, he’s the only one who bows to the guests and says “your majesty has arrived.”

but when he sees you? he gets real quiet.

“… you look beautiful, little star.” he means it. he really does.

but then he adds, “thank goodness i moisturized today. otherwise i’d be crying and flaky.”

karasu tabito

“me? walk you down the aisle? damn right i will. who else is gonna make sure this idiot doesn’t drop the ring?”

he says it with a grin, but when he sees you in your dress he shuts up. fully stunned.

“… shit.”

“what?”

“you’re really getting married, huh.”

he pauses.

“… don’t cry, you little gremlin.”

he’s the one crying. quietly. behind his sunglasses.

before he walks you down, he pops a mint in his mouth and goes, “you ready?” you nod.

“cool. i’m gonna make a stupid face to ruin all the photos.”

“don’t you da–”

too late.

414 notes · View notes

minniesfiles · 4 months ago

Text

NICE BOYS DON’T KISS LIKE THAT

For years, it’s always been you.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; best friends to lovers, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 0.6k

𐚁₊⊹

▍20 DECEMBER 2022

You always known Wonwoo as the cold-hearted one. The boy who never let anyone in, the one who rejected every girl who threw herself at him, the one whose heart seemed as unreachable as the stars.

And yet, somehow, you managed to be his one and only best friend that wasn’t a boy.

For years, you both existed in this strange limbo. Teasing, laughing, sharing quiet moments during free time together. But it never crossed the line. You told yourself it was enough. That the glances he would steal, the way his eyes softened just for you, the way he always seemed to find you in a crowded room, were enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not when you watched him brush off yet another girl at the party that night, his expression unreadable as always and lips pressing into a thin line as he turned away without a second glance. You heard the whispers and the way people called him heartless, untouchable.

If only they knew.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, catching his arm as he stepped outside into the cold. Snowflakes were quick to settle on his dark hair while his breath misted in the frigid air.

Wonwoo glanced down at you with his dark brown hooded eyes. You hated how small you felt next to his wide shouldered and towering figure, but they were one of the key characteristics that made Jeon Wonwoo so popular and likeable.

“What did I do now?” he asked.

“You keep pushing people away” you sighed, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. “You can’t just keep rejecting everyone forever.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because one day, someone’s going to make you regret it.”

Something flickered in Wonwoo’s eyes, something dark and unclear to you. “Maybe that already happened.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to push him, to make him say more, but he was already turning away with his hands shoving into his pockets as he walked down the snow-covered pavement.

“Walk me home,” you said as you jogged to catch up.

He hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Fine.”

Both of you walked in silence for a while, and the only sound heard was the crunch of your boots on the snow. It wasn’t until you reached your apartment building that you finally turned to him.

“You know, Woo,” you murmured, searching his face, “you act like you don’t care, but I don’t think that’s true.”

He let out a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You think you know me so well, huh?” he challenged.

“I do” you responded.

His jaw tensed. “Then you should know why I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” you pressed as you stepped closer.

He exhaled sharply. “Why I can’t let myself want something I know I can’t have.”

Your heart began to pound. “And what is it you think you can’t have?”

Wonwoo’s eyes were locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw past the coldness. There was something raw there, something aching that he was desperate to let out.

“You,” he finally admitted. And you barely had time to process the word before he was kissing you, closing the distance as he smashed his lips against your plump ones.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate, years of tension and words he couldn’t say crashing together in one fierce moment. His hands cupped your face, while his fingers threaded into your hair as if he was afraid you might disappear.

When he finally pulled apart, both breathless, you whispered, “you know, nice boys don’t kiss like that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, “who told you I’m a nice boy?” he murmured, voice was hoarse.

“You’re my nice boy” you giggled.

“Only yours” and with that, he kissed you again, slow and soft this time.

Because for once in his life, Wonwoo decided he wasn’t going to be the cold-hearted rejector everyone knew him for.

Not with you.

Never with you.

“I love you Wonwoo” you confessed against his lips, and nothing made the young man’s heart feel as light as it did now.

“I love you too baby”

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st4rbwrry · 10 months ago

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𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆 𝑀𝐸 𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐼’𝑀 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸.

꒰ armin takes his pretty girlfriend on a picnic in an enchanted forest.꒱

𐀔 . . . 1.4k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, established relationship, sub / dom, profanity, pet names, unprotected penetrative sex, we’re in luvvv, outside indecency, love bites, praise, kinda shy reader, smoking, kreampie, minors aren’t welcomed ! reblogs + comments are appreciated! <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . this been in the drafts since 2022 y’all. a lil sum.

a pastel baby blue dress clings tight to your smooth skin, looking like the prettiest cottage core girl. frills on the shoulders and bust sitting low to accentuate your perky chest. love handles and tummy pudge swallowed by the soft material. armin couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, to himself. rubbing all up on you throughout your entire picnic date. fresh air blows through the trees and the bright views of sunlight beam across the blue lake where pure white doves swam in silence. armin had found this mythical location by driving around one day. it's quiet and reserved, deep into an enchanted forest.

the two of you sat on a blanket sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the food armin neatly packed. lots of fruits because you loved them. strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, green grapes, apricots, and peaches . . . you name it. overdoing it just a bit, but he knows it’ll be eaten by this week. this was breakfast, the time now around eleven in the morning, so while you got ready he prepped the food. heart shaped pancakes, waffles, turkey bacon, pork sausage, scrambled cheese eggs and of course never forgetting your orange juice.

to make it cuter he brought a glass vase and filled it with water and multicolor roses he bought from the flower shop. you ate so much food your stomach bloated, unable to eat anymore. armin lays on his back with you to stare up at the sky and watch the trees blow, the weather perfect for the occasion. the sun hitting your skin serenely. you rest your head on armin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he massages your back in gentle circles, nearly falling asleep because you’re so at peace.

“i’m so glad we did this,” a yawn escapes as you smile sweetly at him, rubbing his stomach over his white tee.

armin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering it before mumbling, “me too.” soon, digging into his jean pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. tapping the plastic box to release a stick. your body moves with the forearm he brings together to light his cig, flicking the lighter twice and satiating his need.

“i needed a break from life. so, thank you, love.” the softness in your voice makes the man's heart beat twice as fast. he smiles at you after turning his head the opposite way to blow out smoke, knowing you hated it in your face. being at close proximity right now was less irritating since you're elated at the moment. you could care less because he's comfortable, and it makes you feel the same. you could never get him to quit no matter how hard you tried. never argued with him about it. minor debates but he gave valid points so you laid off it.

“i figured it'd be nice to escape for the day. it's upsetting we have to return to reality tomorrow. but when i'm with you, it always feels . . . free.”

armin brushes a curved knuckle over your cheekbone, your eyes glued to his own.

“i feel the same way.”

“i say i love you all the time. but do you really understand it? how deep it is?”

you curl your lips inward, pondering on his question. more like a statement.

“i know you love me. you show it more ways than one. i think that's meaningful overall.”

fluffy blond hair with gold hues covers his angelic baby blue eyes, reaching up to tuck some of the wavy ringlets behind his ear.

“tell me you love me, then gimme a kiss.”

your face grows hot from his demand, growing nervous. you sit up briefly to grab a peach to bite into and distract yourself, more like hide your face because you were smiling so hard. this happens to be the second time since he's first told you he loved you. it makes you shy even still, the rush of heat coming to your cheeks from the intense glare he gives you, waiting for you to say it. you don't know why it felt so hard to utter. it's clear you love him, but maybe it was the large commitment of the word . . . the vulnerability, the devotion, the forever tie that scared you.

"tell me you love me, or i'll make you say it, ꒰♡꒱ ."

and make you he does.

his breath is warm on your neck, tongue following to lick a bold stripe over your skin with his fingers indented into the flesh of your cheeks and jaw. your face is upturned, head resting on his shoulder, back to his chest as you rely on his body for your balance. your thighs are spread wide, holding yourself open with your unoccupied hand, gripping under the bend of your knees, whimpering in the breezy air as his hips interact with the round of your ass, fucking you from the side fervidly. his moans are light, dancing in your ear while you claw into the picnic blanket beneath you two, clutching the grass and dirt in the wake. tuning into the lewd interaction of his heavy dick pounding into you, tits bouncing out of the enclosure of your dress.

“i can’t hear you, ꒰♡꒱,” armin grits his teeth, his lips on your jaw now, kissing away and grunting as he raises his hips to fuck you deeper, thrusts steady but rough. you’re feeling dizzy, whining from the baritone of his voice. “i didn’t make myself clear enough?”

“n-no. . . ar—min. mmph,” while denying, there’s a crack in your voice as you try your best to speak, moans rumbling in your throat, your tummy jiggling from his harsh pace.

“then tell me, tell me,” armin’s voice is a whispered plead, his jeans to his knees and his shirt pulled up to his midsection, skin scorching against your own.

you’re soft, and small. his big hand with veins protruding goes from your face to your chest, tweaking your nipples that spilled out of it’s cups alluringly, before spanking them with the pads of his fingers. tweak, spank, tweak, spank. it’s a notion that has you drooling, and sobbing pathetically. he’s trying to upkeep his composure, trying not to bottom out and lose his sanity. you’re too cute.

“i love youuu,” you finally cry out, ragged moans falling out in shorts gasps, tears coaxing and the pressure in your tummy building.

“fuck, there you go, sweetie,” his excitement shows through the way his dick slips out of you, both of you gasping from the loss until he slaps your clit with his dick, your juices sputtering out of you with each wet pat pat pat. armin draws his hips back slightly before sliding back inside easily, digging his fingers into the back of your thigh you held up and rolled his waist to fuck you harder.

each pound is harder than the previous, his jaw widening as he chokes on his moans and catches your throat with his mouth, tongue lolling out occasionally and his teeth following suit. your head is tossed back entirely, his arm going around your shoulder to cradle you, falling back on the ground. your thighs press tightly together, and you hold onto his arm while his middle and ring fingers thrum intricately over your puffy clit to watch her squirt.

armin hisses with skaken moan. “say it again, ꒰♡꒱.”

“i love you, armin.”

“again,” he’s biting at your neck again, your mouth agape from the combination of that and the head of his dick kissing your sweet spot.

“b-baby, g-god. i love you.”

“ooh, shit,” armin then pushes your left thigh flat to the ground, your body twisted as he goes to level himself above you in push up form, dropping his dick into you with steady, hard pounds. his voice grows weak, moans whiny as he cums deep inside of you, and you follow not long after, squeaking and clutching onto his wrist planted by your head. the softness of your ass bouncing back onto his hips is entrancing. his ass flexing when he grinds into your pussy.

“oh my god,” those pretty strands of blond sway in front of his face, giggling and lowering his body to rest his chest on your side. repeatedly leaving kisses to your flushed cheeks, neck, even your forehead. unable to move at all.

“i really love you, i swear,” the pads of your fingers brush over his pink lips, overly sensitive at the moment so you definitely felt like crying. a high pitched hiccup interrupts the moment, and that only makes armin roll his lips inward before bursting out a laugh.

“you’re so cute,” he gives you an eskimo kiss before smooching your lips. “i know you do.”

#armin x reader #armin x you #armin smut #armin x y/n #aot smut #aot armin #armin arlert #armin x black reader #armin arlet x reader #armin arlet smut #armin arlert x you #snk smut #snk armin #x reader #attack on titan smut #꒰ ─── 𝓬𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼.

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https-lovvers · 4 months ago

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hamzah x thoughtful!sweetheart!reader

introducing.. thoughtful sweetheart reader!

she's a relatively quiet girl, not necessarily shy (only shy on camera), just not very loud

she's been dating hamzah for a while!! (since 2022) and hamzah often references her within the pod and even on the main channel but shes too shy to make an appearance yet :(

after the positive response to mandy, hamzah convinced her to come onto a ooc episode, and how could she say no!!

it had always been a big mystery.. people knew hamzah had a girlfriend and they'd seen her hands in videos and other things, but no one knew what she actually looked like

and no one was surprised when she was the prettiest little thing!

popping into the frame of the camera and giving a shy little wave and a cute smile

everyone adored her from then on, and she began appearing more and more!

she's the most wise and thoughtful person ever! and when its time for the advice-giving segment in ooc, everyone wants her to answer theirs

very much taylor russell vibes; soft spoken, kind, thoughtful, girly.

her and mandy are best friends! she grew up with only brothers so mandy is like the older sister she never had!

martin loves her too! everyone says that martin and reader have such sibling dynamics because martin is teasing but treats her like a little sister

absolutely everyone thinks she's as cute as a button, and she's almost always got a smile on her face

and nobody is more proud of her than hamzah

he loves showing her off, and when she said she was finally comfortable enough to announce herself to the slushies he was overjoyed

this meant he could talk about her with no secrets now!!!

they're the cutest couple ever, and he brings out her silly side, so they're always giggly together

he praises her for her sensitivity and quirks and they just love each other sooo much

masterlist

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #slushy noobz #slushy virus

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dollfacefantasy · 5 months ago

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i feel like (2022) batman would want you to ride his face/let him eat the coochie whenever he had free time. idk he gives likes to please vibes to me. Also luv your work!!!!!

um i love YOU for sending me this ask.

bruce is absolutely a fucking munch because 1. he's obsessed with you and 2. it allows him to communicate his love for you without having to say anything.

shocking to absolutely no one, he's not that great with words. his love for you burns so intensely in his head that any coherent thoughts of adoration get all tangled up before they can leave his lips. and while you find his quiet nature endearing, it always embarrasses him.

so instead, he's found himself developing a habit around you. whenever the two of you are alone, whether it's when he's come home from patrol or during some rare moments where you're both doing nothing, he slides down to settle between your thighs.

it doesn't matter if you're reading a book or on your phone or watching tv. none of that stops him from getting to work on you. he curls his hands around the soft flesh of your legs and nuzzles against the thin cloth of your panties.

most of the time you'll let out a little giggle, but it doesn't make him shy like it does if he's trying to talk to you. instead, it sends all his blood down to his cock. the thick length stiffens up against the mattress even though he's not concerned with getting any attention it.

he takes his time when he's down there. he's in no rush to leave his favorite place in this world. once he's got your panties out of the way, he starts small with little kitten licks and kisses to your clit. as time goes on though, he gets more into it, more dedicated. in a matter of minutes, his eyes are shut and he's moaning against your slick folds, fully making out with your pussy. he laps at it like he's never tasted anything better. he moans without shame while sucking on your bundle of nerves. he devours you like he hasn't done this four other times this week.

he doesn't stop until tears of overstimulation brim your cute little eyes. only then does he pull away and start to crawl back up to be beside you. he then cradles you to his chest and rubs your back, soothing you down from the highs of repeated release. you're all spacey and clingy, so he doesn't have to worry about conversation either.

in fact, when you're all blissed out like this, he finds it pretty easy to whisper out the words i love you.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #the batman x reader #the batman smut #dc x reader #dc smut #battinson x reader #ch: bruce wayne 💌

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im4rmy · 6 months ago

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your first time together - mark (idol AU)

IMAGINE: mark comes back from his tour craving your presence.

TW: very sweet sex, fluff, MDNI

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

• July 2022. Mark is finally back from the Singapore leg of the tour. After weeks overseas, he finally has the time—and energy—to spend a proper evening with you. But today feels different. He couldn’t even sleep on the plane, restless at the thought of seeing you again. You haven’t been dating each other for long, and he thought a little time apart wouldn’t be so bad. But he was wrong. He missed you—more than he expected.

•📱“Hey, you wanna come over tonight? I just came back”

📱“Sure… you don’t wanna rest first?”

📱“No. I really need to see you”

• To say he’s nervous is an understatement. Tonight, he wants to take a step forward, to shift things between you into something deeper—if you feel the same. He’s planned everything. The boys are out or with family, the dorm’s a mess but completely empty. He paces by the door, hands twisting with anticipation, until the bell finally rings—and he forgets how to breathe.

• He takes a deep breath, opens the door… and there you are. Your smile is radiant, and you throw your arms around him. His embrace is eager and warm.

“I missed you so much.”

Mark can’t even form words, just lets out a quiet breath. You pull back just enough to cradle his face in your hands, eyes tracing his tired features. The way you look at him—so gentle, so full of something unspoken—knocks the wind out of him.

“I love you,” he blurts.

You freeze.

“Listen… I’ve been away for what—a month? And I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was exhausted, but you were always in my head. I don’t know what you think this is… between us… but I’d really like to make it official. If you want that too.”

You blink away your surprise, heart tumbling in your chest, then kiss him with a smile on your lips.

“Let’s make it official, Mark Lee.”

And kiss after kiss, as if by magic, you end up in his room.

• You’ve both been with other people before, so there’s no awkwardness, just a quiet anticipation. You undress each other slowly, savoring every touch, no need to rush your first time together. His fingers trace your sides, his cool rings making your skin tingle. He smiles as he kneels before you, gently sliding your leggings down, inch by inch. A kiss lands on each thigh. Your hands find his hair, and he lets himself get lost in the feel of you. He pauses and chuckles softly when he gets nearer your clothed core.

“Yellow underwear?”

“Shut up, Lee. You’re lucky I shaved yesterday.”

“I’d still be the luckiest guy in the world even if you didn't, so so lucky...” he murmurs.

His words make your heart flutter. When he rises and meets your eyes, you’re completely bare—but under his gaze, full of affection and awe, you feel anything but insecure.

• He kisses you again, drawing you close. The warmth of your body against his makes him sigh into your mouth. Your hands tug at the waistband of his pajamas—his boxers barely hide how much he wants you. You help him out of them, too, and he shivers under your touch. You can see the goosebumps on his skin and you decide that you can't wait to feel him on you, in you, everywhere. You undo your loose ponytail, letting your hair fall across your shoulders, catching his amazed gaze like a spark. He comes close again and takes you by your thighs to lift you in his arms.

“You’re so sweet,” you whisper, smiling.

He blushes, smiling back as he lays you gently on the bed.

• When he’s above you, your bodies align like pieces meant to fit. His hands and lips find every part of you, and the feeling of being this close—this open—makes you feel like the world has faded away. He allows himself to leave your mouth only because he believes your neck now needs attention and he starts to explore it.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers against your neck, voice low and rough. The vibration sends shivers through you. You arch your body into his, that aching need growing stronger with every breath.

• The moment comes when neither of you can wait anymore. As he settles between your legs, you lift your hips in silent invitation. The way he enters you—slowly, deeply—pulls a gasp from both of you. His groans wrap around your senses like velvet. Every movement is deliberate, tender, filled with the quiet intensity of someone who doesn’t want to miss a single second of this. Mark thrusts in and out of you slowly, trying his best to keep his skin on yours. He just loves the way he can literally feel the goosebumps on your skin through his own.

• When he’s close, he can’t keep up with your kisses—his breaths come hard, his voice broken with desire. He presses his forehead to yours as he chases the peak, holding you tightly. The climax crashes over you together, and he collapses against you, his cheek resting over your heart, a dazed smile playing on his lips.

• Your fingers slide through his hair as he catches his breath. You feel him growing heavier with sleep.

“You must be tired… You can rest now,” you whisper.

“But it’s our first night together… we should cuddle,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

You laugh softly, stroking his scalp.

“Let me take care of you tonight, hmm?”

He nods without a word, sinking fully into the comfort of you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

other mark's chapters:

bf!mark scenario

when you first met

your first time together ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you're here!

OT7 chapters:

your contact names in each other's phone

his favourite part of your body

when he hurts you during sex by accident

when he comes back from tour

⇘ nct dream idol AU index ⇙

·˚✎ ﹏im4rmy's masterlist

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

#nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream headcanons #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct mark #mark lee imagines #mark lee #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you

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svt-luna · 3 months ago

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𝜗℘ MOONSTRUCK

❛ 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬. 𝘰𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺. 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺. 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸— 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺. ❜

timeline: 2022

synopsis: Jeonghan’s life had always been filled with quiet realizations about Luna— the way he loved her, the way she changed him— but nothing struck him harder than the moment he knew, with unwavering certainty, that he wanted to marry her.

warnings: heavy narrations!, cursing, fluff, slight angst?, established relationship, slight suggestiveness, pda, flirting, lovey dovey type shit, Jeonghan the simp, Jeonghan’s pov, realizations, fluff, fluffiness galore, Luna through Jeonghan’s eyes, tooth-rotting fluff, prepare to feel single

there will be references to my one-shots If Only, Can I Be Him?, Talking To The Moon & His English Love Affair. so if you haven’t read those yet, i advice you do so in that order to understand certain references. just a heads up, this one-shot in general is narration heavy— so if you are not into that then this is not for you. happy reading, my loves 💛

wrote this in a plane btw so i was lowkey out of it 😖 anywho… i am currently in nyc with the fam for a little vacay moment!! (where are all my nyc babies?). but do not worry i will still be updating you, my lovelies 💕💕💕

also— Moonstruck has to be one of my favorite enhypen song, so please listen to it whilst reading 😩

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Yoon Jeonghan had a lot of realizations in his life.

Some came quietly, like the way water gradually soaks into dry earth— soft, subtle, and almost imperceptible. Others hit him with the force of a summer storm, striking through him like lightning until he was left with no choice but to accept whatever truth had settled into his bones.

And as he looked back over the years, he realized that most of these moments, these slow burns and sudden epiphanies, had something to do with her.

Luna.

Or perhaps he should say Bae Jiyeon, the name he had first known her by, the girl who had once been nothing more than a fleeting, half-formed thought in his mind, an image that lingered for days on end, until it somehow grew into something far more potent than he could have ever anticipated.

He could still remember that first day, as if he were sixteen again and stepping into the PLEDIS practice room. It was the place where dreams were shaped and shattered, where sweat and sore muscles were the only constants in a world of shifting goals and ambitions.

He’d barely been a trainee himself for long, only beginning to understand the rigor and relentlessness that defined their lives. But then, she walked in— young, pale, her figure petite yet carrying an unexpected intensity that captured his attention before he even realized he’d been looking.

At first glance, she seemed worlds apart from everyone else.

The other trainees around him had a raw eagerness, a nervous energy that crackled in the air, almost tangible as they lined up, shuffled from one end of the room to the other, and followed orders.

But she…she was different.

She wore all black, from her fitted pants to the leather jacket draped over her shoulders like armor. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, catching the light as it swayed with her every movement, and her gaze was fixed straight ahead, cool and detached.

There was something fierce in the way she held herself, head high and shoulders squared, as though she were bracing against an invisible force. She looked strong, resilient, like she had already fought battles the rest of them couldn’t even imagine.

But there was something else, too— something Jeonghan noticed as he studied her face more closely.

Beneath that hardened exterior, there was a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes, a subtle flicker of doubt that softened the edges of her seemingly unbreakable facade.

It was a vulnerability he hadn’t expected, and somehow, it made her even more striking.

Jeonghan remembered feeling oddly compelled, even captivated, by the sight of her. He didn’t know her name, didn’t know anything about her, but there was something about her presence that lingered with him throughout the day, like the haunting melody of a song he couldn’t quite remember.

Later, as he stood off to the side with Joshua, he found himself mentioning her in an offhanded way, trying to sound casual, even though his mind had been drifting back to her constantly since she’d arrived. “I met a pretty girl today,” he’d said, almost as if the words slipped out before he could hold them back.

He remembered the slight grin Joshua gave him, the amused raise of his eyebrow, the way he nudged him teasingly. But Jeonghan had only shrugged, though his heart beat a little faster just thinking about her.

“I still don’t know her name. I’ve seen her a few times… she’s really pretty,” he admitted, not even fully understanding what that meant yet.

He didn’t know her name, her story, or anything that made up the person she was, but he felt an unexplainable urge to be near her, to talk to her, to unravel the mystery she seemed to embody. He’d even mentioned wanting to sing a song for her— an impulsive thought, one that made Joshua laugh, but Jeonghan had meant it.

It was as if his heart had started composing its own melody, one that was meant just for her, even though he barely knew her.

Looking back, Jeonghan realized he had a crush.

Something innocent and admiring, a quiet kind of admiration that made him feel like he was sixteen and stumbling over emotions he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He wasn’t sure if it was her strength or that flicker of vulnerability she tried so hard to hide, but something about her had him captivated from the very first day.

She had an aura of defiance, a spark that made him want to get to know her, to be the one who could see past her armor and find the person beneath.

That day, he remembered mustering up the courage to approach her. It wasn’t like him to be shy, but something about her made his pulse race, his heart hammering in his chest as he rehearsed a casual greeting over and over in his head.

Jeonghan remembered telling himself it was no big deal, that he just wanted to be friendly, but he couldn’t ignore the way his hands felt a little clammy or the way his stomach twisted in anticipation. He walked up to her, each step making him feel strangely vulnerable, and when she looked up, her eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting anyone to approach her, least of all him.

“Hi,” he’d said, his voice somehow steady despite the nerves buzzing under his skin as he extended his hand to her. "I'm Jeonghan. What's your name?"

She looked at him, still wide-eyed, and for a brief moment, he thought she might brush him off or walk away. But then she spoke, her voice low and soft, and it was the first time he heard her name slip from her lips— Jiyeon.

"I... I'm Jiyeon," she had managed to say, her voice uncharacteristically small but she added, almost as an afterthought, “Or Luna... you can also call me Luna."

"Jiyeon or Luna," Jeonghan repeated, his smile widening. "Welcome. If you need anything, just let me know."

And with that, she became more than just a pretty girl in black.

She was Luna.

Jeonghan had never forgotten that first meeting.

There was something about it that had lodged itself deep in his memory, a tiny fragment of time that somehow held more weight than it should have.

And from that moment on, Jeonghan knew he wanted her as a friend.

It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation or a passing interest. He wanted to get to know her, to unravel the layers she hid behind, to be the one who could make her smile, who could coax out that side of her that didn’t need to be so guarded.

She intrigued him in a way he couldn’t quite understand, but he was certain of one thing— he wanted her in his life, and he remembered wanting to do whatever it took to make that happen.

Then years later came Luna’s drunken confession.

Jeonghan remembered that night with a clarity that was almost painful, the kind of memory that stuck to the walls of his mind, refusing to fade even as the years slipped by.

He’d never thought that a single night could shift the axis of his world, could take everything he thought he understood about himself and turn it upside down. But there it was— a confession, raw and unguarded, slipping from her lips in a haze of intoxicated vulnerability.

Luna, now his best friend, his closest confidante, the girl who had once been a stranger in a leather jacket with her chin held high, had confessed her feelings for him, and it had felt like a bolt of lightning splitting the sky.

His heart had leapt in his chest, a sudden surge of warmth spreading through him, leaving him feeling almost weightless in the moment. It was as though every small, quiet feeling he’d harbored for her over the years was suddenly brought to the surface, illuminated by her words in a way he could no longer deny.

She wanted him.

Her— Luna, fierce and proud, the girl who held her own in every room she walked into, the girl who was now his bandmate, his partner in this shared dream that they were slowly but surely achieving.

The joy he felt was electric, sharp and consuming, wrapping around him like a second heartbeat. He’d wanted her for so long, in ways he’d never fully let himself acknowledge. She was his best friend, yes, but she had become something more, slipping past every defense he’d tried to put up.

Yet, beneath that happiness, there was a clawing fear, an insidious weight pressing down on him, trying to bring him back to reality.

This was dangerous— they were dangerous.

They weren’t just Jeonghan and Luna anymore, two kids fumbling through their feelings. They were bandmates, members of the same group striving for the same goals, reaching heights together that they had once only dreamed about.

Everything they had worked for, everything they had sacrificed, was now intricately bound up in one another, in the success of the team, the harmony of the group.

If Jeonghan let himself want her, if he gave in to the feelings he had, it wasn’t just his heart at stake— it was all of them. It was the future they were building.

And the thought of jeopardizing that for his own selfish desire felt almost reckless.

Jeonghan remembered the way she’d looked at him that night, her expression raw and open, her guard completely down. He’d never seen her like that before, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache.

And then, as the days passed, he noticed her pulling back, withdrawing in a way that felt almost calculated.

At every music show, every practice session, she managed to dodge him, carefully positioning herself on the opposite side of the room, turning her focus to anyone but him. She laughed with the others, exchanged inside jokes and friendly nudges, but when it came to him, there was a distance, a wall he could almost see growing between them. Her laughter never quite reached him, her gaze skimming over him as though he were nothing more than an afterthought.

It tore at him, that silence, the sudden shift from the closeness they’d shared to this careful, almost surgical separation. And it was in those quiet, lonely moments, watching her slip further away from him, that he realized he was willing to wait for her.

Jeonghan didn’t know how long it would take, or what it would mean for them, but he understood then that he couldn’t let her go completely. She had become too much a part of him, ingrained in his life in ways he couldn’t easily unravel.

So he held back, giving her the space she seemed to need, hoping that, in time, they would find their way back to each other.

Then came that night in the elevator, a memory that felt like a scar, a moment he would come to regret.

It was just the two of them, the air thick with an unspoken tension, the weight of their silence pressing in from all sides. He had wanted to tell her everything, to let her know that he felt it too, that he cared for her in ways that went beyond friendship, beyond the boundaries they’d so carefully constructed.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, Jeonghan remembered hearing himself politely turning her down, saying things he didn’t fully believe but felt obligated to voice for the sake of professionalism, for the team, for the dream they were all chasing together.

He remembered watching as her expression shifted, her eyes widening in hurt before she blinked it away, forcing herself to remain composed.

In that small, confined space, he remembered seeing the walls going up around her, the protective armor slipping back into place.

Luna’s face was calm, expressionless, but he could see the way she clenched her fists, the slight tremor in her jaw as she forced herself to act unaffected. She gave him a nod, brushed it off as though it meant nothing, but he could see the effort it took her to hold it together. And then, as the elevator doors slid open, she bolted out, practically running down the hallway to her apartment, which was just next to his.

Jeonghan remembered standing there, frozen, watching her go, his heart sinking as he realized the magnitude of what he’d done.

Jeonghan remembered hurting her, far deeper than he’d intended, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

The next day, her eyes were red and swollen, the evidence of a night spent crying she tried to brush off with a smile, claiming it was the result of an emotional book she’d been reading. She laughed it off with the members, shrugging away their concern, but Jeonghan could see the truth in her gaze, the shadow of the pain he’d inflicted.

She avoided looking at him, her smile never quite reaching her eyes, and he felt a cold, sickening guilt settle in his chest. He had wanted to protect her, to keep their friendship intact, but instead, he’d left her hurt and alone.

It took Jeonghan a year to come to terms with it, a year of distance and polite indifference, a year of watching her laugh and live her life without him. But in that time, he realized something profound, something that had been there all along, buried under fear and caution.

Jeonghan realized he didn’t want this.

He didn’t want to keep pretending, to continue living his life as though she hadn’t become an irreplaceable part of him. She was there in his thoughts, his dreams, lingering in every quiet moment, every small ache that reminded him of what he’d let slip away.

He was done holding back, done letting his fears dictate the course of his life. He wanted her, wanted her laughter and her fire, her strength and her vulnerability. He wanted all of it, and for once, he didn’t care about the risks.

In that moment, he made a decision, one that felt as inevitable as the pull of the moon itself. He was going to make it right. He was going to show her that the feelings she had confessed, the feelings he’d once denied, were mutual.

Jeonghan was done pretending.

And with that realization, as clear and unyielding as the moonlight spilling through his window, Jeonghan realized that he loved her.

He was in love with her.

It was as simple, and as complicated, as that.

Jeonghan remembered the night they both finally snapped.

Jeonghan could remember every detail of that night, as though it had been etched into his memory with a fine-pointed needle.

The air had carried an electric charge from the start, a spark that simmered quietly beneath the laughter and celebration at Wonwoo’s birthday party. All fourteen of them were there, gathered together, lost in the rare joy of unwinding without the pressures of rehearsals, schedules, or the carefully curated masks they wore in public.

It was just them, SEVENTEEN, each one a distinct voice in a familiar chorus, but Jeonghan’s focus that night was singular— anchored on Luna.

He remembered watching her from across the room, how she moved in and out of conversations, her laughter ringing out like music against the low hum of the party.

There was something mesmerizing about the way she threw herself into the moment, like she could forget everything except the happiness of right then and there. She sang with a carefree abandon when the music started playing, her voice dipping into laughter as she pretended to hold a microphone, her eyes shining under the dim, warm glow of the lights.

Jeonghan watched her dance, free and unrestrained, her body swaying to the beat as though she were in her own world. She had this undeniable energy about her, something that seemed to draw everyone in and hold them captive, but for him, it was more than admiration.

It was longing— a deep, aching pull that seemed to only grow with each glance.

Jeonghan felt the tension winding tight in his chest as he watched her that night. She looked carefree, radiant in a way that made his heart clench, as if reminding him of every moment he’d denied himself the luxury of wanting her.

And as the night stretched on, as the party began to wind down and the others drifted off in groups or pairs, he found himself stepping forward, offering to take her home.

It wasn’t unusual— he was used to looking after her in little ways, making sure she got back safely, but this time, something felt different.

Jeonghan remembered how the air between them was charged, thick with a tension neither of them acknowledged but both seemed acutely aware of.

The car ride was quiet at first, the city lights flashing by as he drove, illuminating her face in quick bursts of neon and streetlamp glow. But beneath the silence, there was a simmering intensity, an unspoken anticipation hanging in the air.

Luna was close— closer than she’d been in what felt like an eternity, and he could feel her gaze flicking toward him, the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. He matched her look, his eyes glinting with the same spark, the teasing edge of banter slipping naturally between them.

There was a flirtation in the air, a playful exchange that held layers beneath the surface, words that hinted at things they’d left unsaid for too long.

Jeonghan remembered feeling his restraint slipping, his usual control fraying with each passing moment. He’d spent so long keeping his feelings locked away, buried beneath friendship and professionalism, but now, sitting beside her with only the hum of the car engine and the quiet pulse of her presence, he could feel himself unraveling.

Luna was right there, just a breath away, her eyes daring him to cross the line they’d both been dancing around. His heart hammered in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm urging him forward, and before he knew it, he was leaning in, drawn by a magnetic pull he could no longer resist.

Jeonghan remembered when their lips met, it was like a spark igniting a fuse. He remembered the sensation vividly— the warmth of her mouth against his, the softness of her lips, the way she tasted like a mixture of the wine she’d sipped, the lollipop she had been toying in her mouth, and something indescribably, unmistakably her.

It was dizzying, the kiss slow and lingering at first, each second stretching into something that felt endless.

But then, something shifted, a hunger building between them that neither seemed able to hold back. It was as if every emotion they’d kept bottled up over the years was spilling out in that one kiss, a flood of passion and longing that overwhelmed them both.

Jeonghan could feel his heart pounding, a fierce, wild beat that echoed in his ears as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss with a desperation he hadn’t known he possessed. He felt as though he were finally breathing after holding his breath for too long, each touch, each press of her lips grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

In that moment, he knew, with a clarity that was almost frightening, that he never wanted this to end. He wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life, to keep her close, to feel her warmth and the undeniable spark that existed between them.

The night unfolded in a blur of whispered confessions and stolen touches, the passion between them growing with every passing moment.

They barely made it inside his apartment before they were caught up in each other again, tangled in an embrace that felt both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity. Every touch, every look, was charged, as if they were rediscovering each other in a new, profound way.

The barriers they’d once built crumbled, leaving only raw emotion in their wake. That night, Jeonghan felt something shift within him, a realization settling deep in his chest as they finally allowed themselves to be honest about the feelings they’d both been hiding.

He remembered the way her fingers trailed along his skin, the warmth of her breath against his neck, the softness of her voice in the darkened room as they shared secrets, hopes, and fears that had once been too frightening to voice. And with each passing hour, as the night gave way to the first hints of dawn, he felt his heart bind itself to hers in a way that felt irrevocable.

By the time they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, Jeonghan knew that this wasn’t something he could ever let go of.

She was his, and he was hers.

The line had been crossed, and there was no going back.

In the quiet morning light, as he lay beside her, watching her breathe, Jeonghan felt the weight of his feelings settle over him with a certainty that was both comforting and terrifying.

Jeonghan realized, in that stillness, that he was irrevocably in love with her.

Bae Jiyeon.

Luna.

The girl who had been his best friend, his confidante, the one he’d fought so hard to deny, had become everything to him. And as he looked at her, peaceful and unguarded beside him, he knew with absolute certainty that he wanted this— wanted her.

Jeonghan had always been a man of quiet revelations, but none had struck him so powerfully as the realization that he was irrevocably in love with Luna.

It was a truth that hit him like a bolt of lightning— sudden, fierce, and undeniable.

In that instant, he understood that every fleeting moment spent admiring her, every stolen glance and every silent wish, had been building toward this overwhelming desire.

For years, he had found himself captivated by the way Luna existed in her own world, lost in thought or immersed in the simple pleasures of life, and he had admired her fiercely. He had admired her since the day they met, a silent observer of her unguarded moments, and in each one he discovered something new that only deepened his affection. Her presence was like a soft melody that played constantly in the background of his life, familiar yet always capable of stirring his soul.

That realization, though, was only the beginning.

Jeonghan recalled a night that had forever changed the course of his heart— it wasn’t a grand, orchestrated moment in a fancy setting that had brought this realization upon him— it was something far simpler and infinitely more… them.

It was in the quiet hours of the early morning, when the world was hushed and the only sounds were the occasional murmur of a movie and the soft clatter of utensils. Jeonghan remembered admiring Luna in her pajamas, not adorned in the usual splendor of stage makeup and designer outfits, but in her most natural state— bare-faced, her long black hair loosely cascading over her shoulders, and her features soft with sleep. She sat on the edge of the sofa, her eyebrows furrowed slightly and her lips puckered in a habitual pout as she muttered under her breath something about the movie they were watching.

Luna was absorbed in her own world, minding her business and enjoying a late-night snack as they watched a movie together at around three in the morning.

As Luna reached for a dumpling she’d made— a small, humble morsel meant to satisfy a midnight craving— Jeonghan, true to his mischievous nature, swooped in and took the dumpling for himself.

The act was playful, yet in that unexpected moment, as Luna paused mid-bite and glared at him with a look that combined exasperation with an undeniable hint of affection, he felt something surge within him.

Her pouted expression, the slight scrunch of her nose, the way her eyes flickered with both annoyance and longing— it was all etched into his heart like a sacred memory.

Jeonghan watched as she scolded him silently with her gaze, and even though he could not hear her words clearly over the soft hum of the TV, he knew exactly what she was saying. Luna never minded sharing food as long as she was asked; it was the abrupt, uninvited gesture that annoyed her. And yet, even as he delighted in her feigned irritation, he was overwhelmed by the sudden clarity that these simple, everyday moments— these playful battles over a single dumpling— were the very things that made him want to spend his life with her.

In that instant, as he saw the fierce, protective spark in her eyes and felt the soft pressure of her hands as she retorted silently with her gaze, Jeonghan’s heart pounded harder than ever before. He felt both physically and emotionally electrified— his pulse racing, his thoughts spiraling into a realization he could no longer ignore.

Yoon Jeonghan wanted to marry Bae Jiyeon.

Not because they were in a fancy date or a glamorous event, but because in that quiet, unguarded moment, as he watched Luna in her most authentic state, he recognized that her presence was his anchor. Her very existence, with all its flaws and beauty, was something he wanted to cherish forever.

The realization was as sudden as it was profound, a mixture of joy and a hint of self-mockery at his own spontaneity. He chuckled inwardly, marveling at how unexpectedly his heart had leaped from one simple, unadorned moment to the clarity of knowing he loved her.

It was in those vulnerable, ordinary moments— when she was just Luna, not the dazzling idol on stage— that he saw the raw truth of their bond. He knew then, unequivocally, that her soft, pouted expressions, her effortless ways of being both strong and delicate, were everything to him.

That night, as the movie played on in the background, long forgotten, Jeonghan lay with Luna curled up against his chest, her body rising and falling in the rhythm of deep, peaceful sleep. The dim glow of the television cast soft shadows across the room, flickering faintly over her face.

Even in slumber, she was breathtaking.

His arms were wrapped around her, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the fabric of her oversized pajama top, and his heart— still hammering from the realization that had struck him like a tidal wave only hours before— was struggling to calm itself.

He felt warm.

Not just in the physical sense, from the way her body pressed into his, but in the way that reached down into his very soul.

The kind of warmth that settled in his chest and refused to leave.

The kind that whispered of forever.

His thoughts were relentless, swirling around in a fervent, chaotic mess of emotions, excitement, and impatience.

He wanted to marry her.

He wanted to slip a ring onto her finger and promise her forever.

The notion should have been terrifying— the weight of such a commitment, the irreversible nature of it— but it wasn’t.

It was the easiest decision he’d ever made.

He had never been so sure of anything in his entire life. And now that he had acknowledged it, truly let it sink into his bones, he felt almost foolish for not realizing it sooner.

Of course, it had always been Luna.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Jeonghan shifted slightly, reaching out to grab his phone from the coffee table. His movements were slow, practiced, barely disrupting the cocoon of warmth they had created together.

The screen lit up, the brightness making his eyes squint momentarily as he adjusted to the harsh glow. Without hesitation, he opened his messages, his fingers flying across the screen with a sense of urgency that had his heart racing all over again.

He created a new group chat with the members, ensuring that Luna was not included. A smirk played on his lips as he stared at the name he had given the group, amused at his own wit, but there was no time to dwell on it. His fingers moved swiftly, typing out the message that would set everything in motion.

The words stared back at him, illuminated in the soft glow of his screen, a simple sentence that carried the weight of his entire future.

There was no turning back now, not that he wanted to.

He pressed send, his heart giving an erratic thump as the message disappeared into the ether.

The thought of what was to come filled him with a strange mix of anticipation and serenity. It was only a matter of time now. A matter of time before he found the perfect ring. Before he planned the perfect moment. Before he knelt before Luna with his heart laid bare and asked the only question that had ever truly mattered.

It was only a matter of time before Jeonghan made her his forever.

Jeonghan, who Luna had once taught to talk to the moon, used to whisper to it about her— about the girl who had turned his world on its axis, about the love that had bloomed in his heart like an unstoppable force.

Night after night, the biggest little thing in the sky had been his silent witness, watching as he reached for the stars, for her. And now, as he lay beside her, his future crystallizing in his mind, he realized the stars had always been reaching back.

Because the moon, in all its quiet brilliance, had given him a piece of its own light— Luna.

His Luna.

The one who had become his universe.

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goldfades · 6 months ago

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meeting hayes. | JOE BURROW⁹ [008]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first couple of days with your little bundle of joy.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet, domestic!joe, fluffy as a little pancake, mentions of pregnancy, babies (yaya!), joe being the sweetest, best dad husband ever, idk what else

APRIL 2022

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖. It wasn’t just the faint, powdery scent of baby lotion lingering in the air or the tiny clothes folded in drawers that made it so. It was quieter but also fuller—like the walls themselves were adjusting to the weight of this new chapter, reshaping to cradle this fragile little life.

You stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows in golden beams, and shifted your son higher on your shoulder. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’d fallen asleep after his morning feeding, milk drunk and blissfully unaware of the exhaustion etched into every inch of your body.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cradling a mug of coffee and the other absentmindedly running through his hair, which still stuck up wildly from sleep. He was watching you with that soft, faraway look he’d developed since you came home from the hospital, the kind that made your heart clench because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen, “he’s got my ears. Poor kid’s doomed.”

You laughed softly, the sound carried on a yawn. “I think he’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re biased.” Joe stood, stretching in that lazy, unbothered way of his that made even mundane movements look effortless. He walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to your son’s head and then to your temple, lingering for just a second. “You need to sit. You’ve been up all night with him. Let me take him for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in that teasing but firm way that always made you cave. “Go sit. Or better yet, nap.”

Reluctantly, you handed over the baby, watching as Joe adjusted him with a level of care that never failed to amaze you. For someone who spent his Sundays being tackled by grown men, he handled your son like he was made of glass, his big hands cradling the baby’s tiny body with infinite gentleness.

You sank into the couch in the living room, intending to just sit for a moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Joe pacing slowly around the room, swaying slightly as he hummed a low, tuneless melody to the baby.

When you woke, the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. You stretched, groaning slightly at the ache in your back, and wandered into the nursery, where you found Joe sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cradled against his chest. Both of them were asleep, the baby’s head tucked under Joe’s chin, his tiny hand fisted in Joe’s t-shirt.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The crib sat untouched—Joe always claimed he’d put the baby down, but more often than not, you found them like this, tangled together in peaceful sleep.

You didn’t want to wake them, but the sight was too sweet to resist. Quietly, you crept into the room and placed a kiss on Joe’s forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

Later that day, you all ventured outside for the first time since coming home. Spring had arrived in full force, the backyard bursting with new blooms and the soft buzz of bees flitting lazily between flowers. Joe spread a blanket on the grass, and you sat with the baby nestled in your lap, his tiny hat slightly askew on his head.

Joe stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the baby with a soft smile. “Do you think he’ll like football?”

You snorted. “I think he’ll like whatever doesn’t involve being tackled.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to adjust the baby’s hat. “Fair enough. But if he doesn’t, Maisie’s going to have a meltdown. She’s already planning his college career.”

The thought made you laugh, but it was also comforting in a way. You couldn’t imagine a future where Maisie wasn’t involved, where she wasn’t there to be the chaotic aunt who spoiled your son rotten.

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of day that felt like a balm to your soul. Joe dozed off in the grass, his arm draped protectively over you and the baby, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

This was your season, a time of blooming and growing, of finding joy in the simple, quiet moments. It wasn’t always easy—there were still sleepless nights and overwhelming days—but as you sat there, your little family wrapped in the warmth of spring, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d found your place in the world.

The day melted into evening, the golden hues of sunset fading into the deep indigo of night. The baby had been bathed and fed, his tiny body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. You and Joe found yourselves in the living room, the baby nestled in your arms while Joe sat beside you, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table.

The glow of the TV provided a muted light, though neither of you were really paying attention to the movie playing. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence while you both lingered in the haze of new parenthood.

“He’s out like a light,” Joe said softly, his voice low and warm as he leaned in to brush a kiss against the baby’s downy head.

You smiled, glancing down at your son’s peaceful face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his delicate lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. “He’s probably the only one sleeping in this house right now,” you teased, your voice equally quiet.

Joe chuckled. “Not my fault he inherited your sleep schedule.”

“You’re hilarious.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The weight of the baby in your arms and the steady presence of Joe beside you felt grounding, like the world had shrunk to just this room, just this moment.

“We still don’t have a name,” Joe said after a while, breaking the quiet with a small sigh. He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve got to pick something, babe. He’s going to start thinking his name is Little Man.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tired. “I don’t know, Joe. Nothing feels right.”

“You don’t think Maisie’s suggestion of ‘Captain Joe Jr.’ has a nice ring to it?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Mm, tempting,” you joked, “but I think I’ll pass.”

The conversation fizzled out again, the two of you content to just sit in the quiet, letting the baby’s soft breaths fill the space.

Then, something small and unexpected happened.

A soft breeze stirred through the room, coming from the cracked window that let in the cool spring air. It carried with it the faint scent of freshly mown grass and the distant, earthy aroma of the fields beyond your backyard. The curtains shifted, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, the faintest shimmer of something caught your eye.

You turned your head, craning to see. There, just outside, the moonlight illuminated the grass in silvery hues, creating a soft, glowing haze over the backyard.

“It looks like a painting,” you murmured, your voice tinged with awe.

Joe leaned forward, his eyes following your gaze. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice just as soft. “Like one of those fields we used to drive past at night, back home in Athens.”

You blinked, smiling at the memory. The rolling hills, the mist that settled over them in the evenings, the way the moonlight would transform the fields into something almost magical.

“Haze,” you said absentmindedly, the word falling from your lips as if it had been sitting there all along.

Joe turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Haze,” you repeated, this time with more intention. “Like the mist, the way the light makes everything soft and dreamy.”

He tilted his head, considering it. “Haze… that’s kind of nice.”

A pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, you both looked down at the baby. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his little hand poking out of the blanket to rest on your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hayes,” Joe said, testing it aloud. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking something sacred into existence. “With a Y. Hayes.”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his expression. “Hayes,” you echoed, and the name felt like a breath of fresh air, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

Joe leaned in, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. “Hey, Little Man,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet affection. “Looks like you’ve got a name now.”

And just like that, under the soft glow of moonlight and the warmth of shared memories, your son became Hayes—a name born not from deliberation or debate, but from the quiet magic of a simple moment shared between the three of you.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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7bites · 11 days ago

Text

── TELEVANGELISM † PREViEW

PAiRiNG 𓈒 ⛪️ kim sunoo x fem ! reader

MDNI 𓈒 reblogs &. feedback appreciated. official release estimated 06.07. 2.9k WC ♪♫

𝑽iewed as an angel sent by the heavens themselves since you were born, you’d worked tirelessly to prove your devotion and faith. Your godly grace finally pays off on the sweltering summer evening of your 20th birthday. It was that fateful Sunday, 1964, that the abandoned barn sitting just on the outskirts of your typical bike ride home shows you that sinners can disguise themselves as saints.

TAGLIST 𓈒 @gnarlyhoons † open! send an ask to join

GENRE & THEMES 𓈒 religious horror, psychological thriller, angst, mild nsfw / smutty themes here and there, toxic romance, dependency, angst, southern gothic au, some fluff because i’m not completely evil ?

AUTHOR’S NOTE 𓈒 hello everyone! sawyer here, thank you for checking out the preview to my sunoo fic, televangelism. i’m posting a sneak peak in hopes to promote the final release a bit better, so reblogs and support are super super helpful and appreciated. i’d like to clarify that this is a dark fic and will contain various dark and nsfw themes, so mdni and readers discretion advised. at the time of this note, i’ve got over 5k written up and i estimate the final product will have anywhere between 25-35k words total! so stay tuned.

CONTENT WARNINGS 𓈒 this will be a sacrilegious work of fiction. due to this being a preview and not including any dark topics thus far, i will not list the warnings until the final version releases. if leaving an ask to request to be added to the taglist, please know that there will be various darker topics ahead.

INSPIRATIONS 𓈒 @fangel ‘s harvest of purity, ethel cain, pearl and x (2022), the concept of divine intervention, southern gothic / midwestern living, nicole dollenganger, a bit of lana del rey.

The birds sang a song of rebirth, euphonious and kind amongst the ears of the many warm bodies huddled within the church, the low hum of cicadas muddled in with hushed whispers and merriment. It was a sweltering and humid summers evening, the occasional breeze bristling by just enough to give the gardenias a rustle.

It was 5:15 PM, Sunday, 1969. Today is the day you turn twenty years old. Today, you sink into the cold and shallow depths of devotion.

Chipped paint along the pews, soft linen against flushed and faintly sticky skin. You can feel your heart fluttering. You’d given your entire life’s purpose for this very moment, every prayer, every good deed, every lesson learned and taught, every holler and hoot for mistakes made… all to get here. To prove that you were worth it, that you were pure and as docile as a fawn eating straight out the palm of God himself.

It’s not that anyone had ever thought of you as anything but, not at all. In fact, you were your quiet little towns most idolized and cherished possession, the type of girl that makes heads turn and tongues tie. Always kind, never swore, the type of girl that boys told their parents about— A ‘I wanna put a ring on that girl’ girl, a ‘I wanna be that girl’ girl. Never a day passed where you didn’t make sure to do all your chores, and you always set the table. You smelled like fresh cotton, honeyed amber, and ripe fig, good for the takin’. You always dressed proper and accordingly, never a skirt or dress too cheeky, but perfect enough to not be deemed a compete prude. You were smart, humble, and as sweet as apple pie; it was hard for people not to admire you, which is why the turn out for your baptism was rather impressive.

It wasn’t very common to be baptized so far down the line, and a few of your peers always gave you a bit of shit for it– playfully, of course, but you paid no mind to it. Your parents told you from a very young age that you had to work for your devotion, to show that you knew where your intentions lay. There would be no point if you would turn and succumb to distractions, to sin. They worried that taking such an important step in the earlier stages of your life would be too risky, they feared immaturity and it’s wicked reign on your ability to choose right from wrong. You used to beg, to plead for this very moment, many failed attempts to convince your parents met with a stern ‘hush your mouth’ that never failed to make you swallow your heart. Eventually, they noticed your efforts and felt unspoken pride upon receiving praise from the other parents and adults around town, many wishing they could have given birth to an angel like you. There’d even been a running joke about how you must be a late bloomer, otherwise you’d have sprouted your wings and long since ascended from this place you called home.

You could tell it made your parents swell with a gratification that almost felt blasphemous. Almost.

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she…?” A whispered voice had mumbled to another, brown puppy dog eyes taking you in as if his life had depended on it, like he was an addict and you were the bourbon. You’d known Sim Jake since you two were practically in diapers, blossomed and crafted by the same religion, raised with tender love. You’d consider him to be one of your closest friends, though he saw you as much more. He’d never admit it, and you’d never admit that you’d known about how he’s felt for years. Everyone’s got their secrets, after all.

“She looks pretty in white,” said the other through bated breath, also unable to pry away his timorous gaze. “She looks pretty in everything, Hee.” Jake had corrected subtly, nudging his knee against his friends all while continuing to watch as the pastor preached your name to the congregation, the sound like bliss upon the two boys’ ears. Lee Heeseung, a mutual friend of both you and Jake, whom you’d had the pleasure of meeting one chance spring day on a bike ride to the diner. You’d been running errands for your mother all day and found yourself feeling a bit worn down and blowsy, your roseate features giving it away. Jake and Heeseung had been hanging out with a few more of your schoolmates, laughing up a storm and exchanging stifled gossip. It was Jake who had noticed the moment you had walked in, his head perking up at the sound of the bell similarly to a loyal dog excited for the return of their owner, but Heeseung wasn’t much far behind. He had met your figure, trailing from your cowgirl boots up to your exposed calves, teetering the lace lined edges of your white colored dress, past your father’s oversized flannel, and finally up to your face and neck where he watched the beads of sweat get dabbed away with the back of your palm. Despite your flustered appearance, you still managed to look effortless and delicate in every movement you made, not rushed or frazzled. Just there, smiling sickly sweet.

He knew then that if he wasn’t careful with you, he’d end up with a toothache, a rooted cavity that would burn like fire and brimstone.

You’d gotten a peach cobbler milkshake that day, deciding to reward yourself for all your hard labor, but before you could pay Jake had made his way from behind you, telling the worker that he’d cover your tab. Heeseung envied the way that his friend was born with such natural charm, he couldn’t hate him even if he tried. Hell, no one could. When he’d seen the way you smiled winsomely down at your boots and thanked Jake with the flutter of your lashes and that doe-eyed stare, he knew then and there that the feelings you evoked from people were no different.

“And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”

You felt the frigid water hugging your bare legs like it was ready to devour you whole, your gown pooling similar to a jellyfish floating mindlessly, the water seeping further and further up the fabric. Although you felt the many anticipatory stares of everyone and met them back with your own feeble gaze, in this moment you felt yourself drift, a sensation of disconnect resonating deep within you. The words of the pastor began to sound faint, muddled, as if you’d already been underwater for hours now.

“Have you received Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”

You responded instinctively and attentively to the questions you were asked despite not rendering anything being spoken. It left your lips like a kiss goodbye from a lover going to war.

“Will you obey and serve Him as your King for the rest of your life?”

You allowed your eyelids to shut, overflowing with the beckoning call of white noise and wind chimes. Another timid agreement digging its way out from the back of your throat, solidifying faith to take host into your body, a vehement pietism.

“Because you’ve professed your faith in the Lord Jesus, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

Drying off was a bit of a pain, a towel only being able to do so much before you’re left damp and mildly uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind it too much. The gentle hum of a mindless tune left your plush lips as you made your way out from the changing room, your maryjane’s hooked around your fingers by the straps as you fled from the church with the gentle patter of your steps following suit. Typically people would change into a pair of dry clothes after their baptism, but your parents insisted it would be better to let you soak up all of “God’s gracious glory”, so you were to remain in your dampened clothes and walk home, giving yourself time to dry off. A ride home would be much more convenient, but your father would be damned to let the seats of your beaten pickup truck take on a bit of water.

A few people remained outside after service had ended, chatting amongst themselves about Lord knows what. You spotted your parents standing beside that familiar baby blue Chevy, feeling your chest swell with excitement upon seeing your bike in the cargo bed. With quick paced steps, you ushered over and watched your father haul out your cycle and set it down for you along the dirt.

“My starlet! Oh thank you, daddy!” You cooed out, placing your shoes into the wire basket along the front end and going to hug your father only for him to place two rough hands against your arms, abruptly stopping you from reaching any closer.

“Woah there, darlin’… Save it for when the sun soaks you up.” He warned, his thin lip smile causing you to cover up your faltered expression quickly, a stiff smile along your lips as you relaxed back onto the flats of your bare feet, nodding in response. “Right… sorry.”

“Supper should be ready by the time you get home long as you don’t do no piddlin’, you hear me?” Your mother said, making her way to the passenger side of the truck. You nodded once again silently, flickering your gaze off to the side only to notice a faint twinkle catching your attention. Just before your father could also bid you goodbye, you managed to choke out a gentle call.

“W-Wait!” You watched him halt his steps, turning around with an arched brow as he stared your smaller frame down.

“Could I take the radio with me? I wanna listen to the preachin’ stations,” You explained quietly, feeling your hands mindlessly clutching and toying with the handlebars of your bike. “Please…?”

After a long fleeting moment, your father let out a long exhale from his nose, a habit he often did when he’d give in to your requests, causing you to try and hide a growing grin along your face. You watched him reach back into the bed and pull out the small AM-FM radio, giving it a quick check over before settling it into your basket with a knowing look. “You know the rules.“ He commented sternly, resulting in you giving him a tight lipped look, bordering a faux smile. “I’m a devoted woman now, daddy.” You reminded, as if to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, let alone hassle you for. He stared you down for a while before reaching up a calloused hand to place along the top of your head, giving it a gentle shake, pulling away and hopping into the truck. You gave a wave, watching them pull off down the pavement until they were far out of sight, your face falling into a more neutral expression.

It hadn’t lasted but a second upon feeling someone’s hand gently brush against your shoulder, your head whipping around as a result in a faint startle. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” You calmed at Jake and Heeseung’s familiar faces, a meek expression creeping on your own. You waved a dismissive hand, keeping one along your bike handles to keep it steady. “It’s alright, I suppose I’ve got the bearings of a church mouse s’all…” You replied, allowing a small blanket of silence to cover the three of you. You hadn’t noticed it, but Jake had became at a loss from words, finding his prying eyes gazing a tad too far down your dampened dress, being able to see it was a bit see through now that he was closer and not watching you up on a podium. He quickly had cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck while turning off towards the side, suddenly fixated on the crooked telephone poles in the distance.

“We were,” Heeseung decided to speak up, his voice coming out in an awkward and insecure mumble at first before he worked up a bit more confidence to continue. “We were wonderin’ if you needed a ride home…? We saw your folks leave, and we… We—“ He thought over his words carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We were just worried about you, is all.”

You kept strong eye contact with the boy who spoke, your eyes unwavering as you took in the way he talked to you and stammered over himself. For a fleeting moment, you mauled over how it was cute, but it left as soon as it came. You allowed yourself to giggle under your breath, a breeze rolling through and causing your hair to caress your face, your free hand reaching up to tame the masses. “That’s real sweet of you, thank you kindly,” you chimed, watching the way their faces had lit up.

“Great! Just tell u-“

“But I’ll be alright.”

The way their faces fell flat made something in your stir a bit, but you dismissed it and tilted your head to the side, watching the way they communicated with one another through glances. “Right… well, you just be careful,” Jake finally found it in himself to speak once again, but his demeanor had changed significantly, clearly showcasing concern along his features. “Pastor told us a storm was gonna be rolling through soon. Said it would be short, but it’ll come down like God’s wrath.” He mumbled, taking out his anxiety by picking at his dress shirt sleeves.

You laughed a bit, adjusting your bike and hiking up one leg to toss over onto the other side, propping yourself up onto the seat, balancing yourself on your tiptoes. “A storm? It’s hotter than blue blazes out here, but I’ll take your word.” Your hands reached forward into your basket, fumbling around with the antenna and knobs along your radio, “I’m a big girl,” you breathed, peering over your shoulder with an all too alluring gaze.

“I can handle it.”

The route to get to your house was quite the ways away, a rough two hour walk, but you could scrape it down to a little over forty minutes if you biked the entire way and kept a consistent pace. You had to navigate through the busier parts of town, passing by the mom n’ pop shops and various restaurants before making a turn off one of the main roads where the ground turned to gravel and dirt. You knew you were in the final stretch when you reached the prairies, the long outstretch of yellow tall grass going on for the last half hour before you’d reach your house. The homes along the outskirts were spaced out graciously, around three to five minutes apart from each other via car- Although your town was far from the city life, this kind of living was better for more private and secluded people much like your parents.

You had stopped by the store on your way out of the more convoluted area, picking up a hefty pomegranate to pick at when you got home and having it tucked in the corner of your basket for safekeepings. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it was before, the skies having clouded over and casting a gloomy yet warm hue over the vast stretch of land, the humid breeze pushing against your body as you walked your bike along the dirt, deciding on taking a break from all the peddling. Your radio crackled with the occasional static, the words of the televangelist on the station cutting in and out. You didn’t mind though, you’d heard this sermon many times before, so much so that you’d memorized the spoken gospel and filled in the gaps under your own breath, eyes boring ahead at the path before you.

“We come together today…”

The grass flowed against the wind like waves in water, mother natures vigorous ocean. The definite clicking of your bicycle chain blending into the faint static of the man’s voice coming through the speakers.

“In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the lord for guidance. Submit yourselves, then, to God.”

You ran your tongue along the front of your teeth, feeling the sensation of a light sprinkle starting to tatter along your skin. You glanced at the sky, stoping in your tracks as the deep rumble of thunder boomed through your ears, sending a vibration coursing through your chest– Still, you mindless muttered the preacher’s words under your breath.

“Amen.“

From the corner of your eye, a bright and quick flash caught your attention enough for you to hastily crane your head to the side, your eyes straining out into the distance with a sense of upheaval, as if the atmosphere had shifted within the span of that singular second. The preacher’s words of devotion no longer filled your ears, leaving behind a muddled flurry of static and high pitch whirring. A ways away into the fields lay a large abandoned barn that used to belong to an elderly couple you’d known since you were little, covered in faded red paint and wood rot. Unfortunately, they had both passed away several years ago, leaving the barn to fend for itself. As far as you knew, no one ever used it for anything and it remained out of sight; out of mind, only serving as a warm reminder of the pair who showed it great love during their time on earth.

So who was in the barn.

#﹙ † ﹚ 𝐤𝐬𝐧. TELEVANGELiSM #𓈃 SUNOOBiTES #✶ 7bites #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo smut #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hard hours #kim sunoo smut

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