#that was someone's baby what are you talking about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ktownshizzle · 2 days ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look.

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer.

You still did it, though. Both times.

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something.

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag.

God you’re literally already about to break.

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction.

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea.

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on…

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi.

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude.

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect.

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him.

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets.

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities.

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul.

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen.

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it?

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious.

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers.

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service…

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth:

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake @flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia

Sorry if I'm unable to tag you. Did my best to include everyone who commented and asked!

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illbegottenfaith · 3 days ago

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bad day - theo nott x reader

a visit from your boyfriend perks you up even on the most frustrating of days

a/n - my first theo nott fic! I’ve written for other fandom(s) so this was a nice change, hope you enjoy :

tropes/warnings - established relationship, a pet name here or there, nothing overwhelming, fluff, comfort, nothing 18+ but a brief alluding to it

word count - 1k

“Off.”

As a general rule of thumb, you were typically the clingier half of your relationship with Theo. There was something about the feel of his skin against yours and the way his touch grounded you that made you feel safe and cared for in ways you were still too embarrassed to express out loud. Theo was always happy to indulge, casually draping an arm across your shoulders and rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

However, like all rules, it came with its exception - particularly, when you were studying. You needed to focus on your work, and that wasn’t exactly possible with the delicious warmth of Theo pressed against your back or hip. For the most part, he stayed well away when you needed him to, but something about the adrenaline of Quidditch practice made him extra excitable. Which was how you found yourself pouring over a hellish Charms essay in the Slytherin common room late one night, when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle and a familiar weight rest in the crook of your neck.

“Theo, I mean it,” you whined as he slid into the seat next to yours, refusing to relinquish his hold on you, effortlessly dragging you onto his lap. Your irritation evaporated at the sight of his boyish blue eyes and his sloping smile. It was a problem, really, how you could never stay mad at him. Merlin knows his ego is bad enough as it is.

“Hey, doll.” His nose nudged yours and you finally relented, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed you. His face felt cool against your warm forehead, and he smelt pleasantly of some non-descript yet refreshing soap.

“My neck is killing me,” you mumbled against his lips as you broke apart. Theo leaned back to get a better look at your wan face, distractedly running a hand down your spine.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Yes,” you frowned, “with you. Remember?”

Theo stared at you blankly. “Y/N. I’ve been at Quidditch practice for the past four hours.”

“What are you talking about? We had dinner, then we came up to the common room, and it was, y’know, freezing, and I said I needed to buy more fleece-lined tights, and you started saying something about liking me best without any tights, but then those fifth-years started wrestling each other over that game of -“

“- Gobstones?”

“Exactly!”

“Babe, that was last Thursday.”

Your face fell. “…it was. Merlin.” Theo watched, amused, as you let out a string of curses under your breath as you flipped through your planner, scowling. “It’s this stupid Charms essay that’s doing me in. I haven’t had my head on straight all week. Remember when I wore my earmuffs to breakfast on Tuesday?”

“Mhm.”

“Made a proper arse of myself at 8 in the morning. And I genuinely thought I saw you just an hour ago. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I didn’t know I was so forgettable of a boyfriend,” Theo teased, as you buried your face into your hands.

“Stop. I feel awful enough already,” came your muffled voice. Laughing, he took your hands in his own, his features softening at the exhausted look on your face.

“Rough day, baby?” You groaned, burying your face into his chest as he wrapped his other arm around you. Before meeting Theo, you took pride in how fiercely independent you were. Even now, you were more than capable of handling your daily stresses just as well as the next guy, but you still had the tendency of being tightly wound more often than not, and sometimes it just felt nice to have someone hold you while you cried about how awful life was. No one could help you or get you to decompress the way Theo did.

“Rough week, more like,” you mumbled into his collarbone. He hummed sympathetically, hand still running up and down your spine.

“You didn’t say a word.”

“It could have been worse. I thought I’d just…you know. Deal.”

You could hear the amused lilt to his voice. “Deal?”

“Deal with it. On my own, I mean.”

His hold on you tightened a fraction. “Have dinner with me.”

“Didn’t you eat before practice?”

“Hm. Have supper with me.”

“Theo.”

“What?”

You sighed. You were never one to turn in an assignment late but, Merlin - he didn’t make things easy for you.

“I really need to get this essay done.”

“So you’ll get it done. After supper. I could take a look at it for you. Or your neck. Or both.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure, because a distraction is just what I need now. You don’t even take N.E.W.T level Charms.”

“So you find me distracting?”

You pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek. “Let me put it this way. If I, um, ‘have supper’ with you now, this essay will not reach Flitwick’s desk by 10 am tomorrow.”

Theo didn't look too happy about anything you were saying. “So what do you want me to do?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Like any other guy, Theo could only sympathise for so long before he was bursting with advice or solutions. You glanced at the clock, getting the distinct impression that he was valiantly trying to stifle a yawn.

“Go, leave, shoo. Get some rest, read a book, start a fight with some fifth-years, I don’t know. I just need to bully myself into finishing this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But I don’t want to start a fight with some sticky-fingered Gobstones-playing fifth-years.”

Still, he reluctantly slid you off his lap, pressing a kiss to your forehead before briefly disappearing. He returned with a huge, ancient book whose weathered cover seemed somewhat related to Potions. He arched an eyebrow as you made a face at it.

“What’s that?”

“What’s that?” You shot back, looking greatly repulsed by the gnarly volume.

“Some light bedtime reading material,” he quipped. You watched his face nervously, the tell-tale signs of fatigue knitted into the creases of his achingly beautiful face.

“I mean it, Teddy. You really should go to bed.”

“Can’t. I’ve got a date in an hour.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’m taking this really pretty girl out for supper.”

You rolled your eyes as Theo settled into his seat, cracking the disfigured tome open.

“Smooth-talker.”

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott fluff

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 days ago

Text

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 6

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5

In the next letter, Eddie makes no comment about their differing opinions. Chrissy knew he wouldn’t. She doesn’t know Eddie, not really, but he’s never seemed like the kind of guy who’d stop talking to someone over such shallow, small differences, no matter how he comes off in his little cafeteria rants.

Secret Admirer,

You’re enough, just the way you are, brown eyes and all. I bet they’re real pretty. I could look into them for hours, mesmerized by every color differentiation, spend days counting every one of your eye lashes.

Just say the word—I’ll pick you up in my van and we can go to the drive-in and hold hands the whole time. I’ll wear my silver jewelry, and you can wear gold. I bet your hands would look real pretty wrapped up in mine.

I’ll be a gentleman, sweetheart, I swear.

Only the best for you.

Yours,

Eddie

P.S. Romantic meeting spot. I can’t wait to put this note right next to your heart. Next time maybe I can put my letter in Moby Dick. After all, you’re my white whale, baby, I’m always looking for you.

She likes Eddie, really she does, but the way Steve blushes as he hands the letter to her is ridiculous. The guy’s not exactly smooth, or suave, or any of the things that should leave Steve all hot and bothered.

Still, she dutifully helps him write his reply:

Eddie —

Maybe someday, we’ll get to go to that movie. When we do, you don’t have to be a gentleman at all—I’m easy, if it’s for you, and it would be such a waste not to make use of all that space in your van.

I don’t have any rings, but if I did, I think I’d want one of yours. That way, whenever I look down at them, I’d be reminded of you.

How was your day? All I want to do is ask and hear your reply.

Yours, always

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. I’ll search the seas for you.

“I know he’s your friend, but I just don’t get it,” Chrissy says to Jeff, walking close enough to his side that their shoulders brush. “The guy looks like a mangy poodle, and he’s not exactly Shakespeare.”

Jeff snorts. “Hey, he’s at least a cute mangy poodle,” he replies, bumping their shoulders purposefully this time.

“I guess if you’re into that sort of thing,” she mutters, and somehow, Steve is. It still shocks her, sometimes, when she thinks about it too much.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Jeff says, sounding wise, but when she glances at him, he’s grinning, eyebrows jumping up and down at her like this is all just some joke.

She scoffs, “I just wish what Steve wanted wasn’t leading toward a broken heart.”

Jeff’s expression drops at that, mouth pursing. He’s quiet all the way to Eddie’s locker. She slips Steve’s letter between the slats and keeps walking, only stopping when she realizes Jeff’s no longer beside her. When she turns around, he’s staring at Eddie’s closed locker like it holds the answers to the universe.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, finally turning back toward her and catching back up with quick strides.

Chrissy doesn’t respond, at a loss for what to say. She can’t see it, but for all the letters she’s helped write, her and Eddie aren’t friends. She doesn’t know him as well as Jeff, who’s been by his side for years, or even as well as Steve, who watches him every chance he can get.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replies, unwilling to let any hope build, not when it’s Steve’s heart on the line. “Want a ride home?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jeff replies.

And when he slides into her passenger seat, she feels a little less alone.

The letters keep coming, and Steve keeps blushing and pushing them across the table at her.

Secret Admirer,

Oh, a flirty one, aren’t you? I like it. But maybe I’m shy, did you ever think about that? Maybe I want to walk you to your door, slide one of my rings on your finger, and give you a little kiss. You can pick the ring, baby—I’ll even resize it to fit you just right.

My days are always brighter when I hear from you. I go to the quarry on Wednesday’s to peddle my wares, but all I want to do is go home and play my guitar (my sweetheart). I’m writing a new song and I really want to get it down by next week’s practice, but I’m stuck on a riff I just can’t get right.

Do you play any instruments?

Sincerely,

Eddie

P.S. You’re going to make me swoon, babygirl.

And Steve keeps responding using Chrissy’s pen and Chrissy’s brain, and his own bleeding heart.

Eddie —

My mom made me take piano lessons when I was little, but my dad refused to keep paying for them. I didn’t want to at first, but I really liked it. Maybe I’ll brush up my skills so I can play a song for you. Any requests?

Does your band play anywhere? I remember you from the middle school talent show, are you still going by Corroded Coffin? I bet you look hot when you play—I want to see it, someday. Your rings would glint under show lights, hypnotizing the entire audience. Especially me.

Did you figure out your riff? I’m waiting with bated breath.

Sincerely,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. leave this one in The Taming of the Shrew.

She wants to build a cage and lock him inside, or shake him and shake him until he sees what a risk he’s taking. Jeff might not see it, his priorities are different. But her first concern is Steve, always will be Steve, whose heart isn’t the only thing on the line. And she can feel it coming—the moment, inevitably, when this whole thing falls to pieces.

Secret Admirer,

Have you read this play? It’s not the romantic story you think it is. Since you’re already holding the book, why not check it out? I promise not to look at the checkout card to figure out who you are (I say, unrepentantly lying).

My band actually just got our first gig at the Hideout. It’s next Tuesday, and you should come! I would love to see you in the audience, cheering me on. I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries, but darling, I want to see you. Will you come? Please?

Thinking of you, always,

Eddie

Chrissy doesn’t want to stand by and watch Steve Harrington break.

***

Part of Eddie wonders if he won’t get another letter—if she’ll just show up at the Hideout next Tuesday with a smile. Still, when he hasn’t received an answer for a couple days, he checks if anyone’s checked out The Taming of the Shrew, but no, it’s still there, nestled on its shelf in the library, Eddie’s damning letter no longer inside.

He’s starting to wonder if he made a terrible mistake.

It’s happenstance, the way he finds out. He could have just as easily not forgotten his campaign notes. He could have been prepared, and not left all his little sheep moaning and groaning about what amounts to a five minute delay, if he’s quick about it.

He could have, but he didn’t.

Instead, Eddie stands at the end of the hall, transfixed, as he watches Chrissy Cunningham’s distinctive high ponytail sway back and forth as she walks away. From his locker. Where he just saw her slip something in.

She’s well out of sight before Eddie walks up to the looming hunk of metal on shaky legs. It takes three tries to get it open, and there, for all and sundry to see, is an envelope with his name written in a familiar scrawl.

He doesn’t open it.

“What took so long?” Doug gripes as Eddie shuffles back into the room, clutching his notebook to his chest.

Eddie walks slowly to his throne without replying, eyes still unfocused and fixed on the swishing of Chrissy’s hair.

“Are you okay?” Jeff asks.

Eddie shakes the thoughts out of his head, leans back on his throne, and smiles. “Sometimes a quester is besieged on his travels and must defeat a mighty foe before he can return from whence he came.” He says it with all the gravitas of his dungeon master voice.

Doug laughs, Gareth rolls his eyes, but Jeff’s eyes are narrowed on his face for the next ten minutes until he gets sucked into the campaign. And Eddie? Eddie’s heart isn’t in it. No matter how determined he is to put it out of his mind, it keeps sticking to his neurons.

Because Chrissy? She’s nice, sure. And pretty, definitely. Her hair’s…nice? Bouncy? It’s probably soft. And yeah, she’s a jock, but she’s not like most of them—too kind to give a kid a swirly or call any of the other girls fat.

Which brings him to the King of the jocks, Steve Harrington, whose name is practically branded on Chrissy’s shoulders by this point, whose arm is pretty much super-glued around her waist. Steve, with his perfect hair, and long eyelashes, and those big brown eyes, and all those muscles.

Something too squirmy to be hatred sinks in his gut. Jealousy, maybe? Because how could someone like him compete with King Steve for a lady’s hand, love notes or no?

He’s distracted for the rest of the campaign, says half-hearted goodbyes to the boys before finally closing the van door on them and driving away.

When he opens the letter in the safety of his bedroom, it’s shorter than usual:

Eddie —

There’s nothing more I want than to see you up on that stage, rocking out, in your element, but I’m just not ready. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. If you still want to respond, I’ll look in the big print edition of The Hobbit.

He goes over the words again and again, finger running along the lines of each character, trying to picture Chrissy pouring over them with her pen. He loves all the words in all the letters, wants to carve them all on his skin, helplessly charmed by each vulnerability shared.

He can’t quite make the words fit the girl.

Eddie still drops his next reply in the big print edition of The Hobbit the next morning. He watches Chrissy all day. He’s surprised, somehow, when she meets his eyes once across the insurmountable distances between them in the lunchroom. She ducks her head immediately and blushes, even with Harrington’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

There isn’t another note by the end of the day.

“So, wait,” Gareth says, stoned out of his mind and sprawled out on Eddie’s bed after the hell they call education finally released them. “You’re saying Chrissy has been leaving you all those notes?”

Eddie spins around in his desk chair, but it’s not one of those fancy wheeled ones that Harrington probably has, so he’s forced to turn and straddle the back, letting his head hang over the headrest as he groans.

“For the last time, yes!” he says, more to the little bits of his carpet that he can see than to Gareth himself. “It’s Chrissy!”

Gareth takes another hit, blowing smoke toward Eddie’s ceiling to swirl around and join the rest of the stains up there. “Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like her? How close to her were you?”

Eddie groans again, shuffles off his uncomfortable chair to flop beside Gareth and steal his joint back. “She was wearing a cheerleading uniform, man,” he says before taking a puff and letting all the smoke out with his next words. “And no one else on the team has that color hair.”

Gareth hums, twisting on his side to burrow his head into Eddie’s only pillow. “What is that color even? Like, blond but with a weird red in it? What’s it called, bluh-red?”

He laughs like that’s the funniest joke in the world, so Eddie doesn’t hand back the joint, just pulls on it until he’s down to the quick and ashes it on his nightstand as Gareth whines.

“It’s strawberry blond, you idiot.”

Gareth wrinkles his nose at that. “That’s a stupid name.”

Eddie smacks his hand out, lets it hit Gareth’s arm with a solid thwack. “You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“With what?” Gareth replies, rolling away from Eddie when he goes to hit him again. He ends up on Eddie’s floor, fall cushioned by all of his dirty clothes scattered about. “Just like, talk to her?”

“Chrissy Cunningham?” Eddie demands. Gareth doesn’t seem to be understanding the severity of the situation. “Whose head cheerleader and, oh yeah, dating Steve Harrington?”

“So what? The guy’s a douche,” Gareth replies.

Instead of getting back up on the bed, he snuggles further into Eddie’s dirty clothes, rolling around like a pig in a mud puddle until he’s got enough of Eddie’s discarded shirts on him to function as a makeshift blanket.

Harrington is a douche. He’s got to spend an obscene amount of time on his hair in the morning, and he hangs out with those hyenas on the basketball team all the time, and he’s Steve Harrington. Rich kid, lady killer, King Steve Harrington.

Maybe all Chrissy really wants is an excuse to leave him. If that’s what his lady wants, he will provide.

***

Steve’s been sitting on Eddie’s letter for a few days now, at a loss for what to say. He puts it under his pillow at night, hoping the perfect answer will come to him in his dreams. He finds himself unfolding it and refolding it again and again, wondering if the words will change.

Darling,

If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t blame me for trying, can you? Even still, I’ll be singing just for you.

Of course I still want your letters, never doubt that. They’re still, always, forever, the best part of my day.

Always,

Eddie

P.S. Excellent choice in hiding places, have you read it?

It’s just, a big part of him had expected Steve’s dismissal of meeting up would end this thing they have. He’d braced for it, and instead, Eddie was sweet.

And Steve can’t give him what he wants, isn’t what he wants, so he keeps the letter with him and stews on it, Chrissy sending him worried looks when she thinks he’s not paying attention.

No matter how lost in thought he is, a part of him is always tuned into Eddie’s presence, so he sees him coming before Chrissy does.

“Miss Cunningham,” Eddie says, leaning forward like a gallant knight as he takes her small hand in one of his own. She jumps, eyes darting up from her lunch to meet Eddie’s own. “Can I have this dance?”

The rest of the lunch table titters. It might have been charming, if they were at a dance, or anywhere aside from shoehorned to the side of the table with all of Steve’s shitty friends laughing.

It might have been charming if Eddie’d looked at Steve at all.

Chrissy’s sure looking at him, though—eyes all wide in her face as she shifts her gaze back and forth from Steve sitting across from her to Eddie crouched at her side.

“Um—” is all she gets out before Jason stands from the far end of the table and starts taking threatening steps forward.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Freak?” Jason demands, chin raised.

Steve’s about ready to stand, insert himself in the whole thing, but then Eddie’s lips graze Chrissy’s hand.

Jason stumbles back like he’s been shot. Eddie grins against Chrissy’s skin, turns his gaze away from Jason, and lands on Steve. He can almost feel it on his own skin as Eddie puckers his lips again and presses another kiss to Chrissy’s skin, this time to the smooth surface of her wrist.

He never looks away from Steve.

“Um!” Chrissy says again.

Only then does Eddie break eye contact with him. He drops Chrissy’s hand, placing it gently back to the table, says, “until next time, mi amore,” and saunters away, continuing until he’s out of the cafeteria entirely.

Steve doesn’t look away until the door swings shut and blocks his view of Eddie entirely.

“What was that, Chrissy?” Jason demands. He’s moved closer while Steve was distracted, absolutely towering over her, looking more like a beleaguered father than an ex. “First Harrington, and now the Freak?”

Steve wants to defend himself, defend Eddie, defend Chrissy. But despite what Jason clearly thinks, she’s never needed defending, so he asks, “do you want to get out of here?”

“God, yes,” Chrissy sighs.

They leave their lunches uneaten and their tables unbussed, hustling out the same doors Eddie’d just sauntered through, leaving a scolding Jason in their wake. Something about devil worship and blaspheming?

Steve’s not exactly the church-going type; he’s just glad when the doors swing shut and cut off Jason’s little speech.

“What was that?” Chrissy asks in a whisper despite the deserted corridor.

“Jason?” Steve asks at his normal volume. “I don’t know, he’s always been a bit like that, hasn’t he?”

“Not Jason,” Chrissy snaps, slapping at Steve’s arm, taking any sting out of the motion by wrapping her arm in his after and reeling him right back in. “Eddie!”

Steve, who had sort of been hoping that he could pretend the whole thing had been a vivid hallucination, has nothing to say.

“Do you think he knows?” she asks, voice quiet again as she looks furtively around the deserted halls, for random passerby’s or even Eddie himself.

“About you?” Steve asks, stomach sinking even further when he continues, “or about me?”

Chrissy stumbles, eyes going impossibly wider at the thought. She pulls him into an abandoned classroom and pushes him into one of the uncomfortable chairs. She sits in front of him, looking across the desk between them like he’s a sad woodland creature she’d just hit with her car.

“He can’t know about you,” she says. “He was flirting with me.”

Steve grimaces. Chrissy’s too nice, always thinking the best in people like she doesn’t have Jason Carver as living, breathing proof that sometimes, beyond all expectations, people can suck.

“He could be fucking with me. Eddie seems like the type to play with his food.” Steve stares down at the grooves of the desk he’s seated in. Someone had carved FUCK on it in big, bold letters. Steve’s never agreed with a sentiment more. “Do you think Jeff told him?”

Chrissy shakes her head so hard that her ponytail whacks her in the face. “No way, he promised!” she reminds him.

Jeff seems like a good guy, but Steve’s not sure how far that goes. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to trust like that, not with this.

“Well, what do we do?” Steve asks. “Should you just flirt back next time?”

Chrissy bites her lip, worrying at the dry skin there until Steve taps her chin in reminder, and she puts her teeth back in her mouth.

“Maybe it won’t happen again?”

Steve sighs, thunking his head down against the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs into the wood, Chrissy’s hand patting his shoulder a paltry consolation to the nightmare he’s found himself in.

***

It happens again.

“Carry your books, my lady?” Eddie asks. He’s already got his hands out expectantly, but he’s too much of a gentleman to make a move without her say-so.

She watches his hopeful grin for a moment before sliding her pile of books into his awaiting arms. Once secured, he does an endearing little fist bump before taking up residence at her side like it's his birthright.

“What are you doing, Eddie?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” he asks, almost sounding clueless enough to convince her, if it wasn’t for that little smirk on his lips.

Everyone in the hallways are giving them a wide berth, clearly shocked by the unexpected pair. It’s nice, almost, to be given so much space. But—

But.

“You know I’m with Steve, right?” Chrissy asks.

Eddie grimaces, like just hearing Steve’s name is enough to sour his mood. “What, is it illegal to walk a pretty girl to class now?” he asks.

Chrissy’s own mood sinks to the pits, and she sighs, disappointed. “No,” she replies before letting the silence between them linger uncomfortably.

Eddie’s fidgeting with her books, anxious fingers fluttering against the loose pages of one of her notebooks, and his eyes dart toward her every couple of seconds.

“Chrissy—”

“You know, for someone who spends so much time ranting about the status quo, you sure can’t seem to look past skin deep.”

Eddie jerks like she struck him. Chrissy would feel bad if she wasn’t thinking about having to tell her best friend about this in a couple hours. “I see you,” he murmurs, shifting on his feet and not meeting her gaze as he holds out her books for her to take.

When Chrissy sighs, he flinches again. “I don’t think you do,” she says, not sticking around to see how it lands.

She’s got class to get to, and a best friend’s heart to break.

Chrissy snags Steve’s hand before he can walk through the cafeteria’s swinging doors and pulls him the other way. They settle into the same, abandoned classroom in the same, abandoned seats.

“It happened again,” she says, not letting go of Steve’s hand.

He’s still got a bit of polish clinging to his nails, the chipped yellow making him look almost jaundiced with how patchy it is. She uses her own fingernail to chip at it, ignoring the sunshine yellow flakes dropping down to the empty desk separating them.

Steve doesn’t ask what happened again; he doesn’t need to.

“Did you flirt back?” he asks.

Chrissy bites her lip. “I let him carry my books.”

She hadn’t flirted, is the thing, but she hadn’t gotten rid of him either. She knew, no matter how heartbroken he looks across from her right now, he wouldn’t have wanted her to.

“Okay,” he says, like it really is, like he means it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me!” she snaps, snatching her hands back for a second before the bewildered look on his face has her reaching out again. “What are you thanking me for?”

Steve smiles—it’s small, and sad, and he’s beaming it right into her soul. “For keeping me safe.”

Chrissy groans, dropping her head onto their clasped hands and just keeps groaning. He means it—of course he does. If there’s one thing she’s learned since this whole thing started, it’s that Steve Harrington is somehow, inexplicably, too nice for his own good.

“I love you, you know,” she says, lips brushing against his skin with every word.

She’s been thinking it since he’d called her his best friend in that letter, since he’d said it and she hadn’t said it back. It sits unsaid behind her teeth every time he smiles, or frowns, or anything at all. He’s just too dang easy to love.

When he doesn’t reply, she forces herself to raise her tired head and get a look at his face. His eyes are big and round, mouth hanging open far enough that she’s tempted to close it for him, and there’s a damning sheen to his eyes that makes her own water.

“Really?” he asks, voice cracking. “You do?”

“Of course,” she replies, the way he always does to her, no matter what she asks for.

He smiles again, and it’s big this time, happy and watery around the edges as he says, “love you, too,” leaving the “I” out of the confession like that’ll somehow make the whole thing less real.

They’re smiling at each other like damn fools when Steve’s stomach growls and they dissolve into giggles.

“Buy me lunch?” she asks.

“Of course.” He jumps up from the desk and holds out his hand for her, an unknowing mirror of Eddie this morning.

She doesn’t put her books into his arms, just takes his hand.

PART 7

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic

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x31043 · 3 days ago

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People in the comments acting like Native & First Nations tribes haven’t been denied access to their language & traditions for hundreds of years.

This is different than if a culture makes something for the purpose of selling or sharing it with someone. I’d like to remind y’all of the context of where many of these items came from. Imagine this— many tribes are forcibly removed from their lands, and so disconnected from MANY traditional ways of their culture (methods of basket weaving, clothes making, food preparation because there are different animals/plants/textiles etc), then they are once again forced to lose their languages and religion (boarding schools, severe punishment if using language other than English) AND THEN they are ROBBED of precious objects and sentimental items including blankets, food carrying items, household items, medicine items, baby boards, and BODIES of their dead relatives. These things are still forcibly sold or stolen and treated like ‘artifacts’ that just belong to anyone. It’s hideous. It’s non-consensual.

These things are not just art, or toys, or something to be enjoyed by others. That attitude stems from the same people who robbed graves and held bodies for display (and still do!) It’s just gross. If you are interested in culture, go talk to people, make friends with those in the culture and really learn what these objects are for. So many people are so happy to share, but just buying something and hanging it on your wall doesn’t actually give you the appreciation for a culture you think it does. Sick of people using the “cultural appreciation” angle to describe relationships with cultural items they neither know anything about or care to learn. People’s lives aren’t just an aesthetic to make you look worldly or connected. You can’t appreciate something’s beauty if you’re just taking advantage of it.

Want to really appreciate a culture? Fight for Rematriation!

Sara Jacobsen, 19, grew up eating family dinners beneath a stunning Native American robe.

Not that she gave it much thought. Until, that is, her senior year of high school, when she saw a picture of a strikingly similar robe in an art history class.

The teacher told the class about how the robe was used in spiritual ceremonies, Sara Jacobsen said. “I started to wonder why we have it in our house when we’re not Native American.”

She said she asked her dad a few questions about this robe. Her dad, Bruce Jacobsen, called that an understatement.

“I felt like I was on the wrong side of a protest rally, with terms like ‘cultural appropriation’ and ‘sacred ceremonial robes’ and ‘completely inappropriate,’ and terms like that,” he said.

“I got defensive at first, of course,” he said. “I was like, ‘C’mon, Sara! This is more of the political stuff you all say these days.’”

But Sara didn’t back down. “I feel like in our country there are so many things that white people have taken that are not theirs, and I didn’t want to continue that pattern in our family,” she said.

The robe had been a centerpiece in the Jacobsen home. Bruce Jacobsen bought it from a gallery in Pioneer Square in 1986, when he first moved to Seattle. He had wanted to find a piece of Native art to express his appreciation of the region.

The Chilkat robe that hung over the Jacobsen dining room table for years. Credit Courtesy of the Jacobsens

“I just thought it was so beautiful, and it was like nothing I had seen before,” Jacobsen said.

The robe was a Chilkat robe, or blanket, as it’s also known. They are woven by the Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian peoples of Alaska and British Columbia and are traditionally made from mountain goat wool. The tribal or clan origin of this particular 6-foot-long piece was unclear, but it dated back to around 1900 and was beautifully preserved down to its long fringe.

“It’s a completely symmetric pattern of geometric shapes, and also shapes that come from the culture,” like birds, Jacobsen said. “And then it’s just perfectly made — you can see no seams in it at all.”

Jacobsen hung the robe on his dining room wall.

After more needling from Sara, Jacobsen decided to investigate her claims. He emailed experts at the Burke Museum, which has a huge collection of Native American art and artifacts.

“I got this eloquent email back that said, ‘We’re not gonna tell you what to go do,’ but then they confirmed what Sara said: It was an important ceremonial piece, that it was usually owned by an entire clan, that it would be passed down generation to generation, and that it had a ton of cultural significance to them.“

Jacobsen says he was a bit disappointed to learn that his daughter was right about his beloved Chilkat robe. But he and his wife Gretchen now no longer thought of the robe as theirs. Bruce Jacobsen asked the curators at the Burke Museum for suggestions of institutions that would do the Chilkat robe justice. They told him about the Sealaska Heritage Institute in Juneau.

When Jacobsen emailed, SHI Executive Director Rosita Worl couldn’t believe the offer. “I was stunned. I was shocked. I was in awe. And I was so grateful to the Jacobsen family.”

Worl said the robe has a huge monetary value. But that’s not why it’s precious to local tribes.

“It’s what we call ‘atoow’: a sacred clan object,” she said. “Our beliefs are that it is imbued with the spirit of not only the craft itself, but also of our ancestors. We use [Chilkat robes] in our ceremonies when we are paying respect to our elders. And also it unites us as a people.”

Since the Jacobsens returned the robe to the institute, Worl said, master weavers have been examining it and marveling at the handiwork. Chilkat robes can take a year to make – and hardly anyone still weaves them.

“Our master artist, Delores Churchill, said it was absolutely a spectacular robe. The circles were absolutely perfect. So it does have that importance to us that it could also be used by our younger weavers to study the art form itself.”

Worl said private collectors hardly ever return anything to her organization. The federal Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act requires museums and other institutions that receive federal funding to repatriate significant cultural relics to Native tribes. But no such law exists for private collectors.

Bruce and Gretchen Jacobsen hold the Chilkat robe they donated to the Sealaska Heritage Institute as Joe Zuboff, Deisheetaan, sings and drums and Brian Katzeek (behind robe) dances during the robe’s homecoming ceremony Saturday, August 26, 2017. Credit NOBU KOCH / SEALASKA HERITAGE INSTITUTE

Worl says the institute is lobbying Congress to improve the chances of getting more artifacts repatriated. “We are working on a better tax credit system that would benefit collectors so that they could be compensated,” she said.

Worl hopes stories like this will encourage people to look differently at the Native art and artifacts they possess.

The Sealaska Heritage Institute welcomed home the Chilkat robe in a two-hour ceremony over the weekend. Bruce and Gretchen Jacobsen traveled to Juneau to celebrate the robe’s homecoming.

#so many people so desperate for culture clout #white** people #text #appropriation #native #indigenous #indigenous art

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bbokicidal · 1 day ago

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"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [Changbin]

Changbin allows the others to see just what you can do with your mouth.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader Warnings: Oral sex, deep throating, one of the others kissing you after you give Changbin head, the members helping you go down on Changbin, Chris,, jerks it,,

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol.

Word Count: 906

Divider by @enchanthings

"I've never seen someone so eager before."

"She's always excited to have my cock in her throat. Acts like it's some type of dessert or something." Changbin couldn't help his slightly cocky nature at the mention of you being eager to please. Though the comment was made a bit late; You were already taking him into your throat, tongue lathing over the underside as if he were a special lollipop just for you to have.

Hyunjin chuckles from where he sits off to the side in one of their lounge chairs, legs crossed to hide his excitement while he watched. His fingertips prodded at where they touched his cheek, head tipped into his hand and eyes dark as they followed every movement. He'd been completely enamored with the sight of his roommate getting sucked off - a little too much, almost. He let his free hand ghost down his thigh, almost as if teasing himself while refusing to touch anywhere near the tent forming in his pants. "I was talking about you."

A soft hushing sound comes from somewhere else. Jisung had shushed Hyunjin's peeping, eyes wide and body leaned forward as if it would give him a better view. The poor man had never looked so pink in his life, and maybe it was just because he was finally seeing one of his favorite hyungs get worshipped the way Jisung always knew he deserved. Or maybe he wanted to join.. -

His hand laid on Seungmin's knee beside him, who was lounged back on the sofa and trying hard to hold in any laughter that escaped his throat. With one hand previously palming himself through his shorts, it laid still now in his lap as he lets his eyes travel to Jisung beside him. While he was now far less horny than he had been thirty seconds ago, he thought the sight of Jisung so wide-eyed and ogling your form was a bit silly; But truly, he understood why he was so.. infatuated.

The swell of your throat seemed to catch all of their eyes; The way Changbin's cock bulged beneath your skin, proving that the silly small-cock-binnie rumors were just that - rumors.

"Fuck.."

Felix's eyes travel to the man sitting beside him. Perched on the floor and leaning back against the couch just near Seungmin's legs was Chris, veiny hand plastered over his mouth as the other had settled long ago in his lap. The rapid movements of his fist jerking back and forth seemed to give away what he was doing under the fabric of his shorts, even if he'd pulled his legs up to his chest and tried to hide the motion. His eyes darted to Felix who had already looked away, a bit shameful in being caught getting off to Changbin filling your throat.

But Felix was less.. shy. He'd even crawled closer from his previous spot on the floor, kneeling beside you and blushing hard at the sound of your lewd noises up close. He could hear the way Changbin's cock made you gag, spit dripping from your lips and eyes teary as you peered up at your boyfriend. With a hand wrapping into your hair, Felix pushed forward gently and nearly gasped at the sight of your throat filling further.

"Give me a moment, baby." Changbin breathes out so suddenly, gently pressing your shoulder back to pull you off of him. You sit back, willing and happy to oblige, and Jeongin can't help but notice how puffy your lips are. Swollen, wet, dripping.

He's happy to crouch down from where he'd been standing nearby, one hand guiding your head to look at him in your daze. With glazed eyes and parted lips, your head tips so willingly to the youngest that he understands in one fluid moment just why Changbin was so adoring towards you. You were so happy to please; So obedient. "You're doing wonderful," he whispers under his breath, leaning in and letting his lips press to yours. It's brief, shy almost, but he's sure to let his tongue travel over your lower lip and gather the spit that dripped - taking it into his own mouth; Greedy.

Letting his hand fall from your face and allowing you to sit up properly, looking back to your boyfriend, you're met with the sight of not one but two men peering down at you. Changbin's all cheeky smiles, plump cheeks squishing with dimples and even a little giggle as he watches your eyes dart back and forth between the two curiously.

Minho looked.. all too good hovering above you; Just a tad taller than Changbin, eyes dark and hungry, hair falling in his face and head tipped down almost condescendingly without any words needed. His hands remained tucked in his sweats, the watch secured around his wrist displaying a line that seemed to pulse multiple times each second; Letting him (and everyone around him) know that his heart rate was skyrocketing just by you staring up at him on your knees.

Changbin wrings his hands out in front of his chest, his demeanor becoming a bit bashful as he prepared himself to ask. He'd known Minho was lurking there most of the time - watching, in awe at the sight of your lips around his cock - and just how well you seemed to take him for how much of a rod he's got attached to his hips.

"Think you can take two, baby?"

Tag List : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @inlovewithstraykids @seungminsbest @edit-me-prettyplease @butterflydemons @satosugu4l

#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin x reader #Changbin smut #changbin imagine

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amazinglyashy · 3 days ago

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hi! i was wondering if i can request lads boys comforting their s/o bc their cat has passed. my baby passed today and i’m grieving really hard. thank you and have an amazing day🫶🏻

Moving this one up immediately in my box just to express my condolences. Your baby was very loved, I'm sure, and I hope you get through this tough time with care <3 I'm sorry for your loss. It's a tough time, regardless of who you're losing. My partner's grandpa passed a couple years back and I remember us crying, laughing and bowling, crying again, and talking a lot. Heck, I went to a craft store right after I heard the news and wandered around for two hours without any goal. I think I bought lolipop sticks. Take care love <3 You'll get through this. I know it's hard.

LaDS men when your pet cat has passed away

Xavier -

Since he lives so close by, your baby was his baby too, so he's devastated. Not equally so, he knows you spent more time with them, and you had them long before you had met him, but still- the pain exists.

The both of you are a bundle of blankets for a long while, just lying in the comfort and going through the both of your phones as you look for every single photo or video that has your cat in it, even just a little bit.

Lots of tears, but lots of laughs as well.

Everything is clear and apparent with every single memory the two of you go through- every little quirk your cat had, every little habit they had-

You both have a really nice time just talking about your cat, and any of the goofy mischief they used to get up to.

Of course you cry, and of course Xavier holds you through it. He knows how hard this is for you, and he knows it'll pass.

But until then, he's got you.

He's always got you.

Zayne -

He may be pragmatic to an extreme sometimes, but when it comes to grieving, he knows how hard it can be on the human psychic.

Not to mention on someone like you, who's already been through enough.

He'll definitely ask you if you want a hug, and if the answer is yes, he'll hold you, squeezing you so snugly and for so long that surely his muscle memory doesn't know a different position anymore.

Warm tea or cocoa, his old cardigan on your shoulders, pillows and blankets surrounding you on the couch, and just…

A lot of care.

If you ask him for any opinions or advice, he probably won't be able to give it to you. He doesn't want to risk anything coming out abrasive when you're still so tender, so he'll settle for condolences and anything comforting he can think of.

"I know it hurts. And you can try as you might, but the hole they left won't ever manage to be blocked out. All you can do is keep going, and hold their memory close."

Sylus -

Deep breath, it's going to be alright.

Loss is definitely something he's familiar with- and it's partially why he doesn't have anyone of his own. Mephisto may have a personality, but he's also mechanical. There's no way for him to disappear, because every bit of data in him gets saved, just in case.

But there's also no way your cat will disappear either, because Sylus has saved every memory of her, to make sure you will always have something should this day arrived.

He just didn't expect it to come so soon.

Doesn't matter what job he has, it's left to Luke and Kieran. He's by your side to care for you in whatever capacity you may need. He takes a lot of initiative, but he also asks you a lot of questions too. He doesn't want to risk making you uncomfortable, and he knows you're extra tender right now.

A lot of physical affection if that's what you need, and a lot of ideas to help you through it- whether he takes you out somewhere to help distract you from the pain, or goes through old memories with you to help you grieve through it, he'll do anything.

For as long as you may need.

Rafayel -

He hated cats.

Except for this one.

That was partially your fault, but also partially the darned cat's fault for being such a love.

He's devastated, both for you, and for himself.

He'll hug you- kiss you. Anything he can think of that usually cheers you up, even though he knows there's really nothing that's going to help right now.

He's been there, he's experienced loss. He knows what you're going through, and unfortunately- he knows that also means there's not really any helping it.

Someday when you're ready- could be in a month, could be three years from now, it doesn't matter at all him- he'll make you probably one of the favorite gifts you'll ever receive from him.

It's a portrait of your past baby, flowing full of life and color with eyes that sparkle almost as well as theirs did back when they were still around.

Almost.

And sometimes, 'almost' is more than enough to help ease the pain.

#.writey #love and deepspace #lads #lds #x reader #sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #<3

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amirasainz · 14 hours ago

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hi! Could you maybe do something like reader is Lando's baby sister and it's her first time at a GP so he shows her off to all the drivers?

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo babygirl 🧡

Proud big brother

Lando was bouncing with excitement as he led his six-year-old sister, Y/N, through the paddock at the Silverstone Grand Prix. It was her first time attending a race weekend, and he was beyond thrilled to have her here. He'd been talking about it for weeks, sending her little videos of the track, the car, and the crowd. He’d told her everything he could think of to help her understand what a race weekend was like.

Today, though, seeing her tiny hand in his, wide-eyed with awe as she looked around, he felt a mix of pride and protectiveness. He was determined to make this the best day ever for her.

Lando grinned as they entered the McLaren garage, and his engineer shot him a look of amusement, clearly surprised to see him accompanied by someone so small.

“Y/N, meet the team!” Lando gestured with a grand sweep of his hand. “These guys keep my car fast and safe.”

Y/N looked around with big eyes, giving a shy wave, which earned a couple of chuckles from the engineers.

Just then, Lando spotted Carlos walking by, and his face lit up. “Oh! Y/N, you have to meet Carlos.” He crouched down beside her, whispering, “He used to be my teammate, and he's one of the nicest guys on the grid.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as Carlos approached, his expression softening immediately when he saw the young girl.

“Hola, Y/N!” Carlos crouched down to her level, extending his hand for a handshake. “I’m Carlos. I've heard so much about you already, niña"

Y/N giggled and shook his hand with both of hers, looking up at Lando as if to say, isn’t he cool?

Lando chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You know, Carlos is really fast too, just like me.”

“Like a race car?” she asked, eyes widening as she looked back at Carlos.

Carlos laughed. “Exactly like a race car. Maybe even faster than Lando.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Lando teased, giving Carlos a playful nudge.

As they chatted, the crowd around them started to notice the heartwarming scene. Cameras from media outlets and phones of fans began focusing on the Norris siblings. Lando noticed the flashing cameras and shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at Y/N, who was too enthralled with Carlos’s explanation of “how to go fast” to notice.

Oscar walked over, intrigued by the gathering. “Who’s this?” he asked, bending down to give Y/N a warm smile.

Lando's eyes sparkled with pride. “This is my little sister, Y/N.”

Oscar’s face lit up as he crouched beside her. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Oscar.”

Y/N looked up at Oscar, studying his soft hair, and before anyone could say a word, she reached out and began gently petting his head as if he were a small animal. She tilted her head, seemingly fascinated by the texture.

Oscar froze for a second, clearly surprised, but then he let out a soft laugh. “Guess I have soft hair, huh?”

Carlos burst out laughing, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got some competition here, Lando. She’s already got a favorite driver.”

Lando’s face flushed, caught between amusement and a sudden urge to shield his sister from all the cameras and teasing.

“Y/N, don’t bother him too much,” he said gently, giving her a small, protective smile. “Oscar needs to save his energy for racing.”

Y/N giggled and looked back at Oscar, who just winked at her, clearly enjoying the attention. Lando could feel the eyes of the media zooming in on their little interaction, the moment drawing attention from fans and reporters alike.

Max strolled over, smirking when he saw the scene. “So, this is the famous Y/N I’ve heard so much about?”

Y/N looked up, wide-eyed. “You’re the one who’s always beating Lanno!” she said with innocent frankness, making all the drivers burst into laughter.

Lando groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Thanks, Y/N. I feel the love.”

Max chuckled, bending down so he was eye-level with her. “You know, it’s only because I have more experience,” he explained, trying to keep a straight face. "And because I'm just a bit better than he is right now," he teased gently.

Y/N tilted her head, looking from Max to Lando. “Will you beat him, Lanno?”

Lando nodded, trying to sound confident, though he was smiling at her earnest expression. “Of course I will, Y/N. I’m going to win a championship one day.”

Y/N’s face lit up with excitement, and she threw her arms around him. “You’re my favorite driver, Lanno!”

The other drivers couldn’t help but chuckle at the sweet interaction. Charles had joined the group by now, observing everything with an amused smile.

“Don’t worry, Lando,” Charles teased, folding his arms. “Y/N’s loyalty clearly lies with you.”

“Yeah, for now,” Carlos chimed in, smirking as he watched her go back to petting Oscar’s hair. “But give her a couple more races with us, and she might just change her mind.”

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. He gently tugged Y/N’s hand, leading her away from Oscar. “Alright, alright, don’t get too comfortable with my teammates. You’re here to support me, remember?”

Y/N nodded, but her attention was soon stolen by a nearby display of miniature cars in the McLaren hospitality area. She tugged on Lando’s sleeve, pointing at them with wide, sparkling eyes.

“Oh! Look, Lanno! Tiny race cars!”

Lando chuckled, letting her excitement distract him from his nerves about the media coverage. “Want to pick one out? Maybe we can find one that looks like my car.”

As she eagerly examined the toy cars, the other drivers exchanged grins, clearly entertained by Lando’s newfound protective side.

“Just wait until she wants to attend all the races,” Charles teased, nudging Lando. “You’ll be too busy babysitting to focus.”

“Right, and she’ll be rooting for Oscar,” Max added, giving Lando a playful shove.

Lando gave them all a playful glare. “You all wish,” he shot back. “She’s my number one fan, right, Y/N?”

Y/N looked up, clutching a toy car that she’d chosen. “Yep! Lanno is the best driver in the world!”

All the drivers exchanged looks of amusement, sharing a laugh, but Lando’s expression softened as he glanced down at his little sister. She didn’t understand the rivalry, the pressure, or the spotlight. To her, he was simply her big brother.

And in that moment, as he held her hand and watched her excitement, he realized that he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#lando norris x sister!reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen x reader #norris!reader

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frogchiro · 3 days ago

Note

hhmmmmmggghh need pathetic horny arthur jerking off to thoughts of reader and cumming and cumming until he can’t cum anymore and then just laying there tossing and turning all night

half of it is from guilt over fantasizing about a young woman who he should know would never want an ugly violent bastard like him (or so he thinks 👀), the other half is just sheer desperation for someone to love him and keep him warm at night 💔

—🦌 anon

He may be pathetic and old and horny but that's how we like our men here </3

Poor Arthur won't be able to sleep at night, just tossing and turning, guilt ridden and his poor heart squeezing anytime he glances at the soiled cloths next to him. What is he even doing? Thinking about you, the newest addition to the Van der Linde Gang; a young, proper lady who wanted freedom, whose parents got killed and had nowhere to go and it was just your luck to run into them.

And here he was; Arthur Morgan, reduced to nothing but a simpering fool, getting horny like a boy because the buttons of your blouse were unbuttoned and showed your cleavage, an image that was burned into his mind and ultimately resulted in the mess next to him.

Just a few hours ago he was drowning in mind-numbing pleasure, jerking his fat cock to the thoughts of you here, with him, in his tent where you two would keep each other warm and safe; no risks, no heists, just two people so deep in love that nobody could even tell where one began and where the other ended.

Arthur kept imagining an idyllic life with you, one where you could leave the outlaw life, retire, have your own little piece of Heaven on a quiet farm somewhere far away. Where he could bend you over anywhere he wanted, take you by the hips and mount you silly until both of you were screaming from pleasure.

A life where he could be your big, strong, loving husband who is more than happy to protect you, care for you and provide for you...You and maybe even a sweet little babbling baby on your hip?

But then after he cums with a muffled groan, when his breath and raging hormones settle does he finally get the clarity in his head he needs and...Everything suddenly just seems so pointless.

He is so so guilty because he truly believes that he doesn't deserve you, of course he doesn't. You're still young, have your whole life ahead in front of you, your sweet smiles making even the darkest clouds over his mind go away. You always seem to just...gravitate towards each other, whenever either of you seems to feel under the weather you just kind of find each other. These are the times where Arthur doesn't feel old, sick or like a outlaw anymore, he just feels...good. Whenever you talk with him, joke with him, laugh until tears fall from your pretty eyes at his terrible jokes Arthur feels like he's the happiest man alive...It's a real shame that you probably don't feel the same...

...Or do you?

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #he's so sweet and pathetic #his heart is as big as his cock </3 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

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ayrtonswnna · 1 day ago

Note

hello there!

Can I request a Franco x reader? But where Ayrton Senna is alive in this universe and the reader is Senna? If not, then fine. It's up to you. Thanks in advance 😊😊

ʚɞ a/n: that is my moment!!!!!!!! i often imagine how would it be to have ayrton in contemporary scenarios it's unhealthy lol. i really think he'd be full of jokes and a fun guy just like he was off track. thanks for the request, it was a real nice one to write! (and if anyone has any senna request, i'll be more tham happy to take it! (i'm even willing to write stuff with senna himself))

ʚïɞ "you got me good" FC43

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more franco fluff!

✧₊⁺ franco colapinto x cecília senna (senna!female oc)

✧₊⁺ word count: 1,6k⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺, gender: crack, fluff.

✧₊⁺ summary: franco and cecília kept a secret relationship and when they decide to come clean, her father was ahead of it and he's a total menace.

✧₊⁺ warnings: alternative universe where that may 1th 1994 didn't happen and ayrton grew old like he deserved to, my hyper focus on that man shown in references, a bit of portuguese properly translated, kinda short and poorly contextualized, curse words, franco is a baby, just soft and light content for the win.

"What do you mean he doesn't know about it?"

Franco took a deep breath, massaging his own scalp as his friend and co-worker continued talking, a mix of excitement and judgment in his words.

"You are not making this any better," he mouthed.

"You are dating his daughter! You are da-ting. The man's daughter. Like... The man's daughter. The hell haven't you met her family!?"

"I am scared, okay!? If I get rejected by her family... It's not just my girlfriend's family. It's simply Senna himself! Should I what!? Drop the job? Hide in a cave?"

Alex laughed, the words and the tone easing the tension. The guy was worried to death and things might be simpler than he thought. Everyone knew Senna was a fun person.

Dating Cecília Senna felt almost like marrying into royalty. It's a good feeling, though. Bagging Cecília Senna could easily be added to one of Franco's big achievements — and he's a former F2 driver called in last minute to fill a Formula One seat — and he's doing great.

But still, it's Cecília Senna, the only child of a legend, someone he looked up to growing up, someone he saw in the paddock many times before ending up in his daughter's sheets.

"Hello, everyone!"

God, his heart might have dropped to the floor just now. The retired driver walked into the garage happily, with his daughter attached to his arm and waving familiarly.

Everyone gathered around them immediately, though Cecília's eyes instantly met Franco's. She knew he was scared and had made fun of him until she couldn't anymore, teasing him in every way she could.

"I've heard the news on the Argentinian! You guys are lucky you got away easily!"

Alright, it's time to pray. What news? That he's fucking his daughter? That they meet every week? That she wanted a Williams' box pass so badly just because of him? Or... That they hid it from everyone just to gain a bit more time?

"We got quality, mate! That's it." Vowels took his cue to fill in the blank, the people dispersing and going back to their work. "Found the kid sparring and made him a beast."

"Yeah, of course," the Brazilian laughed. "What's up, buddy! Feeling the pressure?"

Franco mentally cursed Cecília for raising her eyebrows and doubling the meaning of the question, but he managed to stand up and dry his sweaty hands on his pants.

"I try not to, honestly. Not... think about it a lot," he said, feeling he could have worded the sentence a bit better as they shook hands.

"That's the spirit! I heard a lot about you, little man. Do you know my daughter? Cecília?"

Tricky question. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tricky question.

If he had heard about it, then he knew about them. Franco could say "yes" and end up with a lecture, or say "no" and be caught in a lie.

"You guys think you are smart, huh? Fooling around, hiding from cameras..."

Oh, it's over. It's over for him. The "drop the job and hide in a cave" plan was almost running in his veins right now. Maybe he should Sebastian Vettel his way around, retire early, and move to a countryside home in Switzerland. Yes, that's a good plan.

"Pai... Para com isso." Cecília shoved her dad's side, rolling her eyes. (Dad... Stop that.)

"What? You guys thought you got away with it?"

"Pai! Ele tá ficando sem graça!" she insisted. (Dad! He's getting uncomfortable!)

Franco thought of speaking up, but the nerves were all up and maybe he should let it be.

"Yeah! He should!" Ayrton still had a serious look on his face, making Franco shiver.

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

"Come on, Franquinho! I'm fooling around, take that scared look off your face!" In a matter of seconds, Ayrton's grin turned into a playful smile, and his arm was hooked over Franco's shoulder, messing up his hair and leaving him even more confused. "Did I scare you? You should have seen your eyes!"

Franco laughed, still a bit dulled. That was a big one.

"You're a bastard," Cecília rolled her eyes once again, aware of the father she had.

The man was a natural jokester, full of little jokes and loved making uncomfortable scenarios in the name of fun. He was a handful.

"And you guys should have told me about this before! You lost it all, Franquinho. Angra, the travels... You need to be introduced to the family!"

He had heard about Angra; the beach house Cecília went to every now and then, how much she and her father loved the place. He even saw an old interview where Ayrton said that his retirement plans included being "Angra's nature inspector."

"Yeah- Yeah, sim." Franco risked some Portuguese, patting Ayrton on the back before they both stepped apart. "Sorry for... for taking too long to meet you, I was- Damn, you got me good."

"I could see!" Senna didn't waste a single laugh. "Don't worry, little boy. You're a good investment. And Cecília is pretty happy, so... you got my support."

"I'm even happier to hear it." Franco chuckled. "Thank you, very much. Your daughter also makes me really happy."

"Of course! Her bad jokes make everyone laugh." Ayrton kept the teasing going. "Now you better show me some racing! I've been in your place and to keep the daughter you need to be as good as dad!"

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

Franco glanced at his girlfriend as he turned his head, their first alone time since the morning's humiliation session.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mouthed, shirt off and focus switching. "That was traumatizing."

"I told you he's a clown." Her shoulders went up a bit. "But he wasn't lying at the end! He likes you!"

"I got that part. Now I know where you got that dark humor from." The blue-eyed boy stood in the middle of his room, hands on his waist as he let his girlfriend use her eyes.

"What can I say? I am my father's daughter." She smiled mischievously. "He wants you to spend some time, though. Before Vegas, maybe?"

"I could've Max Verstappen my way around and have stayed for the week... But we waited until your dad could scare me to death in the middle of the box so... Yeah, it can be next week." He started simple, voice steady.

But then Cecília approached and her hands liked to touch. All over his torso while she traced a good way for his hair.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." The smile was still on her face, lips coming closer and closer to his. "But I am really happy, you know? Now we can just be and enjoy some time... I can take you to Angra, and I don't need to hide in your driver's room. I was done with pretending I was investing in Williams just so I had a reason to watch the races here."

"Told you about it... You could afford my seat."

Another joke. Ever since he got into F1 as an emergency call, she did say she only had to call her dad and his 2025 seat would be secured.

"You're gonna get it because you deserve it, I am not affording that." She flashed her eyelashes, rimming a single syllable as his hands also started to travel.

Inside her expensive shirt, up and down her back in good pressure before they found room at her waist.

"You know what else I deserve?"

"You freak! Go shower and I'll be waiting for you outside. My dad is around!"

It took them no time. Within weeks, Ayrton and Franco became partners in crime, and suddenly, Cecília was having a taste of her own medicine.

"Turn it off! Now!" Ayrton whispered in a screaming tone, the last signal Franco needed before turning off the power for the whole house.

Cecília had just come back from the beach and Franco finally knew the Angra house. It was dark, and the prank was not very well planned.

"Porra." (Shit.) they heard the Brazilian swearing. "Que inferno, de novo? PAAAAI?" (What the hell, again? DAAAAD?)

He knew some words in Portuguese and it only made it funnier. Him and his father-in-law were hiding in the small laundry room as Cecília searched for them.

"Ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll do it anyways."

"Good kid. You're a great one." The old man, as a new custom, messed with the Argentinian's hair, before opening the door and waiting for him to leave.

"Eu juro, se vocês estiverem armando pra cima de mim eu— Ah— FRANCO! NO!" (I swear, if you guys are planning something against me I—)

He's fast even with his limited knowledge about the furniture in the house, walking in the dark before he could lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

It's the fourth time she's thrown in the pool and she just knows it's her father opening the glass door for the exterior area before she's sinking in cold water.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ALL!" Cecília screamed. "I JUST WASHED MY HAIR! OH MY GOD! PUTTING YOU TWO TOGETHER WAS THE WORST THING I EVER DID!"

"Não reclama, princesinha..." (Don't you complain, little princess...) her father played, now standing besides her boyfriend. "Bate aqui, you passed the test. Welcome to the family." (High five,)

"I hate you guys. Eu odeio vocês, los odio. Whatever. Don't ever talk to me again." Cecília stomped her way out of the pool, walking straight past them.

"Don't get mad, baby... It's just a joke!"

"Well, boy... It's your girlfriend. Go ease her nerves. You're called Colapinto for a reason."

ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. check my masterlist or drop a request (: reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

#lele writes ʚɞ #formula 1 #f1 #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one #imagine #formula one fluff #formula one fluff imagine #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x oc #franco colapinto x reader #senna!oc #franco colapinto x senna!daughter #senna!reader #ayrton senna #williams racing

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sparkleofpizza · 3 days ago

Text

The Alchemy

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Norris and Button traveling around the world together.

THE 2021 SEASON

PRE SEASON TESTING Sakhir, Bahrein, 2021

The McLaren office is silent as I scan over the list of reporters that will be present for the pre-season testing. This is my first time at a testing of Formula 1 and also my first day at the job as not an intern, but as a junior PR assistant.

I’m nervous, again, just like I was the first day as an intern two years ago. Sophie isn’t here this week, she told me she wanted to see how I’d deal with this by myself, considering pre-season is supposed to be a bit more chill, as I only have to deal with the press and not the fans as well.

As I finally finish jolting down the necessary notes, I get my phone and smooth down my skirt. I’m trying to appear more professional, wearing a skirt and a button down shirt.

I walk out of McLaren and onto the eerily quiet paddock. I spot Lando talking to Daniel Ricciardo, his new teammate. The fellow brit waves me over and I smile walking to them.

“Hey guys.” I smile, standing beside Lando who grins at me.

Once again I have the same thought as I did earlier this week when I saw Lando for the first time since my five week vacation with my family. What the fuck.

There was something different about him, I don’t know what it is, but he’s different. I don’t know if he changed something in his hair routine, or is trying out a new workout with his personal trainer. Or if he had an attitude change. There is something different about him, and I can’t get my heart to beat normally around him.

The two McLaren drivers include me in their conversation and we carry on talking normally. There’s a new dynamic here, Daniel and Lando, the new duo, but they get along well and I can’t help but think that it’s because it’s humanly impossible to dislike Lando. He’s just so… Wow.

“Mick!” I squeal in delight once I spot the new Haas driver walking side by side with Sebastian.

Mick Shumacher smiles big once he sees me and I run to him, tackling him with a hug. He catches me with ease and spins me around before putting my feet back on the ground.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you here!”

“I’m happy to see you here, as well!” He says back, matching grin on his face.

Our eyes are wide and we look like hyperactive children.

Sebastian sighs dramatically “Will we have to keep you both separated again?”

Daniel smirks, piping into the conversation.

“Again?”

Sebastian nods, looking as if he’s in pain.

“They once set a car on fire.”

Mick and I yell in protest.

Daniel’s eyes are wide and Lando arches an eyebrow at me.

“It was a plastic car.” I explain.

“And someone who was supposed to be baby sitting us let us loose at the Red Bull garage” Mick complements.

Daniel laughed delighted, throwing his head back and Lando cracks a small smile, which is extremely unsual of him.

“Hey, don’t put this on me.” Sebastian defends himself “She was an angel and you were an overall well behaved child. How would I know you’d corrupt her sweetness in such a short amount of time?”

Mick grins as he shrugs “We weren’t that bad.”

“Didn’t you call Kimi once because you two got drunk and he would be the nicest of the bunch to pick you up?”

I smile at the memory “Yeah, we called Kimi and he took care of me and then yelled at Mick for being a bad influence.”

Mick shudders as he recalls the night Kimi Raikonnen yelled at him as he scolded the Shumacher young boy.

“Oh damn, the iceman went all out on you.” Daniel laughes again.

This time Lando joins in on the laugher, but his eyes are focused on me and he has his arms crossed.

Imola, Italy, 2021

Lando has been a bit weird for past few weeks, ever since Bahrein, which is confusing. Pre season testing went great, the first race of the season he managed to get p4. Still, he was in a kind of bad mood.

I’ve been watching the race intensely from the McLaren garage, once there are only four laps left, I go wait for him at parc fermé. Lando’s gonna get a podium, the first podium of the season and his second podium of his career.

I try to keep a professional appearance as I stand at parc ferme. He parks his car at p3. He hasn’t taken off his helmet yet, but I can tell from his body language that he is buzzing with excitement.

Lewis and Max clap him on the back and he runs to his team. I try to keep a smile at bay, I know there are lots of cameras on me right now, wanting to get the attention of the girl who only got the job because of her daddy.

He takes off his helmet and balaclava after he weighs down and his eyes lock on me.

Lando grins, placing his helmet at the table and takes large steps to where I am. Before I can even process he scoops me up in his arms and squishes my body.

“I got p3.” He mumbled onto my neck.

“You did. It was amazing.” I smile as I let him continue to squeeze me in a tight hug “Congratulations Lan.”

“I did that.” He says, emphatically on the I. “You saw what I did, right? You were paying attention to me at the race, weren’t you?”

I’m a bit confused at what he means by that, but nod.

“Yes, of course, Lan.”

“Good.” He mumbled, finally letting go of me, but his hands continued on my body “You’re here with me, Norris and Button traveling the world. No one else is part of that.”

I nod, still not following what he means by that. Lando stares at me with those beautiful eyes and smiles.

What is going on?

Barcelona, Spain, 2021

The Sainz family, as sweet and welcoming as ever, invited me and Lando to have dinner with them. It's Carlos' home race, but we all still keep our friendship up and his father loves to have us around, mostly Lando who shares his love for golf and I’m pretty sure became an honorary son to him.

As we sit in a restaurant I take on the opportunity that Lando, who’s across from me, is engaged in a conversation with Caco, so I turn to Carlos.

“Hey… have you also noticed that Lando has been acting a bit weird this year?” I ask him in a low tone so no one else but me, him and his girlfriend Isa can hear.

Carlos’ tilt his head to the side a bit confused while Isa smiles fondly at me.

“No, not really. He’s been normal.”

Isa lightly taps his arm and they seem to have a silent conversation before Carlos turns to me again, a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes.

“Oh, pequeñita. You haven’t noticed yet, have you?”

“Notice what?” I question him, even more confused than before.

“It’s because of Shumacher.”

I frown “Mick? What does Mick have to do with Lando’s weird behavior?”

Isa laughs softly as she leans closer to me.

“You know what that means, he’s jealous of Mick.”

I widened my eyes incredulously.

“Jealous? But why?!”

The couple share another glance before Carlos pats my head in a sweet but annoying gesture.

I grow a bit annoyed with the fact that they won’t tell me why, but I decide to keep quiet and not say anything else. I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.

Le Castellet, France, 2021

Daniel flanked me through the paddock, a frown on his usual smiley face. He was pissed, I had never seen him pissed off before.

I had arrived at the paddock with him, Lando had arrived earlier as he rode with Carlos.

When we got out of the van there were fans waiting for Daniel and he stopped for pictures and autographs. There was a small child with their parents who gushed me over, as they had been Jenson Button’s fans. They asked for a picture and I couldn’t say no when they were so sweet. And that’s when the shit show went down.

Some fans, overhearing our conversation, started to shout bad words at me. They called me an opportunist, said I didn’t deserve my job, they called me a whore, accused me of sleeping with the drivers so I’d keep my job.

I was frozen in place, I didn’t know how to react. I had never been publicly hated before, it was already horrible to read those things online, but hearing them being shouted to my face, it was much much worse.

Daniel snapped the minute he heard those words. He told the fans off, called security and took me inside the paddock and quickly to the McLaren hospitality.

Lando was lounging on the couch when Daniel slammed the door open, he was on his feet the minute he saw our body language.

“What happened?” He rushed over to me. When I didn’t say anything he turned to Daniel “What happened?”

“Some fucking assholes saying fucking bullshit to her.” Daniel answered angrily.

And it’s like things finally clicked in place and I realized what happened. The tears came out in waves.

Lando was quick to wrap his arms around me, cradling my head on the crock of his neck.

Daniel explained to him what the fans had been saying outside the paddock and Lando only held me tighter as I cried.

“Come on, let’s go to my driver's room.” He mumbled once he realized some of the McLaren staff had been looking at us. “You’ll be much more comfortable there, love.”

Still keeping me in his arms, he walked me to his driver's room, closing the door shut behind us. He guides me to the couch, sitting me in between his legs and still holding me close.

Lando caressed my hair as he whispered reassuring words into my ear.

“I’ll never be good enough for them.” I sob onto his neck “No matter what I do, I will never be able to prove myself. I should just give up… yeah, yeah… I’m gonna quit my job.”

“Hey, no!” Lando says sternly. He pulls my face off his neck and cups it in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re not quitting. I’m not letting you give up, that’s not happening. Not now, not ever.”

He wipes away my tears with his thumbs.

“You are good enough. You’re more than good enough.” He tells me. “You have been doing an amazing job. You’re not here because of your father.”

“But my dad helped me get this job.” I protest, still softly crying.

“Yes, he did help you get the job and you never denied it, you’ve been vocal about getting this jump start.” He nods “But it wasn’t your dad that made you keep the job. It wasn’t your dad that made you get the promotion from intern to junior assistant. It was all you. It was your talent, your professionalism, your hard work. It was you, only you.”

I stare at him, processing his words.

“And those assholes that said those things to you? They are nothing but pathetic people who need to put others down to feel good about themselves. You don’t owe them anything. “

I nod slowly, my tears finally slowing down as he still has my face in between his hands. Lando smiles softly at me.

“You are incredible, love, I wish you could see how amazing you are.”

He leans in, placing a soft tender kiss on my forehead. I close my eyes, enjoining his affection.

Lando lets go of my face, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he leans back on the couch, making me lie on his chest. One of his hands rests on my hip, holding me close.

I take a deep breath, snuggling against him and keeping my eyes closed.

Silverstone, England, 2021

“And then, he refuses to let her buy her own records!” I exclaim to Lando. “So she didn’t own her own music anymore. The music she worked her whole life on!”

We were sitting at the McLaren hospitality together. It was way too hot outside at the Silverstone circuit so the two of us were sitting inside, where there was air conditioning, and we were having ice cream.

“But, Taylor is really smart, and she decided to re-record her albums. So if there is a Taylor’s version after it it means she owns it. And she releases songs from the vault that are songs she wrote originally for that album but that got cut off.”

Lando nods along to what I’m saying, a small smile on his lips.

“And she’s releasing… purple Taylor’s version in November?” He asks me.

I chuckle, “It’s red Taylor’s version.”

“Oh, I see…” he hums “Why red?”

“It’s her favorite color. Oh, I can’t wait to dress in full red on the release album date.”

“That’s a no.” He shakes his head.

I tilt my head to the side confused “What do you mean that’s a no?”

“I’m not letting you dress in red! Red is Ferrari’s color and you're a McLaren girl.”

I place a spoonful of chocolate ice cream in my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue before smiling mischievously at him.

“Everybody is a Ferrari fan.” I tease him.

“No! No! You’re not quoting Sebastian Vettel to me!” He exclaims dramatically “I already lost my best friend to Ferrari, I can’t lose my girl too!”

I felt the blush taking control of my cheeks when he called me his girl.

“Not happening. Doesn’t she have a papaya album?”

I shake my head, still a bit dazed with his words.

“The closest she has to an orange tone is her evermore album that is more of a terracota.”

Lando nods “That works for me, it’s better than a red themed one.”

I giggle at him, poking his side.

“I can’t believe you’re mad over an album color theme.”

He rolls his eyes, but he has an affectionate smile on his face.

Magyórod, Hungry, 2021

The knocking on the door startled me awake. I jump in bed, rubbing my eyes as I click on the screen of my phone. It’s midnight. I frown wondering who it could be at this time of night.

I throw the blankets to the side as I pad quietly to the door. I open just a tiny bit to see who it is.

Lando smiles big when he sees my face. I sigh in relief that it’s a familiar person, I open the door wider and there he is. Standing in a hoodie and sweatpants and holding a birthday cake.

“Happy birthday!” He exclaims.

I widen my eyes, having completely forgotten it is my birthday.

“Thank you, Lan!” I smile, stepping to the side to let him into the room.

Lando walks to the table and places the cake there. I follow him close behind as I look at the beautifully decorated cake. In a cursive letter it’s written I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22!

“Oh my god, you got me a Taylor Swift birthday cake!”

Lando grins before wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head.

“Of course, how couldn’t I get a 22 birthday themed cake for the 22 year old girl who’s obsessed with Taylor Swift?”

I smile as I squeeze him in the hug.

“You’re the best of the best of the best!” I squeak happily.

He smiles before kissing my temple.

“You only deserve the best.”

We stayed hugging for a few more minutes, enjoying the hug before pulling away. I smile at him again, that’s all I do when I’m around him, and I grab his hand pulling him towards the bed.

“Sleep over?” I ask softly as he sits together in the fluffy bed.

“Yes.” He nods.

Lando looks nervous for a moment and I get concerned I might have crossed a boundary of asking him to stay over, although it won’t be the first time we slept on the same bed.

He sighs before putting his hand inside his hoodie pocket and pulling out a velvet box from inside of it. He smiles nervously before handing it to me.

“Your birthday present.” He mumbled

I gasp as I open the box. Inside of it there’s a beautiful gold necklace, the pendant is a heart with its outside full of tiny pink swarovskis. I take the delicate jewelry in my hands as I turn it around, on the back of the heart it’s written LN.

“Lando…” I murmur

“I-I wanted to have my… my initials on it so you ’d… so you’d always have me close to you.” He mumbled awkardly, his cheeks pink.

“It’s beautiful.” I smile “I love it. Thank you.”

I turn back to him and pull my hair to the side “Can you put it on me, please?”

“Y-yeah.”

Lando’s hands are a bit shaky as he places the necklace around my neck, his fingertips bringing goosebumps to my skin.

I turn around again and his eyes fall to my neck and chest, where the heart necklace he gave me rests. He smiles proudly.

“It looks beautiful on you.” He said, lifting his eyes to look at me “You’re beautiful.”

I smile, leaning over and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Lan. I’m never taking this off.”

He grins harder, leaning over and placing a kiss on my cheek as well.

SUMMER BREAK

Mallorca, Spain, 2021

“Retirement huh?” I ask Kimi Raikkonen as we’re enjoining the beach in Mallorca

It’s not usual for the Raikkonen family to join us during summer break, along with the Rosbergs and Vettels. Lewis used to come along with Roscoe but since his fallout with Nico he never joined us again - even after when I was seventeen and I called him crying asking him to join us because my dad was retiring and we should all spend one last summer together. He came, after Nico left. Those dramatic middle aged men.

Kimi gives me a lazy smile, which also isn’t usual contrary to popular belief. He has his sunglasses on and is building a sandcastle with me and his two children, Robin and Rianna.

“Eh, racing is a hobby and I got tired of it.” He shrugs “Now I’m more into dirty bike riding.”

I chuckle, shaking my head “Somehow that sounds even worse than driving cars in circles.”

Robin gives me a bright smile as he says “Don’ wowwy, I race car soon in Formula 1 and you cheer I!”

I smile at him, ruffling his blonde hair “Of course, Rob! I wouldn’t dare to cheer for anyone else but you!”

The little boy seems content as he goes back to building the sandcastle. Rianna actually grew bored of it a few minutes ago and is now busy with playing, tugging, at my hair.

“Who’s he?” Kimi asks suddenly.

“What?” I frown confused.

“The boy who gave you the necklace.”

“Oh.” I feel my cheeks warm up, truth to my words I have indeed been wearing the necklace Lando gave me all the time. “Lando gave me as a birthday gift.”

I can see the furrow on Kimi’s eyebrows even if he’s wearing sunglasses.

“That thing made a move on you?!” He exclaims “I’m running him off track when we’re back from summer break.”

“What? No!” I shake my head “It’s just a necklace.”

“A custom heart shaped necklace! It’s like he has a death wish or something.” He whips his head to the side “Sebastian! Come here! Now!”

Seb, who was peacefully napping under the umbrella, sits startled at Kimi’s urgent call. He runs to us.

“Norris made a move on her!”

“What?” Sebastian asks scandalized “He did what? That little asshole!”

“He didn’t do anything, Seb.” I explain as I point to my necklace “Kimi is just freaking out over the birthday gift Lando gave me.”

Seb sits on the sand beside me, leaning closer to scan the necklace.

“Yeah, I’m running him off track when the summer break is over.”

“That’s what I said!” Kimi smiles big “We’re running him off track together so he doesn’t have anywhere to escape to.”

Seb hums, nodding his head “That’s a good plan.”

I look at them in exasperation “No one is running anyone off track.”

They ignore me as they keep plotting.

“Hey!” I snap at them and the two grown men finally look at me “Lando and I are just friends, stop this. And even if we weren’t, I’m 22, I’m allowed to date.”

They share a look before laughing.

“No, you’re not allowed to date.” Seb says, still chuckling “You’re funny, prinzessin.”

I glare at them but they only continue to laugh at me.

“You’re still the first pieni vauva, you always will be.” Kimi grins at me “And that means you’re only allowed to date when you’re… fifty.”

“You’re both ridiculous.” I scoff but I have a small smile on my lips.

Deep down I know they don’t actually mean it. But I have to keep an eye out so that they won’t threaten Lando or something like that.

Monza, Italy, 2021

“You’re here!” Lando yelled over the loud music, arms open wide and a drink in his hand. He was for sure already drunk.

Daniel had won the Monza Grand Prix and Lando came just in second, it was the first time in his F1 career he had gotten p2. The team had decided to go out to celebrate at a club and some other drivers joined in - Max Verstappen, who had a terrible race and dnf, was there drinking the night away to celebrate his best friend and also drown his feelings.

I stepped up to where Lando stood and smiled at him.

“Yeah, sorry it took me too long.” I let him hug me “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Lando grabbed my hand, twirling me around and whistling as my sparkly short blue dress shone under the club lights.

“You certainly made a great choice.” He smirked at me “You look incredible.”

I feel my cheeks grow warm.

“Thank you.”

I went over to the bar to order myself a drink and Lando followed me close behind. As I stood leaning over the bar to order my drink, I could feel his warm chest against my back.

I stood up straight as I waited for the bartender, and I tilted my head to the side to look at Lando who was already looking down on me.

He's wearing a simple white shirt and jeans, but he’s wearing his damn cap backwards. He always looks fucking good when he wears it backwards and it actually makes me weak in the knees seeing him so up close like this, his chest pressed against my back.

I’m snapped out of it when the bartender hands me my drink. I thank him before letting Lando lead me back to where the rest of our group is. I sip on my drink, letting the alcohol flow through me and relax me.

Carlos is dancing with Charles while Max laughs at their terrible moves. Daniel is screaming the music as he hugs Zac and they both sway side to side.

I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous they look.

Lando grins at me as he’s sitting on a stool, his left arm resting on top of the table.

“Come here.” He says as he wiggles two of his fingers for me to get closer.

When I’m at reach distance, he turns me around and pulls me to stand in between his legs. My back hits his chest and he wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me close.

My breath hitches as he does this so effortlessly and as if it’s normal to hug me from behind.

“They’re gonna be all over Instagram and Twitter tomorrow.” Lando whispers in my ear “They look ridiculous.”

I chuckle “They really do.” I sip my drink “Aren’t you gonna join them?”

I feel his laugh against the side of my face.

“Are you calling me ridiculous?” He asks in feign hurt.

I giggle, craning my neck a bit to the side so I can see his face. He has a smug smile on his lips.

“You ridiculous? Never!” I giggle harder when he squeezes my waist in a playful warning “It’s just that usually you’re the life of the party and right now you’re sitting on a stool drinking peacefully.”

Lando smiles, his dimples even more evident as the pulsing lights of the club shine on his face.

“Can you blame me for wanting to stay here with the prettiest girl in the club?”

Once again I feel my cheeks grow warm, but since I’ve already had drunk, my mind is a bit dazed so I smile at him.

“Really? And where is this pretty girl?” I ask him in a tease.

He smirks, squeezing my waist again and relishing in me squirming against his chest.

“She’s right here… in my arms.” He mumbled before placing a long lasting kiss on my cheek. “The prettiest girl in the club.” He moves his lips a bit down and kisses my jaw “The prettiest girl I have ever seen.”

I feel my heart flutter in my chest at his words and at his touch. I know he’s drunk and doesn’t mean any of it, but for a night I can pretend he does mean it, so I let him hold me close.

Cidade do México, México, 2021

“Oh, Mick…” I whisper as I hug him, softly rubbing his back “It’s okay… this kind of thing happens.”

Mick huffs annoyed against my shoulder. He crashed into Yuki Tsnuoda during the race today and they both had a DNF.

“You’re both rookies… that’s normal to happen.”

I apparently said the wrong thing because the German boy lifted his head from my shoulder, our face millimeters apart as he glared at me.

“Don’t say things that aren’t true.” He mumbled angrily “You’re not even a driver.”

I narrowed my eyes at him “There’s no need to take out your frustration on me, I’m not the one who crashed your car.”

We keep staring at each other, waiting for the other to back down. Eventually Mick sighs and goes back to burying his head on my shoulder as he continues to complain about it being unfair.

I don’t say anything, knowing that if I do we will end up having a fight, just like it happened when we were younger and he crashed into Formula 3 - he kept whining about the crash that had been his own fault and I called him out on it. We didn’t speak for three weeks.

“There you are!” Lando’s voice cut through the silence of one of the cool down rooms of the paddock.

He gave Mick an unimpressed look and a glare.

“Hi, Lan.” I smile at him.

Ever since our little encounter at the club right after the Monza Grand Prix things between us have been different. He certainly kept touching me every chance he got and I wasn’t going to complain about it when in reality I loved to be wrapped in his arms.

“I need you for something.” He said, and I tilt my head confused as I was off the clock “It’s important. Please.”

“Sure.” I nod as Mick lifts his head from my shoulder and away from me “Take care, Mick.”

The Shumacher boy looks at me with a slight pout of being deprived of comfort after his DNF, but didn’t say anything as Lando grabbed my hand and got me out of the cooldown room.

We walked in silence for a moment before we entered the paddock’ parking garage. Lando opened the back door of the van and helped me up inside before sitting beside me and taping the driver on the shoulder to signal we’re ready to go.

“So… burritos?” He asked.

“What?” I blink at him

“Do you want burritos for dinner? And some tacos? And nachos?”

“I… you…” I’m at a loss of words for a moment as I catch up to what he’s done “You called me here to help you because you want dinner?”

Lando nods, a sly smile on his face as he shifts his body on the back seat to take a better look at me.

“Yes, I’m hungry. That’s why I need your help, to have dinner with me.”

I can’t help but laugh at his audacity and then a memory comes up to my brain. Back in Spain, at the beginning of the season when I asked Carlos about Lando acting weird and Isa told me he was jealous. Jealous of Mick.

“Why don’t you like Mick?” I ask, catching him off guard.

Lando is momentarily stunned before he shakes his head.

“I do not not like him.”

“Yes, you do.” I say, a slight frown on my forehead “Whenever I’m with him you’re either glaring, snappy or you find excuses to drag me away.”

He avoids my eyes for a moment, looking at the rooftop of the car before finally looking at me again.

“It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s just that…” he trails off and is quiet again for a moment before he grumbles “He hogs all your attention.”

“Oh God, he’s my childhood friend and I don’t even spend that much of a time with him.”

“Do you like him?” He asks me.

I look at him stunned “What?”

Lando rolls his eyes “Do you like Shumacher? Like, do you have a crush on him or something?”

“No. He’s my childhood friend.” I repeat my words from earlier. “Why?”

He shrugs and won’t look at me.

I huff “Don’t do this, Lando.”

He looks at me from the corner of his eyes “Don’t do what?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about.” I cross my arms over my chest.

He doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We both look at the opposite windows of the car, watching as Mexico City passes by in a blur.

Doha, Qatar, 2021

Lando and I weren’t talking. Well, mostly he wasn’t talking to me after Mexico. During the Brazilian Grand Prix and his 22nd birthday, I snuck into his hotel room and left this gift there.

It was a small golden bracelet, it had his full name and race number on it. I left a sweet message alongside it, hoping he would get the hint of what I meant. I guess he did get the hint and didn’t like it because I woke up after the Brazilian Grand Prix to see Instagram and Twitter flooded with pictures of him making out with some girl at a club in São Paulo.

And now I was the one not talking to him because he has been texting me and calling me non stop on the two week break in between races.

I asked Sophie to take care of this scandal of him as I had never dealt something like that before and didn’t know where to start, so I just stayed on the sidelines watching her do her job and learning - in all honesty I just didn’t want to have to deal with him after seeing him kiss some random girl.

I was heartbroken and I didn’t want to let anyone know about it because if Kimi or Seb caught wind of this… I might be sad, but I’d like to keep Lando alive.

“Stop looking so sad…” Daniel pokes my arm “Those big sad eyes of yours… I can’t handle it.”

We were sitting together as we were waiting for the press conference to begin.

“I’m not sad.” I lied, “I’m just tired.”

“C’mon!” He all but whines “We’ve been working together for almost a year now, I know you’re lying.”

I don’t say anything so Daniel keeps talking “He’s sad too, you know.”

I give him a side eyed glance as I mumble “I don’t know who is this he you’re referring to.”

He sighs exasperated.

“You should talk to him.” He says after a few minutes of silence “Lando misses you.”

“No. I got his message loud and clear.” I shake my head, feeling the stupid tears gather in my eyes once again “I don’t need him to say it to my face. From now on we’re just… work colleagues.”

“But you’re not just work colleagues, you’re way more than that and you know it. Also, you both are dumb asses who got this all wrong.”

I turn to look at Daniel, the stubborn tears ready to spill out onto my cheeks.

“How did I get it wrong, Daniel? I wrote him a note basically saying he’s the best thing that has ever happened in my life and that he meant so much more to me than just a friendship that blossomed because of work.” I say wobbly as I refused to let the tears roll down from my eyes “And he went out and kissed someone else. Things have never been more clear to me. I was just a fool and stupid.”

Daniel says my name softly, but I shake my head.

“The press conference is about to start, get in the room. I’ll be waiting for you here.”

The Australian man sighs before nodding and following my instructions. He gives me one more look over the shoulder and I hate how he seems to pity me right now.

Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, 2021

I didn’t go to the anual Abu Dhabi McLaren end of season party. Instead I went out to dinner with the Raikkonen family.

Tonight has been Kimi’s last race of his Formula 1 career and I wanted to be there with him for his last night. I’ve known him my whole life, I was the flower girl at his wedding and I had been the first baby in his life. Right now being with family seems better. I need this.

I decided not to be secretive about my motives of not being at the McLaren party as I posted a picture hugging Kimi on Instagram.

Old man retired. Now that you’re out of f1 I can finally say it: you’ve always been my favorite. Love you Setä Kimi 🥺💙

After dinner, Sebastian drove me back to the hotel. He had been quiet most of the night and I can tell he is sad. All of his friends have retired, now it’s just him, Lewis and Fernando who have decided to come back.

Once we’re out of the car and entering the elevator I turn to him.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to leave as well.” I whisper.

He chuckles softly “I can’t say I’m not considering it. I’m getting old.”

“No, you’re not old.” I shake my head. “You’re not even forty yet!”

“But I’m not at my prime anymore. I only got one podium this year.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” I argued back. “You switched teams, you’re still getting used to the car! You can’t leave!”

Suddenly it was like it had all hit me at once, the changes of it all. Kimi was leaving, he isn’t coming back next year. I’m not talking to Lando, who has been by my side since I started this job. And now Seb wants to leave as well.

“Hey, prinzessin, no, please don’t cry.”

I didn’t even notice the tears falling down my face as Sebastian hugged me tight. He caressed my hair in a soothing manner, like he used to do when I was a child.

We were standing in the middle of the hallway of the hotel. He rocked me gently in his arms, shushing me.

When I finally calmed down, Sebastian spoke again, his voice gentle.

“You need to talk to Lando.”

Before I could protest he continued to talk. “I know you’re not only crying because Kimi is leaving and I’m considering retirement. You need to talk to help, fix things between you two before it’s too late.”

“There’s nothing to fix…” I whisper sadly “He… I… I really like him, Seb. But he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“You’re kidding right?” He chuckled amused “That boy is head over heels for you.”

I open my mouth, but once again he cuts me off “I know what he did. He told me.”

“He… told you?” I question with a frown “And you’re still telling me to go talk to him?”

Sebastian nodded “Yes. He was desperate, he misses you so much and doesn’t know what to do anymore to get you to talk to him. He’s… hopeless, but he likes you too.”

When Sebastian left me in my hotel room, tucked into bed warm and safe with a kiss on the forehead, I kept replaying his words in my mind.

Lando likes me. That sounds weird. But I also know Sebastian would never ever lie to me about something like that.

I text Daniel asking him if Lando has already left the party. Daniel answers me with a yes in big bold letters and lots of exclamation marks.

I pace back and forth in my hotel room before slipping on my shoes. I open the mini fridge and get to mini liquor bottles. I dart out of my room and soon enough I’m standing in front of Lando’s room.

I take a deep breath before I knock on the door.

There are a few moments of silence, I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I hear the lock turn and soon enough Lando is standing in front of me. His green eyes are rimmed red and he looks like he has been crying.

He whispers my name, a slight tone of disbelief.

“We didn’t toast to another year of Norris and Button traveling the world together.” I say.

We stare at each other before he smiles and ushers me inside.

#fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you

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boopshoops · 15 hours ago

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Ah, how odd. It appears one of the puppets in Playful Land aren't quite like the rest. Almost like it has one of those consciences everyones been talking about, huh?

oc template by ai-kan1!! dividers by dollywons! Sound on!

Name: Isola Pinacirco-Cira

Nicknames: Pin, Pinpin, Goby

Gender: Demiwoman (Though she has not fully realized it yet!)

Pronouns: She/they

Sexuality: Unlabeled

Birthday: May 5 (Taurus)

Age: ??? (She has been asleep for a very long time, but she has been awake for 19 years)

Height: 5'0" or 152cm, though the height of the doll is adjustable.

Voice Claim(s): Lisa Hannigan, Miyuki Sawashiro

Twisted from: Pinocchio, Wendy's Music Box (From Tinkerbell/Peter Pan)

Unique Magic: "I've got no Strings" - The bearer can control and grant practically any unliving, immobile object the ability to move under their command. The more objects are being controlled, the more magic is consumed. However, the generation of blot is shockingly slow, allowing the bearer to use the magic for hours or even days at a time. Depending on the object, it may appear as though it is being haunted by a poltergeist. The magic, however, has a very short range. The object must be within five feet of the bearer, or it is no longer effective. Isola uses this magic to move her body on a day-to-day basis.

Grade: Freshman, though only after the Playful Land Event

Class: 1-D

Job: Playful Land Performer

Hobbies: Dancing ballet, face paint, makeup, putting outfits together, singing, sewing, wood carving, ceramic/pottery/resin repair.

Likes: Feather accessories, being alone, birds, rodents, bugs, performance, applause, classical, soul, and lofi music, animal figurines.

Dislikes: Rain, being alone, excessive heat, winter, bass boosted, fast, or hyper music, too frequent of doll repair jobs, cramped spaces, being unable to eat.

Fears: Being unlovable, never loving someone else, living a life alone, never living in a body they feel comfortable in.

Summary: A quaint performer at the renowned Playful Land, constantly known for putting on a show of elegance and grace. With her unusual cadence, she often struggles to maintain an audience despite her immense talent. Isola frequently scares off certain guests on accident. They have a very hard time handling their emotions, causing them to either come off highly unnatural or lacking facial expressions to a degree that could disturb others.

That's just the cons of being one of the many puppets on the premises, though. She is often mistaken as being one of the other, more robotic workers. Isola's body is detailed and articulated enough to stand out among them, but off-putting enough to be immediately recognized as inhuman. Nonetheless, she remains on the traveling amusement park as what is considered a "highly prized item" by the owner. Of course, you don't come across puppets like her everyday, do you? Might as well put her on display.

When night hits and protocol begins, when the consequences of breaking the many rules of the park take their toll, they can do nothing but watch over it all. It makes her feel sick, quite honestly. Disgusted. Yet, she isn't allowed to help anyone. Her attempts to help usually cause the visitors to flee from her anyway, followed by her own set of serious consequences imposed by the owner. The most she can truly do is make it harder on the other workers: including those she has no choice but to be closest to on the ship: Fellow and Gid- Ah. Wrong Identity. Ernesto and Gino.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST - INSPIRATION - CREATION STORY

Author's Note: holy fuck they have a chokehold on me. hOOOO they have a chokehold on me. she came to me in a vision and did nOT let me go until she was created, holy fuck. UGSDBGSDIUAAAAA anyway, i love her and she is my baby. my slightly fucked up baby.

Note that relationships are up for possible changes in the future- I have thought about possibly involving them with someone romantically, but i feel like I want her to put HERSELF first before that. Her story is one about self love, self discovery, and self care, and I feel like throwing her into oc x canon romance too soon would negate that. ALSO she is NOT a part of my TCOAV au!!! i mean. im probably gonna still do fun stuff where she could interact with my ocs from there since im an au fanatic, but- yeah. tcoav is a story more focused on Yuu Shi, and I feel that would also take away from important parts of Isola's character and growth. tis an excuse to try a new oc profile format too <333

that all being said and on a somewhat less related note. i wanna make a comic of her so badly. fuCK. evaporates into thin air. thank u for coming to my ted talk.

Tag list :D

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3

@thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @techno-danger @scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch

@beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto @qsoap

@sillyslipperybananapeel @tixdixl @twstinginthewind @gimmeurmoneyagh

#boopshoopsoc #isola pinacirco cira #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #oc #disney twst #original character #oc art #original character art #character art #twst original character #boopshoopsart #boopshoopswriting

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sayyestoheav3nn · 2 days ago

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Nights Like This: Part Three

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, angst

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: guys are we riding at dawn or not lmaoo??? if i forgot to tag you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list please feel free to lmk 💕

“Tell me what?”

Serena and Roman froze, which angered Zoe to another level, because it’s one thing to screw her over, but its another to play in her fucking face.

Roman turned towards Serena,“Give us some space…” His voice was stern, more of a demand than a request. Serena briefly looked at Zoe and sighed, she proceeded to grab her keys and walk outside.

“Where the fuck is she going, you both seemed to have a lot to say.” Zoe started walking towards the door to confront Serena, but as she was about to reach the door her movements were halted when Roman grabbed her by the waist gently pulling her back.

“Baby we need to talk, just you and me please…” he pleaded. Seconds later she heard a car engine start. This bitch really had the audacity to leave without saying a word.

“Oh so now you want to fucking talk? Because you damn sure didn’t have shit to say before I found the condoms,” Zoe sneered as she yanked her body away from him.

Roman paused and took a deep breath, slowly rubbing his hand over his beard, “Baby I fucked up, I’m sorry...”

“You’re sorry, is that really all you have to say?” Her voice cracked, she could feel her throat begin to tighten.

Roman felt like the biggest piece of shit. Seeing the exhaustion and pain in her eyes, hurt him. He hated to see her cry, let alone being the reason behind it. There was no excuse for what he did, and he knew it. Which is exactly why he didn’t want to tell her, but actions have consequences. He made his bed, it was time to fucking lie in it.

“Baby I—” As he began to speak Zoe cut him off, “Roman I’m gonna ask you this one time. Did you or did you not, cheat on me with Serena?”

Roman lowered his head, his gaze now shifted towards the floor. He paused in silence for a short moment, she could see his hands were slightly fidgeting. Roman briefly looked up at her, still avoiding making eye contact.

“Yes,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

Zoe’s heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to have the balls to actually fucking say it. Tears that she had been fighting back started to roll down her face, sobs escaping her. “Fuck you, Roman.” She started to walk away, but was stopped when Roman walked in front of her stopping her in her tracks.

“Zo don’t leave, please just talk to me.”

“You’re such a piece of shit, I fucking trusted you. She wiped away some of her tears, which was of no use considering she couldn’t stop crying, “My best friend? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve only met her a handful of times!” she yelled.

“I want you to tell me why, you wanted to talk, so fucking talk,” she hissed.

Roman’s eyes were glistened with tears, his shoulders were slumped as he inhaled a deep breath, “I—I came to her to help me plan our trip and your birthday dinner. I figured since I don't know shit when it comes to throwing parties, I’d hire someone who not only works in that profession, but someone who would know what you’d like.”

“Yeah it seems she ended up finding exactly what I liked,” she scoffed.

Roman put his head down, his voice getting lower, “I ended coming over at different times over the span of two months to approve some of the planning details. Little by little I noticed she was flirting more than usual, in the beginning I tried to ignore it, but over time I—I began to like the attention.”

Zoe felt sick to her stomach, she listened quietly while angrily wiping away her tears. She wanted to leave to avoid hearing this bullshit, but a part of her wanted to know why. Why would two people who claimed to love her, hurt her in the most disrespectful way possible.

Seeing Zoe silently crying made the pit of Roman’s stomach drop, he was disgusted with himself. How in the hell did he let something so stupid, jeopardize what he had? He loves Zoe, he couldn’t give two fucks about Serena. Yet, he let a moment of weakness ruin everything and hurt the one person he loved more than anyone.

He walked towards her, and gently lifted her face. “Baby, please look at me,” Zoe refused, and that fucking killed him.

“I don’t need all the details, just tell me what happened...” her lower lip was slightly trembling. She pushed him away, making sure to keep a distance between them.

“Before my last visit, I let my ego cloud my judgment. I went to the store, bought the condoms and headed over to her house.” Roman paused, he was internally struggling to say the rest, but he knew he had to, he owed her that. “We kissed, and she ended up giving me head.”

“Let me guess, you returned the favor?” Silence. Just as she expected. “Of course you did because you’re such a generous tribal chief, right?”

He took a deep breath, his chin dipping to his chest. “I went with the intention to fuck her Zo, I did. And I know that there’s no amount of apologies in the world that will change what I did, but I need you to know that I didn’t fuck her.”

“So you’re telling me the condom unwrapped itself?”

“I was going to fuck her baby, I was. But when the time came, I thought of you, and I just— I just couldn’t do that to you.”

Roman walked towards her, gently moving some of her hair out of her face, he wiped some of her tears away with his thumb. He felt a sharp pang of guilt seeing her so broken, the weight of what he did was fully sinking in his chest.

“Baby please look at me.”

She doesn’t know why she actually did, but she felt so numb as if nothing even really mattered anymore. She looked at his big brown eyes, eyes that she once viewed with love and admiration, she now saw with despair.

A few tears slipped down his face. “Zoe please understand that she means absolutely fucking nothing to me. I love you baby. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I lied to you, I’m sorry that I hurt you—”

“If it was me that did this to you, how would you feel?”

He sighed heavily, facing down. He couldn’t even say a word. What a fucking hypocrite.

“You knew all the bullshit that I went through with my ex, and you went and did this shit. I opened up to you, and you promised me you would never do what he did to me. I feel so fucking stupid to have actually believed you. The fact that you wouldn’t have told me shit had I not caught you makes me sick to my stomach. You want to know what I think Roman? I think you’re a fucking coward.”

Zoe grabbed her keys and headed towards the door. She didn’t care about leaving her things behind, that slut seemed to like her leftovers anyways.

“Zo, please don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. Every single emotion that she tried to hold in was released, she was crying uncontrollably. She ignored him and was able to get in her car.

“You did this to yourself. You don’t have to worry about me anymore Roman, you and Serena can go fuck yourselves.”

Zoe started driving home, but the farther she got the more her anger built. She pulled over at a store to park and try to compose herself, she was so mad her hands were trembling. The memory of Serena letting her cry on her shoulder while being the actual cause of her tears, and leaving without even trying to apologize made her even more pissed. Fuck this. She put her gps back on Serena’s address, enough is enough. The only thing on her mind right now, was beating this bitch’s ass.

#roman reigns #the tribal chief #otc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fanfiction

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