but what if i call?

when he’s home, he makes your favorite snacks from scratch because he claims that ‘you’ll be able to taste the love’ from his version.

he always has a spot for you in his drivers room to be away from everything in case it’s too much, complete with a phone charger, blanket, his ipad for you to watch a movie (in case quali or the race was ‘too boring’), your favorite activity, and a note of how much he appreciates your support.

he tells you everything, constantly texting you pictures and random updates on his very crazy life.

nolan ☀️💕: a literal RACCOON just walked across the track babe

nolan ☀️💕: attachments: 3 images

nolan ☀️💕: we should get a pet

nolan ☀️💕: lizard?

nolan ☀️💕: we could be that meme y/n please can we

nolan ☀️💕: OH MY GOD THAT MANIFESTATION THING YOU MENTIONED WORKED I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️❤️

nolan ☀️💕: P5 BABYYYYYY

nolan laughed at everything you said when you first started dating even if it wasn’t meant to be funny. he nervously laughed because he liked you so much, but it read as him being a total dork which to this day you find indefinitely true.

he didn’t know what your surname was for the longest time. he overheard a mechanic mention that their cousin had the same last name as yours and quickly typed it into your contact.

whenever you kiss him he can’t think straight for a good minute afterword. because in his brain you initiated it. you wanted to kiss him? he physically has to take a second and rock back on his heels to make sure he doesn’t pass out.

he hums to himself a lot — the songs can be tunes stuck in his head, but most of the time it’s him singing to narrate what he’s doing.

he also has no shame in singing a love song to you in public or around friends.

“‘you never have to be alone, I love you and that’s all I really know! I talked to your dad to pick out a white dress it’s a love story baby just say yes!”

“I’m surprised you remembered all that.”

“wow… you really doubted my singing abilities like that?”

“I doubted your memorization abilities, actually.”

you’ve nicknamed him ‘ray’ for the sole reason that he’s a literal ray of sunshine. lots of people just think it’s his middle name, but when close friends ask, he just responds with a confident, “don’t worry about it.”

the first time you looked at him, it was the same feeling when he drives his car; heart thumping in his chest and that enthralling sensation he’s addicted to. from that moment on he knew you were his forever person and made you a promise ring 2 years after you officially started dating.

a round diamond sits on a gold band in the small velvet box he slid in front of you two minutes ago. “nolan…”

“I love you so much. I want today and tomorrow and every day after that. i want you forever and you deserve everything you could ever dream of and I want to give you that.”

“nols-”

he grabs your hand, “and when the time is right, and we both feel ready for it, I want to marry you y/n.”

you take a breath, “oh.”

“what?”

a relieved smile tugs at your mouth, “it’s a promise ring?”

“yeah. it- oh. oh, you thought I was-?”

“when you say ‘forever’ it kind of gives that impression."

“sorry,” he laughs. “is that okay? that it’s not?”

“of course.”

he takes many cute pictures of the two of you: mid brushing teeth mirror selfies, lazy mornings clung to his chest still deep asleep, and the two of you cuddled up after a board game sitting on the floor of his apartment.

whenever you compliment him, this boy melts. especially when it’s out of the blue. his cheeks get rosy and he has a smile so contagious you can’t help but smile too. and if you kiss him afterwards? oh forget it.

he’s the kind of guy who tells you a joke and laughs before he can even get the words out. he tries but then you end up giggling at him while he’son the floor laughing like a hyena.

he never rushes you when you get ready for a night out and in fact makes your favorite drink in a cute glass, and a tiny umbrella (that he bought for this exact occasion) complimenting your makeup skills and leaves you be while telling the restaurant you’ll be a little late.

ln1:

it’s the weekend after lando wins world champion, and he finally feels relaxed and ready to not think about another car, team, or race.

he’s scrolling on Instagram waiting for you on the couch, and you’ve somehow convinced him once again to watch your favorite movie.

honestly it had become his too because you light up so much while watching it, but he’d never tell you that.

he unlocks his phone to instagram, finding a post from quadrant, a few fan accounts, and racing sponsors, haphazardly liking.

the next photo he sees is from the official f1 account, a recap of a few photos he’s seen from his celebrations.

he mouths an ‘aww’ towards his phone when he sees a picture of you both holding up a 1 with your pointer finger, one of the many photos you two took after he won the championship.

his eyebrows furrow at a small area of that unmistakable neon yellowish green, and zooms in to find his LN4 logo.

on your finger.

he feels his dick twitch in his pants and the air slip from his lungs.

“babe?” he gets up from his spot on the couch, “y/n?”

you peek out of your bedroom, hair still damp from your shower, “yeah?”

he grabs your hand and scans your fingertips.

you figure he hasn’t noticed from all of the excitement, “like them?” you giggle.

“fuck, I love them.”

fc43:

after a long and tiring day, you both headed home where you made franco dinner.

you ask him for your phone laying on the counter and when you grab it from him that's when he sees his initials and number, surrounded by the pink and blue that match his car.

he takes hold of your hand, yanking you backwards. "vida, when did you do this?"

"oh, uh- a few weeks ago."

he hums, thinking to himself for a moment.

he places your sprawled out hand on his chest, giving you your phone back.

"take a picture, want it as my phone background."

he's so excited and smiling so brightly, how could you say no?

after you'd gone to sleep, you wake up in the middle of the night to franco zooming in on the dim screen like a little gremlin.

"babe? y'okay?"

"yeah, sorry vida. just checking something."

turns out that when you went to sleep that night, he posted the photo on your instagram story, tagging himself pink heart next to his name.

op81:

oscar had surprised you with reservations to the new restaurant you’ve been wanting to try, a thank you for being so supportive the last couple of months.

you were holding your fork, taking about a friend you met up with the other day.

he sees the classic mclaren orange with black accents but then notices the subtle ‘8’ and ‘1’ on your middle and ring finger.

your voice feels distant now, and all he can think of is how he wants you to be scratching his back with them while he pounds into you. he’s slightly embarrassed that it’s turning him on as much as it is.

you notice his grip against his water glass is a little tighter.

“osc, you okay?”

“yeah yeah. i just uh, like your nails.”

“oh, thanks. i saw lily’s were blue and she had alex’s number, so-”

“it looks really good, love.”

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

cs55:

it all started with one simple question.

"amor, have you seen my headphones?"

"yeah i put it over there," you point.

and there it is. a 'c' painted so casually yet intentionally on your nail in black with a blue background.

"oh.. uh, okay. thank you."

he has a virtual interview for the next hour and hates that he can't ask you about it. he's practically squirming in his seat, leg bouncing in anticipation, eyes ping-ponging from the time to the interviewer asking the most researchable answers that he certainly doesn't need to be there for.

later, he barges into your room with just so many questions. when did you get them done? where? how'd you pick out the style? when is your next appointment?

you laugh in response, patiently answering his questions as he frantically searches his bag, successfully returning with his credit card and a pleading look on his face.

"take it."

"carlos-"

"get a new set for this weekend, yeah? for me?"

the constant pressure in your head doesn’t help your memory this morning, forcing yourself upright as you try to figure out what the hell happened last night. you remove the cold sheets to find yourself partially dressed, a massive t shirt covering your frame.

your eyes finally adjust to the darkness, and turning to grab your phone from the nightstand, you see the silhouette of what looks like a very awkward conversation.

then the silhouette shifts and the light catches a sliver of that unmistakable red hair.

oh.

fuck.

“no. nonono, shit!” you run over to the light switch, frantically flipping all of them in as your worst nightmare becomes your reality.

michael snaps out of his dreamy haze, body tired but hyper aware of whatever demon he needs to fight apparently. “wh-what? what’s wrong?!”

you pull back the sheets, revealing his bare chest and tattoos, toned arms and boxers. your breath catches and you hate yourself for staring.

“y/n!”

“shit, sorry.” your panicked breaths fill the room, “did we…?”

this is bad. so incredibly bad.

he rubs his eyes, the confusion you had minutes ago beginning to fade, “I don’t- I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t think so.”

the only thing he is certain he said is this one phrase he’s been holding onto, hoping and praying that you didn’t remember he said it.

he watches you think hard, desperately retrace your steps. “did we come straight here after we left the bar?”

he scratches his head, “i-"

“if you say ‘I don’t know’ one more time, you’re not going to live to see tomorrow.”

you’re gonna vomit. or die. or maybe a combination of both. you’re not sure yet.

“let me find a shirt and then we can sort this out, okay?”

always the voice of reason, you think. your lips press into a thin line, stomach aching.

“y/n?”

“yes. yeah. okay.”

he rounds the corner to his suitcase, returning with a sweatshirt for you and an old 5sos tee. he throws his sweatshirt towards you, “put this on. I know you’re cold.”

you hate that he’s right.

“give me that,” you say, pulling it over your torso.

he freezes for a moment.

“okay bad news,” Michael says, bending beneath the night stand.

“what now?”

his head pops up and in between his index and middle finger is a torn silver square.

“oh fuck.” your body crumples on top of the sheets and you wish this bed would swallow you whole and spit you back out into the ocean.

it seems impossibly heavy, this scenario the both of you have created that would obliterate your almost ten years of friendship.

it’s almost like your actions have consequences.

you bury your face into your knees, michael taking a seat next to you, his voice searching for the details of the night when a swirl of hazy memories comes back to you.

his wet lips dragging across your body, hands roaming where they haven’t before, and then: his words from last night hitting you like a hard slap in the face.

please, y/n. wanna make you come so hard you’re shaking. let me?

dreamed of seeing you like this for so long.

but one phrase is burned into your brain unlike the others.

i love you so fucking much, y/n.

michael notices the way your eyes flicker, blinking back tears and how your body folds into itself more than he thought humanly possible. he curses himself that he’s caused you this amount of pain and anguish.

his voice is reassuring, “hey, whatever it is, it’s okay. I promise. you can tell me.”

you nod, eyes meeting his hesitantly, his hand warm against your knee.

“what’d you remember?”

“you told me you loved me.”

he cringes, knowing that he probably did say those words at some point last night. not that they had any less meaning to those three little words, but he wished he could have said it at a better time. he wanted to say it when the moment was right, when it was just the two of you, maybe after a movie or something, but he was always so scared.

“michael?”

time to rip off this awful band-aid.

“i-, uh,” he sighs, “i didn’t, I didn’t want it to happen like this and I’m so, so sorry that it did, but I do love you y/n. i love you. I have for a long time and, and I’m sorry if this is a lot and if you don’t want to stay, I’m-”

“I love you too.”

“really?” he breathes.

“yeah, I was too scared to say anything but now… i love you mikey.”

a light blush covers his cheeks as he moves closer to you. “can i kiss you?”

you smile, heart beating faster than it ever has, “please.”

his lips are soft and kind, like they were meant to kiss you. you tug on his hair, a small groan slipping from his as he pins your hands above you.

you find a spot in the corner of a bar, both you and dennis trying to escape some of the stress from your jobs. you settle into the seat as someone comes up to your table.

dennis drums his fingers against the sticky wood bar, glancing back to check on you, smile quickly fading as he sees you laughing with some guy. he feels his blood pressure goes sky high and snatches your drinks from the bartender, hurrying to your table to see what exactly the fuck is going on.

dennis’ jaw tenses at how comfortable you are around this guy. not that he was the jealous type, but he just had a bad vibe and didn’t like how he looked at you. he wanted to rip this guys face off.

“…that’s so exciting I’m so happy for you!” you exclaim.

“yeah, it’s been a long time coming.”

the cold glasses clink against the wooden table as you keep chatting, the laugh that he hears so much now reserved for someone else. you two chat for a few moments then decides he’s had enough, and injects himself into the conversation, words coming out more abrupt than he would have liked.

“hey hon. who’s this?”

“i-oh, sorry. denny, this is daniel, we were in the same photography class in high school and hung out like all the time.”

oh great, dennis thinks. he manages to keep his jealousy composed through a gritted smile, “nice to meet you, man.”

“likewise. you got a great girl. take care of her.”

you can practically see that vein in dennis’s head about to burst, so you should probably end this quick.

“well I don’t want to take you away from your brother’s party,” you say.

“oh yeah. I’ll tell him you say hi.”

and then there it was. the thing that made dennis almost lunge at this guy.

a hug. a fucking hug with this stranger’s hand around the small of your back like you were his.

“good seeing you, y/n. nice to meet you.” he waves and heads off, dennis clearly enraged that he touched you.

his girl.

you both sit down on the squeaky leather, a sigh falling from your lips. you hadn’t seen daniel in over five years, and he was a good friend to you when petty shit went down in high school.

but after that conversation you realized now how different the two of you are and how lucky you were to find dennis.

you slide your drink closer to you, noticing that your boyfriend’s is half gone. something’s pissed him off and you’re certain of the cause. “thanks for getting our drinks.”

he nods, and arm being slung over your shoulder. “sure.”

you take a sip of your drink, monitoring his movements: his body closer to you than normal, legs practically overlapping as he scanned the lively and relaxed bar like it was a trap of some kind.

“are you okay?”

is he okay? what a question. this entire week he’s been asked that, and no matter how many times he says he is, he’s definitely not. he’s been through hell this week with his patients and tonight did not make it better like he hoped it would.

something behind his eyes snap, any kind of sanity he had left was definitely gone now.

“no, alright? I’m not fucking okay. that guy touching you like that? being so comfortable with you, and…and-? no. he doesn’t get to do that.”

he leans in, warm and agitated breath on your skin, eyes dark and swirling with something you can’t quite place.

“im sorry but…you’re mine. “you’re fucking mine and i think people need to see that.”

his lips ghost across your shoulder and you suddenly feel like every pair of eyes are focused on the two of you.

“dennis-"

he pressed his lips to yours, harsh and needy, with his hands gripping at your dress and a determined fervor that it’s hard to stop.

he can’t help but think what would happen if he didn’t come when he did, that guy trying to reconnect and get your number, stealing you away from him.

his tongue slides into your mouth, warm and wet and you’re glad you chose this table in the corner of this very crowded bar. his hand tugs your hair as he presses himself into you,

although sometimes he won’t for himself, he will always advocate for you. something’s wrong with your dinner at a restaurant? midway you saying it’s fine he’s pulling a server over to fix it. a stranger is making you uncomfortable? he’s whisking you away from the situation with an arm around your waist and a mumbled apology that he wasn’t there sooner.

he remembers all of your food tendencies and sometimes orders for you — your friends think it’s a bit controlling but you think it’s nice to have someone looking out for you in that way.

he’ll sit and talk with you while you’re showering (with permission of course) just to spend extra time with you. when you peel back the curtain, he always has one hand covering his eyes and your towel in the other.

both his lock and home screen is a picture of you in overalls holding a lamb from when you visited his family’s farm one summer.

with whitaker’s luck, he is always scheduled for Valentine’s Day, no matter how many times he’s asked off or tried to switch shifts. so he sends you on a scavenger hunt all day going to places like where you had your first date, a florist where he arranged for a pre paid for flower bouquet, etc. and has it perfectly timed so you come home just after he’s done lighting a candle on the dinner table.

he has a hummingbird feeder on the balcony and checks on it every day. you have a photo album named ‘papa bird’ that is him refilling the feeder every few weeks.

if someone from work calls him when you’re around he’ll make sure that you don’t feel ignored. he’ll reach for your hand or draw absent minded circles on your thigh while prescribing some medication you’ve never heard of.

he loves doing small things together, like making coffee, getting dressed for work, brushing teeth, that sort of thing. it gives him stillness.

when he notices you’re a night owl, he insists that he reads you a bedtime story to try and convince your body to go to sleep earlier. the first few times felt a little childish, but every night you get a choice between either a children’s fantasy novel or a picture book.

he definitely is a feminist, however when there’s some assembly required for quite literally anything, it is an unspoke rule that you are not allowed to touch any kind tool if he’s home. he makes you sit and watch him for the sake of ‘company’ since it can take a while, but he knows you like to watch him work.

after a long shift, he hugs and holds onto you like you’re about to leave him for six months.

he has a puzzle table that sits in the corner of your living room, surrounded by framed completed ones you both have made together.

when you’re sitting on the couch or desk with your laptop trying to catch up and he’s doing housework, every time he passes by, he’ll give you a kiss on the top of your head. it’s an acknowledgment that he’s thinking about you even if he’s doing something else. occasionally he’ll give you a kiss on the cheek to signal he’s almost done with his tasks.

dennis has a habit of leaving out cash for you with a note that says “for your nails :)” even if you’re just thinking about getting a new set.

ln4:

op81:

fc43:

lh44:

ch77:

so you’re fooling around and after he goes down on you, it goes a little further than you expected.

you’re still wearing your (let’s be real, his) t-shirt and he starts to slide it off you, his lips attaching to your breasts, nipping and sucking and leaving red marks and lovebites. your head tilts back as his teeth skim across your neck — he’s intoxicating, and all you can think is frank, frank, frank.

one of his hands starts to fiddle with the button on his pants with other planted on your hip and then, only then, do you suddenly remember the very important fact that you’re a virgin and have absolutely no fucking idea what this is going to entail if you go any further than this.

you freeze, body locking up and he can’t help but ask.

“hey, you okay? whats wrong?”

“i- i uh…”

and the cocky bastard just has a stupidly smug smile plastered across his face and says:

“are you nervous about this?” he teases with a smile, pushing his body closer to yours.

which yes. yes you definitely are.

you make a noise that’s half a stutter and a yelp and manage to crawl out from underneath him in a panic, the back of your head hitting the headboard with a look he can’t quite read, and realizes there’s something far more to this than he thought.

his voice goes low, slowly taking a seat in front of you. “hey, hey. what’s going on, hmm? did I do something?”

you’re scared to tell him because at this age you were supposed to have done this by now, and hell maybe even be good at it. when it’s been brought up, you just change the subject.

but now that was not an option.

you shake your head, “no, no.”

his big blue eyes are just staring at you with confusion and worry, hoping he hasn’t done something irreversible.

“I just- I’ve never… I’ve never had, sex. before,” you blurt.

“oh.”

“yeah.”

he kind of looks around honestly stunned that you haven’t before. he’s not judging, but a gorgeous girl like you not doing…that made him think a little bit.

“okay,” he breathes. “well, we don’t have to do anything else if you don’t-”

“I want to, frank. with you.”

his strong hand gently touches your leg and you already feel more at ease. “are you sure?”

“yes. yeah. i trust you.”

frank takes his time, asking you multiple times that this is what you want. he’s gentle and kind and he’d hate for your first time to be anything less than what you expected, and to be honest he’s nervous too.

he interlocks his fingers in yours, giving you a quick kiss before he pushes in, “you really want me?”

“yes, please frank.”

turns out he’s a talker during sex, rambling at random times as he thrusts into you;

“oh shit… oh fuckyou’resotight-”

“taking me so well… oh you’re so perfect baby.”

“only have me stretch you out like this, hmm? only one that could make you feel like this?”

“you’re so pretty, cant- fuck, can’t believe how good you feel.”