blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4
"grief is just love with no place to go”
PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader
WORD COUNT: 2.6k
WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing
SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans.
A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)
part 1 <- | part 2
The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.
Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.
You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.
And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.
This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.
You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.
"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."
A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.
Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.
"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.
Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.
Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.
A man.
His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.
With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."
It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.
“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"
You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”
He smiles.
Your gaze narrows.
"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."
"Well, it's still too close," you snap.
"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."
Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."
With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.
"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.
Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.
"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.
"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.
"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.
"I don't care."
His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."
"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.
The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"
Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.
"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.
Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm okay.
The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.
Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.
A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."
"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.
There's no reaction from him, not even a response.
Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.
"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"
"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.
His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.
"Let me see," you say calmly.
For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.
"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.
"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."
Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.
"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."
"Wait!"
You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.
"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"
You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.
"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.
Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"
Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.
"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"
Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."
For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.
"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.
You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."
You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.
"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.
Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.
"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."
His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.
"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.
"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.
You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.
Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.
Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.
"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.
Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.
"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.
"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."
Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."
You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.
"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.
"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.
*********
As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.
"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.
"Yeah, why?" he responds.
Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.
"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.
"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."
Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"
"Worse," you deadpan.
"...Right."
With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.
However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.
But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.
"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.
You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.
No, not today. Please, not today.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.
"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"
Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.
Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.
"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.
"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.
"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"
You nod, still not quite ready to speak.
Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"
"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."
"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."
"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.
"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.
"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."
Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."
With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.
4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28
610 notes
·
View notes
Destiny (m)
synopsis. You can’t say no to him, it’s his birthday after all.
warnings. söft yändērē, sïmp bëhävïöür, öbsëssîvë thoughts, öbsëssïön, hê ïs sö përsüäsïvë, ünhëälthy rëlätïönshïp, yändêrê jk 10x.
note. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MAN I LOVE. please send asks for my jk’s, what do you love the most about jk? I love him, I hope you guys will love this as well, so what’s your answer going to be?
He just loves you so much.
Jungkook knows it’s unhealthy but he doesn’t care. You are everything to him, you’re his reason for everything, you’re the centre of his universe.
He wants to be with you forever, you’re both perfect for each other, God made you for him, and him for you.
Jungkook is a firm believer in destiny and he believes that you’re his destiny.
So that’s why he’s going to make you his tonight, forever.
You are nervous,
When it comes to your boyfriend you’re always tense.
You want to be happy, excited for your date tonight with him but all you feel is nervous, maybe it’s because you’re not sure about how he’s going to react to what you’re about to tell him.
Jungkook was always unpredictable.
As you sit right across him, you feel his eyes on you, you can’t really look at him without looking away, or playing with your nails. Your anxiety is rising through the roof.
Maybe you shouldn’t today, it’s his birthday after all, but it’s really now or never. Your courage is barely enough today, you’ll chicken out the next day.
“Baby? You okay?”
The feeling of his right tattooed hand on yours and his voice pulls you out of your inner dilemma, you blink twice, he looks so happy and beautiful. His eyes are filled with love for you, he looks at you like you’re his whole world.
And that scares you a little.
You nod to jungkook and he squeezes your hand again. “Just thinking about you, kook.” You reply, the night is so calm, the atmosphere is so peaceful yet Jungkook’s eyes don’t let you calm down.
“The food was so delicious right YN???? Also I ordered their top desert too, I hope you’ll enjoy it! I know we have my birthday cake too but I thought you should taste their special too, it’s so tasty I love it.”
“I am so happy I am spending my birthday with you YN.” The man gushes like a teen boy, never leaving your hand, “you know I love you a lot, so much.” He sighs like this is a dream he never wants to wake up from.
“You love me too right?”
Your breath hitches in your throat, why does he always ask you this question? His need to be reassured drives you insane sometimes, he knows the answer yet why?
“Of course.”
A huge smiles breaks out from his lips, his eyes crinkle so sweetly, his cheeks are almost red, your boyfriend blushes softly and giggles.
“Then, you’re going to love my surprise YN.”
Your furrow your brows.
“Actually Jungkook I need to tell- no YN. Not now please.” You close your mouth, anxiety rushes through you as you watch him stand up from the table, what is he doing?
You don’t get it, it’s his birthday yet he’s giving you a surprise? 
Your eyes follow his as you watch him walk closer to you and you are too focused on him to utter a word, he looks at you and halts his movement, looking at you with his deep brown orbs.
“B-Babe what are you doing??”
It’s all too quick, he’s on one knee, as he puts his hand into his pocket, and takes out a velvet black box. Your heartbeat is going crazy.
No no no!!!
“JUNGKOOK!- YN. Will you make me the luckiest man alive, will you marry me?”
You can’t breathe, it feels so suffocating suddenly, his words hit you like a brick, ringing repeatedly in your ears. You want to cry.
You didn’t want this, not right now.
You stare at him dumbfounded, your mouth feels too dry to say anything, Jungkook stares back at you with eagerness jumping in his eyes, they are sparkling so much.
You watch as he openes the box, the ring takes your attention away from him, it’s gorgeous, it’s too big.
It looks too expensive.
“YN do you see the ring? I had it custom made, do you see these stones? These are yours and mine birth stones, and the diamond is in the middle of them. Do you like it?”
You stand up, speechless, “J-Jungkook….” He doesn’t move from his position, “please say yes YN. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you so much, please fulfill my birthday wish and marry me.”
You feel so helpless right now, he’s making you feel so weak, the look in his eyes is too strong. He loves you so much.
“I’ll make you the happiest woman YN, I’ll always take care of you and love you unconditionally, please baby, marry me.”
Jungkook is quick to grab your hand. “Baby say something, you know you can’t say no, I won’t accept it, say yes, say yes to me.”
this is exactly why you don’t want to marry him.
“I…I…”
“Just one yes YN, I’ll do anything… please marry me.”
2K notes
·
View notes
Enemies AND Lovers w/ Vox
A/N: RAHHH im on this lovely LOVLEY show by Viv. So glad HH is popular AGAINN. Been here since the OG days. Real ones know fr. Anyways. Need Vox biblically, and im sure all of u do too.
NSFW BELOW THE CUT
- Youre such a fucking prick. Its like you and Alastor are PERSONAL heaven-sent punishment for the tv demon. Fuck his life.
- Ngl, he has some hatefuck fantasies about Alastor….BUT YOU??? He doesnt know whether to livestream both of you getting it on, or just keep you all to himself, letting him edge you, torture you, maybe beat you up as he fucks you raw.
- But! You both know who’s really the Dom in the relationship.
- “Going all static on me, Vox? Knew your twink ass couldnt keep up.” You snicker.
- His left eye bursts a red glare. “Im gonna show that tight mouth of yours on how to really keep up.” He seethes
- In public, both of you play the obvious cat-and-mouse act. He starts the fight, and you cook him every. single. time.
- Hell, you sometimes contemplate teaming up with Alastor to genuinely fuck him over. An enemy of an enemy is a friend, after all.
- Alas, however charming friend and associate the Radio Demon is, he has bigger…’opps’ ( LUCIFER…LILLITH? ). So, youre left to humiliate Vox all by yourself.
- He’s such an adorable tv munchkin to u, always yapping and yapping on….How CUTE.
- “I am not cute, you fuckin’ slut.” His voice switches to all gutteral and static.
- You slide a hand dangerously slow down his chest. He genuinely starts fucking tweaking, a neon blue blush blooming all over his screen. “ How abt now???”
- Gun kink. BLOOD KINK…. Both of you regularly have turf wars, fights in respective buildings. Your divine guns against his throat, straddling him. His claws digging into your hips, blood oozing out. A nosebleed on your face.
- Perhaps, youre everything he needs. Youre perfect. Youre perfect like this he realizes, as you swat your gun away, and you bite and gnaw at his lips, furiously kissing him all rabid and animalistic.
- He hates you. He needs to hate you. Youre everything he goes against. Calm demeanor, perfect principles, a private, closed-off life.
- Nothing to broadcast. Nothing to brag about. And yet, youre Wrath incarnate in this ungodly realm of Hell.
- Vox realises, but you don’t, that you really are Heaven-sent. Except, youre his retribution.
- “F-Fuck you.” You drag out, when he runs a claw barely against your lower stomach as he mercilessly thrusts into you.
“Exactly what I’m doing, baby.” He glitches. Again.
- And when you two are done, and if its your place or his, just know the bed will be empty the next morning. Youre still sworn enemies. You’d still cut him down given the smallest chance.
Right.,,,Right?
Vox cherishes the vague warmth on the other side of the bed. He dares to smell the sheets, your scent clinging to it with some life. He feels filthy.
Youre back in the Wrath Ring before you know it, your own realm. The heat of the desert won’t compare to the fire in your heart, if you even have one.
Vox and you? Youre anything but for eachother.
1K notes
·
View notes