#but then barely qualifying for the finals
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adrenaline rush | lando norris
paring: lando norris x reader
summary: you navigate the highs of podium finishes and the passion of your relationship.
warnings: brief smut
author's note: another fic with Lando, hope you enjoy it!
The energy in the paddock was electric as I walked alongside Lando, my hand comfortably entwined with his. There was an undeniable sense of confidence emanating from him, a glow that mirrored the bright lights of Shanghai's skyline.
"You were incredible out there today, Lando," I remarked, unable to hide the admiration in my voice.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Thanks, love. I've been feeling really good this weekend. And having you here with me makes it even better."
I squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. Being by his side, supporting him through the highs and lows of each race, was a privilege I cherished.
The cheers of the crowd echoed through the paddock as Lando stepped out of his car, a grin stretching across his face. I rushed to him, my heart pounding with pride as he embraced me tightly.
"We did it, love!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement. "Pole position for the Sprint Race!"
I laughed, feeling a surge of joy bubble up inside me.
"You were amazing out there, Lando. I'm so proud of you!"
As we made our way to dinner later that evening, the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement. Lando's fans approached us, congratulating him on his pole position and admiring our bond as a couple.
"You two make such a perfect pair!" one fan exclaimed, their enthusiasm contagious.
I felt a warm blush creeping up my cheeks at the mention of our relationship, but before I could respond, another fan chimed in.
"And that kiss after qualifying? That was adorable!"
Lando grinned, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Yeah, well, she's the best good luck charm I could ask for."
I chuckled nervously, feeling the heat in my cheeks intensify as I leaned into his embrace.
"You're too sweet, Lando," I murmured, grateful for his unwavering support and affection.
Together, we continued on our way, the night alive with possibility and the warmth of newfound connections.
After dinner, we headed back to our hotel room, our laughter echoing through the empty corridors. Lando couldn't resist teasing me as we walked, his playful grin lighting up his face.
"You know, love, I think you deserve a prize for being such a great support today," he said, his tone laced with mischief.
I raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"Oh really? And what kind of prize were you thinking of?"
Lando's eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.
"Well, I was thinking of something special, just for you."
I playfully swatted his arm, my cheeks flushing with warmth.
"Nice try, Lando. But I think I'll have to pass. You need to save energy for tomorrow."
Lando feigned indignation, his expression mockingly dramatic. "What? You're turning down a prize from yours truly? I'm hurt, love."
I couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics, my heart swelling with affection for this playful side of him. Leaning in, I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, the warmth of his embrace enveloping me.
"Don't worry, Lando," I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You'll have plenty of opportunities to win me over. Like tomorrow, when you win the race. And the day after that. Then we'll see about prizes."
Lando's grin widened, his confidence unwavering.
"You just wait and see, love. I'll win both races, and then you won't be able to resist me."
With a final kiss, we settled into bed, the promise of tomorrow's races and the anticipation of shared victories filling the room with excitement and possibility.
As the Sprint Race unfolded, I stood nervously in the garage, my eyes glued to the screens displaying Lando's progress on the track. When he spun out briefly, my heart lurched with fear, my hands gripping the edge of the railing tightly.
Lando's father noticed my distress and came over to comfort me, his steady presence a reassuring anchor in the midst of uncertainty.
"Don't worry. Lando's a talented driver. He'll bounce back from this," he reassured me, his voice filled with confidence.
When Lando finally crossed the finish line, I rushed to meet him, relief flooding through me as he climbed out of the car. He enveloped me in a tight hug, his embrace filled with emotion.
"I'm so sorry, love. I wanted to do better," he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment.
I held him close, shaking my head softly. "You did amazing out there, Lando. No matter what happens, I'll always be proud of you. Tomorrow's race is another chance to show the world what you're made of."
Lando's eyes softened as he gazed at me, gratitude shining in their depths. "Thank you for always believing in me, even when I doubt myself," he said, his voice sincere.
I smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "That's what I'm here for, Lando. And as for the press, let them say what they want. Their opinions don't matter. You're a champion in my eyes."
We shared a laugh, the tension dissipating with each moment of shared understanding. With a final kiss, Lando headed off to his team meeting, leaving me to wait in the garage.
As I stood there, Max's girlfriend Kelly approached me, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Tough race, huh?" she remarked, her voice filled with understanding.
I nodded, grateful for her company as we set off for a walk while our boyfriends finished their meetings.
Later, back at the hotel, Lando and I settled in to watch a movie, the events of the day fading into the background as we lost ourselves in the comfort of each other's presence. With his arms wrapped around me, I drifted off to sleep, feeling grateful for the bond we shared and the unwavering support that carried us through even the toughest of times.
Race day Sunday was a whirlwind of emotions as I watched Lando deliver an incredible performance, crossing the finish line in second place. As he emerged from his car in Parc Fermé, his family rushed to embrace him, their pride evident in every smile and hug. I looked on, my heart swelling with happiness and pride at his achievement.
When Lando finally made his way to me, he pulled me into a tight hug, his sweaty embrace feeling like the sweetest victory. "We fucking did it, baby," he whispered against my neck, his words sending a shiver down my spine.
I held him close, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin as he pressed a kiss to my lips. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the love and adoration we shared for each other.
As Lando ascended the podium, I couldn't help but feel a pang of worry when I noticed the absence of celebration from the Red Bull team. But my concerns were soon put to rest when Perez stepped forward, pouring champagne over Lando in a gesture of camaraderie and respect.
After the podium ceremony, Lando's family and I waited for him in the hospitality suite, our anticipation growing with each passing moment. When he finally joined us, he enveloped me in a warm hug, his smile radiant with joy.
"Come on, love," he said, gesturing towards the McLaren team. "Let's get that photo together."
I stood by his side as the cameras flashed, feeling a swell of pride as he made sure I was included in every moment.
Later, as we retreated to his room, Lando turned to me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Would you still give me my award, even if I didn't win the race?" he teased.
I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Of course, Lando. You're always a winner in my eyes," I replied, pulling him close for a tender kiss.
As we lounged in the hotel room, basking in the afterglow of our shared passion, Lando's mischievous grin told me he wasn't quite done yet. With a twinkle in his eye, he reached out to trace lazy circles on my bare skin, his touch sending shivers down my spine.
"You know," he said, his voice dripping with playful innuendo, "I think I could get used to this winning thing."
I chuckled, rolling my eyes at his cocky demeanor. "Oh really? And what makes you say that?"
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "Because I can get the best rewards if I win."
I couldn't help but laugh at his teasing, swatting him playfully on the arm. "Is that so, Mr. Norris? And what kind of rewards are we talking about here?"
Lando's grin widened as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well, let's just say you're looking at the reigning champion of... cuddle sessions."
I couldn't hold back a laugh at his ridiculous proclamation, shaking my head in mock disbelief. "Wow, Lando. That's quite the title you've got there."
He chuckled, pulling me close and planting a soft kiss on my lips. "Hey, a champion's gotta have his perks, right?"
I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
He just grinned, pulling me into his arms and holding me close. "Guilty as charged. But hey, at least I keep things interesting, right?"
We stayed silently for some minutes.
Lando's eyes bore into mine, dark with desire, as he closed the distance between us, his hand trailing along the curve of my waist.
"You know," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "I can't stop thinking about you."
My breath caught in my throat as his lips brushed against mine, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume us both. With a gasp, I melted into his embrace, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of desire.
His touch was electric as he explored every inch of my skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake. I arched into him, my hands tangling in his hair as the world fell away, leaving only the heat of our passion.
In that moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the raw, primal need that bound us together. And as we lost ourselves in each other, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, our love would always burn bright and true.
As Lando's playful banter continued, I felt a surge of desire coursing through me, fueled by the undeniable chemistry between us. His touch ignited a fire within me, and I found myself unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing us together.
With a boldness born of adrenaline, I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him as I leaned in to claim his lips in a hungry kiss. His hands roamed eagerly over my body, igniting a trail of desire wherever they touched.
Our breath mingled in the air, hot and heavy with passion, as I trailed kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity through us, heightening the intensity of our connection.
Lando's fingers tangled in my hair as he pulled me closer, his desire matching mine with a fervor that left me breathless. With each caress, each whispered word of longing, the tension between us grew, building to an inevitable crescendo of pleasure.
As our bodies entwined in a feverish dance of desire, time seemed to stand still, lost in the intoxicating haze of our shared passion. With each movement, each touch, we pushed each other to the brink of ecstasy, lost in the euphoria of the moment.
As the night wore on, our desire for each other seemed insatiable, fueled by the intoxicating blend of adrenaline and affection. With each caress, each whispered word of longing, we delved deeper into the depths of our shared passion, losing ourselves in the ecstasy of the moment.
Lando's touch was electric as he explored every inch of my body, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume us both. I arched into his embrace, my senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of pleasure coursing through me.
With each kiss, each tender caress, we built towards a crescendo of desire, our bodies moving in perfect harmony as we sought to satisfy the hunger burning within us. And as we finally reached the peak of our passion, our cries of ecstasy echoing through the room, I felt a sense of completion wash over me, knowing that in Lando's arms, I had found true fulfillment.
As we lay entwined in the aftermath of our lovemaking, a sense of peace settled over us, our breathing slowly returning to normal as we basked in the glow of our shared intimacy. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the boundless love that connected us, stronger than ever before.
His eyes met mine, a softness lingering in their depths as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "You're amazing, you know that?" he whispered, his voice filled with awe and adoration.
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "And you're not so bad yourself, Mr. Norris," I teased, running a hand through his tousled hair.
He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I mean it, though. You make me feel like I can take on the world."
The sincerity in his words washed over me, filling me with a sense of pride and contentment. In Lando's arms, I felt cherished and desired, my heart overflowing with love for this incredible man.
As we lay together in the quiet of the hotel room, the outside world faded away, leaving only the two of us wrapped in a cocoon of love and intimacy. And as we drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other's embrace, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, united in our passion and devotion.
#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris imagines#landonorris#lando norris#lando norris blurb#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris one shot#lando x reader#f1 one shot#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 fic
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2023 World Athletics Championships - Women's 100 meter finals
#sha'carri richardson#track and field#2023 world athletics championships#budapest 2023#man not unfollowing the NBC olympics twitter account ages ago was such a good decision#because they keep you up to date on all the big sport events even outside it#so I've been following a lot from this worlds' just through that#I actually had added her win in the heats to my gif list because she did this gesture at the end#what can I say I love a Personality#but then barely qualifying for the finals#I was nervous!#how awesome to see her win! and that the 9th lane might have actually helped#look at the last gifs as it really starts to dawn on her#literally skipping... it was so lovely and adorable#also aw everyone else being so classy with the hugs
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Waking up with Jason's arms wrapped around you, feeling him breathe into your hair, letting out the occasional snore. His hand is under you, pressed into your side, and you feel him squeeze the flesh of your waist to make sure you're still there, a habit he developed when things started getting serious, constantly searching for you, even in his sleep. He squeezes a little tighter, his breath suddenly quickening at an alarming rate. You try to turn to face him, fear settling in your stomach, wondering if something was plaguing him in his dreams again.
When you shift ever so slightly, you feel the other arm lying over you tighten, pulling you flush against his body. A chill runs down your spine as you feel him exhale a particularly strangled breath, and you force yourself out of his grip, sitting up to get a better look at the man next to you. His eyebrows furrowed, hair flat on one side of his head from laying in one position the entire night. One of his hands reaches out to your pillow, searching for you in your sudden absence, and when it's met with nothing, Jason jolts upright. He turns his head frantically, blurred vision searching for something, for someone, for you.
His shoulders drop in relief when he finally stops long enough to notice you barely a foot away from him. You watch his chest rise and fall as he tries to calm his breathing, and you're not sure which thing caused it, the nightmare or the fear that you had left him. "What are you doing up?" he asks, voice laced with sleep. "You were having a nightmare," you say quietly, sliding a little closer to him and settling back into your spot on the bed. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay." confusion is etched across his face like the concept of him having a nightmare was foreign, and you develop an equally confused expression upon seeing his own. His face drops suddenly, and he clears his throat, "Right, a nightmare." he shifts beneath the covers, seemingly uncomfortable. "I'm all good. Just go back to sleep, okay?" he sends a reassuring smile your way, his attempt at trying to make you forget this whole debacle and coax you back to sleep, but it was too late; you were already wide awake.
"Was it him again?" your hand finds the scarred expanse of his back, lightly grazing your fingers against old wounds and trying to ease his angst; his body tenses at your touch, and a groan leaves his lips. "it wasn't-" he pauses, running his hands through his hair and sighing. "it wasn't him again. It wasn't even..." he trails off, turning away from you and sliding off the bed. "wasn't even what?" You ask, more confused than ever, watching as he lifts his arms above his head, back muscles flexing while he stretches before crossing his arms. He just stands there, back towards you, and all you can do is sit in silence while he seemingly contemplates something. "It wasn't what, Jason?" you ask one more time. He turns his head slightly to look at you only for a second and lowers his eyes when he sees you in the same spot you've been this whole time. "It wasn't a nightmare," he says, turning around to face you, this time allowing you to see his whole body.
His face is flushed a bit out of embarrassment, and your confusion starts to reach its peak. That is until you do a once-over of him and notice the patch of dark gray on his otherwise light sweatpants. Your mouth gapes a bit, and all you can manage is a quiet "Oh." his eyes find the same spot on his pants, a tent growing beneath the soft cotton. "Yeah. Oh."
#wet dream jason is finally here#editing this was way harder than it should've been#anyway hope u fiends enjoy this thing#that barely even qualifies as suggestive#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd smut#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood smut#jason todd lover
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Radio Times trying to defend how last minute and poorly developed that relationship ultimate was by basically saying "Well, it was going to end anyway so it doesn't matter" while also highlighting how the one scene they have about it just rehashes a scene from a better written relationship. Honestly, the more people try to frame this as some great romance the more they just draw attention to how badly handled it all was.
#doctor who#dw#to be perfectly blunt#these two barely qualify as a good friendship let alone a great romance#so disappointing that we finally got the doctor in a same sex relationship and it was this#that is just the story of this era#it does so much that fans longer for but often in the worst possible way
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13 YEARS LATER INTER IS IN THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL AND STILL THE LAST ITALIAN TEAM TO WIN UCL
#BABES I CANT BELIEVE LIKE WHEN I THINK ABOUT THE MANCINI YEARS I WANNA CRY WEVE BEEN THROUGH THE TRENCHES😭😭😭#OR THE YEAR AFTER HE LEFT WHEN WE HAD 4 COACHES IN 1 SEASON#LIKE THE DAYS WHEN WE BARELY QUALIFIED FOR EL AND THAT ONE YEAR W ONLY DOMESTIC COMPETITIONS#TO BARELY QUALIFYING TO CL TO LOSING EL FINAL TO WINNING THE LEAGUE TO REACHING THE UCL FINAL OMGGGDHH#TEARSSSS#inter#inter milan#fcim#amala#INTER IS THE BEST LOOK
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grad school is so funny like. actually i can't take it anymore.
#i basically work 9-5 and also have homework#ive had no personality or love life for 2 years all my other interests slowly died off except compulsive shopping and smoking weed to cope#and im just barely almost qualified for livable wage jobs now. like fml.#i need to go on vacation. DESPERATELY. ideally not on this continent!!!!#this discussion post tonight is like really actually my final straw honestly
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the poll for how to arrange the brackets just finished with proceeding as originally planned winning!
so, without further ado, here are the lineups ^^
note :: songs with a * next to them may require a content warning. i'll provide specific warnings as soon as i have the time, but as of now please proceed with caution
main matchup bracket ::
alice of human sacrifice* by yugami p / fear garden* by chaa
magnet by minato p / romeo and cinderella by doriko
world is mine by ryo / world's end dancehall by wowaka
triple baka by lamaze p / the disappearance of hatsune miku by cosmo p
meltdown by iroha(sasaki) / luka luka★night fever by samfree
fire◎flower by halyosy / trick and treat by oster project
daughter of evil by mothy / dancing★samurai by kanimiso p
rolling girl by wowaka / matryoshka by hachi
madness of duke venomania* by mothy / alluring secret ~black vow~ by hitoshizuku x yama
senbonzakura by kurousa / outer science by jin
doubleganger by kulfiq / mikusabbath by utsu p
jinsei reset button by kemu / common world domination by pinnochio p
the fox's wedding* by masa works design / tokio funka by takamatt
heat haze days by jin / patchwork staccato by toa
six trillion years and an overnight story by kemu / lost one's weeping by neru
aishite aishite aishite by kikuo / echo by crusher p
setsuna drive by taki yoshimitsu / yoake to hotatu by n buna
a fake fake psychotropic by kairiki bear / therefore you and me by tadanoco
my r* by kurage p / i'm glad youre evil too by pinnochio p
chururira chururira dadada by kurage p / mkdr by deco*27
blessed messiah and the tower of ai by hitoshizuku x yama / 86 by dasu
law evading rock by neru / nakakapagpabagabag by dasu
sand planet by hachi / ghost rule by deco*27
monster by kira / hated by life itself by iori kanzaki
cause i'm a liar by mcki robyns p / honey i'm home by ghost
hole dwelling by kikuo / bring it on by giga
meteor by divela / seraphim on the ring by mitchie m
the court jester by thquib / casino by azari
king by kanaria / villain by teniwoha
lower by lanndo / phony by tsumiki
higanbana milk tea by vane / scapegoat by ghost
queen by kanaria / bug by kairiki bear
honorable mention bracket ::
electric angel by yasuo p (original), giga (giga arrange) / freely tomorrow by mitchie m
po pi po by lamaze p / go google it by wintermint p
black★rock shooter by ryo / bacterial contamination by kanimiso p
i like you, i love you by gevanni p / first love academy ��� school of true love by nem
(also a quick general note ! i don't have everything ready for a formal polished reveal at the time of posting this. i plan on updating this post with links to the songs and also a visual bracket when i have the time. they'll definitely be up soon, so make sure to check back in a bit for them ^^
i'll also make sure that reblogs are turned on for the final version!)
#vocaloid song showdown#sorry it's just a list for now i promise i'll update it and make it look nicer as soon as i get the chance :'D#i'll also add the playlists to the final post so those will finally be out soon too !#but for now it's just a quick little post to get the matchups out sooner rather than later since this is already kinda behind schedule :')#anyway it's still kinda bonkers to me that only one person nominated po pi po and electric angel#those songs used to be Everywhere it felt like#and unless i continually missed it no one sent in llevan polka :(#(to be fair itnisn't originally a vocaloid song. idk if i could fully qualify it bc of that but still shocked that it got no nominations)#oh also ! until i have the image finalized if anyone thinks any matchups should be tweaked at all feel free to lmk !#i was mostly judging popularity based on nominations and view count (reprints included) but it was hard to tell for some ???#like i remember a whole bunch of reprint channels getting deleted or privating all their videos and i'm sure that impacted some view counts#and rolling girl in particular has a lot less views than i thought it would ???#it's not a small amount by any means but it also seems to be on the higher side of the average for the final bracket songs#it was also unsurprisingly the most nominated song#so some of the matchups were a bit weird and wonky to put together fhdkfh#(especially echo actually too ? it got 2 nominations and barely made it but has the highest view count out of all the songs last i checked)#anyway all that to say if anyone wants to give feedback on the bracket pairings i'm open to it until i get the formal version up ( ^^)b#additionally if i missed any songs that should have some sort of warning please let me know fhdkdh#i added them only off the top of my head so i might've missed one#(the final version of this will have more specific warnings too. potential flash warnings as well)#EDIT :: changed up within 24 hours to up soon#i wish i could've had everything together within 24 hours but things came up and i need just a little more time :(#but i wanna get started on voting monday (february 27) for real this time ! no more putting it off :'D
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!!! Just got out of the appointment with my psychiatrist and he said my symptoms sound a lot like bpd
And also possibly a schizo-affective disorder which was a lot less expected than the bpd-
#honestly felt good to have a professional agree I might have bpd finally#tbf I barely brought up half those symptoms with my therapist because he wasn't as qualified or educated
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is there a fanfic where advanced introduction to finality is like. actually good
#community#advanced introduction to finality#maybe this is just my love for dream logic talking but i feel like this episode COULD have been halfway decent#if you took out the paintball that barely qualifies as paintball#and made it revolve more heavily around jeff's emotional conflict instead of making that an afterthought#and ik it's stupid for jeff to know so much about the darkest timeline that he constructs an entire dream sequence around it#but i do like that it furthers the idea that he and abed have more in common than jeff is willing to admit#but again it only works if you completely ignore the logic of it#also i dont really like fanfic#reading or writing it#so good luck lol#phoebe talks
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I FUCKING FIGURED IT OUT, THE CLOWN PICS ARE RELEASED FROM PURGATORY
shoutouts to the customer support lady at Tumblr for the big help :]
guys don’t use
in your tags guys
having “Discussion -HOPE VS DESPAIR- V3 “ playing while I was doing this was oddly fitting
#FINALLY FREE THE CLOWN IS VISIBLE#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!#my stuff#nexo knights#this barely qualifies as nexo knights lol#time to reblog me own art#ach gagagagagaga#<- Mr Krabs
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The goofiest movie in the Resident Evil series by a landslide is Resident Evil: Apocalypse
in this essay I will-
#delete later#it is so over the top ridiculous and cliche af to a point i love watching it to make myself feel better cuz it always makes me laugh#with hits such as:#A canon character asking the ‘OC’ in the movie-verse ‘who the fuck are YOU?’ after she saves their asses via motorcycle entrance#*WHIP SOUND EFFECTS*#for literally every single hit and swing Alice does#and a finale involving what is essentially a battle royale 1v1 where everyone just stands and watches them fight#the best oart is this movie is absolutely not trying to be funny at all but it takes its own seriousness to another level#another dumb fun part I laugh at is this one aerial view of Raccoon City where... you see a CIBC building LMAO#(a Canadian bank in an American city? goofy af)#like usually they try to mask the fact they film american cities in toronto a lot but they barely tried in this movie#im sorry i rewatch these movies so often it’s almost embarrassing 🙈#there’s *parts* that I really like? like... cinematography-wise? or theme wise?#but it absolutely REEKS of ‘OC-insert’ and i don’ even know much about the games#idk if Alice qualifies as a Mary Sue *technically* because she *does* have flaws but BOY OH BOY#i shouldn’t keep blabbing about this cuz I will be here and bore y’all for ages about it afagdhhfhs#THERE’S SO MUCH TO NITPICK AND POKE FUN AT#the only people i know who unironically *love* these movies is... my parents - my mom especially#but she knows literally nothing about the games so when i told her about them she was shook to find out... Alice isn’t a canon character?#so im p convinced 99% of people do not like these movies and thus it’s fair game to rip on them as much as I do 8)#one last thing before i post this and probably delete later:#tfw u hand a character a gun and they say ‘idk how to use this’ and the advice u givethem is just... ‘hit them in the head’#like Jill no u didn’t even check the safety in that thing before handing it to her#I REALLY WISH THEY’D JUST MAKE A MOVIE ADAPTATION OF OUTBREAK INSTEAD LIKE#IT’S PERFECT FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS#GAH okay okay im done now
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Okay fine ill watch rottmnt
#i think i have finally mourned 2012 enough for me to give it a go#not me being 6 whole years and a pandemic late to it 🫥#i think im getting to the point where i BARELY qualify as a tmnt fan#im 8 minutes in and i get the hype why didnt anyone say this was good#(apart from literally everybody all the time for years)
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You caught your husband in the bathroom staring into the mirror. You were curious as to what was taking him so long so you peeked through the gap in the door and saw him sighing at something. Knocking quietly you walked inside and saw him busy himself with putting toothpaste on his toothbrush.
“You okay?” you asked and he just gives you a smile in the mirror and shoves the brush into his mouth so he doesn’t speak.
“You've been in here for a while, thought you fell down the plughole” you attempt a joke but he doesn’t say anything or laugh, you could tell something was bothering him but he was being annoying.
Walking up behind him, you hug him from behind and you could feel him relax into you. You press a few kisses to his bare back before coming to his side and leaning against the countertop.
You stare at him until he looks you in the eyes. “Is something wrong?” he says finally and you shrug your shoulders “I don't know, you tell me” he sighs again before bringing his hands down and resting them against the sink.
“Do you think I'm looking… old?”
“Old? You're only thirty-”
“I know I'm not old but do I look old” your eyes cast to his face and take in his appearance which hasn’t changed that much since you met him. Shaking your head you give him a warm smile and squeeze yourself in front of him and the countertop.
“You don’t look as if you qualify for a free bus pass anytime soon” he gives you a look of disappointment but you could see a faint smirk on the corner of his lips.
Wrapping your arms around his neck you bring him into a kiss, tasting the mintyness of the toothpaste he used on his lips. “Haven't I told you I liked older men anyways?”
A laugh rubles in his chest and you rest your head against it just to feel his laughter. “I’m two months older than you love” he mumbles into your hair and you smile before shrugging your shoulders.
“Still hot”
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Thawed
Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader
Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman
“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.
You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”
Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”
You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”
As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.
Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.
When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.
***
“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.
Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.
Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.
In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.
“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.
The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.
Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”
Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.
***
The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.
Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.
You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.
Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.
Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.
“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.
You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”
He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.
Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.
Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.
You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.
***
“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”
Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.
You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”
He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.
Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.
“Well? What did they say?”
Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”
He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.
“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”
You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.
“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”
He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”
You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.
***
You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.
“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.
He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.
Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”
She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.
“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.
“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.
He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.
Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.
***
The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.
Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.
“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.
Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.
You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”
Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”
You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”
He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”
You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”
His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”
Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.
“Always.”
***
“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.
He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.
With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.
“Kimi ...”
“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.
You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”
His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.
He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”
You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.
“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.
The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.
“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”
You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.
***
You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.
Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.
“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.
Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.
Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”
“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.
You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”
He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.
“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”
Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.
He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”
You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”
His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.
***
You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.
“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.
He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.
You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”
He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.
“What is it?” You whisper.
He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”
Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.
***
You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.
He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.
“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.
You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”
He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”
You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”
He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.
When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.
“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.
“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.
He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.
You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.
***
“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.
You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”
Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”
The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.
Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”
You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”
He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.
No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.
***
You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.
“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”
He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.
The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.
It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”
Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”
Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”
Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”
Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”
You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”
Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”
As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.
***
You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?
The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.
Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!
You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.
You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”
He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.
As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.
His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.
“Love you too,” he murmurs.
The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.
***
“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.
You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.
“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”
He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.
“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”
You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”
“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”
You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”
He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”
***
You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.
Three minutes have never felt so long.
When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.
Positive.
Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.
You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.
He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”
Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.
Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”
You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.
When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.
You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”
***
You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.
“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.
“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.
Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.
The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.
Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.
After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”
You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.
Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.
He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”
You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.
***
You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.
Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.
Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.
“What’s wrong, love?”
You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.
A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”
Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”
Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.
“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”
He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”
His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.
He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”
You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.
***
A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.
“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.
You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”
Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.
Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.
“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.
Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”
His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.
Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.
Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.
Your family, whole at last.
***
You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.
Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.
He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.
As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”
He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.
You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.
When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.
“You okay?” He rumbles.
You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.
***
The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.
Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.
Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.
“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.
He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”
Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.
But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.
You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”
He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.
No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.
***
“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”
Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”
The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”
You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”
Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.
“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”
The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#kimi raikkonen#km7#kimi raikkonen imagine#kimi raikkonen x reader#kimi raikkonen x you#kimi raikkonen fic#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#kimi raikkonen x y/n#kimi raikkonen one shot#formula 1#kimi räikkönen#opposites attract#iceman#scuderia ferrari#alfa romeo
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off the record — lando norris
"the line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it."
lando norris x you (femreader) | 2.1k
rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language, drug references)
masterlist
The media pen was mayhem after what had been an eventful morning on track. Cameras hoisted every which way, journalists vying for their chance to get front row. And then there was you; little old you trying your best to muscle into every nook and cranny available, wrestling with the big boys and girls. You were a bit of a hot shot now, rising through the ranks online as a media personality and bringing it to the stalwarts of mainstream media.
And you were good – really good. An exceptional storyteller and an extractor of sorts when it came to getting the scoop, something you had honed in on during your days working freelance before eventually realising your potential. Somehow, you’d made it here. Reporting for Sky Sports. Coming to you live from Monaco. Dream shit.
“Lando Norris…” You started, microphone locked and loaded in front of the sweaty, nonchalant McLaren driver.
“Felt like you left a little bit out on track in practice this morning. P10 – where do you think you can get the car in qualifying this afternoon?”
“P1 obviously,” Lando quipped, chewing through his comically large drinking straw in an attempt to hide his smirk. Mocking.
“Yeah?”
“What do you reckon?” He asked, leaning forward ever so slightly with a mischievous glint in his eye that had you rolling yours.
You shrugged, “Wouldn’t count the McLaren car out, that’s for sure.”
“The car and…” Lando smirk widened, lips still pursed and baiting.
“The driver too? Maybe?” Dickhead.
“Maybe that too…” You gave in with a sigh, eliciting a wide smile from the man standing in front of a gaggle of reporters, waiting for your next question with snickering expressions.
“So high expectations going into quali then?”
It had always been like this with Lando from the moment you stuck your little hand held recorder in his face at Bahrain last year to now. He knew he could wind you up and find levity in whatever situation he found himself in at the end of a session – good or bad. It was always a friendly back and forth between journalist and driver. Harmless banter to make the monotony of the media pen just that little bit more bearable. Professional, until it wasn’t.
“The flirting is getting out of hand,” You whispered into his kiss, teeth clashing, hands fumbling as you fell back on your hotel bed with a huff.
“But you look so fucking cute asking me questions like that,” He growled in retort, hands making quick work of the jeans clinging to your hips – the ones that had been taunting him all day.
Everywhere he turned he saw you swaying from side to side, aching to have this moment with you now.
“Well duh,” You quipped confidently, eyes fluttering shut as his feverish lips ghosted above the damp patch of excitement between your thighs. Focus.
“But it has to stop.”
“Oh you want me to stop right now?”
“I’m not talking about…” You stopped mid-sentence when you caught the mischievous glimmer in Lando’s eyes, lips pulled into a smirk, “Okay, fuck you.”
“You love it,” He breathed out in barely a whisper, leaving a trail of marks down the inside of your thigh before finally giving you what you were waiting for.
“And don’t pretend like the thought of me going down on you when you’re asking me those silly little questions doesn’t turn you on.”
Well he fucking had you there.
Lando punctuated his point with a long, teasing stripe to your cunt before burying himself between your thighs, only coming up for air when you tugged on his curls and demanded a kiss. He knew how you were, how needy and insatiable you could be. This was a thing now; a god forsaken mistake in Australia that had turned into a runaway train. Neither of you could stop it.
“I can’t live without this.”
The desperation spilled from your mouth in a guttural moan as you titled you hips upwards and let the twisted knots in the depths of your stomach unravel. The sight of you thrashing in pleasure below knocked the wind out of Lando, eyes and mind focused solely on fucking you through your high so perfectly, fingers bruising the buttery flesh of your thighs.
“God – fuck…” He could barely breathe, “Don’t – you don’t have to.”
And with one last pump, he was coming into the condom he’d slipped on without you even knowing. It was second-hand now, muscle memory and so fucking good. But it didn’t start that way – no, it was awkward goodbyes and a cold ‘thanks for that’ which made you regret ever answering your hotel door. The situation had changed in the blink of an eye – now he was lingering, kissing you in places that had you melting into the mussed sheets and begging him to stay a little bit longer.
It was pathetic how reliant you’d become and how distant you could be when he had to leave. The leaving part was the thing that changed and had you questioning all of it. It used to be that you could go shower and come back to an empty bed and not even flinch. Four months of he is just a causal fuck, no hard feelings to now not being so stoic on that sentiment but you wouldn’t admit that. Not to yourself and especially not to the man peering down at you – all lazy smiles and dimples and ocean eyes. You were fucked.
“I gotta go,” Lando whispered, brushing the stray strands of hair from your flushed face, pout present and needy.
“You don’t really though.”
“If I don’t go now I’ll never leave.”
The little voice in your head was monologuing – screaming out all of the reasons why he should stay because maybe deep down that’s what you wanted. But you couldn’t have that. The line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it. It was the devil on your shoulder that tormented you when it came to Lando, pushing the boundaries more and more every time you had him in your clutches. Risking it all.
“Kiss me before you go.”
And he did. Passionately, like a man in love because maybe he was. Maybe he had been for a lot longer than he’d realised – somewhere between Miami and now he let his guard down too far, too soon. You were flawless though, unattainably perfect that he couldn’t be blamed for falling victim to your allure – sharp eyes following you around the paddock, wishing he was the little notebook in your back pocket that garnered all your attention on race weekends.
“See you tomorrow?”
“If you’re lucky,” Lando quipped, knowing he would be the one curled up in his cold, lonely bed for the rest of the night waiting impatiently for tomorrow.
In any other circumstance you would think the two of you were like magnets, drawn together amongst the travelling circus that was your workplace. But you had a job to do and that was to seek out drivers and team principals, digging deep for any story you could find. There was a trust that you’d built with the teams, all of them respected your work and knew that you weren’t malicious; in fact you were the opposite.
“I really appreciate you not writing about my drunkenness last weekend… It wasn’t my finest moment unfortunately.”
Oscar was a rookie driver but also a total sweetheart, who admittedly had found himself in a precarious late night adventure in a Miami nightclub post-grand prix. How he ended up that drunk, you had no idea but you saved him from himself with the help of Lando, who Oscar would’ve thought was suspiciously close by if he wasn’t black out drunk.
“I got you, buddy but I think your Australian citizenship might have to be revoked after an effort like that… Very disappointing,” You teased in jest, both smiling into the blistering Monacan sun as you walked side by side into the paddock.
“I woke up with an L on my forehead which I can only assume Lando put there so I think my ego’s bruised enough thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah,” You cringed, “That might’ve been my eyeliner.”
“Is that right…”
Oscar’s tone was laced with suspicion but before he could quiz you on why you were still there that night and that he had started to notice the budding friendship between you and his teammate, he was being whisked away by one of his McLaren publicists. You were thankful that they'd taken his curious questions away – how the tables had turned.
Lando was watching you wander through the paddock behind his dark sunglasses, as had been the trend all weekend. Every time you glanced around he was there, wondering if he could sneak over and say hello. Sure, you were friends with a few of the drivers outside of work but when you stepped over that white line, the barriers of professionalism came up again. They had to, otherwise you would end up in a situation like this – gawking at someone you shouldn’t be.
But god he looked good.
He wore what he knew was your biggest weakness – a backwards cap and the black denim jacket he slung over your shoulders on that dark, stormy night in London a few weeks ago when Imola was cancelled and you needed a fix. Hotel hook-ups only. And all of this had you asking yourself, how on earth could you deny a good morning from the man who was the subject of your every desire?
“Good morning.”
“Well it’s not a bad one,” You smiled, more energised than Lando who was yawning into the crook of his arm, “Late night?”
He loved it when you did that. Sneaking little inside jokes into seemingly innocent conversation, naughty reminders of the nights you shared together when nobody was watching. The cheeky grin tugging on his lips a definite tell-tale that he enjoyed it – the tells getting easier and easier to spot the more you got to know him. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought that maybe he was into this as much as you. Little did you know.
“Yeah just squeezed in a late cardio sesh – you know how it is…”
A soft ahh slipped from your smirking lips, eyes trained on your path ahead as Lando strolled alongside, “What’s on the agenda today?”
You shrugged, half out of genuine cluelessness and the other half deflecting how nervous you were. Working in the media was your dream but walking through the hallowed halls of a sport you had loved for your entire life and that dream coming true made your stomach churn with every emotion under the sun. Especially in Monaco.
“You nervous?” Lando asked quietly, shaking you from your thoughts and panicked that you were talking out loud.
“Huh? Oh…” You waved him off and chuckled, “No – I mean, yeah but I always feel like this on race morning… But obviously you’re probably a lot more nervous than me so it’s nothing…” You were a stuttering mess and all Lando wanted to do was reach out and give you a hug.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was your little secret, a delicious secret that only the two of you knew and he didn’t want to ruin that. Instead, he dug his hands into his jean pockets a little deeper and gave you a reassuring nudge. Shoulder to shoulder, the same way you laid together the night before after what could only be described as the best sex of your life. Lives.
“My mum always said that nerves mean you care,” Lando’s voice was lower than before – a seriousness taking over, “You’ll do great, as always.”
“Thank you,” You matched his tone, “Hopefully I’m interviewing Lando Norris, Monaco Grand Prix winner…”
That’s all you really wanted deep down. Not the breaking story of the weekend or the drama surrounding contract talks at Red Bull. Just for the guy you had grown profoundly fond of to have some semblance of good luck for once. He’d worked hard for it, you’d seen it first hand and you’d seen the heartbreak when things weren’t going his way. Alas, that was what started this whole situation – frustrated post-race sex. Chef’s kiss.
Lando simply rolled his eyes and sighed loudly before leaning in a tiny bit closer than what you considered a safe workplace distance, “Kiss for good luck then?”
“Get the fuck out of here!” You laughed, kicking his calf with your platform boot as his infectious cackle of a laugh echoed through the growing crowd.
You watched him disappear somewhere between the motorhomes, searching for his team. The lingering feeling in your stomach made you slightly nauseous and a little excited for the next run-in with him. It was like a game of cat and mouse and you weren’t sure who was who but you liked it. More than you wanted to admit because he was Lando fucking Norris – f1's most eligible bachelor, the naughty boy from Bristol, all curls and dimples and undeniable charm. You couldn't help but wonder how many others he had wrapped around his finger like you.
He's just a casual fuck, you mumbled under your breath as you flicked open your notebook and got to work.
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#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando norris smut#f1 imagine#f1 smut#monzamashmasterlist#lando norris x reader#formula 1 imagine#off the record fic#off the record series
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More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)
“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”
There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.
She absolutely loathes hearing it.
Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.
You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.
She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.
—————
For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.
Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.
Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.
“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”
And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?
Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.
“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”
“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”
It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.
“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”
Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.
Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.
She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.
“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.
Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”
By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—
“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”
“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”
“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.
You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.
“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.
Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.
Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.
“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.
“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”
You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”
“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”
“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.
You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.
It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.
“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.
Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”
You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.
After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”
Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.
God, you can already see how this is gonna end.
“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”
Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.
It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.
You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”
Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”
“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”
“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.
After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”
Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”
“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”
“She’s cheating on me. I know.”
Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”
“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”
You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.
Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.
Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.
People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.
“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”
You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.
“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.
“Among other things?” you question.
“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”
Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.
“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”
Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.
“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”
“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”
The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.
When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.
So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.
“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.
“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”
Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.
And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.
More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.
The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.
And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.
“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.
Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.
You might as well repay the favor.
And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.
“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.
Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.
Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.
So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.
You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.
And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.
Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.
Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.
She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.
Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.
The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.
You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.
Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.
Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.
Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.
“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.
Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,
She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”
Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.
The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.
And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.
If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.
Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.
“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.
“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”
And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.
Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.
“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”
“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.
It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”
“And what about her?”
A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.
It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”
“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”
In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.
“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”
To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.
“Then show me.”
And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.
Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.
The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.
In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.
Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.
“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”
God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.
You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.
“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”
And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.
Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.
Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.
But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.
Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.
Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.
But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.
“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.
If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.
You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.
And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.
“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.
“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.
The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.
“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”
On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.
The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.
“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”
She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.
“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”
You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.
You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.
And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.
—————
(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)
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