#have not gone a day without drinking in a week

[yippie-adiposetissue]

i understand why some people say shit like "cat scratches dont count!" (they do absolutely count) because the difference between people who have milder injuries and people with more severe injuries feels massive. i dont mean like one group is 'more' or less sick or whatever its just the experience of waking up for months with the same cut fused to your sleeve is very different to it being gone in a week. thats not mentioning the difference in long term health implications.

both are completely valid but the people saying shit like "idk why people are so dramatic about self harm, its safer then drinking!!" or whatever (stop comparing addictions omg) feel so entirely disconnected from my experience of seeing my own arterial blood and trying to decide if its "bad enough" for an ambulance or if ill probably be ok without (obligatory this is a terrible idea and not following my own advice like this has landed me in the hospital, call an ambulance if you ever hit an artery or if your not sure if you need one)

and even the difference between people who can say "oh ill just stop cutting my arms for summer so i can wear short sleeves" and people with scarring is huge. "i have to be clean for a few weeks so i can go swimming" and like fuck i wish i could be able to stop for a week or two and not have a single cut on me i wish i could not have scars for one day and do something like that. i spent 2 months trying to be able to let everything heal and not have any healing sh for one day and ofc it wasnt healed even with the best wound care i could manage. it needed like one more month still maybe longer.

all self harm is self harm but that dosent mean there isnt a difference in experience

[dee-writes-anime]

The Art of Homemade Gloves

FEATURING Choso Kamo x Reader

SUMMARY When you handed him a heat pack and told him to get some rest, you didn’t think anything of it. But Choso had never really been given warmth before and now he doesn’t know how to stop bringing it back to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS choso is awkward (!!!), not much other than cute fluff :D

AUTHORS NOTE some cute choso fluff I wrote to break up some request posting. Sometimes, you just gotta let those creative juices flow freely. ;)

It starts with a mission and a sore back.

The fight hadn’t been brutal, but it left everyone scraped raw—too much cursed energy in the air, too many small injuries that didn’t need a healer, just rest. By the time Choso finds a quiet hallway in the safehouse to sit down and breathe, the adrenaline’s long gone and a strange stillness is settling into his bones. Not peace. Not exactly. Just quiet.

You find him there, sitting against the wall like an abandoned shadow, elbows on his knees, head lowered. You don’t say anything right away. Just sit beside him with a soft grunt and stretch your legs out. Close, but not too close. It’s that subtle kind of closeness he’s noticed about you—natural, like you belong where you are without needing to ask permission.

You’re both quiet for a moment. Breathing in the same air, letting silence do what it does best: make space.

Then, you nudge something into his lap.

He looks down.

It’s a heat pack—one of those soft, microwavable ones, stuffed with rice or seeds, a faint trace of lavender clinging to the fabric. It’s warm. Still holding the heat from your hands.

“You looked tense,” you say. “Helps with the soreness. Just pop it in the microwave for like thirty seconds.”

He stares at it, confused. “You’re giving me this?”

You shrug. “Yeah. You didn’t look like the type to grab one for yourself.”

That’s… true. He wouldn’t have.

You stand, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your shirt lifting just slightly. Choso looks away.

“Rest up, Choso,” you say over your shoulder, and then you’re gone.

He stares at the heat pack a while longer before pressing it to his chest like it might teach him something.

The next day, you find your favorite bottled tea sitting on your desk.

No note. No explanation. Just a single can, placed neatly beside your papers.

You glance down the hallway in time to see Choso disappearing around the corner.

The day after that, it’s a bag of spicy chips—the exact kind you’d mentioned craving once after a mission, in passing, weeks ago.

You open the bag and pop a chip into your mouth, chewing slowly.

“…Huh.”

When you see him again in the common room, you raise an eyebrow.

“Choso,” you say, arms crossed. “Are you… bribing me?”

He freezes mid-step, holding another drink can in his hand. You’ve caught him in the act. His eyes dart to the tea, then to you.

“No,” he says immediately, too fast. Then he pauses. “…Is it working?”

You try very hard not to laugh. “Maybe.”

He nods, completely serious, and sets the can down carefully before turning and walking away with the stiff posture of a man fleeing a crime scene.

You’re still laughing ten minutes later.

The gifts don’t stop.

They’re not flashy—never flowers or jewelry or anything extravagant. Just little things. Snacks. Canned drinks. A fresh roll of wrist tape after a tough training session. A pair of soft socks when the weather turns colder.

One day, it’s a neatly folded cotton scarf. You recognize it from the vendor stalls near the school—simple but warm, and in a color you once said you liked. Choso doesn’t even stick around to see you open it.

You don’t know what to do with it all, exactly. You try to give things back. He refuses every time.

“No,” he says, like it’s obvious. “It’s for you.”

Sometimes he hovers after dropping things off, pretending he’s not hovering. He doesn’t talk much, but his presence fills up the space slowly, like steam curling through the air.

Eventually, you stop pretending you don’t enjoy it.

One evening, after a mission with a few too many close calls, you sit outside the safehouse, elbows on your knees, cooling off under the open sky. The stars are just starting to emerge—faint and flickering. You rub your thumb over a small cut on your palm, mind wandering.

Choso appears quietly beside you, holding something wrapped in a soft cloth.

You blink. “Another peace offering?”

He sits without answering and sets the bundle in your hands.

You unwrap it carefully.

Inside is a pair of gloves. Hand-stitched, soft, warm. The seams are slightly uneven in a way that makes your chest hurt. Not messy—just… real. Like someone had done their best, even if they weren’t used to doing things like this.

You slip them on. They fit perfectly.

“You made these?” you ask, voice soft.

He nods once.

You flex your fingers and stare down at your hands, searching for words. Before you can find them, Choso speaks first.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “After you gave me that thing.”

You look up at him.

“The heat pack,” he clarifies. “You gave it to me and… didn’t ask for anything. You just did it.”

He pauses. His voice is low and steady, but you can hear the tension underneath, like a bowstring drawn tight.

“No one’s ever done that before,” he says. “Just… gave me something. Because they wanted to.”

Your heart pulls, slow and deep.

“I didn’t know how to say thank you,” he adds. “So I started… bringing things.”

You swallow, touched in a way that’s hard to describe.

“I noticed.”

His hands twitch in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you say gently. “It’s… really sweet, actually.”

He turns to look at you—cautious, uncertain.

“You didn’t have to do any of that,” you continue, “but I’m glad you did.”

He’s quiet. Then, after a long pause:

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you say immediately.

He exhales, quiet and almost imperceptible.

“…Good.”

Things shift after that.

Not dramatically—just slightly. Like a door left cracked open. Choso starts lingering more. Sometimes he doesn’t bring anything at all, just sits with you while you read, or trains quietly nearby.

He doesn’t speak much. But when he does, it’s careful. Intentional. Like he weighs every word before offering it to you.

And sometimes, he watches you.

Not in a way that feels heavy or uncomfortable. Just… watchful. Soft-eyed. Like you’re something he’s trying very hard to understand. Or maybe memorize.

You don’t push. You just let it be. And quietly, you start giving back.

You bring him little things, too. Not out of obligation—just instinct. His favorite onigiri. A new set of hair ties. A small bottle of eucalyptus oil for his aches. The first time you brush a leaf out of his hair after a mission, he goes so still you think he’s stopped breathing.

Then he thanks you in a voice so quiet it barely makes it past his lips.

One day, you find a new heat pack on your bed.

It’s handmade. Soft fabric, the same color as your favorite hoodie. There’s a note tucked underneath, the handwriting small and oddly careful:

For when you’re sore. Or cold. Or both. —Choso

You press it to your chest, smile, and feel warmer than the pack itself.

You don’t realize how normal it’s become—this strange rhythm between you—until you wake up one evening from a post-mission nap on the common room couch and find Choso sitting on the floor beside you.

He’s reading. His legs are crossed, and there’s a mug in his hands. The book’s upside down, you realize after a moment.

You blink groggily. “How long was I out?”

He glances over, calm as ever. “Not long.”

There’s a blanket draped over your shoulders.

You frown, tugging at it. “Did you…?”

He looks vaguely guilty.

You smile. “Thanks.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. Choso sets the book aside (right side up this time) and watches you for a moment. Not saying anything. Just… looking.

There’s something in his gaze tonight. Something quiet and vulnerable and very, very present.

You decide to ask the thing that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks now.

“Choso,” you say, “are you courting me?”

He freezes.

You swear you see his soul leave his body for a full three seconds.

“…I don’t know,” he says finally, voice small. “Am I?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“I think so,” you say gently. “And if you are—I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.”

His eyes widen slightly, like you’ve just handed him the moon and asked if he wanted to keep it.

Then—slowly, like a cloud parting—he smiles. Just a little.

“…Okay,” he says.

You reach out and take his hand.

It’s warm.

So are you.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Fifty - Lead Off

Part Forty-Nine

———

There is a difference between the United States government mech program run through their militaries and the state sanctioned program named MECHA. Originally, MECHA was a small private organization with the first US based government contract to build mech suits for the fight against the kaiju. 

Eventually, it evolved into the world leading agency that most of the US mech’s went into or were built at, even the military mechs. 

They created the main system for pilot safety and guidelines. Their mission parameters and time limits and logs important towards the health of each mech suit pilot.

It all became dependent on class, whatever class a pilot would be found compatible for would then show what their body could physically handle. Starting from the most limited, Striker, to the maximum known limits in Hunter. 

Striker class was expected to roughly be able to do two weeks on with one week off intervals, anything past that would start to show symptoms of overuse and its list of symptoms. Followed by the crash and possible death if overworked. 

Rescue class worked primarily on-call when they were more active, now with the limiting number of this class it is less likely to be found compatible with this class. Yet, they would be able to work for an estimated three weeks with ten days off during that time. Taken within thirty minute to five hour intervals at a time.

Tanker class is expected to work two days on with a day off and repeat. So within sixty days, they will have thirty off, but that is just the recommended amount. More often than not, they work on a longer schedule with unhooking from their suit more often. 

Hunter class is known to work for weeks to months on end without rest, dependent on what they are tracking. This class is one of the most likely to deal with overuse systems, but has stricter guidelines than the other classes for that reason. 

MECHA designed these systems for the world to use, to understand the limits and not push past them at the cost of their pilots.

Dependent on the agency initially was dependent on whether the pilot would follow these specific guidelines. 

In the early part of the 2010’s decade, MECHA pulled these guidelines from typical pilot safety programs, labeling them as outdated and unreliable, to the extent of unnecessary. The lead scientist redesigning the annual report on behalf of the US government. 

As of this moment in time, it has still not been returned to reports even as the pilots death rates rise, many based on symptoms of overuse. 

It is hard to not listen to the world leading scientist, engineer and public speaker for the mech suit cause when they are creating and designing under US government contract. The world leader as of the current era in mech suit design, safety, and pilot registration.

—

The next day came around faster than any of them would have liked, recovery times were shorter than they were on Earth, but it was hard to explain that they needed more than a day or two of rest to completely recover when trying to keep the big secret. Maybe someday they’d all get some bit of rest. 

Damn were they tired though and so far were having little to no luck at finding a coffee, soda, or energy drink replacement. Apparently caffeine was harmful to most other organic species. It was deeply annoying. 

There was no other way of describing it, they were corpses trying to pull themselves out of their beds. This would mark the third day of their existence being described as corpses, the walking dead, or zombie-like but that was just bound to happen. 

Even the Cybertronians seemed tired though, the attack on Iacon had been relatively short but intense. Something like that hadn’t happened in Iacon in almost a thousand years, so they had gone to even more meetings while the humans had slept.  

With their new paint dry and ready, there wasn’t much holding them there now. Loading up their suits with supplies wasn’t great though, none of them knew how long they’d be gone and everything from water to food to miscellaneous supplies that they always needed took up a lot of space. 

Most of their cots were now resting on top of boxes of the dried foods and cleaning supplies they’d need for being gone for an extended period of time. There was little space to move around in the cockpits of their suits, but rather be safe than sorry and starving. 

None of them knew when they’d be back to the apartment, so it was better to be prepared than not. 

—

Iacon was the shining city in the north, somehow both familiar and unfamiliar. It often reminded him of his trips to the city as a kid, whether Los Angeles or San Francisco before the first few attacks. Beautiful in a way that made it feel empty, that made it seem like a façade for something worse underneath. He was thankful that it was more history and trying to make up for the past then the present.

The quiet was the best part of the early morning to him, why he was willing to be one of the first up and out.

They were all splitting up already, it had been Jazz and Prowl first, getting called out to a meeting with Optimus Prime; he’d left next after getting a comm message from Megatron, then Sideswipe had been alerted to Elita-One landing, followed a while later by Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, then Breakdown.

Now here in the early morning light, he could see things slightly more clearly, better than in the apartment. 

His paint was abnormally shiny right now, even in the typical army drab green, it almost shined in the light. He’d told Sunny not to wax it but the man had acted like a being possessed, so now they all apparently smelt nice and were shined brighter than glass. Rubbing one hand over the back of the other, he frowned a bit. Sighing, he glanced around instead.

It was still early, that was the point, to try and get out of Iacon before most people were out and about for the day. There were a few people out but most seemed to be taking in the sights and sounds like he was. Rolling his shoulder a bit, Hound paused briefly before entering the square. It was mostly filled with shops and stands that he still had not taken to purchasing from, but knew a few of his pilots had. 

Moving through the market, there were only a few stands open this early in the morning, mostly different types of energon or food supplement stands. He’d seen others eat things that weren’t energon, but he’d never heard them mention what they were like. A lot of people avoided talking about food with him, or the other pilots. 

He was pretty sure they all thought that they didn’t eat, he could almost laugh about it with how much crap was stuffed in his cockpit right now.

Sliding aside a piece of platting in his arm, he jingled a bit of the shanix about with a frown. They’d been paying them all, as Megatron had put it, a typical contractors fee. Now he had money he hadn’t spent in almost a year, Jazz typically bought the stuff they needed from off-world with Prowl’s help and everything else he either made or found.

With a glance up at one of the booths, he moves over and awkwardly dumps some of the strange cash into his hand, sliding the compartment shut, “Hi, uh. Do you have any rust sticks?” It was the only thing he knew.

One of the few things other than energon he’d seen Mirage eat.

The merchant nodded, his smile was slightly unnerving, “Yes of course! Would you like more than one box?” Already shaking his head, “No, no one box is fine. Thank you.” The mech nodded and moved about slightly, closing a box, “That will be five shanix.” Nodding a bit, Hound counted them out a bit awkwardly before handing them over. It was traded for the box.

Tucking it into his leg compartment, he wandered towards a few other stands. 

None really caught his eyes, starting back towards the area called the docks, but he slowed down at seeing a stand that was just opening. Filled with bright colors but that’s not what caught his eye. It was the way it moved in the wind, it was as close to cloth as he’d seen. 

Moving over, he waited for a second before stepping forward, “Excuse me, is your stand open?” The mech glanced up, “Yes, of course. Can I help you?” His eyes flicked over everything before nodding towards a blue piece, “How much for the blue one?” The mech face lit up, “Ah, yes. Fifteen shanix, the mesh is more fine then the rest.” Already nodding, Hound struggles to count out fifteen and handed it over.

Smiling, the mech took the blue mesh down, folding it, “Would you like it boxed?” Hound paused before shaking his head, “Uh, no, no thank you.” Nodding, the mech gently tied up the fabric before handing it over.

It passed over his hands almost like silk, brushing his fingers over it he could almost feel it. It would be soft and seemingly cuttable, which was perfect. Tucking it in with the rust sticks, he sighed and left the square, turning back towards the main street.

The trip through this part of Iacon had become so familiar to him now, the streets were easy to get lost on but he had a better sense of direction than some of the Arcturus crew. Probably most.

Walking by himself through Iacon, taking in the sights and sounds for likely the last time for a while, with his purchases basically in hand it was an almost tense walk. Sighing, he kept walking towards the docks where the shuttle was, already seeing a few from his unit wandering in. 

Megatron was ordering people around as they packed supplies into the non-sentient shuttle, he hated it in a way, how he thought of it but it was the only way to think of it now. He knew so-called shuttles, people who transformed into larger alt-modes that could effectively carry their friends. It was really bizarre to him, but he didn’t want to make them uncomfortable.

He guessed it wasn’t terribly different than if his own suit was sentient, but it wasn’t, it was just an extension of himself. 

Even the shuttle was familiar now, in its greys and purples, it was larger than any plane or rocket he’d seen back home, but it could still become cramped when it was packed with supplies and soldiers.

It oddly reminded him of home, or more so his stent in the military. Cramped vehicles full of people and supplies. All able to laugh, joke, and complain about it at the same time.  

Coming up towards Megatron, Hound slowed, “Sir.” Megatron glanced over, smiling, “Hound, mind offering a hand?” Nodding a bit, he sighed and moved to help the others with the crates. Brand new paint on his hands, already getting scratched by the boxes. 

Relief flooded him oddly, no longer looking like a fresh suit, fresh suits usually meant some point was either hurt or dead. His hands wouldn’t shine like glass, like they were breakable.

He nearly paused, stumbling slightly while trying to balance the crate. It wasn’t terribly far off for them, how close they all came to death two days ago, he certainly felt close to death but it had been easy to ignore then.

Anxiety was clutching at his throat and heart. 

Sighing while setting down the crate, he shoved it into place, his mind was everywhere at the moment. Unable to focus. Stepping back slightly shakily, a hand lands on his shoulder, “Hound, are you alright?” Shaking his head a bit, he sighs, “Uh, mostly.” The grip on his shoulder tightened and he was promptly shoved deeper into the ship, away from the cargo space.

“You and your humans do not take well enough care of yourselves.” Megatron shoved him to sit, frowning, “Stay put.” Then turned to leave. 

Whiplash would be the easiest way to describe how he currently felt, what just happened, but then again Megatron was all up in arms over their handling of being humans. Leaning back, he sighed slowly and stared at the ceiling for a while.

It shifted and he swore.

The space washed with light and he bit back a groan, this was something with overuse he was well and truly exhausted of, but the whole scene didn’t shift. It was just pieces, fragments of his vision. The focus of it was the ship, the ship around him but the edges, the voices, those were full of memory.

A hand rested on his shoulder, “You are going to do great things kid, you just have to pull your head out of your ass long enough to see it.” He wanted to ignore it, the voice faded briefly, but floated back to him, “Just, go through the testing. If you don’t pass, you don’t pass, but if you do, you could be a pilot. You could end this damned war.” Sighing slowly, he hangs his head, covering his face and closing his eyes.

Taking slow, deep breaths. 

Clanking footsteps approached again and he looked up, opening his eyes to stare at Megatron.

Who was holding a gun.

Yeah, this day probably wasn’t going to go well. 

“Hound, I know you feel that what happened in Iacon was a failure of yours but I swear it was not.” He stops a few feet away, still giving Hound space. It was another relief, “You haven’t been yourself since I saw you in that bar, it’s unlike you to be so unfocused or anxious.” Nodding slowly, Hound sighs.

Megatron shifted, still holding the rifle like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, “You have been the biggest asset in this war, more than any of us can claim to be and for that I owe you a debt.” He blinked, “I’m sorry, sir, but, what?” Megatron almost smiled. 

Shifting it around, he shifts the gun to show it to Hound, much less threatening a position.

”There is something significant in cybertronian culture about having a weapon crafted for you Hound.” Megatron sighed deeply and kept hold of the gun, shifting it slightly to show a different angle, “I am putting my faith and trust in you, not your pilot's Hound, but you. It sounds ridiculous, but you are capable and need a reliable weapon. One that you do not throw at the enemy when overwhelmed when you inevitably run off, or can be easily destroyed as the last two I’ve seen you hold.” 

He wasn’t sure what to say, how to feel but trying not to grin, Hound nods slowly, “Uh, yes sir.” Megatron hummed, “This is a weapon designed by Wheeljack, it had been tested as to not blow up in your face.” He grimaced, as if that was a recurring occurrence. 

Nodding slightly, Hound held his gaze, Megatron continued, “Treat it as your ally, not something you can throw down when disappointed or overly aggressive. I also hope that in this we’ll be able to work together, reduce your running off.” They both almost cracked a smile, but Hound sighed and nodded slowly, “Sir, if I may?:

Humming again, Megatron nodded and Hound sat back, closing his eyes.

”On Earth, when I first became a pilot, I was what is called a hunter class pilot for the first few years. My job was to stalk, attack, and kill Quintessons. By myself, there was no team or unit like I have now.” He finally looked up, opening his eyes again, “Up until this year, I had not worked with a unit of soldiers in what will be at the top limit of a tenth of my lifespan. Currently sitting around thirty percent of my life.” 

Sighing again, he rubbed a hand over where his implants were, laying under the connector, “I wasn’t the best at working with others before that either, sir, or honestly after when I became a striker class pilot. So, I can’t guarantee that I won’t run off to handle a situation when I can see it before anyone else, because that is what was in my training. What I was originally made to do.” He looked up.

Megatron was staring but nodded slowly, “You are more than what you were made for Hound, I hope you come to understand that.” Smiling now, Hound nods, “I’m trying sir, but, when we fought in New Kaon. I brought back what I thought was deleted coding, my hunter class instincts where everything is dialed to an eleven. It came back and since then…” Megatron hummed, “Since then it has been difficult to not follow them.” 

Nodding again, Hound sighs, “It’s like, I’m me again. More than just a pilot but me.” Megatron’s hand moved and rested on his shoulder, squeezing it, “I am glad, but I hope we can refine those instincts to include each other. More than just Mirage.” His face burned but he nodded, “Yes sir.” 

They both paused as Megatron held the rifle for a moment longer before leaning it towards Hound, “I have faith in you. Earn it.” Carefully taking it, Hound sighs and picks it up, keeping the barrel away from Megatron as he systematically goes over it.

Of course it was a work of art. 

Smiling, Hound looks up, keeping the barrel pointed down, “Thank you, Megatron, I hope to have earned this privilege.” The eye roll looked almost painful, “Just, settle in. The shuttle ride will be long and crowded.” He turned to leave but paused, “You did well, in Iacon. It was not a failure Hound, I hope you grow to see that.” And he walked away. 

Looking down, Hound sat back and admired the rifle again. The green just shy of matching his own perfectly, the barrel would come apart just as it had before but less in a made for convenience way and more methodical. He’d have to try to speak to Wheeljack, even if the scientist was still less than trustworthy in his mind. 

Eventually, Mirage appeared, moving and sitting next to him as the ship filled up. He whistled, “Damn Hound, how come you always seem to have all the new toys?” He grinned, looking at Mirage and offering it, “To show them off with, of course.” Mirage laughed.

It was far too much like music for Hound’s liking.

Mirage carefully looked over the rifle before handing it back, “You’ll use it well.” Hound took it and rested it carefully against the seat to his other side, before opening the compartment on his leg and pulling out the carefully packed box. Offering it, “For the journey.”

The look on Mirage’s face was worth more than the five shanix he paid for it. 

His heart beated hard and clenched harder, which was bad to experience in a war zone, but for now they were on a shuttle. Even if the nearby seekers would make their raunchy and rude hand gestures while Hound slept. Head resting carefully on Mirage’s shoulder.

A new comm between them opened, so when Hound needed to eat but still wanted to talk to someone, he could. 

He just hoped that all his nerves would stop being on fire for a day or two, to get back into the swing of things. 

—

He didn’t know what to expect, whether from his stupid injury leaving him on Cybertron for the last week or two, or the full blown attack on Iacon, he really didn’t know what to expect from his unit. Let alone Elita. 

There was something about her reaction to everything that he wasn’t looking forward to experiencing. Sighing, he stepped out into the early morning sunshine. The sun was coming up and the streets were starting to fill with the early morning traffic, turning left he started in what he hoped was the right direction.

Seeing Elita was the second task of today, the first one was to not get lost on the way there. If anyone was labeled as having no sense of direction among the pilots, it would be him. Every time he’d gotten lost in Iacon though, he’d found something, usually something he needed so hopefully today was included in that. 

Iacon in the morning was pretty, but it made him miss the sunrises in Florida, whether before or after the attacks. Just being with Sunny on the beach or when his parents were alive with them; it was just one of many reasons he slept in most days. 

To avoid the past.

Turing down another street, he almost stalled as he faced an alleyway, his heart stuttering briefly before he continued forward. There was no sense in being stressed about stumbling upon a place like the bar again, he doubted there was another place in the whole galaxy that would randomly play music from Earth.

Humming to himself, he kept walking, turning on the music in his suit. Having it low so it wouldn’t echo in his cockpit, he took another random turn, glancing vaguely at the map on his screen. It wasn’t perfect though so he kept wandering, for a while, bobbing his head to the music.

It was only when familiar voices fluttered through did he focus on actually where he was.

Which he was pretty sure he’d never been around here before, wherever he was, but Chromia and Moonracer were standing near a shop, where a few others were inside. Sighing, he moves over, “You know, I never thought I’d be happy to run into you all in public, but here we are.” Chromia looks up and smiles, “Well, look who's crawled back!” Her hand clapped his shoulder once he was within reach. 

“How are you feeling, Sides?” Her voice almost softened and he shrugged off her hand, “I’m good, how was the mission?” She sighed and shook her head, “Slow after the chaos we had.” Nodding a bit, he glanced into the small shop.

Elita was inside, waiting on what appeared to be heated energon, “What about you?” “Hmm?” He glances over, “What?” Her smile was strained, “How was your mission, what, two days ago? What happened to that?” Nodding slowly, his throat tightened slightly, “Ah, uh, that.” His fingers ached. 

Chromia shifted forward, “Sides? Hey, you alright?” She took hold of his shoulder again and he pulled back so hard he hit the wall behind him, “I’m fine! I’m okay, really.” Chromia and Moonracer shared a look, both taking a step back, “Okay, Sideswipe, take a breath.” 

Nodding a bit, he did, even as his face burned. 

The door to his left swung open, “Alright, all of you off to the shuttle, I need you to pack the supplies. Break is officially over.” Elita moved over and almost stood in front of Sideswipe, both Moonracer and Chromia sub-spaced their cubes before saluting and heading off at a job. 

Punch and Skids followed as they exited the shop.

Sideswipe moved to go around her to follow, but her hand grabbed his shoulder, “Not you Sideswipe, we need to discuss what happened two days ago. Those comm calls, we don’t have to talk about everything but we have to talk about some of it. Come on, I’m still waiting for my drink.” She didn’t wait, shoving him towards the door.

The inside of the shop was warm, he could almost feel it though the suit, but it was subtle enough to not warm him up like the heaters would, “Go ahead and sit, ill be there in just a second.” Slowly, he moved to one of the tables near the window, sitting down carefully.

For an energon cafe, it wasn’t dissimilar to the ones he’d seen on TV growing up, old school reruns. The ones his mother would have on when the attacks were in the distance, to block out the car alarms or sirens from the next town over. When it would be too quiet for anything else to be on.

Picking at his fingers, he kept his head down, unable to look at his monitors a moment longer. His stomach turned over uneasily.

After a moment, Elita moves over and sits across from him, sighing, “What happened?” He doesn’t look up, staring at the table, “Other than Iacon being attacked, nothing.” She shook her head, “No, don’t you dare talk crap. I heard you on comms. Look,” Shifting forward, she sighs.

”You don’t have to talk about it but I can’t have you jumping out of your plating every time someone asks about it, they're going to ask even when I tell them not to. So come up with something better than "I'm fine or it’s okay.” Please.” He finally looks up and sits back.

Sighing, he nodded a bit, “My mom died in a building collapse, my dad not long after her. Sunny was there when the building went down and was one of very few survivors. I was at school.” The way he said the word showed the disdain, “I didn’t go back until years later, when I didn’t have a choice.” Closing his eyes, he sighs shakily.

”I didn’t get a lot of choices after they died. That day just brought it all to the surface again.” She nodded slowly, sipping her energon, “Sideswipe, I’m sorry about your creators.” He almost stared, but got it after a second.

Shrugging a bit, he sighed again, “It was a long time ago, just, when the bar fell. It was our only real piece of home, so it brought too much of that back.” Nodding again, he sits up, “It won’t happen again.”

She sat forward a bit, “Sideswipe, no, Simon, you don’t have to put all this behind you. I know it’s going to be rough, but we are going to be here for you. Don’t shut us out, I’ll order you if I have to.” He smiles a bit and nods, “Yeah, I’ll try.” She did smile then, finishing her cube and standing.

”Our shuttle is at the docks, follow me unless you want to be lost for the next several hours.” Rolling his eyes a bit, he stands and follows her out, “My sense of direction is not that bad, ma’am.” She chuckled, “We both know that is a lie.” 

He chuckled a bit too, shaking his head, “Alright, maybe. Now, where are we off to?” Nodding, Elita sighs, “A planet in New Kaon’s system. We’ll have a day or two in the city before being stationed.” 

Nodding, he shrugs, “Sounds like a blast.” Elita grins, “I’ll say, shuttle is this way.” They turned onto an actual road and he could see the hustle and bustle of the docks, filling up with mechs, carrying weapons and crates alike.

It looked like a war movie, those English train stations filled with soldiers and their sweethearts. A few mechs were off to the side talking with other mechs and some younger seeming mechs hanging off of others, like children.

His heart clenched and he looked away, looking back to Elita as they moved towards one of the smaller shuttles in the docking bay. The ramp was open and his unit was standing around inside, a few crates took up the leg room and there were a few larger weapons taking up space too. 

The thrill of the fight finally felt like it was coming back to him.

So much of it had drained out of him when the damn bar fell on his head, none of it had felt like the prep for a fight which he’d been thrown head first into. Normally the missions grip at him nobody’s business, but he hadn’t been in the right headspace for it. Now he felt like he was actually going to face the Quintessons again.

Climbing up the ramp to their shuttle, he glanced out at the docks briefly, sighing slowly. In the distance, he could see Ironhide getting gear around for their own shuttle. However this all was supposed to go or pan out, he was glad to know his brother was with someone Elita trusted. 

Even if Bluestreak was with him.

”Hey, Sides, come settle this for us!” Glancing over his shoulder, he smiles a bit and moves back into the shuttle and towards Chromia, “What am I settling now?” Her smile was bright, “It’s a bet on how soon you’ll get hurt next.” Rolling his eyes, he shoves Skids and sits down, “Ha ha, very funny. Alright then, what’s the pool look like?”

Elita moves over, crossing her arms but smiling, “I say two weeks, not so bad you’ll end up on Cybertron but enough to where you sleep for a day.” He scoffs as the others chuckle, “Does anyone have me not getting hurt?” The chorus of no’s was comforting and insulting. 

Shaking his head, he smiles, “Fuck you guys, alright, a shanix on a month.” He hands the money over to Nickel. 

Her smile was always unsettling, but they all moved about to write down the bets, laughing together. 

—

When he’d received a comm from Optimus Prime that morning, he didn’t think it was for breakfast. Or, well, not exactly breakfast. Everyone on Cybertron danced around the fact that they didn’t appear to eat, he was pretty sure it made most people uncomfortable. 

Leaving the apartment had been chaotic that morning, everyone moving around to gather supplies and prep their suits for the extended missions, but he moved slower. Picking this specifically and packing the cockpit of his suit tight, even though he was fairly sure he’d be sticking to Cybertron.

The reassignment had hardly been a shock, but he was a slower and bulkier mech, made for the distanced launch of weapons. To be held behind the lines was expected, but not so far back he wasn’t even in the fight.

He’d smashed his way through his fair share of Quintessons by hand, even with closer range guns, but this was nearly absurd. If it had been Megatron who had asked, he would have understood that.

Everything about their political structure was odd, but the Lord High Protector was the every standing guard of their Prime. So if Megatron had asked him to remain at Optimus Prime’s side, he would have understood. To know it was the medic, that was what made it odd. 

Stepping down to the street, Breakdown turns and starts towards headquarters, moving at a comfortable pace. Optimus had said not to rush and he probably spent the least time out and about in Iacon than any of the others. He usually was hurt, healing, or just too busy. 

Glancing up and around, he could see some of the things about the city that the others couldn’t, or at least never commented on. The mixing of architecture, the types of metal in use the deeper into the city he got, a clear balance of pre and post-war designs.

It reminded him of Kiev, the older architecture closer to the city center, buildings that had stood through wars and conflicts, versus the newer towards the edge of the city. Most war-torn cities looked like this, at least all the ones he had seen. Of course, cities were also likely to keep some original architecture towards the center but others wanted the development to spread outward.

This city looked more like it had lived through war then anything else, which he knew it had. Longer than he could even know, but now, he glances towards where the bar had been. A nearby skyscraper had been damaged by the crashing ship.

The building had been newer construction, at least when compared to the bar which clearly was ancient. Not old, not even just pre-war, that building’s metal had been entirely different from every part of the city. It was hard to tell but he could see it, clear as day.

Sighing, he kept walking, rubbing at his palms. Sunstreaker had made his suit so bright, it reminded him too much of when he’d been assigned this suit, and reminded him of how he kept finding reminders of his brother inside that first year. 

It tore at his heart a bit, just the subtleness of the similarity from now to back then.

He stayed alive so none of his little brothers would get stuck in this suit, how it tried to tear you apart. 

Climbing up the steps towards headquarters, there were a few guards standing outside, as if waiting. Probably for him as they open the gates while he moves up, “Thank you.” He nods slightly as he goes past, starting to move inside, “Ah, Breakdown, just the mech I was waiting for.” He slows and turns.

Optimus Prime stood in an arch way, smiling softly and holding a cube, which appeared to have a seal on it, “Walk with me.” Nodding a bit, he picks up the pace and moves over, “Sir.” Optimus smiled and started walking, into what could only be described as a garden.

Though they weren’t exactly growing planets that he’d be used to, it looked like they were growing crystals and glass.

It was beautiful.

Optimus hummed, glancing around, “Are there gardens like this on Earth, Breakdown?” Glancing around, he shrugs, “Some, but not many since the war. Most were handled by government resources, they have other priorities now.” Optimus nodded slowly.

Scuffing his foot lightly against the ground, Breakdown sighs, “Sir, why exactly are we here?” Chuckling weakly, Optimus sighs, “Breakdown, I listen to my people when they ask of me little. Knockout, my CMO has asked that you remain here to guard both of us. As he will travel with me and my primesguard, with Ironhide being away, we do not have a heavier weight class soldier at the ready.” 

This was making a lot more sense, “I see.” Optimus hummed again before gesturing, “Sit with me.” Nodding some, he moves over and sits down. Optimus slowly sat next to him, sighing and opening his cube, “I apologize for eating while you cannot, but enjoy the view with me.” Nodding slowly, Breakdown looks out and freezes.

Through the crystals in front of them, it enlarged the view in the distance, pointing out the border of the city and the cities connected to it. You could almost see half of Cybertron from this one seat, “Wow.” 

The smile on Optimus’s face was bright, “This was a gift from Megatron, when we were still formulating our peace. I mentioned once that I never wanted to lose sight of what mattered, which was Cybertron. So he had these clear crystals planted. Someday, when they are fully grown, I will see even more than we can now.” Nodding slowly, Breakdown sighs, “It’s beautiful.” 

Resting a hand on his back, Optimus nods, “I have to ask that you stay here in the Primesguard quarters, so they are able to get you on schedule and into our routines. Those same routines will lead to basic training and prepare you for working in our lines. You’ll fit right in Breakdown.” 

Nodding again, he sighs slowly and looks back out at Cybertron. 

It really was beautiful, “I have to go back inside, I’ll be sending Knockout out this way to show you around headquarters. It seems a lot more daunting than it actually is.” Optimus rose and paused, smiling some, “Also, at some point you will have to explain the Joan nickname I have earned from you and the other pilots.”

Breakdown’s head snapped up, “Uh,” Optimus chuckled, “I understand it will be a long story, enjoy the view and the morning.” Nodding slowly, he watched as Optimus wandered off again. 

Sitting back in his piloting chair, he sighs deeply and drags his hands down his face, “There is a time and a place to freak out, this is not that time.” Sighing again, he picked up one of the pouches of water in his cockpit and sips. 

He got to enjoy the rest of the sunrise, watching the light cast over the cities in the distance, Knockout didn’t appear until the sun was up.

Knockout moved slowly, still wiping at his hands with a cloth, “Good morning Breakdown, how was your rest?” He didn’t glance away from the crystals, “Well, Knockout. Thank you for asking.” Pushing up from the bench, he turned to Knockout and lightened his visor in a smile.

The gaze from Knockout warmed his face, his smile was small and soft, caring. 

“You look well, Knockout. Recovered from the other day?” Knockout nodded and gestured, “Let me give you a tour, this place is massive.” Smiling, Breakdown moves over and takes up his side, “Well then, we might as well start now.” Slowly, they moved out of the garden.

A place where Breakdown knew if he could, he’d spend far more time. Glancing at Knockout, he smiles a bit, hoping to spend more time there with him.

”Breakdown, I was worried the other day, but you look nearly better than new. I am very glad to know you are alright.” His face went from warm to nearly burning, clearing his throat a bit, he nodded, “As much as this might not be reassuring, I have in fact been through worse Knockout. It will take more than knocking my head off to kill me.” 

The look on Knockout’s face clearly showed that this was, in fact, not reassuring. 

Chuckling weakly, Breakdown rubs his back a bit, “That sounds terrible, I understand but it is merely how the human mind works. Forgive me.” Knockout’s hand quickly took his arm, holding it briefly before letting go, “You, Breakdown, are amazing and deserve better than what they made you think.”

Looking down, his blush did not die down, “I, I thank you Knockout.” Clearing his throat, he nods as they enter the building, “So, the tour?” Knockout nodded, clearing his throat, “Yes, the tour.” Gesturing again, he smiled, “You’ll like this part, it’s one of the oldest structures in all of Iacon. Maybe on all of Cybertron.”

Nodding, Breakdown smiles, “Sounds interesting.” Slowly, they moved together. Hands hovering near each other as they walked.

—

There was something that had been relaxing and relieving yesterday, about painting everyone’s suits and ensuring that the maintenance was caught back up. To know everyone would be safe even as they all separated again, even more than normal.

After the bar collapsed, he couldn’t just let them wander back off without checking over the systems and making sure everything was working. 

Though now that his cockpit was weighed down with supplies, he wasn’t sure if he should have replaced some of his hydraulic lines or not beforehand. It certainly weighed more than it typically did and that could be dangerous. 

He just had to be one of the last ones out of the apartment, things bumping around in his cockpit as he hurried. Ironhide had sent him and Bluestreak a message, claiming they needed to hurry and that they all needed to be at the shuttle urgently. Ironhide rarely spoke like that, let alone sent messages so he left the apartment building at a run. 

Not only did he have no idea where they were going yet, but had limited idea as to why they were leaving Cybertron after the attack. Especially while Breakdown was staying behind and suddenly all of them were leaving.

Blue caught up with him on the street, also jogging, “You know, Ironhide doesn’t really send messages unless it’s urgent.” Nodding a bit, Sunny sighs, “Yeah, I figured. I’ve never gotten a message from him, at least not in the handful of months I’ve been working under him.” His skin prickled.

Taking his hand suddenly, Bluestreak squeezed it, “Oh relax Sunny, I doubt it’s anything that bad. Probably just wants us all there already.” They jogged down the street, hand in hand.

Briefly reminding Sunny of couples out of old rom-com movies his mom used to love, the ones he’d watch when he was home sick cause she had them on DVD. 

“Still, we should get there as quickly as possible. I mean, it’s Ironhide Blue.” Bluestreak sighed, “Please, you didn’t know home during the last war Sunny. You weren’t even alive in the last war, this is just how Ironhide gets when he’s going to be doing something he doesn’t want to do.”

Rolling his eyes a bit, Sunny shakes his head, “I doubt that, honestly Blue, this could be serious. After the attack on Iacon, we could be going just about anywhere in the galaxy. Doesn’t that worry you?” Bluestreak was already shaking his head.

Sighing, they kept jogging, passing through the market square as most of the stands were open at this point in the morning, people were moving around everywhere. 

Iacon felt strangely busy.

They moved through the streets at a rapid pace, Sunny focused while Blue was mostly staring at him, biting his tongue while they moved through Iacon. 

“You know Sunny, I like how you redid your paint. Plus the wax you put on is really nice,” his fingers brushed over the back of his hand, “How’d you learn to do this?” Sighing, he smiled a bit and nodded, “I used to work on cars, uh, personal transports back home. Painting them, waxing them, and general work.” He shrugged a bit.

Smiling at him, Bluestreak could have melted, “Wow, that sounds incredible.” Chuckling a bit, Sunny shakes his head, “Not really, they were mostly hunks of junk by the time I started working on them. Sides and I did it to get by, but we both loved it.” They started to slow, still holding hands. 

Nodding, Bluestreak hummed, “Still, the fact you found a wax that also smells nice is fantastic. What is it like, on Earth?” Sighing a bit, he shrugs, “Personal transports are quickly becoming a thing of the past beside for the government and in sports. No one can afford them really anymore and the resources aren’t there.” Blue frowned, “What do you mean?” 

Sighing, Sunny almost stops before remembering and picking the pace back up, “A lot of personal transports relied on gasoline, a substance which is dwindling on Earth, but in the latter half of the last century they started to mine out at sea. Uh, it’s not really safe to do that anymore.” He shrugs.

”It happens, but the Quintessons tried to break apart our oil rigs early on. It was better to get them out from the sea than face the ecological disaster.” Bluestreak nodded slowly, frowning, “You said your planet is like, seventy percent water, right?” Nodding again, Sunny smiles, “Yeah.”

Whistling, Blue shakes his head, “Earth sounds weird.” Chuckling, Sunny nodded, “Cause it is.” 

Finally, they came up to the docking bay, where multiple shuttles were preparing to leave or were in the process of leaving. 

Glancing around, Sunny just caught a flash of red as one of the shuttle's doors closed, his heart clenched. See you later Sideswipe.

He pinged him once and got a pin back before they turned toward Ironhide’s shuttle.

Ironhide was standing outside of it, looking stressed as a few people were loading the shuttle, “There you two are! Civi, I need your help with something!” Glancing at Bluestreak, Sunny let go of his hand and hurried over, “Sir!” He only slowed when he was in front of Ironhide.

”You need to look over this map of the Archa system, the planets there are organic and we need your advice on where you think the Quintessons might hit next. They keep circling the system.” Sighing, Sunny nods and moves forward, “Is that all?” Ironhide scowls, “Far from it, but it’s what I am at liberty to tell you right now, Civi.”

His heart sunk but he nodded and moved onto the shuttle, heading towards the mapping table. It was lit up with the Archa system, one of the planets, pretty and blue spun lazily. 

Returning to the Archa system sounded like heaven on earth, at least to him. Every time they went there it reminded him of home, but the fact that they were asking him for advice was probably not a good sign.

He was far from an expert in strategy, “So, take a look.” Nodding a bit, Sunny sighed and looked. Some were too small, others too violent, but one was too much like Earth and another too much like Cybertron, “Uh, why do you need my advice on this?” He looks to Ironhide.

Frowning, Ironhide sighs, “Because you can tell when they're scouting something or getting ready to attack.” He hit a button on the table and more than a dozen small Quintesson ships appeared. He stared. 

That was not good. 

—

He could have dozed off, content for the moment, until everyone started to grumble and groan. It only took a few seconds to realize why as Jazz sat next to him and Prowl went towards the front of the shuttle.

Pausing, he shifted towards Jazz, “Uh, what’s going on?” He pinged him and Jazz came up in the corner of his vision, wearing a grin, “Well, Spec ops is going with Megatron it would seem since most of the primesguard have to stay behind.” Nodding slowly, he frowned, “Uh huh, okay, why?” The glint in Jazz’s eye was criminal.

He knew it well. 

“Well you and Mirage are going, plus a few of the others. Only ones who were missing were me, Prowl, and Smokey so we thought we’d join. Joan doesn’t need us planet side for what we do and that way, at least, the five of us might be able to kick some ass.” He blinked, then looked to Mirage.

Who was stuffing his face with rust-sticks.

Dragging a hand down his face, Hound groaned but smiled. Sitting back against Mirage, he sighed, “You’ll have to explain to me what Spec Ops is to you know, cause we certainly don’t dress like those guys did in the army.” Jazz laughed and shook his head, “Nothing like those gun nuts. We’re more crazy.”

With a nod, Hound hums and tries to settle back in again, before Smokescreen comes shuffling over with yet another rifle. It was bad enough that he and Mirage had one a piece and now there was another sniper joining them. He sat one seat away from Jazz, clearly leaving room for Prowl, “I hate traveling by shuttle.” 

Jazz nodded, “You and me both buddy, so, do any of you know where we’re going?” Shaking his head, he sighs a bit, “Megatron simply told me that the shuttle ride would be long, so I’d settle in if I were you.” Sitting back again, Hound tried closing his eyes. 

Tapping his shoulder, Jazz smiled, “Oh come on Hound, it’s early and we all slept last night. Sleep is the last thing that we need.” Cracking open an eye, Hound glanced at Jazz, “One of the rules I learned in the army was sleep when you can. We’re hardly going to be able to hear each other in a few minutes during take off and lights will be cut off for the first hour. Sleep while you can.” 

Shaking his head, Jazz sighed, “Oh come on Hound, we can talk strategy.” Sighing, he sat back up a bit, “Fine, but only because we’re sitting here. Mirage, care to join in?” Mirage groaned and closed up the box of rust-sticks, “Why do you have to involve me?” They all chuckled.

Prowl moved back down the aisle and sat in between Jazz and Smokescreen, crossing his arms, “We’re going back to that organic planet from last year Jazz, the one with the purple fruit.” Jazz grinned, “Fantastic!” Hound smiled and settled back as Jazz started to describe the planet.

There was nothing else, nowhere else, that he felt needed. Not like this. He could spend the rest of his life fighting Quintessons alongside the Cybertronians and he’d feel more fulfilled in life than he had doing it on Earth. 

He’d always miss home, miss his passion projects he’d work on during his nights off, but he had the garden, he had Mirage, and his closest friends were here. If he looked back on what he was missing, it would tear him apart, but looking around the shuttle showed him what he had. 

And he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

A competent commander in Megatron, reliable allies in Prowl and Jazz, someone who had his back in Mirage, and a cohesive unit. He never thought he’d miss the familiarity of the military until he was thrown back into it and felt more at home than he had in the better part of a decade while working with MECHA. 

This is where he was meant to be, somehow, someway, this was where he was meant to be.

Slowly, Jazz, Prowl, and Smokescreen conversation drifted away from them and the shuttle rumbled to life as the lights cut. 

Mirage leaned closer, resting his hand on Hound’s back before shuffling down slightly, “Get some rest Hound, we’re going to be here for a while.” Humming, he nodded and leaned back, sighing. 

Yeah, he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

———

A/N

This officially is the longest chapter of Arcturus at just a little over 8k. Damn, this took a minute to write. But life also didn’t want to slow down the last few weeks, for whatever reason.

Friday will be Arcturus Three and then next Tuesday I will hopefully have the first part of part two of the Arcturus missions.

I can’t believe I wrote 50 parts of the original team. That’s insane to me. But I love these guys and I am glad you all have been enjoying it!

I also only realized while adding tags that Soundwave is not in this chapter, oops. He’s just busy.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 12

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.3k+

Note: This is a bit disjointed :/ but i hope you still like it!!

xxx

I slump against the back of the couch, my legs still sore from the night out. It's quieter than it’s been in days, and I finally have a second to breathe, to think.

The couch I'm sitting on now isn't the same as it used to be. It’s still the same cushions, the same fabric, but it feels all wrong. Too stiff. Too empty. I can feel the weight of every moment that’s passed since I last found myself stretched out here, back when I didn’t have to think twice about being here. Back when it was just… home.

I used to walk into George’s flat, plop down on this couch without a second thought. It was my refuge. The place I could always count on, even after a rowdy night out or a long, tiring trip from Manchester. The blankets never stayed in place, the pillows were always slightly off-center, but none of that mattered. It was perfect in its imperfection, and it made me feel like I belonged here.

But now, as I sink into the worn cushions, it feels like I’m sitting in someone else’s space. The couch hasn’t changed, but everything else has. I can’t quite get comfortable. The fabric feels foreign under me, like I’m sitting in a place that’s been claimed by someone else. Maybe that’s what it is—this couch doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It hasn’t felt like it in a long time.

And the worst part? It’s not just the couch. It’s us. George and me.

Back then, this couch was ours. It held the weight of all our unspoken jokes, our easy conversations, the kind of talks that only happen when you’ve known someone so long you don’t have to try anymore. But now? Now, this couch is Switzerland with a throw blanket. Neutral. Safe, but in a way that doesn’t matter. We’ve become strangers, tiptoeing around each other, avoiding the things that matter most.

The cushions press into me, but they don’t comfort me anymore. I can’t help but wonder if the couch misses me. Or maybe it’s not about the couch at all. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just holding onto something that’s been gone for a while, like this space, this life I once knew, but don’t know how to live in anymore.

I sigh, looking around the room. Everything feels off

London doesn’t feel like home.

I’ve been here long enough now that I should feel more rooted, right? But something about this place still feels so... foreign. The city is too big, too busy. Everyone's on a mission, too preoccupied with themselves to care about the newcomer trying to carve out a little space in it all.

And George—well, George was always too preoccupied. Too busy with his own life to care about mine. He never introduced me to his friends—not properly, anyway. I was just the girl who showed up sometimes, drifting in and out of the background of his nights, the one who sat quietly on the couch, the one who hung out in the kitchen while everyone else made plans. I don’t even think he noticed how I ended up alone when he was off with his mates, disappearing into the crowd like I was just another fixture in the flat.

There was that one party—Calfreezys? During my first two weeks in London. The one where he took me, thinking it would be fun, and then basically ghosted me the entire night. I stood in the corner, nursing my drink, watching everyone else laugh and mingle, while George was in his element, making jokes with his friends, slipping into his world like I wasn’t even there. He didn’t bother to introduce me properly. Just a quick, “This is YN,” before turning away, as if the rest didn’t matter.

I tried to laugh it off then, tried to convince myself I didn’t care. But deep down, I knew. I knew I wasn’t part of it. That night, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be, but it felt like a cold reminder.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm just a visitor. Like this place is temporary, but I can’t even tell if that’s because I’m waiting for something to change or because I’m waiting for myself to find the courage to leave.

I know I’ve harped on about this for the entire time I’ve been here, but I can’t shake it. The loneliness is sinking into my bones, creeping up like a cold draft that I can’t escape, no matter how many layers I put on. It’s more than just being by myself—it’s the constant hum of the city that never slows, the sea of faces that I’m never a part of, the noise that only makes me feel more invisible.

I didn’t think it would feel like this. I didn’t think I would feel this... lost.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s just the city, or if it’s me. Maybe I’ve gotten so used to hiding behind jokes, behind distractions, behind whatever George and his mates thought I should be that I don’t know how to not be alone anymore.

But... Will.

Will is the only thing that almost feels like home. The way he holds me when it’s just us, how his arms wrap around me like they were always meant to. The way he makes me laugh when the weight of everything feels like it’s pulling me under. When he’s around, everything feels a little bit simpler. Easier. And for the first time in ages, I don’t feel so...

alone.

Yet at the same time, he’s also the one thing I can't quite fit into place.

There’s always this distance between us. Not in the way we talk or the way we touch, but in the way we never quite ask the deeper questions. He doesn’t ask too many of them. He doesn’t expect much from me, either. He’s content to let things flow, to leave things unsaid, and maybe that’s part of why it works—or why it feels like it works. But I can feel it—the quiet uncertainty. This weird in-betweenness we’re both floating in, unsure of what comes next, both of us reluctant to make it anything more than what it is. We haven’t labeled it, haven’t defined it. And part of me is fine with that. It’s easier this way.

Still, when I’m with him, it’s like there’s a quiet truth between us. Something unspoken but understood. No matter the silence or the tension, there's this strange comfort in knowing that we’re both feeling the same thing... or at least, I think we are.

But god, it’s so much fun. I’ve not had this much fun in so long.

Exploring each other—emotionally, physically—everything feels so new, like we’re testing the boundaries of something neither of us fully understands yet. It’s light, it’s playful, it’s intense in a way I never imagined. I don’t know if we’ll ever have it figured out, but for now, I don’t care. I just want to keep laughing, keep making memories with him—before the inevitable question of what happens next arrives.

But for now, I’m lost in the moment—lost in the way he looks at me, the way we make each other feel alive—and I don’t want to think about what’s coming next, not yet.

xxx

I don’t know when it became a secret, exactly. It’s not like Will and I sat down and drafted a pact over takeaway noodles. No one said, “Let’s hide this from the group.” But it’s sort of happening anyway.

Quiet texts. Late-night Ubers. Him slipping out of the flat before anyone else wakes up.

And when someone—usually George—asks where I’ve been, I say something vague. “Just at Ruth’s.” Or, “Stayed at a mate’s.”

Not always a lie. But not the truth, either.

And Will doesn’t call me out on it. He just… plays along.

Like it’s a bit. Like it’s part of the fun.

Maybe it is. Maybe it started that way.

We've only just crossed that line, after all. We’re new. Unlabelled. Fragile in the way new things are. Keeping it to ourselves made it feel easier. Lighter. Like we could enjoy it without having to explain it.

Without giving everyone—George included—a reason to dissect it. Because if we say something, it becomes a thing. And things in their friend group? They don’t stay quiet for long. Everyone has opinions. Everyone likes to joke. Everyone has a social media platform that something could accidently be spilled to.

And Will and I… we don’t even know what this is yet. So we keep it close.

Private.

Ours.

Still— There’s a part of me that feels weird about it. Like I’m sneaking around when I shouldn’t have to. Like the other night, when I got home late and George asked where I’d been. I said “just at Ruth’s” before I could think twice. His expression didn’t change much, but something about the way he looked at me made my stomach twist.

Not because I think he knows. But because I hate the way part of me still cares what he thinks. And maybe that’s what I’m trying to avoid.

The commentary. The comparisons. The questions that would come if people knew. Like, “I thought you and will didn’t get along?” Or worse—“Wait, is this why things have been weird with George?”

It’s not.

At least, I don’t think it is. But the truth is… Will and I are figuring it out. We’re still laughing our way through the awkward bits.

Maybe I’m afraid of George finding out because I still care what he thinks.

Maybe it’s because some part of me is still bitter he didn’t want me, and now I don’t want him to think I moved on so fast—like I never meant it.

Like I was just lonely.

Or maybe it’s because I’m scared that if I say it out loud—“Will and I are a thing, kind of”—

then it will be a thing.

And I don’t know what the hell I’d do with that.

xxx

Will and I fumble into my flat like we’ve broken in, like the night is something we’ve stolen and have to spend fast before anyone notices.

He hasn’t been back here since that night—since he kissed me with all our friends just one room over, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it didn’t matter.

It kind of did, though. Everything felt a little too loud after that.

I don’t know how we ended up here tonight. He has his own place. He lives alone. That’s the whole benefit of dating a man who doesn’t share walls with three other YouTubers and a collection of mystery tripods.

But I was finishing late at work. He offered to wait. We had a drink. And then another. And I guess when you have three glasses of wine with your pub dinner and he’s looking at you like that, you start thinking sleeping together in a flat with three roommates and paper-thin walls is actually a good idea.

Spoiler: it’s not. But right now I don’t care.

His hands are on my waist. We’re both slightly uncoordinated—half tripping over my trainers, knocking into the IKEA shoe rack that’s somehow always loose on one side. He’s laughing into my neck like this is all funny, like we are funny, and I love that. I love that we can’t quite walk in a straight line around each other.

He presses me against the door just as it clicks shut behind us, and I feel it—that slow, heavy thrum of want. Familiar now, but never dull. It’s always a little new with him. A little dangerous in the best way.

“I thought we were going to yours,” I murmur against his jaw, already breathless. Only now realising just how silly of a plan this is.

Will grins, unbothered. “You looked like you needed saving, and your flat is closer.”

I huff a laugh. “So this is charity work now?”

He leans in, breath warm against my ear. “Public service.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s already grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I kiss him to shut him up—hard and fast—but it backfires. His hands slide under my shirt like he’s been waiting hours, not minutes, palms warm and greedy against my skin. Like we’ve got all the time in the world and I've got no flatmates.

Then I’m pinned against the kitchen counter. My breath hitches, my heart racing a little faster than it should. Instinctively, my hand goes back, steadying myself against the cool granite. Of course, this means I knock into the spice rack.

A few jars tumble, crashing into the sink with a clatter that feels way too loud for a moment like this.

“Will,” I hiss, breath catching as his fingers toy with the clasp of my bra. “We’re in the kitchen.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Flat’s quiet,” he says, like that’s all the justification he needs to get me half-naked next to the toaster.

I bat his hand away, half-laughing, half-scandalized. “You’re out of your mind.”

He smirks, that devilish cocky grin making my heart stutter. “You’re into it.”

Before I can protest again, my hands are on his wrist, tugging him toward my room. My breath hitches. My self-control is about to completely combust.

“Will,” I snap, glancing nervously toward the hallway. “Someone could walk in.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate. The smirk on his lips is pure mischief, but his eyes—they’re all hunger now. “Then you better hurry up and take me somewhere I can do this properly.”

I don’t think twice. I grab his wrist again, this time pulling him into my room with a sense of urgency that only makes everything feel worse—in the best possible way.

God help us if George’s door is open.

My door clicks shut behind us, and the hum of the hallway light fades as Will crowds me back toward the bed—my bed, crammed between boxes of ring lights, tangled cables, and a monitor that hasn't been turned on in months.

We are pressed up against the door like criminals hiding a body — except the crime is tongues and poor impulse control.

Its starts like it always does with Will—messy, impulsive, like we might both think better of it if we paused for even a second. It's familiar now, reckless in a way I didn’t expect to crave.

I grip the edge of his hoodie, dragging him closer, and my back hits the edge of the mattress, half-covered in unfolded laundry. He laughs against my mouth when he knocks over a ring light leaning against the wall. The light hits a case of old tripods, and something inside rattles, loud in the quiet.

"Jesus, your room's a death trap," he mutters, voice low.

"It’s not mine. It’s a glorified storage unit with a bed," I whisper back, tugging him down by his collar. He comes willingly, all heat and hands and that annoyingly cocky smirk. "But t’s fine. If anything falls on us, we die doing what we love," I whisper, trying not to grin.

He raises an eyebrow. "Shagging in a storage cupboard?"

“Something like that.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I forget where the joke ends. His hand slides beneath my shirt, warm against my skin, and I lean into it, into him. The room smells like dust and laundry detergent and the faint citrus of his shampoo.

I can hear George’s voice faintly from the next room. Something about editing. He's probably still up, headphones around his neck, furrowed brow, legs crossed in that way he does when he’s hyper-focused.

And I hate that I notice.

Even now.

Will's hand skims my waist, fingers brushing skin where he's pushed my shirt out of the way. I suck in a breath, not from surprise—I've gotten used to this routine with him—but from how easy it is to forget everything when his mouth finds the side of my neck.

"You're thinking again," Will murmurs, pulling back just enough to search my face.

"I'm not," I lie. He knows I am. He just doesn't press.

My suitcase is still half-unzipped in the corner. Clothes spill out of it like I never really decided to stay. Like I was waiting to see how it would feel here before committing to drawers.

Will’s hand slides into my hair, tugging gently as he kisses me again—deeper this time. I let myself fall into it. His mouth. His weight. The scratch of his stubble against my cheek like an anchor, grounding and familiar. His knee nudges between my thighs, and my breath catches, involuntary and aching.

And then, Laughter, through the wall.

George.

Followed by another voice—female, warm, soft in a way that immediately twists something sharp in my chest.

I go still. Will notices. Of course he does. His thumb brushes my cheek, his voice low, gentle, lips ghosting mine.

“You good?”

I nod too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, just—” But my pulse betrays me. I can hear George. Probably still perched at his desk, headphones half-off, hoodie hanging loose the way it always does when he gets lazy about the heating. He’s probably tapping his foot, laughing at something on screen, completely oblivious to the way his voice still curls like smoke into the corners of my room.

Will doesn’t move. Doesn’t pressure. He just presses his forehead to mine with a soft sigh, like he already knows where my head is trying to wander.

“We can stop,” he says quietly. “If you’re not in it.”

But I am.

I shake my head, firmer this time. “No, no, please. I want this. Want you.”

It comes out muffled, tangled between kisses, but I mean every word. My mouth is on his again before I can second-guess it—desperate, certain, like I’m trying to prove it with my teeth.

Will makes a quiet sound against my lips, somewhere between a breath and a groan, and it lights something in me. He pulls me closer, like he’s been holding back and I’ve just unlatched something in him. His hand slides down my back, anchoring, fingers curling at the hem of my shirt like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

“I mean it,” I whisper, and this time I pull back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face, trying to make sure he knows. “fuck, please, right now, I just—need you.”

Will’s expression shifts—softens and sharpens all at once. Like he’s letting himself believe me. Like I’ve just answered a question he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask.  

His forehead presses to mine again, and for a second, we just breathe there. No rush. No pretending.

Then he kisses me—slower this time. Sure. Reverent in a way that feels like he’s thanking me without saying a word. His hands are everywhere now, but careful, always careful. Like I’m something worth holding right.

And maybe I am.

I want to be.

I want him.

Not just because he’s here and George isn’t.

Not because he’s warm and beautiful and knows exactly how to touch me like I’m something worth figuring out.

But because when he looks at me, it’s real. Solid. No second-guessing. No waiting to be chosen.

With Will, there’s no power game. No unspoken test I have to pass.

There’s just us.

His hand on my hip.

His mouth on my neck.

The way he always checks in like I matter.

And I know it’s messy. I know it’s early. I know I haven’t untangled all the knots left behind. But Will isn’t a placeholder for the feelings I haven’t processed. He’s something else entirely. Something new.

I pull him down with me, wrapping my legs around his waist, not out of desperation—but decision.

A choice.

Because I want him.

I want the way he kisses me like he means it.

The way he makes me laugh when I’m two seconds from spiralling.

The way he never makes me feel like I have to be anything more or less than exactly who I am in this moment. The laugh through the wall fades. So does the echo of everything I haven’t said.

I kiss Will again—harder this time, yes, but not out of anger. Not out of pain. Out of certainty. Because for the first time in a long time, I feel wanted. And more than that—I feel like I want someone back.

Fully. Freely.

And he’s right here. On me. Around me. Mine.

His weight presses into me like a secret, warm and heavy and real. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, skin to skin, and I can barely think, let alone breathe.

"Literally everyone is home, we have to be quiet"

“You’re the one making noise,” he mutters, dragging his mouth back to mine. “If someone hears us, I’m blaming your inability to whisper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whisper, deadpan. “Next time you stick your tongue down my throat, I’ll take minutes instead.”

Will huffs out a laugh.

“That’s the attitude that made me hate you, by the way.”

“You didn’t hate me,” I murmur, letting my hand wander up under his T-shirt.

“You just couldn’t handle me being funnier than you.”

“I still can’t,” he admits, smiling against my lips.

It’s crooked and soft and the kind of smile I know I shouldn’t read into — and do anyway. We stare at each other for a beat too long. Then he kisses me again.

It’s back to messy. Hungry. More desperate — like we’re both running out of excuses but sprinting forward anyway.

I tug at his hoodie, and it—and the T-shirt underneath—are gone in one smooth pull, tossed carelessly into the open suitcase by the bed.

My work shirt follows, slipping off my shoulders and landing somewhere between a pile of tangled cords and the box labelled "wires??" in Sharpie.

Everything feels like it’s unravelling. In the best way.

Like we’re pulling thread from something too tight, too tense, and letting it fall loose.

His mouth is on my collarbone now, hot and steady.

My fingers dig into the bare skin of his back, and all I can think is yes, this—this is what I want.

Right here.

Right now.

Him.

Let George have his night.

I’m having mine, too.

Xxx

Will’s hand is resting flat on my thigh, warm and relaxed. His breath is slow, close against the back of my neck. I’m not sure if he’s asleep yet—I’m not even sure if I want him to be.

The air’s cooled a little, window cracked open from earlier. I can hear London beyond it—distant sirens, the hum of a train, the occasional clatter of someone drunk and laughing down the street.

I don’t know why the quiet always makes it worse. Or clearer.

My suitcase is still open on the floor. Half-packed, like I’m still not sure if I’m really staying. Like some part of me is still waiting for an out, like I’m still waiting for a sign that this isn’t where I belong.

I thought Brisbane would be it. Thought maybe if I went back, things would settle. That I’d feel anchored again. But my grandma died, and suddenly everything that once held weight felt hollow. Familiar streets didn’t comfort me. Sunshine didn’t fix anything.

Nine months later, I was dragging my life through Heathrow again. George said I could crash here—"Just till you find your feet"—like no time had passed since uni. Like we hadn’t grown apart and moved cities and maybe moved on.

But here I am. In George’s spare room. In George’s flat. In George’s life.

Except right now, it's Will's skin against mine. his laugh still ringing softly in my ear from earlier, his hands moving like he actually wants me—not like I’m just a passing thought.

I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t expect him, of all people—the one who used to roll his eyes at everything I said, who once told me I looked like a stressed-out Pomeranian when I tried to parallel park. But something changed. Slowly. Quietly. And now he looks at me like I matter.

And I think—I really think—this might be something.

Not just a distraction. Not just a reaction to George.

I wanted George. For so long I thought maybe he’d feel the same. When I finally took the leap, he kissed me—and then stepped back like I’d thrown a grenade. A silence followed that stretched for a month, colder and heavier than any outright rejection.

But even as I try to move on, part of me still reaches for George—the way his smile flickered with something unspoken, the hesitations that hung between us like a fragile thread, the endless waiting for something that maybe was never meant to happen.

But here I am, lying in my bed with Will , tangled up in questions I don’t have answers to: Why him? Why now, when everything felt so locked down? What exactly am I supposed to do with this sudden softness from him?

Will doesn’t make me feel fragile or half-seen. He teases, pushes, pulls me close, but beneath the surface, there’s something quieter, something harder to read. Like he’s waiting to see if I’m worth the risk.

I shift, careful not to wake him. We’ve never done this before—been here like this, quiet and tangled. Will he leave soon, slip back into his own life where I’m just a late-night memory? Or maybe—just maybe—he’ll stay a little longer. Take me out for breakfast before work, buy me a takeaway coffee before I catch the tube. The thought feels both hopeful and terrifying, like a question I’m not sure I’m ready to ask out loud.

Still, lying here now, I let myself imagine what it might mean if this could be more. If Will’s here for me, not because it’s easy, but because he chooses to stay.

I press my face into the pillow, soft with his scent.

It’s not love. Not yet.

But maybe it’s a start.

Xxx

The kitchen smells like garlic and basil, sharp and bright, with a zing of lemon zest teasing at the edges. I’m standing at the counter, swirling the glossy green pesto around the bowl like it’s some kind of sacred elixir, while Ruth hacks away at the pine nuts with a precision that can only be called professional.

“How do you make this look so damn easy?” I ask, trying to mimic the way she moves—effortless, like she’s been orchestrating pesto symphonies since birth.

Ruth shrugs, her lips curving into that lazy, half-smile that usually signals she’s not giving up all her secrets. “Mostly luck. And a lot of stirring. You have to coax it, not shove it. Pesto’s a diva.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “A diva with a killer taste, then. I’m just trying not to murder it.”

“You’re doing fine, Pesto Padawan,” she teases, tossing me a wink. “Just don’t ask me to babysit a soufflé.”

I’m about to reply when Ruth raises an eyebrow, a new energy in her voice. It’s not her usual easygoing tone—it’s more… sharp, like she’s picking up on something I’m not saying.

“So,” she says, leaning in a bit, her eyes scanning me like she’s about to crack open a secret. “You never told me what actually happened after Friday. The night you vanished with Mr. Brooding. Did he even like you, or was he just hungry?”

I feel my pulse skip. I try to keep it light, but the weight of it—the reality of Will and I—is there, humming under the surface. “Yeah, well… we ended up going home together.”

Ruth’s grin widens like she’s won some sort of personal victory. “No shit, Sherlock. But seriously, why? And what now?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way I don’t want to admit. “I just… stopped pretending it wasn’t a thing. And he was into it, which helps. We’ve been seeing each other, kind of… casually. Trying to keep it on the down-low.”

Meanwhile, we’re both elbow-deep in the pasta prep, a mountain of spaghetti still swirling in the pot—enough to feed a small army. The smell of garlic, basil, and pine nuts fills the air as I continue to mix the pesto, Ruth adding more oil with a knowing flick of her wrist. This is no small batch; we’re making enough pasta to feed half the building.

Ruth folds her arms, her gaze sharp as she watches me, her lips pressing into a knowing smile. “So, this is cloak-and-dagger stuff. Keeping it from your flatmates too?”

I nod, feeling that familiar tension creep in. “Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like the apartment’s weirdly silent. Like I’m... hiding something. But I don’t want to make it a thing. No drama, no heavy expectations. Just... whatever this is. But that’s the problem.”

Ruth sets down the knife with a soft thud, her expression shifting, as if she’s not just reacting to me but feeling me, too. “Whatever this is? You sound unsure. You and I both know you’ve never been great with ‘casual’ anything. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending. Whatever’s going on with you and Mr. Brooding—if it’s more than just sex, then maybe it deserves to be out in the open.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I try to shrug it off, but the truth is, I know she’s right. It’s all a mess of half-truths and missed signals. “It’s not that simple, Ruth,” I mutter, still stirring the pesto like it’s going to give me some answer.

Ruth’s eyes soften. She steps forward, setting a hand gently on my shoulder. “Yeah, I know it’s not. But when you’re already juggling two lives, it’s hard to figure out where you even belong.”

My chest tightens at her words. She’s got this way of cutting through the noise, and it stings. “London’s so damn big,” I mutter, my voice quieter now. “Everything’s just... harder here. I thought it’d feel different, you know? Like I’d find something—someone—who made it feel less lonely.”

She tilts her head, as though weighing something. “And does Will do that? Make it feel less lonely?”

I freeze, my spoon stilling in the bowl. Ruth’s got that directness about her that I can’t escape. And honestly? I don’t even know what to say. So I settle on something that’s technically true but not exactly the full picture. “He makes it better, I think.”

Ruth smiles, though it’s tinged with something softer now. “Sounds like you’re already halfway there, then.”

I shake my head, trying to suppress the tension building in my chest. “I just... I can’t tell if I’m doing this right. I want him, but I can’t just make this real yet. It’s... too messy. And besides, what if George finds out?”

Ruth’s expression hardens, just slightly, like she’s already piecing this all together. “Yeah, I get it. The thing with George. But you can’t keep letting his opinion weigh so much. You’ve got to start doing things for you, YN. George doesn’t dictate who you’re allowed to see. So, why does it matter so much what he thinks?”

I bite my lip, caught between the truth and the guilt I feel. “I mean, I guess... you’re right. But I’ve known George a lot longer than I’ve known Will. He’s one of my best mates. And right now? Everything’s just so weird with him. I don’t even know what to call it. We’ve never been like this.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow, considering. “Exactly. You’ve been mates with him for years. You can’t let him control your life just because it’s a bit messy right now. Besides, you’re not just shagging Will, it’s... different. And I know that.” She leans in a little, her voice quieter now. “It’s okay to have things that are just yours, you know? You’re allowed to keep that. You deserve that.”

I swallow, feeling the weight of her words settle on my shoulders. But then something clicks, and I can’t help but deflect, the weight of George’s expectations still hanging over me like a cloud. “I know. But I don’t want to make things worse with him. He’s always been there for me. Letting me crash on his couch whenever I needed it... it’s just… I feel like I’m betraying that somehow. And I don’t even know what to do with that feeling. It’s just so weird now.”

Ruth’s mouth twists into a little smirk, her usual playfulness returning. “Diva, you need your own place.”

I blink, thrown off for a second. “What?”

She folds her arms, leaning against the counter. “You need your own space, YN. A place where you don’t have to worry about George walking in on you or pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You can’t keep playing in limbo. It’s unhealthy. No wonder you’re getting all tangled up with how you feel about Will. You’ve been hiding for too long.”

I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle over me like a heavy blanket. I try to brush it off, but the truth is, Ruth’s right. My “room” is nothing more than a corner of the flat that’s more like a storage unit than a space of my own. The walls are lined with mismatched furniture, boxes, and random stuff—Georges old textbooks, clothes Arthurs outgrown, the things Chris has shoved away when he didn’t want to deal with them. The only real “furniture” I own is a bedframe, a mattress, and a second-hand bedside table that my glorified-fuckbuddies friend saw on Facebook marketplace.

“I’ve been looking, Ruth. I’m not just sitting here doing nothing. It’s hard. I’m a foreigner, and all my uni flats were sublets. I don’t even have the documented rental experience that landlords want. No one’s taking me seriously, especially when my references are from student gaffs.”

Ruth smirks at that. “You’ve been hanging around northerners too much,” she teases, a grin tugging at her lips. But it fades quickly as she studies me, her expression shifting into something half-sympathetic, half-exasperated. “God, I hate how difficult the rental system is for people like you. But you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t keep pushing for it. Seriously, YN, don’t let this city swallow you whole. Get out from under George’s roof. It’s time you had your own place, your own life. You’re not a visitor here anymore.”

We've finished our pesto now. Its staying hot in the hotbox.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried everything. I’ve been calling estate agents, checking places... and nothing’s come through. I’m starting to feel like London just doesn’t want me here.”

Ruth, without missing a beat, opens the fridge and grabs a tub of mascarpone, while I begin rinsing the pasta. Her movements are automatic now, and within a few seconds, we’re both silently gathering ingredients for dessert, like it’s second nature. She pulls out a box of ladyfingers and a bottle of espresso—of course, I didn’t even have to ask.

Ruth reaches over, squeezing my shoulder like she’s trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. “London doesn’t want you to quit. Don’t let it win. And you’re not alone in this. Will’s on your side, too. He’s not just a distraction; he’s your support, even if things feel weird between you two.”

The words feel heavy, but they also land in a place that I didn’t expect. “You think so?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

She nods, her smile warm, but determined. “I know so. And you don’t need George’s permission to make this work. You’ve got to go after what you want, YN. I mean, look at us—how long did we wait to make this volunteering thing happen? But we did it, right? You’re stronger than you think. Just trust yourself.”

I look at her, feeling something settle in my chest. Ruth’s got a way of making me feel like I can do anything, even when the weight of it feels like too much.

“Alright, alright,” I say with a forced grin. “I’ll keep looking. But honestly? I might end up with a cardboard box on the corner if this keeps going on much longer.”

Without missing a beat, Ruth grabs a mixing bowl, dumping the mascarpone into it, while I grab the sugar and the coffee. She looks at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Don’t tempt me to come be your roommate. I’ll take cardboard box next door.”

I snort. “Yeah, because that’s gonna be fun.”

We move in sync, the conversation flowing naturally as we whip up a quick tiramisu—no planning, just muscle memory. Ruth’s got a way of making the kitchen feel like it’s ours, no pressure, no expectations.

Ruth bumps me with her hip as she grabs the pasta pot, and we fall into our rhythm again—laughter, lightness, and the feeling that for a moment, I’m not just trying to survive London. Maybe, just maybe, I’m beginning to belong here. We spoon the layered dessert into small cups, finishing with a sprinkle of cocoa powder, all while making plans for our next mid-work catch up lunch.

It’s easy. And the loneliness that is deep-set in my bones starts to melt away, just a little. The rhythm of cooking, the low hum of Ruth’s voice, the familiarity of it all—it's like a temporary escape from everything that’s weighing me down.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[eggcompany]

Zosan except

Zoro was pretty sure he'd marry Sanji. And live together forever. And make their own little family and grow old together and die together and spend eternity together. They'd been together since they were 15, they were each other's first everything.

First kiss, first make out, first to all sex. Zoro liked it, about to turn 20, about to get into the work force and provide for his dear Sanji. He loved life. He liked having sex with Sanji every few days, he liked eating his food, he liked coming home and seeing Sanji there. He didn't... expect it.

Sanji leaving. Just... disappearing without a trace. Zoro went to work as usual, leaving with a kiss to Sanji's forehead, and when he returned... Nothing. His cookware was gone, his clothes, his awards, his paperwork, everything was gone except for his cellphone on the counter.

Zoro had been in ruins for weeks. He just felt like a shell. His friends noticed, they were just as upset, but they could see he was worse. Zoro thought... he thought everything was ok. He thought they were good, their apartment, their bed, their- their everything. They'd been together and had done so much together and why would Sanji leave? What did Zoro do?

It took years for Zoro to become as close to whole as he could be again. He didn't date. Couldn't. But he went out with Luffy and the gang, he smiled, he... he lived.

He still sat up at night, looking at his ramshackle kitchenette in his studio apartment, remembering how happy Sanji had been when he got those big sets of pans for one Christmas. They were cheap but... he'd been so happy. He can still remember the sound of Sanji fussing at him when he stood by the stove and ate food before it was plated. Zoro always smiled, because they were so young, so happy.

Zoro was leaning against the brick wall of the club, his employee shirt snug over his chest. He was just standing in the alley, phone in his hands as he mindlessly scrolled around, his break a welcomed thing. He only looked up when he felt someone looking at him, standing just in the shadow of the building, someone was there farther down the alley.

"Hey, you alright? Need a taxi?" Zoro asked, thinking it was someone who'd stumbled out from the club, maybe too much to drink. But the person stood there, eyes wide, staring at him, skinny, lanky. Zoro pushed himself up off the wall, moving towards the person. Were they high? Maybe someone with mental problems? Did they need-

"Z-Zoro?" That voice, the way the name fell, it felt familiar. Zoro stepped closer, the person curling in on themselves, arms crossing over their chest. Zoro really looked the darkness making it difficult, the hair hanging over their face, hiding them away.

But there was no one else with those eyes. With that sunlight hair, as long and flowing as it was.

"Sanji?" Zoro asked, hands shaking slightly as they reached towards the blonde man, his arms were hairy where his sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up. Zoro really looked and there was no mistake. Even with dark pits around them, even with his patchy facial hair and his rumpled black outfit, Zoro would know Sanji in any way.

Sanji looked away, ashamed. But Zoro couldn't care. He wrapped his arms around him, his heart racing a smile breaking across his face without his permission. He felt everything else melt away, because he had his Sanji back. His. He pulled back, hands going to Sanji's long hair, gentle as he held his jaw, thumb going over his jaw under his dark eye.

"Sanji. You're here." Zoro said, the words making something break apart in his chest because he was right there. Right there. After years. Finally his missing piece was right there.

"Can you- Would you help me?" Sanji said, the words shaking as he said them. Suddenly Zoro felt less joy. Of course. Sanji would never come crawling back to him without reason. But he still- he still would do anything.

"You don't need to but... I'm in some trouble. Not- Not money. It's not money I promise. I just..." Sanji started but then a side door opened, slammed open. Sanji jumped, eyes going wide again, this time in fear. An enormous man walked out, followed by two others.

"Blondie! Get your ass back in there! Smoke when you're done with the client. Do you want the kennel again?" The man said ignoring Zoro's presence completely. Sanji shot him one last glance before turning and going back into the club, the man smacking his ass on the way in.

Zoro didn't care if Sanji- If Sanji left because of another guy. Or if he was unhappy, or if he felt trapped or anything else. Because he finally had a chance to get him back. And Now is the only thing that mattered.

[rhettrosunsets]

Papers And Pad Thai - Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem!Teacher Reader

Category: Fluff!! Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You've had the worlds longest day, between grading papers, a spilt lunch, and not having heard from your girlfriend in almost a week while she was deployed? You just wanted to get home and drink some wine so you could cry while wearing an oversized hoodie and watching some bad tv re-runs. But little did you know what would be awaiting you when you got outside, and how much better your day would get.

Based off this ask

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: Mentions of a child throwing up, reader is having a very shitty day, mentions of deployment, Natasha does pick reader up and reader wears Natasha's hoodie but there are no descriptions of the reader outside of this, no use of Y/N, use of pet names for reader.

Notes: Eeee!! This was my first ever ask, based off this ask here and I was so excited to get to write this, anon that requested this I hope you enjoy it. I had so much fun getting to write this!

Your brightly decorated classroom was silent for the first time since 7am,

Your shoulders slumped forward as you clutched your pen loosely between your tired fingers, your head throbbing as you stared down at the last math test in the pile, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

Somehow, a simple batch of easy subtraction problems that was supposed to be an easy test for the kids had managed to create at least six different new number systems that even Isaac Newton would have to sit down for, three small doodles of frogs, one child just writing sorry next to every answer with a frowny face, and one heartfelt love letter to your class guinea pig.

You let your head fall to the desk and groaned muttering “I love my job. I love my job and I love my kids” you repeated muffled against the wood desk. “I love my- okay, you know what? Maybe not today, and that’s okay.” you sighed out heavily to yourself, your body deflating as you tried not to cry.

You had stayed after school yet again to grade papers because the idea of bringing home another binder full of pure chaos made you want to sob. Fridays were supposed to be for movie day and early dismissal, something you reveled in every Friday, for the fact that you could finally get a small break. But Instead, today, three kids had cried over what pencils they got to use during the test, a kid threw up all over the classroom floor and had to go to the nurse while you tried to console the other kids, and you’d spilled your yogurt all over your lesson planner leaving you without lunch, and without a lesson planner.

And to make it all sting even more? Natasha still hadn’t messaged you. You didn’t blame her though, she was still deployed and you knew better than anyone how spotty their comms were when the squad was off on a deployment. But it’d been a week since her last message “We’re all okay, Miss you, Peach.”

No FaceTime calls, no bright smile and warm eyes, no warm voice whispering “Hey, baby” like she always did when she knew you needed it the most, you hadn’t even realized how badly you were missing her until today, when all of this rained down on you at once.

You tossed the finished paper on top of the pile with a huff before you gathered your bag, did a final check of the room, flipped off the lights and locked up your door, before stepping outside where the sun was just beginning to set, the golden hour hue illuminating the parking lot. The parking lot was mostly empty with all parents and students gone for the day, most of the administration having left hours ago when the bell rang, and just a few tired teachers also shuffling to their cars, waving half hearted goodbyes. You yawned into your elbow and reached into your bag fumbling for your keys, rounding the corner of the building with heavy lidded eyes, already picturing Natasha’s oversized hoodie and a glass of wine waiting for you at home.

Then you stopped dead in your tracks, because someone was leaning against your car. But it wasn't just anyone, it was your girlfriend. Your girlfriend who wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another week. She was still in her flight suit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her thick boots planted firmly on the ground with one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the driver’s side door, her arms crossed wearing that same cocky smirk that had made you fall in love with her in the first place.

She raised her brows, her cocky smirk never leaving her face as she saw you standing there bewildered, like you don’t believe she’s really there. “You gonna stand there all day ogling me? Or are you gonna come kiss me, Peach?”

Your knitted bag fell off your shoulder and the bag hit the pavement with a thud, but none of that mattered right now. The next thing you knew, you were running at full speed, and you crashed into her with so much force that she stumbled as she was forced to take a step back, leaning further into your car, laughing as she caught you in her arms.

“Woah easy there sweetgirl” she teased, pulling you tightly against her, lifting you off your feet, as you wrapped your legs around her middle. “You’re gonna knock us both over.” She said laughing happily at the fact that she got to hold you in her arms again.

You buried your face into her neck, inhaling her scent that smelled like jet fuel, soap, and the San Diego sun. It smelt like home. You tightly wound your arms around her neck like you were afraid she’d disappear if you let go, and maybe you were, because part of you still didn’t believe that she was really here, holding you, and calling you Peach.

“I-I didn’t know you were coming back today’ Tasha” you mumbled your voice thick and wobbly against her skin as she slowly set you down, placing your feet on the parking lot ground still keeping you pulled tightly against her. “That was the point baby” she mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Wanted to surprise my girl.”

A surprised, watery laugh left your lips, as you started to cry, the exhaustion from waking up at five in the morning, the grading of papers that made you want to pull your hair out, the stress from the day, the loneliness you felt earlier, all of it came crashing out of you at once as ugly hiccupping sobs started pouring out of you, making you clutch at her harder.

“Hey, hey" She whispered softly taken aback at your reaction. "Oh, Peach, don’t cry baby. It’s okay, it's okay. M'here.” Natasha said softly, pulling back from you just enough to cup your face in her hands and study your expression.

Her thumbs brushed away your tears as her thumbs rubbed gentle circles on the apples of your cheeks, and she kissed your forehead over and over again, like she could kiss the sadness away, and get her girl to feel better with just that, which to her credit worked as you calmed down enough to say “I missed you so much you choked out, your voice breaking as you did so.

“I know, sweetheart, I missed you more.” Natasha spoke back as she looked at you, trying to calm you down to the best of her ability. You shook your head, sniffling as you tried to speak trying to truly let her know how much this means to you “I-I’ve had such a long day, and then I saw you, and I thought I was dreaming, or I thought maybe it was the two coffees I had on an empty stomach and I was finally losing it. ”

“You’re not dreaming” Natasha promised with such authority that you couldn’t even question it, as she rested her forehead against yours. Her voice was low and steady, grounding you and soothing you in a way you’ve needed since she left. “I’m here, right here Peach. And I’m not going anywhere besides home with you, so we can go rewatch some shitty rom-coms and drink some wine.”

More tears fell from your eyes and she held you through them rubbing your back in slow circles and every few seconds she’d press another kiss to your cheek or your nose or the edge of your jawline.

“I really didn’t think you’d be back for another week” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from crying. “We finished early, and no one got shot at. I call that a win, Peach.” she joked lightly, grinning widely when you choked out a teary eyed laugh.

“God, I love you’ Tasha” you blurted out, your voice full of emotion. The look on her face softened completely, “Yeah?” she asked, rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs as she smiled at you, staring into your eyes. “I think you should say it again” she whispered out, a small smirk perking up in the corner of her lips.

You smiled through the tears and mummured “I love you, Natasha Trace.”

She leaned in and kissed you slow, gentle, and full of everything she couldn’t say over a radio message or a letter. And when she pulled back, her eyes were warm and glassy. “I love you too, Peach,” she murmured. “So much so that it’s absolutely stupid.”

You burst into small giggles at the nickname, your face flushing as she peppered your cheeks with more kisses. “I’m serious, Peach” she insisted between smooches. “I was halfway across the world on a serious mission, and here I was thinking about you in a pencil-skirt, handing out stickers for good spelling, and smiling at those kids like they’re your own.”

You snorted as your head fell against her collarbone “Sorry to break your fantasy, but that’s not what I wear 'Tasha.” She shrugged, a smirk quirking up at the corners of her lips. “No, but I think that’s what I'll continue thinking about when I'm gone. It gives me good motivation to get back here.” she said, glancing down at you seeing how your eyes brightened when she did. “You’re an idiot” you say your voice full of fondness as you wrap your arms tightly around her again.

“But I'm your idiot, Peach” she corrected. You stayed like that for a while, just swaying slightly in the golden hour sun. Her hand rubbed slow circles over your back, and you could feel her smile against your temple. Finally, she pulled back and looked you over, taking you in fully after the emotions of the last few minutes. “You look exhausted, baby.”

“I am exhausted” you admitted with a yawn, before continuing, “It was a long week, one of my kids tried to eat a glue stick on Tuesday, I had a kid puke all over the floor today, and the math tests I had to grade today had declarations of love to the guinea pig instead of the answers to the questions.”

She winced at your retelling of your long week, “Yikes, Peach. No wonder you're dead on your feet.”

“I didn’t even get to eat lunch today because it got spilled all over my lesson planner” you whined out dramatically. Natasha gasped playfully and took your face in her hands again. “That’s criminal, baby. No lunch?”

“I know, you’re lucky I didn’t wither away before you got here to surprise me.” You reply back, in a dramatic tone, bringing your hand to your forehead as you lean back closing your eyes for the effect.

“Well, lucky for you, Peach, your incredibly hot, sexy, brave, and thoughtful girlfriend bought you takeout.” Natasha said in a teasing voice. Your eyes lit up, and a wide smile graced your face at the mention of something to eat “You brought me food?”

“I brought you Pad Thai, those egg rolls you love, and enough mango rice to last us a week, baby.” she said proudly, before continuing “And wine, lots of it, I also prepped the couch with tons of fuzzy blankets, and extra snacks for after dinner.”

You blinked up at her, absolutely stunned. “Are you trying to marry me ‘Tasha?” She gave you a wide smirk “Is it working?”

“Yes” you said without hesitation, no amusement even present in your tone, “God, yes.” She kissed you again and whispered against your lips, “Then let’s get you home and get some food into you, future Mrs. Trace.”

You grinned widely and kissed her back, your heart beating loud enough in your chest that you thought she could for sure hear it. She did a 'give me' motion with her hand, as you grabbed your bag from where you had dropped it and handed her the keys to your car.

She opened the passenger side car door for you, before tossing your bag into the backseat, and even buckled your seatbelt, giving you one last kiss on the forehead before sliding into the driver’s seat, and starting the car up. On the drive home, you reached for her hand and laced your fingers with hers, relishing in the feeling of her being home again. “I still can’t believe you’re here right now” you said softly, taking in her features, a disbelieved smile still present on your face. She brought your hand to her lips and kissed your knuckles, “I missed you more than words can convey, Baby.”

And when you got home, she wouldn’t let you lift a finger. She carried you up your driveway and through the door just to be dramatic, laughing loudly as she heard your loud fit of giggles. She put you on the couch, and immediately curled up beside you under the mountain of blankets she had prepared before heading to the school to come surprise you. She fed you bites of sticky rice between soft kisses and laughed every time ended up getting sauce on your nose or on the side of your mouth.

And later, when you finally started to drift off against her chest as a cheesy 2000’s rom-com played in the background, you knew everything would start to feel okay again.

[6feathered6siren6]

I have a fic request. What if reader ghosted the entire server and after years, they find them again but reader doesn’t remember them at all?

Haunting Parasite(Ronin x Reader)

Authors note: This was in my mind while I was working, and I wanted to make this so much worse, but I promise to make this hurt comfort(there might be a part 2 to fulfil that) so its lighter. This is also mostly Ronin's pov, hopefully I did it right :3, had fun with the idea I wrote, anyway, stay hydrated and enjoy!! o7

Trigger warning:

Death/corpse

---

The novel was a hit. Sure, it was under an author's pen name instead of your real name, what if they knew? But it was done. You don’t… really have to talk to them any more. The days you have to keep your eyes over your shoulder, watching for any strange movement. You can worry less, the novel was giving you money, enough to leave your job and rest in another city, state, hell, country if you want to. 

—

You were never online again. It didn’t show activity from your profile, nor were you lurking. Ronin was staring at the mod activity on his side, at first he thought you were just busy, but looking further it showed the device you have the server was offline for a month. Did you just skip town? After the Devil graciously gave you everything you desired, you left him. Leaving his heart open and yearning for yours. You wanted a grace of the world and knowledge he lived in and now left without a goodby, only getting what you wanted. 

You got it, you got your book as a number one hit, making it into a movie. Though you never show that you wrote that book, he knew it was you. After all, the main character is basically him, his story, his kills, and life was blasted into ink. 

He didn’t know what to feel, mad? Pissed? He knows he is angry with you. But he also is worried. He knows he’ll see you but when…

–

It was two years… Two years. From just a month to you being gone, the server had your server name changed as MIA. You were gone. Everyone knows that you are not coming back. Ronin’s mood soured for weeks, but he seemed better, he just always had you in his mind. Like a parasite infecting his brain, always there but never going away. He always gets into your dms, never texting, just looking. Yearning that text if you ever come back. 

He was supposed to be the one haunting, not you. The latest news about you was about you writing another book. Would you crawl back? Wanting more inspiration from him?

He groans. He needs fresh air… Maybe hit that spot Angel spoke about.

—

When he walked into the cafe Angel recommended, he didn’t expect to see you there. On your computer typing away, you look different, dark circles defining your eyes, saying that you haven’t slept, but the cup next to you probably won't help you either. His eyes were on you, staring at your form. Hoodie and sweatpants, comfy clothing while writing in this cozy cafe. 

But more importantly, you were in front of him. Getting his drink and slipping into the chair in front of you. You didn’t even notice him, well until he tapped his finger next to your laptop. You look up and lower your screen. Before he could make any remark about you going ghost,  you said something that squeezed the idea that you will crawl back.

“Do… I know you?” You tilt your head the same way you usually do, like a puppy learning something.

His dark eyes widened, he felt scared. He could feel his body tense. “It’s me…” His voice was lower, maybe you're lying and just pretending. “Ronin? The one that gave you knowledge.” 

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know you. Maybe we passed each other before?” 

Your eyes were looking at him, those colors he remembered, the way your hair was messy, looking unfamiliar. The more he looks at you, the more he sees someone else. He knew it was you, but… it wasn’t.

“Well, darling,” He remarks. “You dropped everything and left the devil in the dust. The devil gave you what you wanted and you left without a thank you. How could you do that?”

Your response? Raising your eyebrow. You were just confused, like… 

“I’m sorry?” You pulled only one side of your lip into a lopsided smile. You looked so uncomfortable. 

Before anything could happen, your phone ranged, and you slipped with a weak apology. Leaving him in that chair. 

You were still in this town, or you moved back. He was struck, you were here, but you didn't know him, or acted like you didn’t know. He wasn’t in the mood for his drink anymore. Letting it become lukewarm.

—

The plum haired male was in his alleyway, hand on wall as he walked, feeling the bumps and ripples on it. His mind keeps going back to you, you were there in his thoughts, like a leech, clinging on. He couldn’t do anything without you haunting him. 

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ 

Of course, you do. He’s Ronin, the motherfucking Devil’s Butcher, the one who gave you a taste of his aorta, the man who gave you what you wanted. He kicked the corpse’s arm, the body was a few days old. Already making his alleyway smell more like rot. 

He groans as you infect his thoughts again. He’s acting like a teen with a crush who wasn’t getting attention. It was getting worse. You clearly moved on, like you didn’t have those moments of the ball almost dropping that you weren’t a killer. He picked up his blood painted crowbar, and started heading home, it’s been a few hours since he saw you. He should tell the server, letting them know you are alive.

[jutsuuu]

girl help I’m experiencing

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐎) !! ❞

❝ A LOVE TRIANGLE GONE RIGHT ?! REPORTING FROM THE SET OF THE HIT SHOW JUJUTSU KAISEN ! ❞

✧ pairing: actors!satoru gojo and suguru geto x actor!reader

✧ summary: rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your boyfriends find out who it is—

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut, no curses, modern au, jjk is a tv show, actor au, yes the actors and characters have the same names lol, reader is dating both of them, funny interview hijinxs, this is kind a lot of crack, jealous! gojo + geto, sukuna is here lmao, innuendos, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi-exhibitionism, face sitting (f! receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex (p in v), double penetration, creampie, multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / _3aem

✧ wc: 17,900

“Reporters say the love triangle between the actors Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto and their co-star has become even more shrouded in mystery than the show itself!” an influencer reports on your social media of gchoice that morning, nearly vibrating from assumedly her three espressos, “the stars of Jujutsu Kaisen, the fantasy horror drama series written by Gege Akutami have been embroiled in dating scandals over the last few weeks—“ your phone’s notifications cut the audio from the video for a moment until you switch it to silent, “after being spotted leaving Suguru Geto’s loft just two nights ago, she was then seen having a lunch rendezvous with Satoru Gojo—“ 

You lock your phone, rubbing your temples, as the device nearly had an aneurysm from your social media notifications — buzzing itself off your dining room table and into an early death. Your agent was going to have a field day with this, and the main event is going to be your murder. 

“What are they saying about us now?” Suguru sighs, as he emerges out of the shower in only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam rolling out of the bathroom, as you offer him a coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a sip, “my agent is demanding I call him— and I’d like to know what we’ve done now before he kills me,” he says, though he continues to sip his coffee nonchalantly, unbefuddled by the thought of his death. 

“Oi oi, calm down, shouldn’t you be more upset at the reporters than me?” Satoru comes from the bedroom, “Nanamin, just take care of it. Tell them we’re just friends if they ask you — do me a favor and pay off the reporter who got a picture of us kissing—“ and you nearly snort at the thought of Nanami Kento doing any sort of favor for Satoru. 

“You let him kiss you?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes. 

“Not so much ‘let’ as he just kissed me without a second thought,” you shake your head, drinking your coffee as Satoru continues to bicker with Nanami, “I told him I thought I saw paparazzi but—“ 

“Satoru is do first, ask questions never,” Suguru sighs, but still the smirk remains, as he leans closer to you, his large palm against the back of your chair, “you never let me kiss you in public,” 

And you’re resisting the urge to bite your lip, “You know better — look at what Satoru’s done now—“ 

“And was it worth it, Princess?” Your mind wanders to the kiss — Satoru’s hand against the nape of your neck, his lips sliding against yours, the faint taste of the strawberry cake he had for dessert lingering on his tongue and now yours, and the sticky heat that settled over your body from the too humid night air and his warmth leeching onto your skin, and the eyes watching his need for you made it all the more—

“Maybe,” you mumble, choosing to sip at your drink as Satoru cut off your conversation with his own. 

“Just deal with it, Nanami, that’s why I hired you after all, huh?” He earns a swear from Nanami for the claim that he ‘hired’ him in any way whatsoever, and then his lips curl. “No they aren’t here with me—“ the bespectacled man shouts from the other line, “eh? What do you mean I look and sound like a man who only lies?” And then he’s hanging up, running a hand through his hair, a pout on his lips, “I was supposed to wake up to the two of you, not Nanami’s tirade,” he groans, as he makes his way over to you, only to wrap his arms around you from behind. 

“Well, it is your fault, Satoru,” Suguru smirks over the rim of his cup, “someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—“ 

“Jealous, Suguru?” he replies, as he presses a kiss to your neck, “jealous that our princess is much more affectionate with me,” 

Suguru cuts you off, “more like she babies you,” and Satoru’s face sours into a scowl, “if she had stayed at my apartment for the week, this wouldn’t have—“ 

“And then they would have seen me coming to your place, and what good would that do?” 

“Guys—“ you try to speak, but you’re cut off again. 

Suguru tilts his head with a small grin, “Are you lonely? Why don’t you find someon—“ 

“Stop, guys,” you couldn’t take this bickering this early in the morning, though you had grown used to it, “we have bigger problems to deal with than your egos,” you sigh, rising from Satoru’s grip even as he pouts, “we have to be more careful,” 

“But how? We’ve already cut down our appearances together for behind the scenes and even stopped going out for dinner or dates,” Satoru pouts, running a hand through his hair, “next thing you’ll want to break up,” 

“That’s not gonna happen,” you flick Satoru on the forehead, “but we have to do something, otherwise our agents will have us murdered,” 

“And Nanami will join them for sport,” Suguru adds, and you snort, finally finishing your drink, before he walks over to you, fingers under your chin, “so what’s your idea, sweetheart?” 

“Just take a break for a few weeks until the public finds something else to fixate on,” you sigh, “while the episodes air, all we’re going to get is more attention,” 

“We could just take a trip,” Satoru offers, “I own a private island—“ 

“Of course you do,” Suguru says, and Satoru only chuckles. 

“Being envious doesn’t become you, Suguru,” the snow haired actor clicks his tongue at him, before he’s pulling you into his arms, “we could go for a few days, get away from all the noise,” 

“It’s a good idea, but you’re forgetting one thing, Satoru,” Suguru tilts his head, “won’t they notice if we all go on vacation at the same time?” 

“Plus we have interviews to do in the coming week,” you remind Satoru, and he’s sighing, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “but maybe we can go after?” 

“Unless you get that role,” Satoru mumbles against your skin, pressing sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, “have you heard anything yet?” 

You shake your head, a sigh stuck in your throat, “It’s a long shot. This is such a big role and it’s for the lead,” and Suguru is finding his way to you, warm fingers cupping your cheek. 

“They would be lucky to have you — do you know how many people say you were their favorite character? They were ready to fight me and Satoru for you,” he adds with a chuckle, lips ghosting over the swell of your cheek, “I think they would beat us with sheer numbers,” 

“Nah, I’d win,” Satoru says, and you snort, rolling your eyes, “but he’s right princess, how crazy would they have to be not to cast you?” 

“There’s so many other talented people up for the role—“ 

“There’s always going to be someone else,” Suguru cuts you off gently, as his fingers find yours, lacing with yours so perfectly you wondered if it’s what they were made for, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less valuable or incredible,” 

“And you’re already far more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Satoru adds, “but when do you get the role, inevitably,” Suguru smirks at him, “when would shooting begin?” 

“Probably just after our press wraps for season two,” you lean into their touch, “they still haven’t casted the two leads, but apparently both are down to the final audition,” and you’re pressing nosing Satoru’s cheek, before pressing a chaste kiss to Suguru’s nose, “and that’s why we’ll have to cool it for the next few weeks, ok?” 

But you don’t — or rather they don’t. 

“Who is Satoru Gojo’s…” Satoru rips off the tape off the cardboard printout of Googled questions, “favorite actor to work with?” 

“We all know the answer to that,” Suguru replies with a sigh, his eyes sliding to you, and you roll your own. 

“Look who’s talking — these two are obsessed with each other,” and Satoru has a shit eating grin, sitting back and watching the two of you argue, “the two of you are soulmates — and I’m not talking about your characters,”

“Don’t go there,” Suguru scoffs, and you tilt your head, lips curling, as your gaze meets his. 

“Are you begging?” and you can’t help the way your tone bites back, falling far over the line of playful teasing and into blatant flirting, and you can only hope the camera plays off the dark glint in Suguru’s gaze as he smirks as teasing rather than what you know it is — lustful. 

“You’re both wrong anyway,” Satoru cuts in, “obviously my favorite actor to work with is Megumi!” 

And you and Suguru both snort, words falling from your lips in unison, “Poor Megumi,” 

“Ehhh? What do you mean by that?” And Satoru smacks you both playfully with the piece of cardboard an intern probably painfully put together before tossing it away. 

“What happened to Suguru Geto….” in Jujutsu Kaisen?” Suguru reads. 

“Dead,” you and Satoru answer in unison, and Suguru raises an eyebrow. 

“You both are a walking spoiler,” and you gape at Suguru. 

“They asked, and he’s the spoiler warning — he read ahead and told me that his character—“ and Suguru covers your mouth, looking the camera dead in the eye. 

“You’re welcome—ow!” And he pulls his hand away, “did you just bite me?” 

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Satoru says, earning a whack to the face with the cardboard printout from Suguru, “when you tried to steal her snacks—“ 

And you weren’t really helping either. 

“Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob?*” You ask Satoru, hooked up to a lie detector, the polygraph examiner studying the results closely, as Suguru didn’t bother biting back his smile. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not—“ 

“It’s a yes or no question, Satoru,” you cut him off as he sighs dramatically, running a hand through his snowy locks. 

“Then I’ll have to say yes,” and he’s winking at the camera, and you’re snorting, looking at the lie detector reader. 

“It’s the truth,” he says simply and the examiner nods, and you scoff, as Satoru only pouts at you. 

“Have you ever,” Suguru lets a chuckle escape his lips, “look at fan accounts for yourself? I can answer this one, yes he does, I’ve watched him do it—“ 

Satoru scoffs, doubling down, “can you blame me? My fans do such wonderful edits—“ 

“And inflate your ego to a catastrophic size—“ and Satoru is reaching across the table to cover your mouth. 

“Be careful she bites,” Suguru warns, leaning back in his chair, as you grin against Satoru’s hand, and he shrugs, lips curling. 

“Don’t worry, I like it,” 

The examiner nods, “that’s the truth.” 

“We’ll start out tame,” you say, as you look at the list of thirst tweets in front of you and choosing one of the more…hinged ones, “Suguru Geto, I would let you kill me like the monkey I am, and I’d thank you for it,” and you show the tweet, “monkey emoji covering their face,” 

“That’s a tame one?” Suguru covers half his face with his hand, much like the emoji, “what the **** are the wild ones?” And you open your mouth to reply and he cuts you off, “I don’t want to know,” 

“Sweetheart, I’ll read one for you next,” and Satoru scans his list, and he clears his throat, holding out his hand to you, your name on his lips, “the only way I could die happy ever is if I suffocated when you sat on my face,” 

And heat climbs your face at his words, a single chuckle giving way to full laughter, “***, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me—“ 

“And on them,” Satoru adds, and you’re glaring at him only to dissolve into giggles, “I can't blame them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” 

“It’s my turn,” Suguru scans the list and grimaces, “I don’t want to read this,” and then he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I’d let Satoru Gojo **** me, spit in my mouth, and make my daddy issues worse, and I’d thank him for it, respectfully,” 

And you’re doubled over in laughter by the time he gets to the end of his monotone reading, while Satoru only grins at the camera, leaning against the table, as he pulls his sunglasses on only to tilt them down his nose. 

“I’m available.” 

No, this press junket did not help at all. 

“Fuck,” you grumble, propping yourself on your elbow, your knuckles pressed to your lips, “how are we still trending? Aren't there other things to talk about?” 

“Stop checking it, it’s only making you crazy,” Suguru sighs, collapsing next to you on the couch, his hand thrown over the top of the couch, before it slips down behind you, warm palm resting on your hip, “there’s nothing you can do,” 

“My agent said she’s definitely going to get news on whether I got the part tomorrow — and tomorrow is when the last episode of the season is airing, and when—“ 

“The scene with Kenjaku at the end, I know,” Suguru presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “think I could pull off stitches?” He drags a finger across his forehead teasingly. 

“If you’re asking for a lobotomy, I always wanted to try doing one,” Satoru walks in from the shower, hair still damp, as he squeezes on your other side, “Princess, you can be my nurse, hm?” 

“Did you already have one?” Suguru bites back, and Satoru doesn’t reply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “she’s still worried about tomorrow,” 

“Don’t you know there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” Satoru presses a sweet kiss to your neck. 

“Not when they’re speculating if I’m dating or cheating on one or both of you,” you shake your head, “what if the director thinks I’m a liability?” 

“If the director thinks you’re a liability after seeing your work and meeting you, then he’s clearly blind,” 

You flick his sunglasses down, “can you say that four eyes?” 

“Don’t you mean six eyes?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at him, and Suguru’s fingers find yours, laced hands against your thigh, “whatever happens, happens — you know your worth,” 

“And your worth is far too high for you — only I could afford it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you shove Satoru, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, his lips grazing the soft skin behind your ear, “how much?” 

“For you? A billion dollars,” and his lips find yours in a kiss, lazy but warm, heat from his touch spreading like a flames carried by the wind. 

“That all? What a bargain,” Satoru pulls a breath away, his lips curled in a grin, only for Suguru’s fingers to cup your chin and make you turn around. 

Deep purple irises you grew lost in, his thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “and for our princess?” He hums, lips grazing yours teasingly, “a steal,” 

“Well, you both stole my heart so you might as well have the rest,” and Suguru’s lips finally find yours in a real kiss, deep and full, until your mind is filled with nothing but him — and Satoru, whose  lips ghost over your shoulder and collarbone and hands slip under your shirt, warm palms against your far too heated skin, “fuck—“ you’re sighing, melting agaisnt them, “Sugu, Toru,” you’re whining already, drawing smirks to both of their lips. 

“Let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers, lips finding your earlobe and sucking at the sensitive skin, and Suguru pulls away from your kiss for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

“We’ll get your mind off things, Princess,” and his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, “all night long.” 

And they do, they keep their promise — the three of you falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, and you forget until the next morning. 

And in the morning—you get the call, “okay, thank you,” you hang up, still between mussed sheets and arms wrapped around your waist, “I got it!” 

“Heh, I knew you would,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in your side, “I’m so proud of you, baby,” 

“Hm? Proud of her for what?” Suguru murmurs, half asleep, black locks strewn around his head like a halo. 

“I got the role, Sugu,” you lean down and kiss his nose, and he’s grinning wide, fingers winding into the back of your head to pull into a kiss, “you’re looking at the leading actor of a movie,” 

“You’re going to be in demand now, Princess,” Suguru says, dragging a thumb down your lips, “will you still make time for us?” 

“Of course, always — you’ll visit me on set right?”

“You sure, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll be too busy for us,” Satoru leans up and presses a kiss on your neck. 

“Maybe for you,” and he’s pouting, and you lean down to kiss his pout away, and then you get an email, “oh it’s the casting sheet for the other roles,” you scan the list, “oh,” 

“‘Oh?’” Suguru raises an eyebrow. 

“The male lead, he’s someone we know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “and I’m already getting a headache,” 

Satoru furrows his brow, as the two of them lean over your shoulders to look — Satoru scowling and Suguru glaring at your screen, as they say his name at the same time — as if summoning him from the underworld. 

“Sukuna?” 

Ryomen Sukuna was both famous and infamous in the industry — famous for his portrayals of villains and antiheroes alike, ability to make you despise the enemy to the point of near or blatant admiration, and his skill of stepping into each role and taking it as his own. And he lives in infamy for, well, what happens between takes of the camera. 

“Look any longer and I’ll have you thrown off set, brat,” Sukuna says, without a glance at you, newspaper in hand as if he was pulled from thirty years ago, his phone seemingly laying discarded on a nearby. The P.A.s nearby cower a few feet away, trying to look preoccupied, as their terror has fully set in of this man. 

Or should you say monster?

“I see the stick up your ass makes you as pleasant as ever,” you mutter, and you don’t see that it earns you a smirk from him, his dark gaze takes over you, earning a glare from you, “now who’s staring?” 

He leans against the arm of his chair, “I was just noticing how lovely the view is without those two pests hanging on your every word,” and you’re rolling your eyes. 

“Jealous?” 

“Of your little throuple? No,” he smirks, rising from his chair, hands sliding into his pockets as he brushes by you, “because unlike those two,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, “I know how to satisfy a woman on my own,” 

And you grit your teeth, holding your tongue — your relationship with Satoru and Suguru was a badly kept secret on the set or Jujutsu Kaisen, but it never was a problem — until now. 

You follow behind him, heading to the director’s trailer for your meeting before rehearsals began. 

“You want us to what?” 

“We spoke to your agents, and they agreed with us that it would be good publicity for the two of you to pretend to be a couple during the filming and leading up to production,” the director leans back in his seat, “it shouldn’t be a problem — the two of you have worked together before right?” 

You can’t hide your aghast expression in time, not before Sukuna glances at your face and sees the horror, and it puts a rare grin on his lips, “I’m in, what’s a little more acting?” 

You’re swallowing thickly, eyes flitting over Sukuna’s smug grin so fast you only hoped your gaze was sharp enough to cut,  “Can I please speak to you privately?” 

And Sukuna gets up from the edge of the table he leaned against, flashing you a wry grin, “see you out there, sweetheart,” and you wished you could rip out his heart and show him how very sweet you were — but you bite your tongue, waiting for the door to swing shut, “I—“ 

“Do you know part of the reason we choose you over the other actor vying for your role?” The director cuts you off, arms crossed over his chest, and you shut your mouth, shaking your head, “Jujutsu Kaisen has done tremendously this season — one of the most viewed shows across the world and do you know part of the reason?” and again you shake your head, “your P.R. stunts with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto,” 

You knit your brow together — not your talent, your work, or art — but your boyfriends? “Your ability to have chemistry with the both of them have enticed the public and the number of times you’ve trended alone this season—“ 

Your fingers curl into fists, “With all due respect—“ 

“If you do this, the film will be a hit — i see you two already, there’s chemistry—“ 

You scoff, “more like a fucking bomb,” you mutter, running your fingers through your hair, “bottom line, do I have a choice?” 

“You do,” he says, arms crossed, “but so do I,” fuck, you grit your teeth. 

You emerge from the office, Sukuna waiting right outside, leaning against the wall right beside the doors,  “you fucking make this difficult—“ 

“And you’ll do what, brat?” his face twists with his frown, as he leans over, lumbering over you, “what do you think you could do to me?” And he’s clicking his tongue, the condescension rolling off of it, “director told us to play nice, so be nice,” his lips curl, “but I like you mean too,” 

He stalks off and you’re scrubbing a hand down your face. You were so fucking screwed. 

“You what?” Satoru’s mouth gaped at you, twisted in pure disgust, while Suguru only stared at you, as expressionless as Satoru was expressive, “and you agreed?” 

“She didn’t have a choice, Satoru—“ 

“That’s because the bastard didn’t give her a choice,” Satoru’s face twists again, this time in anger, brow furrowed, but lips in a sharp smile, “so why don’t we not give him a choice either?” Satoru is pulling his phone out. 

“What are you doing—don’t—“ 

“One call, and I’ll have this guy firing Sukuna—“ 

“And there goes any actors or directors who will want to work for me if these guys go off, and you know they will,” you shake your head, “I’ve run this — it’s either I do the movie or I don’t,” 

Suguru frowns, hands in his pockets, “What do you want to do?” 

Your face in your hands, “I don’t want to drop the movie because of this, I can’t—“ 

“Then you do it,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, and Suguru tilts his head at him, “and after you become the biggest star out there, I’ll take care of that director and Sukuna,” 

You and Suguru both snort, “Well that was verging on heartfelt,” Suguru shakes his head, “but he’s right, you can’t let two bullies kick you off your movie, you earned this role — and when you act circles around everyone else, you’ll have carried it too,” 

You wrap your arms around both of them, “How’d I get so lucky?” You murmur, and Satoru’s nose brushes against yours before meeting your lips, while Suguru kisses wet kisses against your neck, “encouragement and threats of violence,” and Satoru only grins, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” and Suguru rolls his eyes, before his arm slips around your waist. 

“And he really means anytime, last time you talked to Toji, he pouted for two hours,” Satoru glared at Suguru, while you laughed, pulling the snowy haired actor close. 

“It’s so cute when you’re jealous, Toru,” you kiss his chin, eyes sliding to Suguru, “but you’re terrifying,” 

“What are you talking about?” And Satoru chuckles, tilting his head. 

“You mentioned me during Toji? You nearly yanked our princess away from him,” and Suguru furrows his brow, lips a thin line, “maybe we should drop by during rehearsals,” 

You scoff, “Yeah that sounds like a terrible idea,” and Suguru’s arms are wrapping around you, “Sugu—“ 

“If we can’t spend as much time together, then we better make this time count, isn’t that right, Satoru?” 

“You’re right,” and Satoru’s hands slide under your baggy t-shirt, “better use all the time we have,” and as they lead you to the bedroom, your limbs entangled, you knew you weren’t sleeping that night. 

But you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d be sleeping with them at all for the next month. 

“You have to cut down the time you spend with anyone else — especially other men,” your agent told you, “that goes for Gojo and Geto too,” 

“Why is this role controlling everything in my real life too?” you mutter under your breath, “why does it matter we won’t get caught—“ 

“Like all the other times you didn’t get caught?” and your words leave you abandoned as no articulate response comes to mind, “it’s for a couple months. You can have them visit on set, you can still see them once a month, but not every day,” 

“But why—“ 

“Once a month reduces your chance of being seen with them exponentially over the next few months. Just deal with it. After this, you won’t have to put up with bullshit,” she hangs up, as you stare at your phone screen, squeezing it at the sight of Satoru and Suguru’s good luck texts — and why did it feel like you still always would have to keep putting up with bullshit? 

“Better not fucking cry. We have to pretend to fall in love in ten minutes — I would rather not be looking at something ugly this early,” Sukuna cuts into your thoughts, hands in his pockets, as he sips his coffee. 

Exhibit A. 

“We’re not shooting for an hour,” you were on set after getting ready, waiting for the weather to clear up for the shoot, and he gives a gruff chuckle

“Not that shoot.” 

“Looks like Sukuna not only has taken over Itadori’s body, but also the heart of one of Jujutsu Kaisen’s fan favorites,” you groan, earbud slipping out for a moment, just like your life was slipping, “the actress and co-star were spotted getting cozy off set before shooting had even begun for the day,” 

Oh what the fuck. 

You toss your phone away before falling back in bed, far too empty without Satoru and Suguru, only their pillows to keep you company as you twisted in the sheets. You had passed off your social media to your agent to handle — it was bad enough when you were caught in a love triangle with Satoru and Suguru, but now Sukuna? You can only imagine what people would say about you. 

And you didn’t need to see it to do that. 

But that wasn’t important. It was your day off, you turned over in bed, burying your face against your boyfriends pillows — nothing a nap couldn’t fix. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Or maybe not. You slide from the arms of sleep reluctantly, already missing the warmth of the covers as the cold air hits your skin. You’re rubbing your eyes as you check who it is before opening it. 

“Satoru? What are you—“ and his arms are around you in a moment, your breath catching, “Toru—“ 

“You see what they’re saying online?” His gaze is stoic, lips a thin line. 

“We can’t—“ and he’s shutting the door before locking it, before he’s had you pressed against the wood, the grain dragging against your skin. 

“They said you two make the perfect couple,” he cups your chin, his breath warming your lips, “even more than me or Suguru—“ his hand slides against the swell of your hip, “a walk, a coffee? Was that all?” 

Your brow knits together “Of course, you know I would never—“ and his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your neck, “Toru—“ you bite your bottom lip. 

“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I know,” he says softly, “but I have to make sure he knows that,” his teeth grazes over your soft skin, “knows that you’re mine,” and his teeth digs into your soft flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, pain melting into pleasure, as your head lolls back against the door. 

“Toru, no I have rehearsals in a week,” you whine, but that just makes him soothe the blooming love bite with his tongue, “Toru—“ 

“Do you really want me to stop now, sweetheart?” he’s pulling your mouth open with his thumb, “your face says you don’t,” and his large palm slides down your body and into your shorts, the wet squelch and the brush of his fingers through the drenched fabric, “and your pretty cunt seems to agree,” 

“Toru,” you’re biting your lip, “fuck, you’re impossible,” and his mouth travels lower, as his other hand slides up under your shirt, squeezing your chest. 

“You’re the one who slept without anything under your clothes,” he murmurs in your ear, lips sliding against your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there, “you’re so wet already, hear that? Did you touch yourself thinking of us? Want us to fuck you that bad after a week?” his lips ghost over your jaw. 

“Fuck, you talk so much,” you’re pouting, thighs pressing together, but he’s pushing them apart, “why are you teasing me so much?” 

And he pauses, ocean blues stormy instead of the tranquil skies you’re used to, “Sukuna touched you. He got to hold you,” he’s pouting now, “that privilege is for us, and he got to so easily,” 

“I didn’t want him to,” and he’s nuzzling your neck. 

“Let me erase his touch,” and he’s lifting you with the practiced ease he always had. 

“Where’s Suguru—“ and you yelp as he playfully tosses you on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, a grin as he watches you bounce. 

“He’ll be here later,” and he’s kissing up your body, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts to pull them down, half lidded eyes with deep lust finding yours, “for now, you’re all mine.” 

“I-I can’t,” you’re whimpering, your hands clutching at Satoru’s back, fingernails digging crescents into his perfect skin, only hoping he doesn’t have a shirtless shoot tomorrow, but you barely can register that with three of his fingers in your pussy, “Toru,” 

How many times had you orgasmed? Six or seven at least — it was nearly second nature at this point. Satoru knew what spots to touch, where to press, how to move to have you writhing underneath him in a moment. He’s knuckle deep, spreading your walls as his thumb toys with your clit, drawing another moan from your lips. Your release soaked his fingers and sheets underneath, his fingers surely wrinkled from their time spent inside your walls. 

And by his smirk against the swell of your breast, he knew it. 

“Yes you can baby, I know you have one more f’me,” and you’re already so close, but you have been — it’s been a repeated coil winding and snapping over and over, and you’re nearly to tears, back arching as he plunges his fingers somehow deeper, “know this pretty pussy too well, look at the way you’re sucking me in,” your insides flutter around his digits again, the tips dragging against your walls, “practically begging me to fuck you more, sweetheart,” 

“I’ll say,” and your eyes barely can flit up to meet Suguru’s wry smile, corners of his lips curled, “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Satoru — started without me,” and he’s tugging his shirt over his head, “but at least you’ve gotten her ready for me,” 

“Sugu—“ and Satoru adds a fourth finger, stuffed full with him, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“Don’t want you to say Suguru’s name when I’m the one pleasuring you,” Sstoru clicks his tongue, “wanna hear you moan my name, sweetheart, when I make you cum,” 

“You’ll have plenty of chances to moan my name,” you make a whining noise in the back of your throat, pleasure felt as if it had burned out your nerves, but it still was able to overload them, the throbbing in your cunt a telltale sign, “you g’nna cum, pretty? Use your words for me?” 

“G’nna cum—ngh, Toru,” you feel that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, your walls wring his fingers as you cum, hard, your head thrown back against the pillow. And the squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. 

“Fuck, she’s so pretty everytime she falls apart for us,” Suguru groans, as Satoru leans over to kiss you, “so good for us, Princess,” you only moan in reply, lost in the pleasure that still floods your body, as Satoru pulls his fingers from you. 

And your eyes catch a glimpse of Satoru licking his fingers clean, one by one, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” 

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru is pulling Satoru away, settling between your thighs, “you both made such a mess,” and you gasp, as his lithe fingers brush against your still too sensitive folds, spreading them only for your juices to slip out, “I’m always stuck cleaning up, but in this case,” he drags the flat of his tongue up your needy cunt, a moan falling from your lips, as your fingers fisted in his black locks, “I don’t mind at all.” 

But that night wasn’t the end of it — no, not by far. 

It wasn’t enough for them to ravish you, now they have to show up on set — their schedules lining up just perfect to see your rehearsals (though you think their schedules had some help from using the words “contagious” and “sickly”). However the only thing they were seemingly sick with was jealousy — especially so as you sat with Sukuna, going over lines for the next scene. 

You rubbed at your neck, feeling lucky that the marks they left had faded, but they still had begged you to show up to the shoot. 

“We won’t make you uncomfortable,” Satoru pouted, nuzzling your side, as you snort. 

“Just like you said you wouldn’t leave hickies on me?” You scoff, and suguru buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses along the marks Satoru left. 

“She has a point,” Suguru murmurs, but Satoru only pouts, “but I would like to be on set so that freak doesn’t try anything,” and you run your fingers through Satoru’s snowy locks, while leaning into Suguru’s touch, “he has a reputation of making moves on all his co-stars,” 

“So? It’s not like I’ll let him,” and Satoru’s gotten you pinned to the bed, your hands trying to break free but you can’t. 

“It’s not a matter of letting him, it’s matter of him trying to do something you don’t want,” and your brows knit together, as Satoru presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“There’ll be other people—“ 

“Other people who may very well look the other way, for someone like Ryomen Sukuna,” Suguru sighs, words almost whispered against your ear,  “you know that’s how this business can be,” and it was — it could be. The Jujutsu Kaisen set was a rare exception, but this movie — the director’s words still ringing in your ears — it was different. 

“Let us just make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll go.” 

And that’s how you ended up with their states boring into the back of your head. 

“You bringing a pair of guard dogs with you everywhere now?” Sukuna spares a glance at your boyfriends, who were relegated to stand near your trailer — Satoru stood, arms crossed over his white t-shirt, a black jacket thrown over it, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration, as if his crossed arms were the only things holding him back from throttling Sukuna. While Suguru leaned against your trailer, scrolling on his phone in his dark navy button up, stealing glances at the two of you, his eyes narrowed and lips a thin line, “don’t know if they are ready to rip you apart or me,” 

You bite your tongue, wanting to say they had already ripped you apart last night, but you only shook your head, “They insisted on coming today, I don’t know why,” 

He grunts in reply, “It’s bad timing on your end, brat,” and your eyes snap to his, and he tilts his head, leaning against his hand, “you didn’t hear? The director wants us to film our big kiss at the end of the movie,”

Your blood runs cold, “Since when?” 

“Since you were late to our morning meeting, assuredly because of those two,” he jerks his head in the direction of Satoru and Suguru, before giving them both a wide grin, “they don’t know do they?” Your silence is all the answer Sukuna needs to give a rare laugh, “oh this will be entertaining, brat, and I thought acting with you would be boring.” 

Oh, you’re fucking screwed. 

“Cut!” The director called for the billionth time, and you were about ready to wring his neck, and you were not the only one — if looks could kill, Satoru and Suguru would have had the director skewered a million times over by now. Unfortunately for them, looks did not kill, “we need more passion,” 

And you’re biting back a groan, as Sukuna smirks, leaning over to whisper, “don’t look so disappointed, I see the two idiots haven’t taught you to kiss,” 

“More like the partner I have doesn’t make kissing him appealing,” you bite back, running a hand through your hair as you spoke to the intimacy coordinator again, but your eyes keep sliding over to Satoru and Suguru, “fuck,” how were you supposed to do this with them staring you down? 

“Let’s try it again,” you both get in place for the shot, the clap of the clapperboard, as Sukuna’s fingers brushed against your cheek again. You stepped into the role, letting yourself be consumed with the passion of your character, channeling what you felt for your own loves. 

And finally your lips met his — you felt nothing, only the pressure of lips meeting one another, but you tried to show emotion, fingers clutching at his shirt in desperation, the small gasps and sighs parting your lips between kisses, and the way your hand then slid up to rest at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you, more than anything,” you murmur against his lips, nose brushing against his, “more than anyone. You can’t go. Not without me,” 

“What choice do I have?” Sukuna mutters back, his arm coiling around your waist, “it’s too dangerous for you to come along,” 

“Who said you get to make my decisions for me?” your lips curl, “and who says I can’t buy my own ticket to come with you?” And he’s shaking his head, “listen,” your fingers cup his cheek, “don’t think, just let it happen,” and you’re leaning even closer, breath warming his lips, his breath hitching. 

“Cut!” And you’re trying to pull away, but Sukuna holds you there, leaning forward, making you flinch, only to whisper in your ear. 

“Sorry, just wanted to give them more of a show,” and he lets go, lips curled in a wide grin, “looks like we have a break now, so have fun, but not too much,” he laughs, as the director beckons him over. 

You glance at Satoru and Suguru — oh fuck. 

“Sugu—uumph—“ Suguru barely let you get a step inside the trailer before he pinned you to the metal door, his hands dragged over your sides.

“Hold still, Princess, I have to overwrite every place he touched you,” his fingers trace over your cheeks, lips grazing your jaw, his thumb dragged over your lips, before catching on your tongue, “did you brush your tongue against his — run it over the seam of his lips before slipping it inside? Flick it over like you do? Did you enjoy kissing him, sweetheart?”

“Of course I didn’t—“ and Satoru’s taking the opportunity to kiss you, teeth dragging over your bottom lip. 

“Course she didn’t, but I’m sure he did,” Satoru’s fingers traced over your jaw, “enjoyed our sweets’ even sweeter lips, didn’t he?” And Satoru kisses down your jaw, while Suguru is sinking down to his knees, large palms sliding up and hiking up your dress, “should leave some marks to remind him who you belong to,” his teeth dig into the soft of your flesh. 

“Toru! No, I still have to finish the shoot — the makeup artists—“ you whine, but god, it feels so good, as his tongue flicks against his teeth marks, “fuck,” 

“Be careful, someone will hear you, Princess,” Suguru murmurs, soft kisses to your inner thighs, “hear how good you’ll feel,” his teeth sink into your thigh, nipping and sucking, “and how good we’re both making you feel,” 

“Sugu, ah, I—fuck,” and Satoru is eagerly swallowing your moans with his lips, taking the chance to slip his tongue in, while Suguru noses at the soft of your thigh. 

“She’s already dripping, how are you so pretty here, Princess?” And he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, not that you could with Satoru’s tongue down your throat, as his lips press a kiss to your messy folds, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “tastes even better,” he moans, sound reverberating against your sensitive cunt. 

“Oh that won’t do at all, we’ve barely started,” Satoru tsks all the while tugging your sleeves down to reveal your bare chest underneath the dress barely on your body at this point, crumpled fabric pushed up and down into the middle by them, “no bra, Princess? For us or for the camera?” 

“For you,” you manage between moans, Suguru’s tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit, “always for you—“ the word trails off into a moan, as Suguru meanly sucks on the sensitive nub, “ngh, fuck—“ your knees are buckling, quaking as if your bones were made of rubber, a gasp pulled from your lips, when Satoru’s lips press a teasing kiss to your already erect nipple, while he toys with the other between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling. And he switches, welcoming the other with a graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue. 

The sounds of the lewd squelch of Suguru’s mouth against your dripping cunt filled your ears, volts from his touch reaching every inch of you, “so wet f’me, pretty, you like thinking someone could hear us fucking you?” Suguru mutters, his lips pulling away for a moment, as his long fingers spread your folds for him — every inch of you exposed, “fuck, you’ve dripped all over the floor of the trailer, Princess,” 

“All that just from Suguru’s mouth?” Satoru smirks, dragging a finger down your puffy lips, while his other hand gropes at your breast, “imagine how sopping you’ll be when we fuck you,” 

And you’re whining, as Suguru teases your entrance with a finger, “You fuckers—“ you yelp as Suguru picks you up with ease and tosses you into the nearby bed — a request you had made so you could nap between scenes or during times you weren’t needed on set — not that you had gotten to use it, until now. 

Satoru’s pulling the dress up and over your head, tossing the garment away, both of their gazes dragging over your exposed skin. Satoru flips you onto your stomach, and you hear the creak of the bed behind you and you know Suguru repositioned himself between your thighs. 

“On your knees, pretty,” Suguru’s hands are lifting your legs, his fingers already teasing your sopping hole again, and he’s bracing an arm around your thighs, “such a good girl,” and his fingertips breach you only to pull away, even as your walls try to beckon him inside. 

“Fuck,” you’re groaning, needy cunt begging for release, you needed it, needed it so bad. 

“Such a filthy mouth,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he undoes the buckle of his belt, tugging his boxers and pants down to free his weeping erection. And god, his cock is so pretty — long and pink, with beads of pearly precum dripping from the slit, lovely veins running up and down his length, “how ‘bout I put it to use sweetheart?” 

And the tip brushes against your face, smearing against your lips, before you part your lips and let his dick slap against your tongue, before letting it part your pretty lips. The tip of your tongue traces his slit, tasting his pre, as you sucked and licked along his length, until his sweet grunts slipped from his lips. And fuck, you know he would feel so good inside you, long cock reaching the places he always did and that you never could. 

But it was hard for you to stay focused when Suguru bas two thick fingers buried in your right cunt, dragging against your walls, moaning around Satoru’s length. And it feels almost too good, as if you’d melt between them, burning from their touches. And you’d still always ask for more. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your locks, as he moans, “Fuck, s’good for me, baby,” his hips buck against your mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,” 

And Suguru pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, his face still sticky with your cum, as you whine at the absence, “she’s not either, but I think she needs something more,” and you feel his cockhead drag against your folds, and you’re whining, “not gonna put it inside baby, too much of a mess, and can’t do too much, can we?” And you feel his lips curl in a smirk, “after all, your boyfriend out there might mind,” he’s pressing your thighs together, beginning to rock forward, sending you deeper onto Satoru’s cock, making him hiss. 

“Fuck, take it, sweetheart,” his fingers tilting your head up slightly to find your eyes glazed over in pleasure, puffy lips with saliva and precum dripping from the corners, and it only makes him want to fuck your throat, “gonna go back on set like this? All messy from your ‘side pieces?’” 

“Fuck, she twitched hard when you said that,” Suguru is fucking between your thighs, his hard cock rubbing against your dripping slit again and again, delicious friction sending you closer and closer, “fuck, g’nna cum for me sweet girl?” 

And you’re moaning around Satoru, and his tip brushes against your throat with one particularly hard thrust from Suguru, and that’s it. 

Satoru’s moaning your name, unable to hold back, as he cums in your mouth, his hot load pouring down your throat, dick twitching as it continues to spurt as he rocks his hips into you. Suguru pinches and rubs your clit hard, rocking his leaking cock into you, and you cum, walls fluttering around nothing, as you soak him in your release. 

The moans of their names on your lips send Suguru tumbling over too, as he pulls back and pumps, before cumming all over your back with his thick seed. 

You’re pulling yourself off Satoru, with a wet pop, cum and spit trickling down your lips, as your tongue flicks out to clean it off. And Satoru groans, as he lays down and settles beside you, “don’t make me fuck you right here,” 

And Suguru helps you turn on your side, legs still shaking from your orgasm, as he slips up behind you, his softening cock pressed against you, pressing sweet kisses to your sweat soaked skin. 

“Think anyone heard us?” you mumble, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, and their chuckles rumble against you, making you shiver. 

Suguru answers, “No, if someone did, they would have come—“ 

There’s a harsh knock on the door, followed by the call of your name, “The director’s calling you to set,” it was your agent’s voice, “so I suggest all three of you clean up and come out.” 

Well, fuck. 

“How has shooting the film been so far?” 

“It’s been wonderful. It’s so different from filming a television series, and I’ve loved learning the nuances of film and how it’s made,” you say, sitting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair behind Sukuna, who managed to look interestedly disinterested. 

“Speaking of which, you two have worked together before, right?” 

“We have,” Sukuna replies before you have a chance to answer, “the two of us haven’t had many scenes together before, so being able to finally act together is…fate,” 

You force yourself to give a wry smile, “I forget he’s such a romantic, when he isn’t too busy calling me a brat,” the words slip out and you’re instantly regretting your words — fuck, fuck, fuck. You really just said Ryomen Sukuna called you brat — in an interview that will air on TV but also live on the internet. 

“A brat huh?” The interviewer chuckled awkwardly, “is she a bit of a diva on set?” 

“Oh and off,” Sukuna’s grin grows all the more wide, leaning against his hand and stealing a glance at you, “but I know how to tame her,” and you self consciously tug at your high neck sweater, the bites Satoru and Suguru well concealed — and you’d never have him pass it off as his own. 

Oh, you would kill him. If not for the fact that you had dug your own grave, and he only did you the favor of pushing you in and burying you. No the only funeral was your own. 

“How bad?” You ask your agent on the way home, earbuds in your ear as you sit in the back of the car, partition up as the driver makes their way to your home. 

“How bad? You mean how great! We’re getting so much traffic on that interview. People keep talking about you and Sukuna. You’re trending again,” and that was the last thing you wanted to hear and the first thing she wanted to tell you. 

Why the fuck did you want to be an actor again? 

“What are they saying about me?” 

“There’s some negative stuff about both of you, but that’s expected — mostly people surprisingly, uh, like you better with Sukuna than Gojo or Geto—“ 

“What? Why?” God, fuck the public’s want for an older man. 

“I don’t know. You guys have this chemistry in interviews. The way you guys banter it feels so personal and electric I guess?” Her voice almost makes it sounds like she agreed.

“Are you saying that or the fans?” The only thing electric about your conversation with Sukuna was the feeling of rage running through your veins faster than a million volts. 

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s mostly fangirls of Gojo and Geto who are relieved they aren’t taken,” she adds, your silence seemingly scaring her, “you should look on the bright side, people are really excited for the movie, and after what happened in your trailer…the director’s happy too,” you see a text from Satoru and Suguru. 

The Boys 💕🤍🖤

Bangs Baby: when are you coming home? 

Six Eyed Dork: we’re already making dinner. 

And you scrub a hand down your face, never having such irritation over the prospect of dinner, “Tell that to my makeup artist,” because you know you’ll be littered with marks by the end of this. 

“We’re adding a sex scene,” and you nearly spit out your drink that morning, sitting at the round table with the director, several staff members, and an extremely unfazed Sukuna. 

“What?” you say, trying hold your tongue, that was only writhing under your hold to say something much, much worse, “that’s not anywhere in the script or the source material,” 

“It was my suggestion,” Sukuna lifts his hand casually, before pressing his hand to his chin, painted black nails gleaming in the dim light of the early morning, “the characters felt lacking,” 

Then play your role better. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead you ask, “how so?” 

And Sukuna glances at the director, who clears his throat, eyes shifting from him to you, “We thought it would be better to build more intimacy between the characters. Add a certain level of—“ 

“Raunchiness?” you scoff. 

“Tasteful raunchiness,” Sukuna corrects, doing nothing to suppress his smirk, “if you don’t want to, I’m sure we can make due with the stunt double—“ 

Fucker. He could have his pick of any movie — he was a pillar of the industry, but you had to be stuck with him. And stuck with the director following his every, irritating whim. 

You grit your teeth, “when are we shooting it?” And Sukuna grins wider, leaning back in his chair. 

“About that—“ 

“You’re going where?” You resisted the urge to rub at your temples, as you pack your things, Satoru’s pout filling the majority of the screen. 

“You heard me. We’re filming in Canada,” with a flight that left the next day, you barely had time to pack, much less talk. Fuck, you don’t have a thing for the cold, but you were told that coats and thermals would be provided — or at least they better be, “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks,” you say, wondering if the sounds of you packing would be enough to drown out or enough sweaters would somehow soften the blow. 

“Weeks?” Suguru repeats, taking the phone from Satoru, “sweetheart, you had said filming would be over soon enough — you said a month of filming in Japan—,” and you sigh, it seems like you had been doing a lot of that lately. 

The throbbing in your head only got worse — the long shoots and lack of sleep weighing on your body like iron weights around your neck, “I know, love, but the director wanted to add more scenes,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “there’s one more thing,” and Satoru is pushing into view of the camera as well, a click of Suguru’s as he shoots a glare at him, “the director decided to add…an intimate scene to the film,” 

Silence, but Suguru speaks first, “And that wasn’t in the script before?” And you shake your head. 

Satoru gives a bitter laugh, “Such bullshit. They planned it and got you to invest yourself in the movie—“ he cuts himself off, “sweetheart, I want to have a word with the director,”

“No, Toru, it won’t help,” you run your fingers through your hair, trying to keep your tone level, “it just won’t. It will just make me look like I have to rely on my boyfriends for protection,” 

“It still isn’t right, what they are doing to you is exploitative,” Suguru cuts in, “adding a sex scene last minute after you already spent weeks filming—“ 

“You don’t think I know that?” you say quietly, “what am I supposed to do? Quit? Let you guys run to the director to protect me? Great, either way, my career would be over,” the words slip out far more cutting than you want, but this has been a knife you’ve honed against stones thrown at you, and you were tired of being the one to take the blows. 

Satoru furrows his brow, “What are we supposed to do? Watch you get taken advantage of?”

“No, but don’t talk down to me like I don’t understand what’s happening,” you snap, “these weeks I’ve had to deal with fucking Sukuna and these shoots, while balancing your feelings too and I’m tired of it. I’m just done,” you shake your head, willing your voice not to break, “I’ll text you both when I board and land, ok?”

“Sweetheart—“ 

“Baby—“ 

“Bye,” and you hang up, eyes burning not just from your lack of sleep but now everything else too. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t see them. You couldn’t quit the movie. You couldn’t fix this. You couldn’t do anything — you glanced at your suitcase — except keep going. 

“You look like hell,” you don’t bother looking at Sukuna when he speaks, and out of all the seats, how did you end up next to him? Either you had the absolute worst luck in the world — or bad luck had a little help from your agents and the director. 

“You look like you’d know—been to your kingdom lately?” you’re placing your suitcase away when a flight attendant rushes over to do it for you, and you thank them, before rifling through your bag for your headphones. Noise canceling headphones that were going to be your best friend as long as you were stuck with him. 

“Why visit a kingdom when my queen is here?” Your eye twitches, and you only wish that planes worked the same as ships when it came to jurisdiction. And if so, you would have tossed him into the high seas without a second though. You could start over — no extradition on Satoru’s island. 

You glanced at your phone — no reply to your text about getting on the second flight. And they had both barely responded to your other texts about boarding and landing. Maybe it was your fault. You had blown up at them, and ignored all their calls and texts all day, until they finally stopped (even Satoru had given up sending you selfies of him crying). You switched it into airplane mode and locked it, tucking it away into your bag, before taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt. 

“Trouble in paradise?” And you scowl, pulling out your headphones, “c’mon you can tell me about your other boyfriends — I know I’m your favorite,” 

“Do you ever shut up?” You put your headphones on, your eyes growing heavy as the plane begins to prepare for take off. You choose a playlist, and start to fall asleep. The only good thing about this flight was you could finally get some sleep. 

And maybe your life wouldn’t be hell when you woke up. 

“I already got us a private jet,” Satoru walks into Suguru’s place, suitcase in hand, as he tugs his mask off, “we can be in Canada by tomorrow—we just need to pack—“ 

“What are you talking about?” Suguru looks up from his phone, “have you even thought this through, dumbass? She barely wants us coming over because of paparazzi, you think if someone sees us in Canada with her that they will write it off as a coincidence?” 

“If we’re careful, it won’t come to that,” he sets down his things, “you heard her, Suguru, she said she’s done,” 

“She’s just tired and frustrated,” Suguru sighs, tossing his phone aside, “we haven’t exactly made this any easier on her either,” 

“I know, which is why we should go make it up to her,” Satoru sighed, “I can tell by her texts that she’s upset — it’s all periods and short one word responses. Y’know that’s bad,” he’s pulling out his phone to show Suguru your texts — and Suguru ignored the several sad selfies Satoru had sent, before handing it back. 

“And we should make her more upset by doing the one thing she told us not to do?” Suguru shakes his head, “we’re better off waiting for her to calm down and come to us—“ and Satoru stares at his phone, “what is it? Did she text?” 

“No, worse,” he shows Suguru a news article — ARE THINGS HEATING UP ON AND OFF SET? SUKUNA SPOTTED WITH HIS COSTAR GETTING COZY ON PLANES AND IN THE AIRPORT.  

And below were images of you and him asleep, fingers interlaced on the plane, and a picture of him with his arm around your waist walking through the airport. 

Suguru’s eyes narrow, “Do you want risk losing her, Suguru?” And he knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it may only make things worse, but — he looks at the pictures of you and Sukuna again — losing you would be far worse. 

“When’s the flight?” 

CLICK! 

You stir at the sound, as you hear it again and again, shifting in your sleep. Fuck, what was that noise? Everything’s heavy, thoughts swimming through thick syrup as it tries to break to the surface and into consciousness. Another click makes you grasp at your headphones with one hand, the other caught on something, but you feel nothing but your neck and shirt. And finally, your eyes fly open just to find a camera lens in front of your face, and something holding your hand. 

Or rather someone. 

“What the—“ 

“Finally woke up? How was your coma?” and the photographers are shooed away, as you pull your fingers free only for him to drop your hand, wiping your hand on the seat, “I didn’t do anything but hold it,” he shrugs, “probably—“ 

You scowl, “my headphones?” He holds them up, and you gape at him, “they fell off. You’re quite the restless sleeper,” and you snatch them back. 

“They fell off or you took them off for that photo op,” you snap, glancing at him, “since when did I give my permission to be photographed while sleeping?” 

“When you decided to go into this business,” he replies drily, dry as his skin was from holding his hand, “are you that naive? Can anyone keep anything from anyone without paying them off one way or another? I’m pretty sure that’s how your little throuple does it,” 

And you couldn’t deny it — the paparazzi more than ever was a toll or a tool — a toll to pay when you wanted word to stay quiet, and a tool when you wanted things to blow up. And Satoru had been paying them off since the three of you had started this — insisting that his connection gave him discounts, but it was more likely to blow his father’s money. 

“So what was that photo op about?” The plane is slowly descending now, your ears popping, as you spare a glance outside, and he only scoffs, as if to ask if you were that stupid? 

“To announce our arrival.” 

“Why are there so many security guards and people?” you mutter, tugging at your mask, as you hurry through the airport with what felt like a military and police escort of men around you. 

“To create a scene, generate interest,” Sukuna seemed uninterested as he strolled along the airport, raising an eyebrow, “not used to this? The adoring fans,” and you spare a glance at the crowds, taking pictures more than even looking at your actual faces. 

“This is adoring?” and then the security guards begin to stumble as the crowd grows a rowdy, as people push through to get through their gates, others try to duck between the security guards to get closer. A security guard knocks against you, nearly sending you tumbling,  “what—“ 

And a wrist grabs you and pulls you hard, as the security guard tumbles to the ground, another arm around your waist. He steadies you, as you sigh, glancing to find Sukuna. 

“Be careful,” you blink — wow was he actually a nice— and then he nearly shoved you away, “don’t need you getting injured and messing up my movie,” he strides off, and you watch dumbstruck, as you watch his back recede until bodyguards check on you and urge you along. 

You can’t believe you thought even for a second that Ryomen Sukuna was nice. 

And now you had to spend the entirety of tomorrow kissing up to him — literally. 

Fucking ass. 

“You can’t seduce me into letting you go,” Sukuna smiled, one hand on your hip and the other resting against the wall, pinning you against the headboard of the bed, “just because I let you win tonight—“ 

“Then I’ve won the battle,” you reply, fingers toying with a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger, before dragging a finger down his cheek, “it’s only a matter of time until I win the war,” 

He chuckles, hand cupping your chin, “such a brat, how did I ever fall for you?” And you only lean close, brushing your lips against his chin, delighting in the way his body shivered, “fuck—“ 

“You love it,” and he’s gotten you pinned to the bed in a moment with one hand, the other large palm sliding up your body, dragging your shirt along with it— 

“CUT!” 

You both sigh, glancing at the director as you both untangle yourselves — how many times did that make? Twelve? Fourteen? 

“I think we’ll be dead before he gets it right,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, as a P.A. brings him a towel to dab at his skin. 

“We’re calling it for the day,” the director announced, hair askew from the number of times he had pulled at it, “we’ll resume tomorrow, first thing,” there was almost an audible groan from the crew as everyone packed up for the day. 

After all that, you’re making your way to your hotel room when someone stops you, you’re trying to brush past them absentmindedly, but his voice stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Can’t run from us that easy, sweetheart,” and your head snaps up, finding Satoru in front of you, and you’re speechless, no words finding their way to your lips, before the hotel room next to yours opens up. 

“Princess, in here, before anyone sees,” and Satoru’s hand tries to find yours, but you ignore it, walking into the room, not speaking until the door clicks behind Satoru. 

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” and you waver when you see Satoru’s sad gaze and Suguru’s tight frown, and you sigh, evening out your tone, “sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped — what are you guys doing here? I told you it’s risky—“ 

“We didn’t want to leave things the way they were, I couldn’t. Not like that,” Satoru shakes his head, “we needed to see you, baby, I couldn’t—“ he breaks off. 

Suguru speaks in his stead, “We couldn’t fathom that was the last time we spoke,” 

Your brows knit together, “Why would you think—“ and you’re sighing, scrubbing a hand down your face as your words ring in your own ears, and you know where their minds had went — fuck, “I would never ever break up with you two,” you’re stepping forward, “you’re idiots, but you’re mine,” and their arms are slipping around you in an instant, “I just got frustrated with everything, it wasn’t just you guys — the movie, Sukuna, long shoots, lack of sleep, and not seeing you two—“ 

“We should be the ones who’re sorry,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “we made it all about us and didn’t see that you needed us,” 

“We’re never going to make that mistake again, Princess,” Suguru presses a soft kiss to your neck, and you sigh, stress melting under touch with the ease of a lit candle wick melts wax, “we’re sorry for being so selfish,” 

“Yeah, Suguru’s sorry—“ and that earns Satoru a sharp elbow from said actor, “and I’m sorry too. We didn’t mean to add more stress. You’re already dealing with so much. We should have been there for you, sweetheart,” he finds your lips in a sweet kiss that has you sighing, “we trust you — it’s just—“

“Him, I know, but I hate him,” you say, and Suguru chuckles, fingers turning your head towards him, pressing his forehead agaisnt yours, “seriously, everything we’ve done is just for the movie or for publicity,” Suguru kisses you, teeth teasingly running along his bottom lip. 

“You seemed pretty cozy with him in those pictures,” Satoru presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, and you blink. 

“What pictures?” and then it occurs to you, “on the plane? They framed those—“ and Satoru’s cutting you off with another kiss, “Toru—“ and Suguru nuzzles the nape of your neck, “Sugu—“ 

“Just let us take care of you tonight,” Suguru murmurs, lazy fingers drawing circles on your hips, “been too long since we’ve seen you, Princess,” 

In a moment they have you on your back on the bed, Satoru’s eyes gleaming with need, their hands slipping up your body, “I’m yours,” you murmur, “both of yours.” 

And that’s all they needed to hear. 

“Toru, I’m trying to make us breakfast,” you chuckle, half laughing, half exasperated, as he nearly engulfs you in a hug from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

“So? I’m not in the way,” Satoru mumbles, sighing as he kisses the skin behind your ear, “right, Suguru?” 

“You’re hindering the process, Toru,” you’re trying to flip pancakes for said boyfriend as he traces constellations of kisses against your shoulder and neck, “right Sugu?” 

“Now, now, play nice you two,” Suguru replies drily, glancing at the two of you from the couch, “can’t blame us for missing you, sweetheart,” 

“Y’know how many months I had to go without being able to cuddle you,” Satoru’s pouting against your skin now, “I have to make up for all that lost time,” 

Shooting had finally ended three months ago — after a month and half spent in Canada, you flew back to Japan. Satoru and Suguru had taken up residence in a hotel room next door (under fake names of course) for about a week before flying back because of work. Satoru had tried to convince you to let him fly back and forth, but for the sake of the environment (and your sanity), you sent them both home. 

And still, they both were acting as if you had been away for several years, not months. 

“Does it have to be now?” And Satoru nods, grinning, and you relent, “well, this is much better than having dinner with Sukuna,” 

“There’s a name we haven’t heard in a while,” Suguru raises an eyebrow, as he strolls into the kitchen, hands in his pockets. 

“Thankfully,” Satoru adds, brow wrinkled, “what does he want?” 

“Just a dinner to celebrate the end of production,” you sigh, as you step past Satoru to grab a plate for the pancakes, “the movie is going to have its premiere in a few months, so it’s also to plan ahead for that,” 

“Did they announce a date yet?” Suguru asks, leaning against the counter on the other side of you, beginning to prepare coffee. 

“Not yet, but it should be sometime this coming summer,” and you’re flipping pancake after pancake for the three of you, a stack forming, until you’re finally done. You catch the two of them shsring a look, until Satoru asks: 

“Can you get us tickets to the premiere?” 

“Of course I’m inviting the entire JJK cast,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek, “why would you two be any different?”

“And what about us two?” Satoru hums, as he shuts off the stove for you, daring less than an inch away from your lips, “Do we get the VIP treatment?”

“Uh-huh,” you bite back a laugh. 

“Does the VIP package include you?” Suguru murmurs, a smirk against your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth, 

“Of course,” you murmur, as Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, lips brushing against your pulse, “once we’re away from cameras and phones and press,” 

“All access?” Suguru murmurs, large palms slipping under your shirt, making you shiver from their cool touch, and you roll your eyes, as Satoru presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“All access.” 

“I don’t understand why we had to get ready together,” you grumble, assistants gather around you, one adjusting your gown, another fixing your makeup, and a third trying to tame your hair, “we could have just been picked up and taken to the venue together,” 

The two of you had been ushered into these adjoining hotel rooms bright and early — much too early for you to even be awake, much less have to deal with Sukuna. The only consolation was while you were getting your makeup and clothes on, you didn’t have to see him. 

“Someone might have seen us,” Sukuna replies, letting the assistant put his watch on, “or your throuple would undoubtedly get in the way,” you shoot a glare at him. 

“Can you not call us that? They have names,” and Sukuna scoffs, fingers running over his charcoal suit coat to ensure there wasn’t even a single crease, the cut of his lapels sharp as knives. 

“Like I care to remember them, brat,” and you raise an eyebrow. 

“Do you even know my name?” he bears no reaction, but the corner of his lips twitch, “you don’t even fuc—“ 

“Are we all ready?” Your agent enters the hotel room with the director, “we should start heading to the venue,” and Sukuna brushed past you, and out the door, his entourage following behind him. 

And you sighed, you were surely ready — ready to put this movie and Sukuna far behind you. 

But of course he wasn’t behind you, so much so that he was beside you. Plastered to your side for the press to eat up, his arm slithered around your waist, as you both made your way down the carpeted premiere. 

You had been to a premiere for both seasons of Jujutsu Kaisen — but never like this. The camera flashes were blinding, the sounds of the crowd deafening, and the walk down the carpet amongst all these others was disorienting. You were almost grateful for Sukuna’s gruff and short temper, he kept most interviews on the carpet from dragging too long, 

You finally make your way inside and Sukuna parts from your side a moment without a word, beckoned off by someone or another. And it feels like too much. The day, the long hours, the carpet — all of it bears down on you at once, and you feel as if someone sucked the air from your lungs, using it to fill this hall with the smallest remnants of oxygen. 

Fuck, you grasped tightly to your clutch, you were going to pass out if you didn’t go somewhere, somewhere else with less goddamn people, but where? 

And you only take a stumbling step forward, before an arm is around your waist again, and a different voice murmurs in the opposite side, “Lost without us, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice steadies you, keeps you from slipping deeper away from them, while Satoru’s touch grounds you. 

“Let’s get her somewhere private, hm? Does that sound okay, Princess?” And you’re nodding; as the two of them discreetly usher you away, you barely can keep your eyes open, still feeling your breath lodged in your throat, choking on the very thing that was supposed to keep you alive. It doesn’t feel okay until you’re sitting on a bed, holding your head. 

You feel the bed divut in as they both sit on either side of you, and their bodies brush against yours as if to ask for permission; and you’re leaning against their touch, until they engulf you in it. 

And this was what you needed. 

You don’t think about premieres, ruining your makeup, tripping, cameras, or anything else — just both of them and you. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Suguru murmurs softly, and you’re nodding, “did you get overwhelmed?” And you nod again, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I really wish you could have come with us,” 

“I told ya we should have just taken her with us anyway,” you know Satoru’s face is scrunched up in worry, “the movie’s out anyway,” 

“Not like I didn’t agree — I just told you she would never agree,” Suguru muttered, most assuredly rolling his eyes, “plus, we said we wouldn’t do that to her again,” 

“Can you guys not talk like I’m not here?” and they instantly refocus on you, as you bury your head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, while Satoru does the same to you, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin, as Suguru carefully carded through your locks. And you just sat like that for a while, until you grew calmer by the second and finally lift your head, “sorry,”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Satoru furrowed his brow, “you didn’t drool all over Suguru’s suit did you?” and you elbow him lightly in the ribs. 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t mind anyway, I’m used to you drooling on me one way or another,” and now you glare at Suguru, “you’re the one apologizing for no real reason,” 

“There is a reason,” you sigh, shaking your head, “we should be out there enjoying the party, but instead, we’re—” 

“All alone, with the two most important people to us?” Satoru tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “if anything, this was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for, just us alone, in a room together?” Satoru’s tilting your head if only to press kisses up the side of your neck, nosing your pulse. 

“He’s right, princess, we only came here for you — no one else, we’re so proud of you,” Suguru murmurs, his hand finding its way onto your thigh, “and all we want is to see you happy,” 

Happy? When had been the last time you had been happy in the last few months? It had been far too long since it had been consistent — but the two people that ran consistently through every up, far too little downs? Satoru and Suguru. It had been so hard — and now it was almost over. Only a few more interviews and public appearances, and you would be done with Sukuna.

But you didn’t want to think about Sukuna now — you wanted them. More than ever. 

Your lips find Suguru’s first, lips sliding against his — a hesitation for a millisecond, before he’s melting into it, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before you’re pulling away, soft pants filling the silence, until a warm hand is turning your head, and Satoru kisses you next, needy and persistent, as he always was, his fingers threaded in your hair, grazing against the nape of your neck. But Suguru doesn’t waste time, a hand sneaking up the silt of your dress, dragging against your pantyhose, snapping the skintight, translucent fabric against your skin. 

You part from Satoru for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his, and you see the lipstick smeared on both their lips — you can only imagine what little you have left is painting more than just your lips at this point. 

“If we don’t stop right now, don’t know if I can, baby,” Satoru murmurs, guiding your palm to his already hard erection, “it’s risky,” 

“It is, someone could catch us,” Suguru is still drawing tempting circles on your upper thigh, his nose brushes against yours as he presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want to do?” 

And you knew the right thing to do would be to fix your faces and return to the party, act as if this hadn’t happened, as the three of you suffer through an evening without each other — until you get home far too late and far too tired to fall asleep beside them. That was the right thing, the sensible thing. 

But your need for them both was hardly sensible. It wasn’t sensible when the three of you had gotten drunk multiple nights after shooting together — Satoru only drinking a shot each time at your and Suguru’s insistence to get far too plastered too quickly. It wasn’t sensible when the two asked you who the better kisser was — your character the envy of every fangirl as you got to kiss the two “strongest” sorcerers — and then when you cheekily replied you weren’t sure, they didn’t hesitate to kiss you then and there, one after another — and you realized you never wanted to stop (and the three you never did that night). It wasn’t sensible to hook up again a few nights later, heading back to Satoru’s place to hang out, only for the three of you end up in bed together yet again — a habit formed, but that you couldn’t quit. And it surely wasn’t sensible when the three of you had started to date — it was far from it, in a business like this. But you did it anyway — because it was them. 

It was always them. 

You rise to your feet, facing them a moment, before turning your back to them, looking over your shoulder at them, “Well? You’re going to have to help me get out of this dress because I’m not letting you two ruin it.” 

And they share a look, before their lips curl into grins, as they reply. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Of course, baby.” 

“Suguru no—“ and he snaps the fabric of your pantyhose against you making you whimper, “I told you not—“ 

“To ruin your dress, you said nothing about your pantyhose,” his nails digging crescents into your lovely thighs, “and you should worry more about Satoru,” 

Satoru’s lips were nearly glued to your neck, tongue dragging up the side, until he pulled away to scowl at Suguru, “Eh? Why me?”

Suguru shrugs, “who left all those marks all over her neck last time?” 

“You left marks over her thighs,”

“Jealous?” 

“No, but I think you are that everyone saw mine, but no one saw yours,” and Suguru scoffs, 

“My marks aren’t for anyone else but me,” and his fingers tear at the fabric of your pantyhose, as you whine, lips curling as your skin is freed, “and if anyone else was seeing them, well,” his thumb drags across the swell of your far too wet cunt, drawing a pretty gasp from your lips, “I’d have to punish her wouldn’t I?” He kisses the skin exposed between the patchwork tears, making you whimper, “make her cum over and over, until she begs me to stop, show everyone how I fuck her well,” 

“Not as well as I do,” Satoru replies, “isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“I’m not answering that,” you scoff — you knew nothing good came from getting between their fights, except maybe getting between their bodies. 

“Then maybe we’ll have to remind you,” Suguru’s hands drag over your legs again, tugging off the shreds of your pantyhose off, “give you our dicks over and over until you tell us which one’s better,” 

“Sounds good to me, yeah?” Satoru leans down to kiss the valley of your breasts, before his fingers follow, finding the front latch with a grin, “planned for this sweetheart? And I thought I was the one who wanted this the most,” and he undoes the clasp with practiced ease, your chest exposed to his touch, nipples pebbling under the cool air. 

“You still are,” Suguru replies, as he nips at your thigh, eyes flicking down to Satoru’s obvious erection straining against the fabric of his slacks, “ready to burst just from looking at her chest, bet you wouldn’t last a minute getting her off,” 

“Oh yeah? Then let’s see who lasts longer,” Satoru undoes and tosses his shirt with ease, his deep blue suit coat long discarded, before he pulls you up into a sitting position while he lies back, and then lifts you with ease onto the middle of his bare chest, “you in her mouth or me eating her out,” 

“Toru—“ you squealed, as you squirmed, your already embarrassingly wet panties clinging to your dripping cunt, slick against his skin, but he holds your hips steady with large hands, “I can’t — I’ll crush you—“ 

“Ride my face, baby,” Satoru smiles up at you, that same smile you could never say no to — the one that made your stomach tie itself in knots, “wanna watch you cum all over my face, wanna walk around covered with your slick m—“ 

“Fuck—“ you cover your face, cheeks burning, “stop,” 

“Already embarrassed? That’s not good, Princess,” Suguru clicks his tongue, as gentle but teasing fingers pry your hands off your face, “can’t have that, we barely started,” 

“Please, baby?” Satoru pouts, and you can’t resist — a small nod, and his thousand watt smile almost makes it worth it, “take your seat on your throne, Princess,” you snort, almost. 

You gingerly shift yourself over him, still hovering as you hesitate. You whimper as he inhaled, a shudder leaving his body, “how is it possible for you smell so fucking good?” And you hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and the zipper of his pants, and you knew he was already palming at his length. 

Yet still, insecurity creeps up your body from his gaze, as he gazes up at your messy folds “Are you sure I won’t suffocate—” and he leans up to drag his tongue up your clothed cunt, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “ngh, Toru,” his name comes out far too needy for your taste, knees already beginning to buckle, quivering when he tugs at your drenched panties to snap them against your glistening folds, “fuck—” and he’s pulling the thin fabric aside, his warm breath sending ribbons of heat up your body, nearly shuddering from anticipation alone, and it’s nothing compared to when he pulls you down to seat you fully on his face. 

“Fuck,” your body folds forward, and you barely catch yourself, as Satoru’s needy tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, “Toru, oh my god —- fuck,”

You barely register the creak of the bed, and the rustle of clothes or the click of the belt, “That’s the idea after all, princess,” Suguru knelt before you, his pretty cock aching for you and an inch in front of you — he was thicker than Satoru, lovely veins that you wanted nothing more than to trace, and pretty beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit, “are you going to be a good girl and—” he hisses when your lips part to suckle at his tip,tongue flicking over his slit, before you let his cock part your lips again. 

But Satoru wasn’t one to be ignored — his tongue circling your clit faster, as his hands rest on your ass, squeezing, before slapping his hand down against the sensitive flesh, sending you forward onto Suguru’s cock. 

Suguru grunts, fingers threading into your strands, nails digging into your scalp, “s’fucking good for me, princess. Such a good cockeater,” his fingers cup your chin, forcing your gaze higher, eyes blown out in pleasure, boobs bouncing with the way you rocked against Satoru’s face and Suguru’s shallow thrusts, the heavy weight of his dick on your tongue. 

And Suguru can’t resist — palming at your breasts because you’re so pretty when you whine, as he pinches your erect nipples before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. You moan around Suguru’s length, your hands grasping at his hips, sloppily sucking him off, as Satoru grinds his face against your cunt. 

The wet squelch of your pussy rings in your ears, greedily lapping at your juices like a man wanting to drown, diving deeper and deeper to depths unknown. And when his thumbs reach up to part your hole further apart, you’re nearly choking on Suguru’s dick, as Satoru’s tongue slips into your entrance. 

You whine when he teasingly pulls away, pressing sweet kisses to your clit, “Gonna fuck you right, sweetheart — make sure you can’t remember anything tonight except the feel of my tongue inside you, that is, until I fuck you open,” and he’s burying you back, moaning at the feeling of your juices slipping off the side of his face, “gotta open wide for you baby — gotta swallow this whole cunt, yeah?” 

And you would have moaned if you hadn’t had your mouth full of Suguru’s dick, nearly beginning to choke on it when he began to lazily thrust into your mouth, a shiver down his spine as he looks at you drooling around his length, sloppily tracing his veins, a graze of his teeth against the sensitive skin, and a hiss parts his lips, “careful there,” and he gives a particularly hard thrust, “don’t want me to fuck this throat do you?” and your moan makes a mean smirk curl his lips, “or maybe you do,” 

Fuck, you were getting close — and so was Suguru by the way his hips began to buck into your mouth, and Satoru for that matter — the wet sounds of his fisting his cock along with the messy moans against your cunt sending more pleasure up and down your spine. And fuck, his bucking against his hand was making the bed shake — and god, you’d reach behind you and jack him off if you weren’t holding onto Suguru for dear life. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, swallow my cock, fuck, g’nna cum soon,” Suguru’s balls slap against your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, “Toru looks he’s about ready to burst too, gonna clean up our cocks before we fuck you, pretty?” 

“Fuck, she nearly clamped down on my mouth from that,” Satoru says, thoroughly muffled from your heat pressed tight to his mouth, his tongue then returning to fuck you, as you ride his face to find your release, unable to think about anything else but cumming, “cum on my face, baby,” and when Satoru sucks around your clit, a sharp palm bearing down on your ass again, you’re cumming, grinding and riding out your high on his face, as he welcomes your release with an open mouth. The wet sounds of his slurping and sucking, as your juices roll off both sides of his face and stain the mattress underneath him.

And then you’re eagerly sucking at Suguru’s cock, swallowing around him as he fucks your face, “g’nna cum, are you gonna let me cum alone — are you going to help Satoru cum too?” and he’s helping you reach back, leaning back with you so his cock never parts your pretty lips, and right as your fingers brush against Satoru’s cock, squeezing around the base, you hollow out your cheeks, letting Suguru’s tip brush your throat. 

They both groan your name as they cum, thick spurts of Suguru’s release down your throat, while Satoru cums all over his stomach and your hand. They slowly still their movements, Suguru slowly pulling his cock from your mouth, strings like a spiderweb of cum and your spit connecting your lips to his dick, and Satoru helps you off his face, eyes shut as your legs are still shaking from the way he ate you out still, as they lay you down on the bed. 

Your eyes flutter open to find Satoru licking his face clean, still glossy with your release and his spit, “Fuck, sweetheart, how do you taste so good?” he murmurs almost reverently, a grin on his lips, “I’ll have to sit on my face more often,” and you’re rolling your eyes. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be sitting on my throne very often, you weirdo,” you chuckle softly, far too breathlessly, and you turn to Suguru to find him leaning on his elbow, gaze still dark. 

“Well, you do have two thrones after all,” Suguru leans down to find your lips in a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, a soft moan pulled from your lips, “you’ll have to use the other at one point or another,” 

“Jealous?” you echo Satoru, and Suguru has you pulled into his lap in a moment, your back pressed flush to his chest, his cock already far too hard, far too quickly, and your head falls back as he drags the tip over your still sensitive folds, “a-ah, Sugu, I—” 

“The only thing I’m jealous about is that the only thing that’s been in this pretty pussy tonight has been Satoru’s tongue,” and he’s tilting your head down, to watch your cunt rub against his length, a whine leaving your throat that you barely recognize as your own, “think we should fix that, shouldn’t we?” 

“Room for another over there?” Satoru adds, drawing closer, his length in hand, as he lazily pumps it to full mast, and you whimper at the sight of him, “our princess is so needy, she needs two of us to fill her, yeah?” 

And Suguru takes the opportunity to spread your folds with his hand, and sink his length into you, your head falling back into his shoulder, as a pornographic moans parts your lips, and Suguru is shushing you all the same, as he works himself into you inch by inch, “Don’t want anything to think we’re filming a different kind of movie in here, hm?” 

“Imagine the headlines then,” Satoru hums, as he teases your clit with his cock, “movie star found cheating on her co star — one dick just wasn’t enough — she needs two,” 

“Can they blame her?” Suguru’s finally inside you fully, his stretch far too delicious, shorting out your nerves with the pleasure — and you swear your cunt was making a mold of his cock, complete with every lovely vein, pretty curve, and each inch, “this pussy deserves the best after all,” 

“S’full,” you’re a mess, walls already fluttering around Suguru, practically begging him to begin moving, while welcoming Satoru in with folds that only craved his cock, “so big,” you whine. 

“Mmhmm, I know, baby,” Satoru’s tilting up your chin, lips curled in a grin, “Suguru’s almost too much for me — how are you going to fit me too?” and you whimper, shaking your head, “you still want me?” and you nod far too eagerly, and he chuckles, “well, you heard our princess, Suguru, mind giving me a hand?” 

And you furrow your brow, unsure, until you feel Suguru’s hands reach around to your front and spreads your pussy lips wider for Satoru, making your cunt clamp down on him, “fuck, she just got tighter,” but Satoru takes it in stride, gathering some of your juices on his fingers to further lube himself up. 

“No matter how much we fuck her like this, she’s always so tight for us,” Satoru’s pressing his tip to your spread entrance, and you whimper, “maybe tonight,” his fingers tilt your chin upwards, “we’ll finally fuck her to remember our shapes,” 

And he guides his cock into you, and Suguru braces your body against his as your back arches, as both of their lengths stretch you open — like they said, no matter how many times they did this, you never quite got used to it. 

But this pleasure? You were far too used to — they had ruined you for anyone else, because no matter what, no man could please you like either of them, much less both of them. 

“S’full, fuck, I-I can’t—” your walls are squeezing them hard, dicks rubbing together, drawing deep groans from both of them. 

“Don’t have to break our dicks off to get us to fuck you all the time, baby,” Satoru mutters, panting, as he lifts your leg, hooking one around his hip, “already gonna fuck you stupid anytime you want,” 

“Shit, I’m not gonna last that long, Satoru,” Suguru says through gritted teeth, pressing heated kisses to your neck, “gonna start moving, sweetheart,” and you’re nodding, as they both begin to fuck you in tandem. Suguru thrusted upwards steadily, forcing you to ride him, allowing his dick to sink into sweeter depths, pleasure ripping up your spine, while Satoru fucked into you at a rough pace, hands gripping your thighs as he did. Both of their movements drove the other deeper into you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible. 

“F-fuck, Sugu, Toru,” you’re babbling, lost in the thick haze of pleasure, dripping over your skin like hot molasses, slow but burning all the same, as your walls fluttered around both of them, “s’good, I can’t—” tears burning at your eyes, as your hands brace themselves on Satoru’s shoulders. 

“That’s it, such a good girl, been thinking about you spread out on me like this since the moment I saw you,” Suguru grunts, rutting into you faster, “couldn’t wait to rip off this dress to fuck you right — didn’t think you’d let us so soon,” and you swear their cocks were kissing your cervix at this point, and surely you’d look down and see a bulge in your stomach from how deep they were. 

“Pretty girl takes us so well, no one compares to you, sweetheart,” Satoru sighs, watching the way his cock sunk into you again and again, “you’re ours, just ours,” 

“I’m close, s’close, g’nna—” pleasure built like a coil in your stomach, ready to snap, and they were only more than happy to pull you apart, as long as they were the only one to put you back together. 

And Satoru rubs at your clit, a moan on his lips, “Cum for us princess,” and you do, toes curling as you cum hard with their names on your lips, clamping down around both of their cocks. Low moans of your name leave their lips as they fuck you through your orgasm, hips stuttering when they slowed, “g’nna cum,” 

“Where—” Suguru chokes out, and you’re leaning into Suguru, while your arms wrap around Satoru’s neck, pulling him close. 

“Inside, please, give me your cum,” And they both moan, slowing until they notch themselves deep as they both cum, thick releases painting your walls, continuing to fuck their cum deeper inside, “ngh, fuck,” And Suguru finds your lips in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as Satoru digs his teeth into your neck, no protest coming to your mind, only just a want for more, more, more. 

And they slow, creak of the mattress and the pants stilling into silence, as you lean back against Suguru, Satoru’s face buried in the crook of your shoulder as the three of you bask in the afterglow. 

And finally, Satoru slowly pulls himself from you, groaning as he watches the evidence of the double creampie they gave you drips from inside you, “Fuck, sweetheart, we filled you up,” 

“A shame to waste it,” Suguru murmurs, as he pulls his softening erection from inside you, “should we plug her up, make her keep our cum inside her for the rest of the night?” and you’re biting back a moan, but Satoru doesn’t miss the way your lower lips twitch. 

“Oh, she likes that,” Satoru grins, cupping your face to find your lips in a languid kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue that teases teasingly over the seam of your lips,  “or maybe we should fuck her again and give her more until it drips down her thighs all night, hm?” 

And the moment is fraught with tension, as the two of them lean in again to kiss you, before the door bursts open, making all three of you freeze. 

Fuck (and not in the good way). 

“Oi, what the fuck,” the three of you glance over, as Satoru and Suguru hurriedly covered you up with Suguru’s nearby discarded jacket, “you fucking idiots—” 

“Look who’s talking,” Satoru scoffs, “fuck off,” 

“I would say the same to you, but you already did,” Sukuna shakes his head, “all night you’ve been gone, and you can’t be bothered to keep track of the time?” and your brow knits together, “it’s nearly time for the fucking—”

“Question and answer, with the press,” the warmth of their embraces erased in a moment by the news, a bucket of ice water spilled over your head, “fuck,” you’re trying to scramble to get up, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t out there like this—” 

“No fuck you can’t,” Sukuna scoffs, and Suguru glares at him, as he helps you into your dress, while Satoru stands with his jacket as a partition.

“Stop talking if you’re not going to help,” and you’re lucky the dress doesn’t require six people to get into, and you had chosen something relatively simple, with a fucking string corset you were beginning to regret as Suguru tried to retie it as best he could, “fuck, why was this dress so easy to take off?” But he finally gets it, as you open the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. 

“My makeup, my hair — I can fix it, but not the way it was before,” you’re covering your face, how was your career over before you barely started? “Fuck, what do I do—” 

“It’s simple,” Satoru sighs, “as much as I hate to suggest this, and I probably will go gouge my eyes out—” 

You sigh, “Toru—” 

“I have an idea,” Satoru’s eyes slide to Sukuna, disgust evident in his face, until he glances back at you, “but we’ll need his help,” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either,” Satoru’s head snaps back to Sukuna. 

“You don’t know—” 

Sukuna smirks, “What’s the plan?” 

Satoru’s expression sours, as he scratches the back of his head, “Well…” 

“You surprised me, brat,” Sukuna says, as he holds your arm, as the two of you make your way back into the ballroom, and you’re adjusting your dress, still far too self conscious — as if everyone could see what you did — even though that was the plan. 

“That I agreed to this?” you murmur. 

“No, that you bit me that hard,” he rubbed the mark you left on his neck, as your cheeks burn, “didn’t expect a tiny thing like you to be able to bite that well,” 

“Well, I had to make it look real,” you look away, but look back when you’re about to reach the doors of the ballroom, “fuck, everyone is going to look at us, aren’t they?” 

“Let them enjoy the show,” an arm slides around your waist, “you know they will.” 

~~~

It’s only been a few weeks since the film premiered, and it’s already far surpassed some of the top grossing films this year. A lot of the buzz generated from the film has been around rumors surrounding the relationship between the two lead co-stars—their tumultuous relationship seems to have come to an end—

And you tune out the video for a moment, scrolling into the comments to see what people are saying: 

sukunasthirdleg69: damn can i get on him next? 👅 

gegesnumber1hater: wonder if she got back with gojo or geto again? 🤭 I’d like to see that groupchat pop off. 

gogecutestprincess replied to gegesnumber1hater: no way she lost her chance with gojo and geto 😤 they deserve better…like each other

You chuckled, at least the news of you and Sukuna had spread as planned. You had enough of the coverage of the premiere with the zoomed in images of your clothes and the marks on both of your bodies. But finally it was done — but how long would it be until you slipped up with Satoru or Suguru and the rumors would begin again? 

“What are you thinking about so much? Aside from me,” Satoru collapses on the couch beside you, hair still damp from the shower, arm slipping around your waist, as he leans over your shoulder, “what are they saying now?” 

“Just more rumors — some are wondering if we got back together,” 

“How could they ever think we let you go?” Suguru presses a kiss to the top of your head, before sitting beside you. 

“I still hate that they think the marks I left are from Sukuna,” Satoru mumbles, as you flip through the comments, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, “how could they not realize it was my hard work that put those marks there?” 

“Because it’s so distinct,” you snort, and he’s pouting as you press a kiss to his cheek, “not everyone has your sharp eyes, Toru,” 

“And yet you saved every picture they got of her,” Suguru smirks, and Satoru glares at him, “but I did too,” 

“What are we going to do when they start talking about us again?” Satoru tilts his head at your question. 

“Let them,” Satoru leans back on the couch, fingers toying with a strand of your hair, “and if you really don’t like it, we can pay them off,” 

“And if I don’t want to pay them off?” Both of them furrow their brows, “what if I want them to know?” You add, chewing on your lip, “about us?” 

“You want to?” Suguru’s gaze softens, “but more than us, it could impact your career,” 

“It already had,” you scoff, when had it not recently? If it was going to be like this, you would at least like to be in control of the narrative, “everyone is always talking about us, well,” your lips curl into a grin, why don’t we give them something to talk about?” 

“And what would that be?” Satoru hums. 

You lock your phone screen, “When does shooting and press start for season three of jjk?” 

~~~~

A few months later….

“A successful film, several offers to be in other blockbusters, and now you’re back shooting season three of Jujutsu Kaisen,” the interviewer leans back, shaking her head, as she fans herself with her interview cards, “I think we were lucky to get an interview with you now! Although it isn’t in person this time,” 

“Well, you can’t forget your roots,” and you couldn’t — this was the first show that had requested you for an interview all those years ago when season one of Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, even if you had relegate them to a video interview, “it feels like this year has been that in many ways,” 

“Oh? How is that?” and your lips curl. 

“Last year with my first feature film and everything else, it felt like starting over — starting from scratch with something so new that I barely recognized myself at some point,” your hands clasped in your lap, “this year, after the film gained so much traction, and going back to film the show that made my career, it just feels like coming home — especially to the cast,” 

“Speaking of the cast, are you going to see more behind the scenes with Gojo and Geto?” she grins, “so many of your videos with those two went viral — are we going to see more of the three of you messing around?” 

And you can’t help the smile on your lips, “Oh definitely you will be seeing more of that,” you’re tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the lights glint off a set of two rings on your finger, diamonds glinting as if begging for notice, and you hear a small gasp. 

“Is that—” and you freeze a moment, before your smile grows wider, and the interviewer squeals, “Are you married?” 

“Guilty,” 

The interviewer grins harder than you are — and you’re not quite sure if she’s more thrilled at the news or of getting this exclusive, “Who’s the lucky man?” 

And you open your mouth, when the camera goes out of focus for a moment, only for it to come back into focus with Satoru and Suguru leaning into the frame of the camera, their arms around your sides. And Satoru lowers his sunglasses with a smirk. 

“Who said it’s just one?” 

✧ a/n: ahh this was super fun to write just because of how much crack it was hahah, i hope you guys enjoyed <3

✧ taglist: @forest-hashira , @supilyu , @yamaguccitadashi, @kentocalls, @magicalgirlb, @ssetsuka , @isabeauwolf , @lemonintrovert01 , @astraecea-silversin , @cerene-dipity , @whorefornoodles , @hobimysolecito , @risuola , @ja-zz , @spider-fan72 , @jayathelostdragon , @therealestpussyeater , @too-much-snow , @umarureid , @rosso-seta , @maddie-jayne , @at-the-chateau , @cherrypieyourface, @sleepysaurusworld , @lucilferz , @spltbtch , @bobfloydluvsblackwomen , @johannakhalafalla , @augustwinesworld , @catsgomurp , @psychxbby, @hellkaiserinphoenix , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @cstandsforchaos , @sunamatic , @lycoris-01 , @mua-for-now , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @voids-universe , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @gorouenjoyer

[fozmeadows]

The Parable of the Wolf

On a fine spring day, an errant young Wolf wandered away from his pack and, in a sunny forest glade, encountered a Hunter.

"Please don't kill me!" said the Wolf, as the Hunter raised his gun. "I'm not here to hurt you!"

"I don't believe you," replied the Hunter. "Everyone knows that wolves are vile, dangerous creatures. You have claws that rip and tear - how can I possibly trust you?"

"If I pull out my claws," said the Wolf, "will you let me go?"

"Of course," said the Hunter. "Why would I lie to you?"

One by one, the Wolf pulled out his claws. The Hunter watched with a lazy smirk, and when the Wolf was done, he lowered his gun.

"I believe you now," said the Hunter. "You're free to go."

"Thank you!" said the Wolf, who tottered home on bloody paws and told his pack of the Hunter's benevolence. "It's only clawed wolves that the hunters don't like," he said. "So long as we remove them, we'll never be shot." And though some wolves disagreed with this, the most fearful of them listened, and soon a third of the pack was clawless.

A month went by, and in due course, the young Wolf found himself once more alone in the forest. A twig cracked behind him, and when he turned, there was the Hunter, his shiny gun at the ready.

"Wait!" said the Wolf. "I've got no claws, remember? I'm not dangerous!."

"I'd like to believe you," the Hunter said, "but last week, I heard that a little girl was mauled by something with big, sharp teeth, and your teeth look pretty sharp to me."

"If I pull out my teeth," said the Wolf, "will you let me go?"

"Of course," said the Hunter. "Why would I lie to you?"

One by one, the Wolf pulled out his teeth. The Hunter watched with silent intent, and when the Wolf was finished, he let his gun droop low.

"I can see you're a well-behaved pup," said the Hunter. "Go, be on your way."

"Thank you!" said the Wolf, and lolloped home, his jaws dripping blood, to tell the pack of the Hunter's caution. "Something with fangs has committed a terrible crime," he said. "So long as we don't look like them, we'll never be mistaken for monsters." And though the eldest wolves exchanged worried looks, the younger ones listened, and soon a third of the pack was toothless, too.

Another month went by, until one day, drinking at his favourite part of the river, the Wolf realised he wasn't alone, and raised his head to see the Hunter walking towards him, his gun once more at the ready.

"This stream is in my territory," the Wolf said, panicked and puzzled. "What are you doing here? I have neither claws nor teeth, and pose no possible threat to you."

"You don't, it's true," said the Hunter, "but many among your pack have both teeth and claws. How am I to trust your good intentions when you associate with such creatures?"

"If I chased away the toothed and clawed members of my pack," said the Wolf, "will you no longer be afraid of me?"

"Of course," said the Hunter. "Why would I lie to you?"

"I'll do it, then," said the Wolf, and when the Hunter gave the nod, he hurried back to his pack, assembled all the obedient wolves, and told them what had to be done. Though some were troubled by the Hunter's presence in their territory, they all agreed it made no sense to have sacrificed their claws and teeth while still associating with those who hadn't - after all, their stance was a principled one, and what good was principle if it wasn't firmly applied? With that, they banded together to chase the other wolves away, and when they were finished, more than a third of the pack was gone.

His task achieved, the Wolf returned to the river, where the Hunter was patiently waiting, and told him the good news.

"It's done!" he said. "The only wolves left are those without claws, or those without teeth, or those without both, like me."

"I'm glad to hear it," said the Hunter. "I hope the others didn't give you too much trouble?"

"Some of them snapped at us, it's true," said the Wolf, "and others swiped at us with their claws. It was frightening; I understand now why you were afraid."

"That's good," said the Hunter, and tipped his hat as he strolled back the way he'd come.

That night, as the remaining wolves lay sleeping, the Hunter and his fellows snuck up on the den and started shooting. The Wolf awoke in terror and confusion to the sound of gunshots and the howls of his dying friends. Desperately, he tried to fight back, but his toothless jaws found no grip on the limbs of the hunters, and his clawless paws left not a dent in their sturdy coats. All too soon, he was knocked to the ground, and as he lay there, panting in fear, the Hunter came and stood over him.

"Why are you doing this?" cried the Wolf. "I did everything you asked!"

The Hunter shrugged. "At the end of the day, a wolf's a wolf. We never could've trusted you."

Horrified, the Wolf asked, "Then why did you have us pull out our claws and remove our teeth and chase away our friends?"

"Because you were strong together," came the reply. "Like this, you're weak."

"But you said you weren't afraid of us!" begged the Wolf.

The Hunter smiled, and sighed, and raised his gun. "Oh, little pup," he said, "this was never about fear. Why would I lie to you?" And before the Wolf could answer, he pulled the trigger.

[nezuscribe]

times are tough, college is expensive enough as it is, so you bite the bullet and decide to open up your already cramped apartment up for a roommate.

the whole process of interviewing people and finding something weird about them almost makes you give up, that is, until you meet gojo satoru.

he’s very energetic, super sweet, and eager to help in any way possible. you eye the car he pulled up in with weariness, wondering why somebody who could afford a porsche needed a roommate. but he said his parents were cutting him off (somewhat) and this was a way he could stretch his wings and fly.

so, with some thought, you agree, letting the strange but attractive man move in the next week

you quickly learn you’ve agreed to live with a man-child.

in terms of cleanliness and taking care of bills he’s fine, better than fine actually, but he whines a lot when you’re out of ice cream, dragging you to the nearest convenience store even if you tell him you have an exam to study for.

gojo always watches his shows on full volume, but at least he’s sweet enough to scooch over on his bed and offer you a place to watch with him.

his diet consists of baked goods and energy drinks and yet maintains the physique of a roman gladiator, meaning that he constantly walks around the house sweaty, shirtless, and often with your last muffin.

but the worst part about your roommate gojo?

the girls.

in all fairness he brings them over on weekends, so late in the evening that he’s sure you’re asleep. but you’re not. and you can hear them. well.

at first you thought there’s no possible way he’s that good. their screams of pleasure and animated moans surely had to be a hoax to fuel his ego. but over time you realized no, no, gojo satoru is a freak and you’re his poor roommate.

they’re gone by the mornings, the only remnants of them being the stains of their lipstick on his neck and his tousled white hair.

you can’t look him in the eyes without your cheeks heating up, scurrying past him as you make your way to your room. you don’t say anything about it, far too embarrassed to even bring his sexcapades up.

so you only assume that he’d be fine, completely normal about a date you set up in your kitchen, having the guy over for some food and a movie. he’s nothing weird, somebody you met in one of your classes. he’s a little awkward, a little sweaty, but there’s no issue in that, right?

wrong.

because when gojo comes home, unannounced, he sees the two of you sitting a little too close on the couch, the same couch he pulls you in when you watch movies with him, he shuts the door a little too harsh.

and what’s even funnier is the guy leaves at a normal time, doesn’t follow you back to your room the way his girls do.

but the next morning gojo is leaning against the kitchen counter with his coffee mug wrapped tightly around his hand, his fingers going white around the handle.

he observes your bashful attitude and downturned eyes, clearly reeling from the successful little date.

but when you look up to ask him if he wants some of your toast you expect him to be sharing your excitement. he should be happy for you, happy you finally did something instead of being holed up in your room. it’s not like he complains about it every other day.

but his blue eyes are a shade darker, his single tighter as he turns it down.

you raise a brow, tearing off a piece as you wave it around, thinking he’d take it from you like usual but he’s tense, his shoulders drawn square.

“you good?” you ask teasingly, squinting to get a read on him.

gojo swallows thickly, nodding once behind his mug.

“fine,” he answers back with a little bit of bite.

but gojo wasn’t fine. unless fine meant he wanted to rip this guys throat out and stomp on him until he turned to mulch.

gojo wasn’t fine. not fine at all.

[snoopyracing]

champagne coast — ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader word count: 19k warnings: cursing and alcohol use includes: friends to lovers, summer!lando, mutual pining, fluff, and a little angst summary: when lando and you spend summer break together you don't expect italy to hold such a special place in your heart.... or lando and you go on vacation and everyone thinks you're a couple. playlist for the fic: spotify | apple music

masterlist

─── ༺❀༻ ───

It was the Monday before the Belgium Grand Prix when Lando asked – what are you doing for summer break?

The sun had started to set over the coast, its golden reflection rippling across the water and onto the balcony of Lando’s Monaco apartment. The same balcony that the two of you currently resided on, choosing to share the wicker couch instead of one of you sitting in one of the empty chairs.

You were sat sideways on the couch with your legs crossed, your view consisting more of Lando than the picturesque sunset over the sea. A cheap bottle of pink moscato, which was your favorite, was sitting on the table where Lando had his feet propped up.

He’d always complain about how sweet it was, but then drink more of it than you. In all reality, he’d actually grown to love it because of you, but he’d never tell you that. He’d only been able to find it at one place in Monaco, so when he knew you were coming to visit he always made sure to have a couple bottles on hand and maybe a bottle for himself when he was missing you.

Your eyes met his as you processed his question. This right now was your summer vacation. He surely knew that, right? “Summer break? I don’t have a summer break like you do, Lando.” It was true, you had barely managed to get this week off from work to be able to go to Belgium, let alone have a month off. “I figured me being here for a couple days then going to Belgium would be my vacation.”

A disapproving sigh escapes past his lips as he speaks. “That is not a vacation.”

“Well it sure as hell beats being stuck at an office in London.”

He downed the remainder of the wine in his glass and fully turned his body towards you. His arm resting across the back of the couch, his fingers nearly touching you. “I think you should come with me on vacation.”

You stifle a groan by taking a drink of your wine. “Lando, you know I don’t do Ibiza. It's not my kind of place, especially this time of year.” It was a beautiful place no doubt, but the big party scene was not your favorite. And the couple times you had gone with Lando and your shared friend group it was so chaotic and you had a hangover that lasted for what seemed like a week. So no– Ibiza and you weren’t the best of friends.

“Who said anything about Ibiza?” He’s got a smirk toying at the corners of his lips, you can tell by the way his upper lip twitches slightly. Not that you stare at his lips that much to be able to notice that kind of thing.

“Lando Norris not going to Ibiza during his summer break? Should I alert the press? Did you hit your head? Are you running a fever?” You lean forward to check his temperature, but he playfully swatted away your hand with a giggle before you could get close enough. “Have you broken the news to Fewt-”

That smirk had fully developed across his face as he cut you off. “Who said anything about Max?”

Now you really thought that he’d bumped his head or was slightly tipsy already. You cocked an eyebrow at him in question. “Where are you going then? Especially without Max?”

Lando leaned back, the wicker creaking beneath him, but his eyes were still trained on you. Golden hour had made them even more blue, resembling the crystal blue water that was just a short walk away. “I’m going wherever you want to go.”

“Lando.”

“Y/N.” He’s the one to cock an eyebrow now.

“I can’t go with you.”

His smirk had turned into a pout and he knew how to work those big blue eyes, especially on you. “Why not? Wherever you want to go– we will go. Not many people get that opportunity Y/N.”

You go to take another drink and realize your glass is empty, but before you can reach for the bottle Lando’s already got it in his hands, reaching over slightly to pour you another glass. “Who all is going then if Max isn’t going?”

He sets the bottle back down on the table, hesitating for a moment before speaking. You two are close, probably the closest friend he has compared to Max, but he worries that you won’t be up for what he’s about to suggest. “It would just be me and you.”

You feel your cheeks get hot at his proposal, but you shake it off, blaming it on the wine.

As much as the idea of Lando and you going on a trip together sounds amazing, you just don’t think you can make it work. You live a normal life and being able to just go on lavish trips at the drop of a hat is not something you get to experience, no matter how much Lando wants you to or you would like to.

“I would love to Lan, but I don't think I could get the time off again.” Your finger nervously circles the rim of the wine glass as you contemplate even bringing your other reason up. Mainly because you know what his answer will be, but against your better judgment you take another swig of the wine as liquid courage before telling him the embarrassing truth. “I also just can’t afford it.”

And without skipping a beat he blurts out. “I’ll pay.” You’re immediately shaking your head no, but before you can verbally deny his offer he’s speaking again “Seriously Y/N. I will pay. It’s not a big deal.”

Except him paying your way for this trip is a big deal. Just how it’s a big deal everytime you come and visit him in Monaco and he insists that you don’t spend a dime while you’re here. It’s bad enough that you stay at his place, let alone have him pay for your dinner every night. Or how he is always offering to fly you out to races on your free weekends. Or insisting that the random gifts he gives you don’t cost that much, like you can’t read the designer labels on the boxes or labels.

It makes you feel bad that you can’t offer the same back to him. The constant worry that he might think you are using him for his money makes your stomach hurt because it’s the last thing you’d ever do. He’s one of the most giving and kindest people you know and to be able to call him your best friend is something you treasure. And you truly hope he knows how much you appreciate everything he does for you, but how could he not when you tell him every chance you get.

“Lando, really I cannot let you pay for me to go on vacation. It’s one thing to let me crash at your apartment and for you to get me passes to races, which I appreciate more than you will ever know. But I draw the line at a whole vacation. I don’t want to seem like a freeloader who is using you, that’s honestly the la-”

“Oh my god will you just let me spoil you!” Lando had enough of your endless rambling. Your need to always try and decline his gifts or offerings until he convinces you that you are worthy of them drives him crazy. To Lando there isn’t a person on Earth who deserves everything and more than you. And the fact that he can afford to give you anything you’d ever want tickles him pink. Hell if it was possible, he’d buy you the whole damn universe, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

“I hate that you think– that I would think you’re using me. Never in a million years would I think that. You mean a lot to me Y/N, truly. You’re one the most important people in my life and you deserve everything and more that I give you. If I thought you were using me, I would not be asking you to go on vacation with me, believe me. I love having you around and with us not seeing each other like we used to, I figured a trip with just the two of us would be nice.”

He pauses for a moment as he scoots a little closer to you on the couch, your legs touching as the glow from the sun envelopes around you two. “Now please don’t try and worm your way out of this trip. I’ve missed you so much and if you don’t end up going I think you’re just gonna have to move in with me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, but try not to let his heartfelt words get to your head. “How would I even get the time off work again? Tell them ‘Oh my famous F1 driver best friend wants to take me on a trip. Can I please have some more time off?’ I don’t think that would work.”

“Well I think it would work. Especially if you add in that I’m super hot.”

The giggles that come from you lets you know that you’ve drank your fair share of wine for the evening. “Oh I don’t think they would ever tell me no If I added that in.”

“If they do say no then just quit and I’ll get you a job somehow with McLaren or Quadrant or something. I just really want to go on this trip with you.”

You aren’t sure if it's the wine in your system or the fact that you want nothing more right now than to spend a week with Lando in some beautiful country, without a care in the world. But you ignore every responsible and logical part of you and tell him what he wants to hear.

“Alright. So where are we going then?”

His eyes light up and the smile that spreads across his face is comparable to that first win smile. “That’s all up to you baby.”

Both of your hearts skip a beat at the term of endearment that came from him. His because he can’t believe he let it slip and yours because you can’t believe he called you that so easily. But you both ignore it and you focus on the one place you’d had on your mind since he mentioned taking a trip.

“Italy?” You suggest with a hopeful smile on your face.

He fills up his glass with the last of the fruit juice like wine and holds it up towards you, your glasses clinking together in a toast. “Italy it is then.”

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Six days later an email notification pops up on your phone as you’re sitting in McLaren’s hospitality, talking with Lando’s Mom. You glance at who it’s from, not wanting to be rude and get on your phone mid conversation, but when you see your boss’s contact you can’t help but open it. “I’m sorry, it’s from work.” Cisca waved you off, the conversation had only consisted of why they couldn’t stock better snacks in hospitality, and she knew if work was emailing you on a Sunday it had to be important.

You had emailed them Monday night requesting the time off and when they hadn’t responded by Friday you figured they were denying it. Or firing you for requesting more time off while currently being on a vacation. So to be getting this email on a Sunday had you worried, but as your eyes scanned the email you couldn’t hold back the excitement. By some higher power unbestowed to you, they had granted you the time off.

“Never seen someone so excited over an email from work.” Cisca teased.

“Yeah. Honestly thought I was getting fired, but they approved my time off for the Italy trip Lando and I are taking.” You leaned back in the chair, relief finally washing over you.

“Just the two of you?” Cisca had her suspicions about her son’s feelings towards you and your feelings towards him. She’d secretly hoped the two of you would end up together the first time she met you years ago. She honestly thought you were his girlfriend that day and was surprised when he introduced you as his friend. Then she thought maybe he was hiding your relationship because she had never known her son to bring around a female friend like he had you.

You had attended family dinners, a couple holidays, races, and so many other things that just didn’t seem normal to bring a friend to. They had become so accustomed to you being around that when he finally said that he was bringing home his girlfriend for everyone to meet and you didn’t walk through the door— everyone was a little shell shocked. The relationship didn’t last long and she had her theories as to why. To Cisca there was just no way the two of you didn’t have feelings for eachother, she could see it plain as day, and it drove her crazy that the two of you didn’t see it.

“Yeah. At first I thought he was asking me to go to Ibiza again with everyone and you know me, it’s not my thing. But then he said we could go anywhere I wanted and that it was just me and him, so I chose Italy.” You gathered your things, eager to tell Lando the good news before race time. “You raised a good man, Cisca. I couldn’t ask for a better person in my life than him.”

There’s a smile on her face as she watches you talk about Lando, how your smile never falters and how that twinkle in your eye seems to get brighter the more you talk about him. “Thank you honey. You had better go tell him, hadn’t you?”

“I’ll be back!”

Thankfully Lando’s not that hard to find, he’s in the garage looking over some data on the monitors with Will when you spot him. You stand back out of the way, waiting until he’s done, but as soon as he turns to walk away you’re racing towards him. Your arms flinging around him from behind and you can feel him tense under you, but when he hears your laughter his muscles relax.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Lando asks as he turns around to face you, his hands lingering on your hips.

“Hmmm. It may have something to do with work approving my time off.”

That same smile from the other night finds its way onto his face and he’s pulling you into his arms, the two of you swaying back and forth as he nuzzles his head into your neck. “I knew they would approve it, it was meant to be.” His voice tickles your neck as he speaks causing a giggle to escape past your lips.

“Can’t believe we get to spend a week together in Italy.” You state as he releases you from his grip.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, still not sure that he wouldn’t rather be going to Ibiza with his friends.”You’re sure you’re not gonna miss Ibiza?”

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt as he speaks– his blue eyes boring into yours. “I’d miss you more if I went.” And there isn’t a single ounce of doubt in his words. If he ended up going to Ibiza without you, he’d be at a club wondering what you were doing. Eventually downing one too many shots to try and numb that annoying ache in his chest that forms when you aren’t around. The one that even with you around this week, he had felt occasionally at the idea of you not being able to go to Italy.

The idea of him spending his summer break back in England had crossed his mind a couple times, especially if that meant he got to spend time with you. Luckily though fate was on his side today and he wouldn’t have to deal with that ache for the foreseeable future.

You can feel the slight blush on your cheeks as you process what Lando had said to you and you pray he doesn’t notice it. Just him simply saying he’d miss you if he went to Ibiza should not have you blushing, but here recently it seemed like that was all he could do was make you blush.

A familiar Australian accent hits your ears and around the corner comes Oscar, his hand clamping down on Lando’s shoulder as he comes up behind him. “Y/N. Haven’t seen you in awhile.” His bunny teeth showing as he flashes you a smile.

Your mouth barely opens to speak before Lando’s speaking for you. “I know. She’s been too busy working back in London to come see her favorite person.”

“I’m really such a horrible friend. I’m so sorry Oscar, I really should make more time to see you. In fact, how’s Australia this time of year? I think I might come visit you.” The playful smirk on your face and Oscar’s laugh does nothing to tell Lando that you’re just joking and like a little kid he’s got his arms crossed across his chest with a slight pout on his face.

“Um. I think I’m your favorite person Y/N. Plus you can’t even go to Australia because we are going to Italy.”

Oscar and you can’t help but laugh at Lando’s dramatics, but Oscar wants to tease Lando even further. He knows how his older teammate feels about you, even if Lando won’t give the idea any time of day when Oscar brings it up. Lando had confided in Oscar about his idea to take you on a trip, but Oscar didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. “Italy? Who’s all going? Maybe Lily and I could tag along?”

Lando’s eyes widen at Oscar’s suggestion, mainly because he knows you’d jump at any opportunity to spend time with Lily and this trip was meant to be just for the two of you. “It’s just gonna be me and Y/N…” He trials off, trying to figure out how to nicely tell Oscar that he can’t come.

“There's a month between Singapore and Austin. We should all plan something for then.” You chime in. As much as you would love to spend time with Oscar and Lily, you really want to have this trip just be Lando and you.

Lando’s surprised at you turning down Oscar’s suggestion, but smiles and nods towards Oscar, agreeing with your idea. “Yeah that sounds like a good idea.” Oscar states, a small smirk on his face as he eyes the two of you, fully knowing that you’ll come back from Italy together. And if you don’t Oscar thinks he may have to knock some sense into his teammate.

The driver’s parade was set to start soon, so you tell Oscar you’ll see him around and give Lando a hug, knowing you won’t see him again until after the race. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Be safe and good luck.”

Lando’s grip on you lingers, not wanting to fully let you go just yet, but when they get the final warning that it’s time to go he reluctantly frees you. A small frown on his face as he heads towards the track and you go back to hospitality.

The two McLaren drivers stood side by side on the flatbed of the moving truck, smiles on their faces as they waved at the fans in the grandstands. “Never seen two friends like you and Y/N go on a trip together– alone.” Oscar’s voice is low, there’s an interview going on to his left, but he’s loud enough that Lando can hear him.

Lando keeps looking straight forward as he speaks. “Don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I think you fully know what I mean.”

Max, who was on the other side of Lando, had been eavesdropping the whole time, and couldn’t help but put his two cents in. “If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about. I just want to say, do us all a favor and finally tell her how you feel.”

Lando shook his head at the two drivers. You two were just very close best friends, there wasn’t anything he needed to admit to you. It was just a trip that two best friends were going on and there was nothing more to it– right?

─── ༺❀༻ ───

A week and a half later your plane touches down in Naples and even though the flight from London is only around three hours you want nothing more than to just get to the hotel and relax.

The Uber ride from the airport to the hotel thankfully doesn’t take long and you have no issue with sitting down in the lobby of the hotel with all the luggage while Lando checks you two in. You do notice that it’s taking quite a long time for Lando to check in and as you glance up from your phone towards the reception desk you see him talking with the worker and showing her something on his phone. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head he turns on his heel back towards you.

“Everything alright?” You ask.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and grabs his suitcase. “I booked us a two bedroom suite and they told me that all they have available is a one bedroom. Even though I showed them the booking on my phone, someone is already in it. So, I’ll just take the couch and you can have the bed.”

This place was fancy, and Lando had undoubtedly paid a pretty penny for the two nights that you were staying here. You would have thought they would have comped the room or something for their mistake. But by the displeased look on his face it didn’t seem they offered him anything but a sorry for the inconvenience.

Even with the hotel screwing up the room, the one you end up with is amazing and as you enter the room your jaw drops slightly at it. You set your bags down and explore the room further, taking in all the beautiful artwork on the walls and the natural light streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. You enter a door to your left and it’s the bedroom, which is even better than the main room, mainly because of the huge balcony that overlooks the sea.

There’s a gentle breeze in the air as you lean against the railing, taking in the view and the hustle and bustle from the surrounding area.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Lando’s voice makes you jump, you were so lost in your own little world you didn’t even hear him come out onto the balcony. You nod your head in agreement as he slots himself beside you, mimicking your actions of leaning on the railing. “And it’s not even the best part of our trip.”

“You know you didn’t have to get such a nice room, we are only in Naples for two days.” As much as you try not to feel guilty about him paying for all of this, you do.

“And what did I say a couple weeks ago?”

A groan emits from you as you remember his words to you in Monaco. “You said to let you spoil me.”

“Exactly. I just want you to enjoy yourself and stop worrying about how much everything costs. We are here to relax and have fun, which means figuring out what we want to do tonight.”

You ponder your endless options and all you really want to do is sit on this balcony and enjoy the view, but your stomach growling tells you maybe dinner would be a good idea first. “We are in Italy– how about getting some pizza and then just come back here and relax?” Lando agrees and while you’re freshening up he looks up good pizza places within walking distance.

You two are just about ready to leave when there's a knock on the door, followed by room service!

A confused look is shared between you two, but when Lando looks through the peephole there stands a worker with a room service cart. He opens the door and is greeted with a smile from the employee.

“From the hotel as an apology about the room.” The employee hands Lando an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne nestled in it. “Have a nice rest of your stay.”

Lando looks back at you with an amused look on his face as the guy quickly leaves, the wheels of the cart squeaking as he hurries down the hall. “Well, we have something to drink on the balcony later.” Lando states as he sets the bucket down on the coffee table.

“Champagne and pizza? No thanks.” You see there’s a card attached to the bottle and as you open the envelope and read the words written, your cheeks turn scarlet.

“What does it say?” Lando questions, moving to stand behind you so he can read it too. His eyes scan the letter and he soon finds himself in the same state as you. He clears his throat as he steps back, suddenly feeling too close to you at the moment.

to the happy couple,

we are so deeply sorry about the mix up with rooms and we hope you can accept our apologies. we’ve sent a bottle of the finest champagne that you can get in naples and have comped any room service you may order during your stay. as always if you need anything please don’t hesitate to call the front desk and once again we sincerely apologize for our mistake. we hope you enjoy your stay here and the city of naples.

The letter isn’t spoken about, actually what you two were addressed as isn’t spoken about, but you both agree that their actions were nice. The walk to the pizza place is quiet, the both of you occasionally pointing out things that you think are interesting or pretty, but both of your minds are preoccupied with being mistaken for a couple. Anyone else would have laughed it off, but clearly not the two of you.

By the time you’re back at the hotel and sat on the balcony with the pizza and champagne your conversation had returned to normal. You teasing Lando about not even drinking the glass he had poured for himself and him complaining about you insisting that you get a pizza that has peppers on it.

“You know what would make this evening even better?” The pizza is long gone and the two of you are sat admiring the painting in the sky left behind from the sun.

“Some pink moscato?” There’s a grin on his face as he says it. If there’s one thing he knows you love, it’s a glass of pink moscato on a balcony with a view.

You try to hide the smile on your face as you glance over at him, but he’s caught you. “You know me too well Norris.”

“Should’ve told that employee that we wanted a ten dollar bottle of wine instead of that champagne.” Lando jokes.

“Thought you didn’t like it? That it was too sweet?”

He shuffles slightly in his seat, fully knowing that you’d caught on to his facade. “I may have grown to love it.” He admits quietly.

You’d known for a while, but hearing him say it was much more satisfying. “Yeah. Kinda figured it out last year when you started drinking more of it than me.”

Nighttime draws near and once you start yawning, so does Lando, and after the fourth round of yawning Lando states that it’s time for bed. The subject the two of you hadn’t discussed any further than what was said in the lobby earlier. The guilt started to eat at you as you brushed your teeth, he’d invited you and is paying for everything and he doesn’t even get to sleep in a bed? What kind of friend were you?

Lando was making the couch up as you walked out of the bathroom and for this being a luxury hotel that couch looked stiff and seemed to be more for show than actual comfort. He already had a bad back and it looked like sleeping on that couch was going to have him trying to find a chiropractor tomorrow instead of sightseeing. “Lan. You take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He doesn’t even look back at you, still occupied with trying to make the couch somewhat comfortable. “No. I’ll be fine. You take the bed.”

“Lando.”

“Y/N.”

“Lando, look at me.” You knew he wasn’t going to budge with the whole couch thing, so you thought of the next best thing. The two of you sharing the bed. It was plenty big and truly it shouldn’t be that big of a deal if you two shared it. You were grown adults and bestfriends, no one should have to sleep on the couch.

His focus tears away from the couch and over to you, who’s already in bed and under the covers. “Look at how big this bed is.” Your body extends over to the other side trying to show him just how big the bed is. “Just sleep in the bed with me, there is plenty of room.”

Your offer takes him by surprise and he stills for a moment, he’d love nothing more than to climb into that bed right now, but a part of his brain is telling him not to. And he’s about ready to tell you no once again until he makes eye contact with you. Those damn eyes of yours could be used in interrogation rooms across the world, one look into them and he’s crumbling like a poorly built sandcastle. The gentle pat on the empty side of the bed is what flattens the sandcastle and he’s mumbling out an okay before sliding under the sheets next to you.

The two of you don’t know what to do for a moment, both still and flat on your backs under the sheets, like if you moved an inch the gremlin under the bed was going to get you. But eventually Lando turns on his side, mumbling out a goodnight as he pulls the comforter closer to him. You take his actions as a sign for you to roll over too and you figured that falling asleep wouldn’t be an issue after all the yawning earlier, but you were wrong. You tried counting sheep, tried laying on your back, tried anything you could think of to fall asleep and nothing worked. It wasn’t like there was a major time difference between here and London, it was literally only an hour, so unfortunately jet lag could not be to blame.

Lando hadn’t moved the whole time and you figured he fell asleep as soon as he turned over, but you were bored and going a little crazy because even though you were tired, you couldn’t fall asleep. “Lando.” You whispered, but got no response. “Lando. Are you awake?” You whisper a little louder this time, but still no response. So with a defeated sigh you roll back over and shut your eyes, praying that this time you can go to sleep. But within a matter of seconds you feel the bed shift and Lando’s voice echoing through the room.

“I’m awake.”

You roll back over— the two of you now facing each other. “Why didn’t you answer me a minute ago?”

“I was trying to go to sleep myself.”

“Oh sorry. I’ll go out to the other room and watch some TV or something.” You barely move an inch before Lando’s got his fingers wrapped around your forearm, gently pulling you back towards him.

“No, don't leave.”

You can feel your heartbeat quickening as you realize just how close the two of you are. The glow from the moon cascades through the balcony doors allowing you to make out the moles on his face and those pretty long eyelashes of his that make his already breathtaking eyes seem even more beautiful. Sometimes you think he has stars in his eyes from the way that they sparkle. And as the two of you lay here right now, you realize the only reason that the moonlight is flooding into the room is because she’s looking for her lost stars that have found a home in Lando’s eyes.

“You got any ideas on how to fall asleep? I’ve tried just about everything in the book.” For some reason you're whispering and you wonder if it’s from how close you are to Lando’s face or how suddenly nervous you are to be this close to Lando.

He’s silent for a moment, the logical and sane part of him screaming at him to not even suggest what he’s been thinking about ever since climbing under these sheets. The mere idea of it being the thing that had prevented him from being fast asleep by now. But he’s got you at literal fingertips length and he thinks there may not be another opportunity like this again. So– he acts with his heart and not his brain.

“Come here.” He’s moved onto his back with his arm outstretched towards you.

“Huh?” You know exactly what he’s insinuating, but you can’t actually believe that he is.

“You wanted an idea on how to fall asleep and this is my idea. I’ll get you to fall asleep in no time.

“You think us cuddling is gonna get me to fall asleep?” You definitely hadn’t wondered what it would be like to be wrapped up in Lando’s arms before. How it would feel to have his fingertips trance mindless patterns across your skin or have your head on his chest. He was your best friend, which meant those thoughts had never crossed your mind– right?

He shrugs, trying to hide the nervousness in his demeanor, the mere thought of you denying him right now was enough to have him on the next flight back to Monaco in the morning. He should have never put himself in this situation, but god as soon as he climbed into this bed all he wanted to do was have you wrapped up in his arms.

It had consumed his brain, and then consumed it even more because why was he having this desire to have such a tender moment with his best friend? Though his brain stops spiraling when he feels the bed shift and you’re suddenly tucking yourself into his side, arm slung over his torso, and your head laying on his chest. The same chest that his heart is about ready to beat out of and he prays you can’t hear how hard it’s working.

But as you both get settled and Lando’s heartbeat finally mellows out he realizes just how right this feels, like the two of you were matching puzzle pieces. Any other girl he had cuddled with before now seemed to feel wrong because as far as he was concerned, nothing felt better than this. It felt natural and easy and he found himself drawing absent minded patterns on your side where your shirt had bunched up.

He’d spend the rest of his life here in this moment with you if he could. And when he hears your slight snores something short circuits in his brain and he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your head mumbling out goodnight before he’s out like a light too. The moonlight blanketing over the two of you, who right now look more like lovers than best friends.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

The next morning you’re already up and ready for the day by the time Lando wakes up and he tries to hide the disappointment of not waking up next to you, already missing the feeling of having you so close. A feeling though nice, he knew it was one that he probably shouldn’t be feeling. He asks you if you slept well while he’s getting ready and you tell him yes, not going into very much detail, for your own sake and his.

The day is full of sightseeing and lots of walking, which is something that Lando likes to complain about. You visit Pompeii and a handful of other places for you and Lando to nerd out about and truly be tourists. You eat amazing food that Lando says his trainer will hate him for, but he justifies it with the excuse of being on vacation. Hundreds of pictures were taken, your phones already begging for more storage and it was only the first day of the trip. Lando even went as far as bringing an actual camera, stating that lando.jpg would be revived soon.

But in between the sightseeing, eating, and everything else– both of your brains immediately go back to the sleeping arrangements from last night. You both can’t stop thinking about it, but no one brings it up, almost like it’s something you should be ashamed of. No one wants to admit how right it felt to be in eachothers arms last night or how both of you probably had the best sleep of your lives.

You didn’t want to admit that when you woke up this morning to Lando spooning you, your stomach was doing flips over the realization that you had moved in the middle of the night and he had found his way back to you. So many thoughts and emotions running through your brains, yet you both think it’s better to just act like it's not a big deal.

Night falls once again and Lando crawls into bed next to you. You’re both absolutely spent after the eventful day you’ve had and Lando worries that you won’t need him to fall asleep, but his worries soon dissipate because you’re tucking yourself into his side as soon as he’s gotten himself comfortable. You’re like a moth to a flame– the consequences of these actions never even enter your mind as slowly feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

And when morning comes you don’t run away when you feel Lando’s arms around you, even with the butterflies making an appearance again. You enjoy your moment alone, the sun shining in through the windows, the sound of the city already alive, and the way Lando looks as he sleeps. It's truly a beautiful morning.

He wakes up not too long after you and there’s a funny feeling in his chest when he realizes that he’s gotten to wake up with you still in his arms. That you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It all just feels so natural and right, that once again no words are spoken about this very non-platonic thing that is happening between you two.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

“We’ve got a little bit a drive ahead of us today.” Lando states as he comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Water droplets are scattered across his tan skin, his damp curls falling slightly onto his forehead. You’re trying not to stare, but good lord how could anyone not.

“It’s only like an hour.” You're still sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard as you now watch him rummage through his suitcase.

He holds up a shirt and shorts, silently asking for your opinion. You give him a nod of approval and he heads back to the bathroom to get dressed, but he leaves the door slightly cracked so he can still talk to you. “Yeah it was an hour. I’ve canceled the driver and made some new plans for today.”

“New plans?” You raise your voice slightly so he can hear you.

“It’s a surprise.” He peeks his head around the slightly open door— a mischievous smile painted across his face, before disappearing behind it once more. “So you had better start getting ready.” He commands as the door fully opens, revealing a fully dressed Lando.

A few short moments later a domestic scene plays out in the bathroom mirror. The double sinks both occupied, various hair products, makeup, and other random items are scattered across the counter. You’re watching Lando through the mirror as he tries to wrangle the mop of curls on his head, but everytime you look away he’s watching you brush your teeth or do your skincare. And the occasional times your eyes do meet in the mirror you’re both like little kids, eyes immediately darting away with smiles on your faces and little giggles echoing through the bathroom.

“You gonna tell me what the surprise is?” Patience had never been your strong suit and thus knowing about surprises was like a form of torture to you.

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise now would it?” He’s still screwing with his hair, but he’s looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh come on, just tell me. Pretty pretty please?” You’ve come up behind him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you flash your best puppy dog eyes at him through the mirror. And for a split second Lando almost cracks– those puppy dog eyes working on him better than you would have ever thought.

“The faster we pack everything up, the faster you get the surprise.” He’s shocked his words come out smoothly, his brain still foggy from your pretty eyes and close contact.

Ten minutes later you’re walking out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, where Lando tells you to wait while he goes outside for a moment. You assume the surprise is outside and so you try to peek and see what’s out there, but he’s coming back in before you can get a good look.

“Alright let’s go.”

You don’t see anything that you would consider surprise worthy as you walk out the doors, but then Lando leads you towards the cars parked outside the hotel and stops in front of a vintage yellow Ferrari. Your eyes dart back and forth between Lando and the car, unsure if he was just stopping to admire it or if you were going to be riding in it. He answers your unasked question by opening the passenger side door, motioning for you to get in.

“Is this the surprise? Where did you even get this car from?” Your eyes widening over the car itself and the fact that he’d gone through the trouble of even finding the car.

“It’s part of the surprise-” He’s got a smirk on his face as he speaks “and I have my connections.” He motions once again for you to get into the car and this time you don’t oblige. The leather seat soft under your legs as you sit down, the car was surely close to 60 years old, yet still looked brand new.

Lando puts the luggage in the trunk while you're examining all of the car’s little quirks and details while you wait.

“Ok, you ready?” Lando asks as he gets in the driver's seat.

“Gonna tell me the other part of the surprise?”

He sighs, he wanted you to figure it out on your own, but you were so persistent sometimes. “You know how you’ve always talked about wanting to drive along the coast of Italy?” You nod, a smile already forming on your face as you realize what he’s planned for you. “Well, instead of just taking the straight shot over, we’re gonna take the long way all along the Amalfi coast. And I figured it was only fitting that we do it in a Ferrari, considering we are in Italy after all.”

You can’t wipe the smile off your face as you stare at Lando from the passenger seat. Sometimes you wondered if he was even listening to you when you spoke, but then he pulls stuff like this and you know that he’s always listening– remembering things that you care about or like. “God, I don’t deserve you.”

Thankfully the car is still parked because you’re pulling Lando into a bone crushing hug, your cheek smushed up against the side of his head, a giggle emitting from him as he tries to hug you back.

“When you told me your work approved the time off, I knew for sure that this was one thing that I wanted to make happen. That same night I was online trying to find a car to rent for the day, but then I saw this one for sale…” His words trail off and your jaw drops at the realization, but in all reality you know it’s a very Lando thing to do.

“And now we’re sitting in your newest baby?”

He’s got a sheepish look on his face as he speaks. “As soon as I saw it I knew it was the perfect car for this. Plus it’s the ultimate vacation souvenir!”

“You’re crazy.” He actually couldn’t be more perfect.

“Yeah, but you love me.” He teases as he starts the engine.

“Unfortunately.”

─── ༺❀༻ ───

The long winding road along the coast provided scenery that was beyond your wildest dreams. It was serene and picturesque– like something straight out of a movie. The bright blue water on one side of the road and the white stone mountains on the other. The various tunnels that somehow had even more breathtaking views on the other side of them. The handful of towns that you had to drive through, each of them more charming than the last, you only wished you had enough time to stay a week in all of them.

As simple as this was, you would have been more than content with this trip if you went home tomorrow, not that you wanted to, it was just that sometimes the simple things in life meant more than anything lavish to you. You weren’t hard to please, all you needed was Lando singing along to some song on the radio, beautiful scenery, and the wind blowing in your hair for you to be the happiest girl in the world right now.

The whole trip your attention was divided between the coastal beauty and the beauty in the driver's seat. You couldn’t help but glance over ever so often at Lando, especially when you’d hear him start to sing along to a song. He just looked so ethereal sitting next to you, one hand on the steering wheel– the other resting between you two.

There was a moment where you felt the sudden urge to reach out and intertwine your fingers with his, a moment of insanity you’d thought. It surely had nothing to do with how sunkissed he looked from only being in the sun one day, or how the wind had made his curls the perfect amount of messy, or how you’d catch him looking over at you with a smile on his face.

If only you knew that Lando had been fighting the urge to reach out and grab your hand too. He’d never seen you so ecstatic over something as simple as going for a drive, but he’d drive this car till he ran out of road or gas, whichever came first, just to see that smile of yours. The way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight and how you giggled at his singing was just an added bonus, but all of them made his chest feel funny. He’d been around the world more times than he could count, seen so many breathtaking places, but right now none of those places compared to the beauty that was sitting next to him in this car.

You’re in your own little world so much that you don’t even realize you’ve made it to your destination until Lando’s putting the car in park in front of a very luxurious looking villa. “We’ve arrived.” Lando states in a sing-song voice.

“Is this when you tell me Max and everyone else are actually coming too?” You question, flabbergasted over the size of the house. And you can tell what he’s thinking just by his facial expression. “Lando this place is huge just for the two of us.”

He rolls his eyes before getting out of the car to get luggage. “It’s actually a lot smaller than you think.”

When you step foot into the two story villa it immediately has that Mediterranean coast charm with intricate tile floors, artwork that adorns the walls, and windows with the most gorgeous views– needles to say you’re in love.

Then you take in just how big the place is with it’s one too many bedrooms and bathrooms and various other rooms that you probably won’t even use. Lando’s words echo in your head as you explore the house some more, and there’s nothing small about this place at all. “You’re such a liar Lan.” Your words are playful as you walk through one of the many french doors in the house that leads out to the back.

“Lie? I would nev-”

“Oh my god!” He’s cut off by you realizing that the backyard of this villa is nothing shy of paradise. A massive pergola covered part of the back of the house with vibrant bougainvillea lining the top and hanging down the sides. Various other flowers and plants are scattered strategically around the area. Under the pergola there's an outdoor kitchen and a large glass dining table, clearly meant to host a group of people, not two. Further out there’s a pool with sunbeds lined down one side of it– a poolside bar on the other.

All of these things are great, but the real show stopper is the view that this place has. From the front of the house you can’t really tell just how close you are to the water, but from out back it’s a completely different view. There’s a separate sitting area slightly further out from the pool. It’s got a little pergola of its own with couches and chairs and one of those fancy rock fire pits and that is where you get the best view.

It’s like something out of a nature documentary– it’s so perfect that it almost seems fake. The sea is so close that you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and it’s just endless bright blue water for days. You thought the view in Naples was pretty, but this was breathtaking.

“Knew you’d love this place.” Lando states as he comes up beside you, acting like he hadn’t been lingering behind you the whole time, admiring the view (you) from afar.

It was true though, Lando knew as soon as he saw this place online that it was the one. It didn’t matter that he paid an astronomical amount for it or that the house was way too big for just the two of you. All it took was for him to see the view to know you’d be the happiest girl in the world here.

He could picture you two sitting out here in the evening, watching the sun set over the coast, undoubtedly with a bottle of pink moscato. You’d end up drinking one too many glasses and your cheeks would get red and you’d get the giggles.

As Lando stood here– eyes never leaving the beautiful scene in front of him. He can’t help but feel that funny feeling in his chest over how radiant and happy you look. And he thinks that if this house was for sale he’d buy it in a heartbeat, if that meant he got to see you like this all the time.

A smile finds its way onto your face as you glance over at the guy you call your best friend. “You weren’t lying when you said you were gonna spoil me, huh?” You gently nudge him with your elbow, your smile growing even bigger at his response.

“Only the best for my favorite person.” His smile is equally as big as you lean your head on his shoulder and in that moment he thinks that maybe the reserve driver could just finish out the season and he could just stay here with you.

That night as you both head to your rooms there’s an obvious tension in the air. You’re both slowly making your ascent up the stairs and lingering in the hall, trying to milk every last second until you inevitably have to go into your separate rooms.

After so long though, you’re the first to cave as your hand reaches for the doorknob. Your door creaks open and you’re mumbling out goodnight lan, i’ll see you in the morning before entering the room. Although you don’t close the door behind you and Lando takes that as an invitation to linger in your doorway. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know he’s there, you can feel his presence, and subconsciously you’ve left that door open for him.

“Goodnight Y/N.” You’ve got your back turned to him as you're digging through your suitcase for pajamas, but you can hear the slight grin he has on his face as he speaks.

The sight of Lando as you turn around has butterflies erupting in your stomach and it makes you feel weird to be feeling those things about your best friend. He’s leaned up against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and that grin that you’d sensed him having was still on his face as he looked at you. Your eyes scanned over him, focusing on little details like his hair still being wind tousled and how the tops of his cheeks were slightly burnt from the car ride today.

And for someone who claimed to not need a ton of sleep– he looked so sleepy as the two of you locked eyes. Those big blue eyes slowly blinking and drooping ever so slightly as his head now too rested against the door frame. He still donned the hoodie that you teased him about putting on earlier after his claims of it being chilly once the sun set, only adding to the sleepy look he had going on right now.

Someone had never looked so cozy and you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight. You will tell him goodnight again and he’ll close the door behind him before shuffling over to his room. Your mind will be preoccupied with him as you get ready for bed, the image of him in your doorway forever burned into your mind as you brush your teeth. As you crawl into bed you won’t think about how cold the sheets feel or how you want to be cuddled up to your best friend. You won’t think about how it’s been two hours that you’ve laid here and sleep has yet to greet you. And you certainly won’t think about how you’d be fast asleep right now if Lando was beside you.

But unfortunately you do think about all those things and you’ve exhausted every resource to try and distract you from it. It was different at the hotel when there was only one bed, but now with multiple bedrooms to choose from there was no reason for the two of you to sleep in the same bed. Lines were already blurring between you two without either of you knowing it and if you chose to go seek solace with Lando then those lines would blur even more.

But you didn’t know that your actions would eventually have consequences and seconds later you’re throwing the covers off of you with only one destination in mind– Lando’s room. The journey though, is short lived because as soon as you open your door you’re met with a wide eyed Lando, his fist frozen in the air like he was getting ready to knock on your door.

The frozen fist moves to rubbing the back of his neck as he speaks to you. “Sorry, was coming to see if you were still awake.”

“I was coming to see if you were up too.” He’s still got that hoodie on from earlier, but you noticed he’d changed out his shorts for boxers. His hair was even more messy and you’d wondered if he had even fallen asleep yet. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Lando shrugs. “Not really– kept tossing and turning.” He acts like the reason he can’t go to sleep isn’t right in front of him as he rests his head on the familiar door frame.

“Yeah I can tell by your hair.” You tease. He just gives you a half assed smile and when he doesn’t tease you back that’s when you realize just how tired he is. “You want to watch some TV or something? ”

He shakes his head no. The only thing he wants to do is go to sleep, but how can he when you’re not next to him? It was embarrassing to admit that only after two nights of sharing the same bed that he couldn’t sleep on his own, but here he was. His big bed felt too empty and he realized that even if he slept in a twin sized bed it would still feel empty without you next to him.

Not to mention he’d found comfort in you being his personal heater at night. It was no secret that Lando ran cold, often seen sporting a jacket during race weekends while his teammate was in shorts. So with his personal heater gone, he’d resorted to wearing a hoodie to bed, which didn’t come close to holding a candle to you.

When he finally worked up the courage to get up and go to your room he was pleasantly surprised to find you up too and facing the same problem as him. A little sliver of him hoping that it was the exact same problem and that you couldn’t sleep without him.

For a split second you caught his eyes looking past you and towards your bed. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious, but if was actually hinting at what you thought he was hinting at, then you weren’t going to pass up on the opportunity. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had come to your door and that you both had trouble sleeping in separate beds. So, you act on impulse and tell him come on just sleep in here tonight and like a little kid who’s gotten scared of the thunder at night he’s crawling into your bed in an instant.

It’s like you two are magnets– immediately finding your way to each other under the sheets and it doesn’t take long for the both of you to finally fall asleep. And some time in the middle of the night Lando had shed his hoodie, no longer needing it with you pressed against him. When you two wake in the morning with the sun streaming through the windows and sleepy smiles plastered on your faces, there’s an unspoken agreement that even with the plethora of beds in this house, you two would be sleeping in the same one every night.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Lando and you were best friends, nothing more. Nevermind the sharing a bed every night or the longing glances or the sometimes suggestive thoughts you had about him. So maybe your friendship wasn’t practical or normal, but there was nothing romantic going on between you two. It was something you had drilled into your head for some time now. You’d try to ignore the way your heart would speed up when you’d catch him looking at you or the way he always has to have physical contact with you. And any other crazy thoughts that you’d speculated about had always been pushed aside rather quickly. He was your best friend after all and once again nothing more.

Though over the course of the week you’d found yourself having a hard time in pushing aside those non platonic thoughts about Lando. There were instances you two had found yourselves in that you just couldn’t ignore.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

“What’s the plan for today?” You ask as the two of you are sitting outside the cutest little restaurant, enjoying brunch.

Lando finishes the last little bit of his eggs before answering you. “Well nothing that involves you getting behind a motor vehicle with the way you’ve been downing those bellinis.” You roll your eyes at his dramatics. Yes, you’d had your fair share of bellinis, but they were so damn good and there really wasn’t that much alcohol in them for it to be an issue. “How about we just see where the day takes us?”

“Well I already had the idea of renting jet skis in my head, but I guess we’ll do what you suggested.” You joke.

Now Lando’s the one to roll his eyes at you as he flags down the waiter for the check. He doesn’t even look at it when it’s brought over, he just hands his card over like it’s nothing. It’s something that you still aren’t used to him doing even after knowing him for so long and you’re sure he’s gotten ripped off more times than he could imagine.

He quickly signs for it once the waiter comes back and with his card back in his wallet you’re free to go. Except when you stand up all those bellinis hit you and you’re a little unsteady on your feet, something that Lando clocks immediately. You aren’t drunk, just buzzed, but Lando isn’t going to let you live this down. “You wanted to rent jet skis huh?” He teases as he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you.

“Think we still could to be honest.” You’re confident in your ability to walk on your own, but Lando insists on keeping his hold on you.

“Well I don’t want to waste a day at the hospital, so let’s just look around at the shops.”

You’d passed them on your way to brunch and Lando had promised you’d come back to them. They were cute little stores, each one specializing in certain things. You took your time in each one, feeling the silky material of some of the dresses, admiring the leather detailing on the handbags, and gawking at the dazzling jewelry in the displays. Everything was quite luxurious and your eyes couldn’t help but linger on a certain bag and bracelet, but the price tags were all you had to see to know they weren’t coming home with you.

Lando had been watching you the whole time, fully prepared to be your bag boy and was ready to pull out his wallet whenever he’d see you pick something up. But much to his disappointment, all you did was look and after going through all the stores you left empty handed. “You didn’t see anything you wanted?” Lando asks as you continue down the street.

You simply shrug your shoulders at him. “Nothing that I couldn’t live without.” He doesn’t press the matter anymore, fully knowing that he’d be coming back sometime this week to get you that bag and bracelet that you kept circling back to.

The streets are charming and bright. It’s a place that you can’t help but feel alive in, especially as the summer sun beats down on you, but the light breeze coming in off the sea makes it bearable. Your buzz was long gone, but Lando still insisted that you link your arm with his as you stroll down the streets– just in case. You don’t oblige to his request, enjoying the feeling of holding onto his solid bicep as the sound of him slightly humming the song that was playing at brunch fills your ears.

A sense of peacefulness washes over you and it’s at this moment that you don’t feel like you’re on the arm of the famous Formula 1 driver Lando Norris. He doesn’t have a million cameras on him or people flocking to him for an autograph. It’s just you and your best friend Lando– the boy who was gagging when you teased the idea of ordering fish at dinner last night or who you laid in bed with this morning, watching dumb Tiktoks until you were both in tears laughing. It was nice for once, to just have Lando.

You’re just about ready to circle back to the villa when you hear a woman shouting in Italian from down the street. You’re not anywhere near fluent, but you recognize some basic words and what you’ve heard has you pulling Lando towards the voice.

Fior! Bei Fiori!

At the end of the street there stood the lady, who had a cart of the most vibrant fresh flowers. When she spotted the two of you approaching, a smile painted itself across her face. “I think your pretty girl deserves some flowers, don’t you?”

The corners of your mouth turn upwards and a smile is painted across your face. You can feel your cheeks getting warm at her statement, at the implication that you were Lando’s, but it’s his response that makes them comparable to the roses found on the cart.

Lando feels his chest get tight over the lady assuming the two of you were together. It’s nothing new, for people to assume that he’s with a girl just because he’s seen with one. Though for some reason when someone says it about you, it gets a reaction out of him. He’s grinning as he looks at you and then back to the sweet old lady. “You’re right, my pretty girl does deserve some flowers.”

The butterflies that erupted in your stomach at his words were embarrassing and not the appropriate reaction to be having over your best friend, but his comment wasn’t very platonic either. You’re blushing and grinning, probably very easily comparable to a school girl at the moment. He’s got a smug look on his face as he hands you of course the biggest bouquet the lady had. It’s truly a beautiful bouquet and it smells divine, it had anything you could have gotten at the shops beaten by a mile.

As you head back towards the villa you can’t wipe the smile off your face and you can’t stop thinking about my pretty girl. The words shamelessly repeating over and over again in your head. “So you think I’m pretty huh?” You tease.

Now Lando’s the one to blush and he hopes you just think it’s just from the heat and sun as you look at him. “Of course I do. I’d have to be blind to not think so.” He’s sincere with his words, he truly thinks you’re one of the most breathtaking women he’s ever met– intellectually and physically.

You lean your head on his arm, the same one you’ve still wrapped yourself around. “You sure know how to swoon 'em.”

“You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And for the first time, for both of you, it feels weird and almost stings to hear the word best friend said out loud. Because deep down you know you’re way more than that.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Although you weren’t that much of a party girl you didn’t mind going out every once in a while. So when Lando suggested going out to one of the bars tonight it didn’t seem like a bad idea. You’d done your fair share of relaxing and to you that meant a night out deserved to be had.

With a final spritz of your perfume you’re ready to go and as you looked in the mirror one last time you couldn’t help but think damn, I look good. You found Lando waiting for you in the foyer, his head lifting up from his phone at the sound of your heels clicking down the stairs. “Might want to close your mouth before you attract flies Lan.” He hadn’t even realized he was in that much of a trance until you said something, he could feel his cheeks getting warm at getting caught.

You hook your arm with his as he leads you out the front door. “Sorry, you just look unreal tonight.”

“Well you don’t look too bad yourself.” He’d chosen his tried and true white button up, leaving the first few buttons undone, which revealed even more of his gorgeous tanned skin. How someone could make something as simple as a white button up shirt look so good was beyond you, but it was clearly something he was skilled at.

The bar you end up at is relatively small and you realize it must be the most popular one with how packed it is. It’s on the coast and there’s a gorgeous outdoor area that you are immediately drawn to, mainly because there’s slightly less people out here. It’s still a good time though and the people are somehow even more rowdy out here and you wonder if it’s the fresh air.

You’ve danced, drank, laughed, talked, everything you could think of on a night out. It's been nice, especially doing it all with Lando, who somehow through the course of the night has undone more buttons on his shirt and you think he might as well just undo them all. It’s clearly getting late from how the crowd is slowly starting to thin out, but you two are still having a ball, and you figure you’ll stay till they kick you out.

Lando’s gone inside to get you both another drink, which he easily could have gotten from the bartender out here, but he claimed that the guy didn’t know what he was doing. While you wait you venture off to a far corner of the patio that’s somewhat empty. There’s a couple people sitting in chairs sharing a cigarette, but other than that you’re alone. Even in the dark the view is amazing and as you lean on the railing a nice breeze comes in off the water. It’s relaxing and nice, especially when you’re that sticky kind of sweaty and a little more drunk than you realize.

“Absolutely beautiful.” You jump at the unfamiliar, yet familiar voice. It had been a minute since you’d heard another British accent besides Lando’s. When you turn around to put a face to the voice you aren’t expecting to see such a gorgeous man standing there. He’s really the whole package– stunning blue eyes, pretty smile, fluffy light brown hair, nice facial hair.

“Uh- yeah it is.” You assumed he was talking about the view.

“Can I join you?”

He’s cute and you wouldn’t mind some company, so you tell him yes.

“Where’d your boyfriend run off to?” He asks as he nurses his Corona.

“He’s not my boyfriend, but I’m not wrong in assuming you know who he is, right?” This guy is in his twenties and British, if he didn’t know who Lando was then he had to be living under a rock.

He takes a swig of his beer before responding. “I know who he is.”

You scoff, there was a big possibility that he was using you to get to meet Lando, it was something you’d dealt with many times before. Guys showing interest in you only in hopes of becoming Lando’s friend or even worse girls who would befriend you only to try and get with Lando. You weren’t some step on the ladder that led to Lando, you were your own person with feelings and a life, who deserved to have people like you for you, not who you knew.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the fact that you’re done being led on by people, but either way you confront the guy about it. “Are you using me to get to him?”

You hear him laugh a little and it lights a fire in you, but his words extinguish it before it gets out of control. “I was brave enough to come over here and willingly flirt with you before I even knew if he was your boyfriend or not. If I was trying to use you to get to him, I don’t think that would be a good plan. Which now that I know you’re not his girlfriend, kinda makes me think he’s an idiot. How could he have a girl like you in his life and not be madly in love with you?”

Your brain is fuzzy as you’re trying to process what he’s said. “Sorry wait- you were flirting with me?”

He’s got a cheeky grin on his face and he lets out a chuckle at your cluelessness. “When I said ‘absolutely beautiful’ I wasn’t talking about the view.”

“Oh.” You’d thought it was kind of weird for him to just randomly say that about the view, but for it to be aimed towards you was the last thing you had thought of. “Well, flirt all you want then.”

Not only did this place have one bartender that was incompetent, it seemed like all of them were. Lando had waited for what seemed like ages for a beer and a vodka cranberry. It wasn’t even that busy at the bar for it to be taking so long and at one point he contemplated just going behind the bar and doing it himself. By the time he finally got them he was surprised you hadn’t come looking for him, but when he made his way out onto the patio he saw exactly why you hadn’t.

Over in the corner Lando sees you doubled over laughing with some guy as he watches from afar. His grip on the glasses gets tighter as he sees you place your hand on the guy's arm. The tightness in his chest increases the longer he stands here and watches. It bothers him more than he cares to admit– to see you with some random guy. To hear that laugh of yours and him not being the source of it is driving him crazy. But what really sends him over the edge is when the guy tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and without a second thought he’s storming over there.

Lando tries to play it cool as he approaches and he’s glad he’s got these drinks to use as an excuse. Your mid conversation when Lando interrupts, but he doesn’t care one bit. “Here’s your drink.” He says as he pushes the slightly watered down glass towards you.

“Oh thanks Lan.” You flash him a smile, but his face is emotionless and the fun light hearted atmosphere has suddenly turned awkward. For some reason you feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. “Um, Lando this is-” You remember at that moment that you hadn’t even asked the guy his name, which to you makes this even more awkward.

“Harry.”

“Right. Lando, this is Harry.” You motion between the two men. “Harry, this is Lando.”

Harry extends a hand out to Lando and they very awkwardly shake hands. “Nice to meet you mate.”

Lando only nods his head at him before turning his focus back to you. “I think we should get going, they are gonna close soon.”

You think he’s joking, considering he’d waited all that time to get these drinks, and now he suddenly wants to leave. “I just got my drink, can we at least stay until I finish it?” It also feels rude to just abruptly leave in the middle of the conversation that you were enjoying with Harry. But Lando doesn’t know how to hide his emotions very well and by the look on his face you know he’s being serious.

“Well you can stay, but I’m leaving.” He knows he shouldn’t leave you alone with some guy you just met, but god he doesn’t think he can stand here and watch you flirt with him anymore than he already has. So, without hearing your response he starts making his way towards the exit.

A regretful look washes across your face as you look at Harry. “That was so rude of him, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s up with him, he never acts like that.” You take a big swig of your drink, fully knowing dealing with Lando is gonna be a pain. “It was really nice talking to you, but I better go hunt him down.”

He shrugs, clearly not as upset over this whole situation as Lando or you are. “No biggie, I’m sure we’ll see each other around. It’s a small place.” You bid him goodbye, but you don’t get very far before he’s hollering. “Can I at least get your Instagram?” Which has you coming back and quickly exchanging usernames before you're off again to find Lando.

You run into him in the bar and it looks like he was coming back out towards the patio. A look of relief washes over him when he sees you and he’s leading you away from the loud music and out the front exit before either of you can say anything. Only once the bass of the music is a faint sound in the distance does Lando speak up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with that guy. I was coming back in when you found me.”

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but you were kinda rude to him for no reason.”

Guess you were diving in head first with this.

Lando stops walking and turns to face you, a confused look on his face. “I wasn’t being rude.”

“Yes you were. We were having a conversation and you just butted in and demanded we leave. Not to mention you wouldn’t even speak to him. He was nice, you would have liked him if you gave him the time of day.”

“You barely know the guy, you talked to him for what ten-fifteen minutes? I just didn’t have a good feeling about him.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dumb excuse. He shook the guy's hand and didn’t get a good feeling about him? Bullshit. “Well if you didn’t have a good feeling about him then why’d you leave me with him?” He’d started to walk again, but stopped dead in his tracks at your words, spinning on his heel to face you once again.

“I already told you I regretted leaving you. I just had to get out of there for a second.”

“Why?” You were being adamant, your arms crossed across your chest as you waited for his answer.

He knew exactly why, but he couldn’t tell you that, he hadn’t even fully accepted it himself. “I don’t know Y/N.”

You’re getting frustrated with him and these damn heels that you chose to wear are not making your mood any better. “There’s a reason for everything, Lando. How would you like it if I acted like you did tonight with a girl you were talking to? You’d be livid.”

He completely ignores your accusation and turns the conversation in another direction. It had been itching at him to know if you were just being nice or if you were actually interested in the guy, so he plucked up the courage to ask. “So you were flirting with him?”

The look on your face is one of pure confusion, but your tone is nothing but shitty. “I’m not sure how you jumped to that conclusion from what I said or why it’s really any of your concern, but yeah it was just some harmless flirting. I’m sorry for having a little fun!” You were thankful that it was late enough for the street to be relatively empty, the last thing that needed to happen was pictures or a video getting out of you two arguing. You were sure there were already rumors about you two being on vacation together, you could only imagine how this would be misconstrued.

Hearing that his best friend was potentially interested in someone else had his head spinning and he could no longer blame his reactions on the alcohol. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, ignore the way his heart raced when he looked at you. Or how he loved hearing that old lady call you his girl the other day.

It had been building up– festering almost this whole week and maybe subconsciously he wanted to go on this trip with you to see if there was some truth to what everyone had teased him about. He just didn’t think it would actually be true. Or that at two in the morning on a dimly lit street in Italy, during an argument, he would finally accept that he was in love with you.

But even with him realizing he’s in love with you, that doesn’t stop him from being an absolute idiot. “He was probably just using you to get to me.” Lando immediately regrets what he said as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He knows that's a sore subject for you and the look of hurt on your face makes his stomach churn.

“Now you’re just being mean.” You’re sure it’s a mixture of things that are contributing to the salty tears welling up in your eyes at the moment, but it’s Lando’s comment that actually makes them fall. You’re storming off before he can say anything, wishing you would have just stayed at the bar with Harry.

Lando knows he’s an idiot, but he also knows he’s the one who lit the match, which means he’s gotta be the one to put it out. “Y/N come on. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said that.” He catches up with you rather quickly, your heels slowing you down.

“Just leave me be Lando.”

“Y/N. Stop walking for just a minute.” He’s grabbing at your arm, trying to halt your movement.

You stop and face him and for what it’s worth he does look sorry, but that doesn’t change how you feel. “What? You want to poke fun at me some more?”

“No I-”

“You know I was just having a little harmless fun with that guy, like you said I talked to him for what? Fifteen minutes? Nothing was going to come out of it. But is it really that far-fetched of an idea for a guy to actually be interested in me just for me? Am I that undesirable and unlovable for it to seem like a reality? Or was he like everyone else who’s used me and threw me away as soon as they got their five minutes of the almighty Lando Norris experience?”

The tears that slide down your cheeks are a mixture of anger and embarrassment and maybe you were being a little dramatic. Perhaps the multiple drinks you’d consumed weren’t helping either, but when the person you care about the most says something like that, something you’d confided in him about, it hurts.

Lando feels his heart break to hear you talk about yourself like that. All he wants to do is to scream out that you’re not undesirable or unlovable. He’s wanted you and loved you for some time now, the moment it started he’s not sure, but he knows it didn’t happen overnight. It’s always been there– he was just too blind to see it.

He’s not entirely sure on how to make this right, he knows he was an ass, but he also knows he can’t take back what’s been said. The worst part is that he knows exactly how you feel and somehow he still thought that was a good thing to throw in your face– all because he was jealous. He could deal with people trying to use him, he’d developed a sixth sense for them and never let it get too far, but you were too kind. Your big heart and trusting of others had gotten you burned one too many times and it hurt Lando even more to know that all that had happened because of him.

“I should have never said that to you. I know first hand how it feels to have people use me and the only reason you’ve had to deal with that is because of me. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your sniffles fill the night air as you try to calm yourself down. While people used you to get to Lando, at least they didn’t want to be your friend to leech off your fame. Use you for your money and generosity, expecting paddock passes and some lavish lifestyle. People saw Lando as an object rather than a person more times than not. While your feelings were valid and Lando was still an ass for saying that, you realized to be in his shoes was worse. So, you wipe away your tears and accept his apology indirectly. “Think we’ve only got each other at this point.”

His voice is soft as he approaches you, his hand reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. “Don’t think I need anyone else but you.”

The tender moment has you turning to putty in his hands– the argument pushed to the back of your mind. His hand moves to cup your face and his tumb brushes gently across your cheek. You feel like time has frozen in this moment and for a split second you swear he looks at your lips, like he’s going to kiss you. The fact that this is your best friend is no concern to you at the moment. Then the moment between you two is ruined just as fast as it began, the sound of a very loud and drunk group of people leaving the bar up the street brings you both back to reality.

You back away from each other slowly, like you weren’t sure exactly what had just almost happened. You’d already resorted to blaming it on both of your emotions still running wild and the alcohol still coursing through your veins. The group of people are getting closer, their obnoxious singing getting louder as each second passes. They might not even know who Lando is, but you aren’t in the mood to wait around and find out, the last thing you want to deal with right now is drunk fans. “We’ve had too much to drink, my head and feet hurt. Let’s go home.” You grumble as you begin the trek home once again, your feet aching more and more with each step.

Lando stops for a moment and kicks off his shoes, he couldn’t let you walk in pain the whole way home. Especially after the pain he had caused moments ago. “Here put these on, your feet are killing you.” He hands you the white sneakers before squatting down in front of you to help you get your heels off.

Your feet already thank you as you slip on the oversized shoes that clomp on the stone street. And like a magnet you find yourself wrapping your arm around his as you walk down the street. You’re sure you two are a sight–you in shoes that are way too big and Lando only in socks as he holds your heels for you.

“You know you’re still an ass.” You tell him as you lean your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You know you aren’t unloveable.” He hopes you know he’s being sincere, your words still replaying in his mind as you walk.

“I know.”

By the time you make it back to the villa you’re both exhausted. The alcohol, the argument, that moment between you two, the walk home– you were sure tomorrow morning would be a rough one. There aren’t many words spoken as you get ready for bed and as you slide under the covers next to Lando you can’t shake something from your mind from tonight, and it wasn’t the argument.

It was the fact that during the whole time you were chatting with Harry, you couldn’t help but compare him to Lando. There wasn’t the same sparkle in his eye like Lando, his smile wasn’t the same, his laugh. It seemed like everything that you noticed about this guy came second best to Lando. Sure you were having fun and he was nice, but not once had the thought of Lando slipped your mind. And even right now, with Lando next to you, you’re still somehow thinking about him.

It didn’t take long for Lando to fall asleep and you were on the verge of it when your phone went off on the nightstand. Usually, you would just ignore it, but something in you told you to see what it was.

harryinsta is now following you

You then see that he had sent you a DM and you’re expecting it to be about meeting up some time, which you were going to politely decline, but it’s quite the opposite.

harryintsa: i must have been mistaken earlier. lando's not an idiot.

yourinsta: huh?

harryinsta: he’s in love with you lol

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as you read the message over and over again. Lando wasn’t in love with you, was he? Sure you’d heard it from just about everyone in your life that you two were in love with each other, but you always thought it was silly. You guys were just best friends is what you would always say, but to hear it come from a literal stranger was different.

You couldn’t lie that you hadn’t recently had your moments of perhaps thinking that he did, though you’d always talk yourself out of the idea. Although, if he was in love with you that may explain his behavior tonight. Or maybe it was just the alcohol like you’d originally thought. Then the tender moment you two shared entered your mind and suddenly the gears in your head are working overtime.

You locked your phone and sat it back down on the nightstand. Just from a simple DM you’d gone from being dead tired to now being wide awake– staring at the ceiling. You’re not sure how much time had passed as you laid there over analyzing every interaction with Lando. You were struggling enough trying to figure out the things you had recently felt about Lando, let alone the possibility that he was in love with you. All you knew for sure was that things weren’t the same between you two, you’d felt a shift when you were with him in Monaco before the Belgium GP. It had only amplified during this trip and you had a feeling that by the end of it things would be different.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Two days later you’re sunbathing on a comfy lounger on the beach, while Lando’s out in the water doing god knows what. You’d given up on watching him a while ago, deciding instead to be productive and try to catch up to Lando’s tan level. Which, after laying here for some time now, it seemed impossible. That boy could be in the sun for a day and have a glowing tan– you not so much.

Moments later you think a cloud has passed in front of the sun, but when you feel cool water droplets on your hot skin you peek open one eye to find a wet and grinning Lando standing over you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You greet him back as you sit up, your smile matching his. “Did you have fun out there?”

“I had a lot of fun and the water felt amazing. You should have got in.”

“I will later.” You notice he’s got one of his hands behind his back like he’s hiding something. “Lan, what have you got?” He tries to play dumb for a moment, trying to wind you up, but he eventually caves and pulls a plastic pail from behind his back. “Please don’t tell me you stole that from a kid.” Your half joking and half being serious, because where the hell did he get that from?

“I did not steal it from a kid– I borrowed it.” The smile on his face never falls as he continues to speak. “They had a bunch of them. I don't think they’ll miss it. Plus I needed something to put your present in.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, curiosity written all over your face. “My present?”

He’s smiling so hard as he sits down at the end of the lounger that you think this must be the best present in the world. Seconds later the pail is turned upside down and out falls the prettiest seashells. Your heart swells when you realize all that time he had spent out in the water he was looking for shells– for you. There’s a light pink one that catches your eye and Lando notices when you reach for it.

“Knew you’d like that one.”

Of course he knew that, sometimes you think he knows you better than you know yourself. “Can’t believe you spent all that time finding them.”

He shrugs like it’s an everyday thing. “I knew it would make you happy, which meant I enjoyed doing it. Really only took me so long because I wanted them all to be perfect for you.”

The sun beating down on you feels cold with how hard you’re blushing. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

Lando starts to get shy when you get sappy, like he hadn’t just said the sweetest thing a second ago. He’s smiling, but focuses on carefully putting the shells back into the pail. “You’re my favorite person too.”

A while later you decide to open up the umbrella between the two loungers. You had chosen to give up on the tanning lifestyle and instead dive into a new book. While Lando was fast asleep on the lounger next to you, apparently all that hunting for shells had worn him out.

You’d noticed out of the corner of your eye awhile ago that a little boy kept glancing over in your direction, specifically at Lando. You knew he had to have been a fan or he was the kid Lando stole the pail from. The nervous glances back and forth tell you that thankfully he’s a fan and you think it’s the cutest thing. You’re in the middle of considering waking Lando up so the boy could come over when you hear a groan that is undoubtedly Lando awaking from his slumber.

“What are you looking at?” He asks as he rubs his eyes.

You nod your head in the direction of the boy who’s just seen that Lando is awake and is practically bouncing with glee. “Think you may have a fan.”

A big grin spreads across Lando’s face as he sees the little boy. Lando loved meeting all his fans, but meeting the kids was his favorite. He thinks a big part of the reason he always makes sure to find time for the younger fans was because he was that kid once. Before he was ever F1 driver Lando Norris, he was just a kid who finally got the chance to meet their idol and he knows that picture or an autograph means the world to them

Lando motions for the boy to come over and he’s instantly tugging on his Mom’s shirt to get her to come with him. She gives you guys a questioning look and when Lando motions again they both come over.

The little boy’s Italian accent is the cutest thing ever as he greets you two and you can tell just how much it means to him to be talking to Lando.

“What’s your name?” Lando asks as he signs a beach towel of all things.

“Luca and I’m seven!”

“Seven is a great age. You know I started karting when I was seven!”

Luca’s eyes get as wide as saucers as he glances back at his Mom, who is already shutting down any talk of Luca karting. “I told you possibly next year. You’re still my little baby. I don't want you getting hurt!”

Lando gives the Mom an apologetic look. “How about a picture?” Which easily takes Luca’s attention away from karting, as he’s already at Lando’s side with a big smile on his face before his Mom has her phone out.

They take a couple pictures and high fives are exchanged throughout their interaction. The whole thing is very sweet and you can’t help but look on in adoration, fully knowing that Lando would make a great Father one day.

You see that Luca keeps looking over at you and then back to Lando, but you don’t pay that much mind to it. You figured he was just nervous or something, but what comes out of his mouth next takes you by surprise.

“Your girlfriend is very pretty.”

You feel your heart skip a beat and you glance over at Lando to see what his reaction is. You prepare yourself for the worst, but in true Lando fashion he’s all smiles. In fact he’s sporting that full face smile of his and it makes you feel funny.

“Thank you buddy, I think so too.” He looks over at you with nothing but love in his eyes and you’re immediately looking away like some shy school girl.

Thankfully, the Mom comes to your aid and quickly changes the subject. “Ok Luca, you’ve bothered them enough. We should get back to our spot. Thank them for their time.”

His cute little voice mutters out grazie as he gives you a small wave goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, Luca.” Lando bids him farewell and you both wave back at the little boy.

As soon as they’re gone you’re immediately shoving your face back into your book, you don’t even want to talk about what had just happened. It was nothing really to be so worked up over, it was just a little kid who saw two people together and assumed they were together. It happens all the time. But it is a big deal when you find yourself liking being referred to as Lando’s girlfriend. It doesn’t help when neither of you deny it and correct the person. Lando likes to play into it and you love it too much to say anything.

Ever since getting that DM the other night your mind had been in a whirlwind over how Lando felt about you and how you felt about him. Hell you can’t even look at him right now, you’re so in your head that you’ve been staring at the same page for the last five minutes. You just wished the book you were reading could tell you how to come to terms with the fact that you’re in love with your best friend.

It was something you’d realized the other night while you were awake overthinking everything. Those feelings had always been there, but you had just pushed them aside, ignoring every little butterfly or rapid heartbeat. When they actually turned into romantic feelings you have no clue because as far as you knew, you and Lando had always been like this.

You two just dove in head first into the co-dependent friendship that was more like a relationship lifestyle. All those times you’d gone to his parents house for family dinners and holidays, both of you attached at the hip. How he wanted to ask you to move to Monaco with him and then almost didn’t even move because he said he’d miss you too much. The group vacations that always ended up with you two going off and doing your own thing. The texts from him every Wednesday before a race asking if he needed to get you a paddock pass and a flight. This trip in particular– sleeping in the same bed when you don’t have to, the cuddling, the getting mistaken for a couple three times so far, the fact that it was just you two alone on the trip.

It was all there the whole time and you wondered how you could have been so blind to not realize it sooner. You were in love with him. You loved his pretty eyes and curls and the way his real laugh only seemed to come out around you. You loved his big heart and his caring nature and sometimes you thought he was too nice to be a Formula 1 driver.

You loved everything about him and truth be told it made your stomach hurt from how much you loved him. You wanted to actually be his and be able to kiss those pink lips that you sometimes found yourself staring at. When people said you were his girlfriend you wanted it to actually be true and not have it be Lando just playing along. You were so down bad that you prayed that Harry was right and that Lando was actually in love with you too.

While you were freaking out, so was Lando. When you immediately went back to reading your book and not speaking a word, he figured he had weirded you out by basically implying that you were his girlfriend. He just figured it was easier to go along with what the kid thought than explain that you weren’t his girlfriend, but god does he wish you were. He didn’t know what to say to try and test the waters because he knew whatever he would say would come out awkward and he didn’t want to make things worse. So, once again it’s not talked about and you two pretend that it didn’t happen when you finally speak again.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

It’s the last day of the trip and you’re dreading going back to reality and away from this little slice of heaven. The only thing you have to look forward to is the supposed fancy dinner that Lando had planned for tonight, which was what you were currently getting ready for. Music plays through your phone and you softly sing along as you do your makeup. When you look up after digging in your makeup bag you spot Lando in the mirror, leaning against the door frame behind you. Your eyes lower and you see that he’s holding two gift bags.

"Those better be for your Mom.” You state as you put the finishing touches on your makeup.

“I think we both know they aren’t.” He sees you roll your eyes in the mirror and it only makes him want to spoil you more. “It’s our last day, I think you deserve a parting gift.”

You turn to face him as he makes his way over to you. “I haven’t gotten you a single thing this whole time. It makes me feel bad.”

Lando only shakes his head at you. “You being here with me is the best gift you could have ever gotten me. I truly don’t need anything else.” He hands you the bags. “Now open them please.”

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you take the bags from him. You decide to open the bigger bag first and once you pull out the tissue paper you know exactly what it is. It’s still in its dust bag, but you see the branding and your jaw is dropping before you even see the actual thing. “You did not get me this bag Lando!” You exclaim as you remove the dust bag and see that it’s the same bag you were eyeing at the store the other day.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Saw you eyeing it and knew I had to get it for you and before you say anything else open the other present.”

You set the handbag down and grab the smaller gift trying to figure out what else he could have possibly gotten you. When you open it and see the bracelet you were also looking at the other day you’re at a loss for words. “Lando Norris!” You could slap him, hug him, kiss him, and yell at him all at once. He’d dropped probably close to six grand on these two gifts and your head is spinning at the thought of it.

“Don’t even say anything about the price. I know you’re thinking it, but I wouldn’t have bought you them if I couldn’t afford it. I wanted you to have them, you deserve nice things.” You deserved a lot more than a handbag and a bracelet, but what he thought you deserved money couldn’t buy.

You know there's no use in fighting him on it, but you still feel bad that he just spends all this money on you. He takes the bracelet from the box and fastens it around your wrist, the diamonds glittering in the light as you move it around. It’s truly stunning and the handbag will go great with your outfit tonight. As soon as you two make eye contact again you’re pulling him into a bone crushing hug and you two stay like that for probably longer than necessary. “Thank you a million times Lan. I love them both so much.”

It’s time to leave for dinner shortly after that and when you arrive at the restaurant the host guides you back to a secluded corner. It’s a very romantic ambiance and you can’t help but feel like you’re on a date, which wouldn’t be a horrible thing. Moments later a waiter comes over with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “It’s on the house– for the special couple.”

There it is again and it seems like with each time it happens it makes your heart race even more. Lando shifts in his seat and you focus on the rising bubbles in the glasses as the waiter pours the champagne. Lando tells him thank you and your attention moves to the menu.

“What are you thinking about getting?” You ask, ignoring the obvious.

“Probably the steak.” He grabs the flute of champagne and takes a drink. “What was that? The fourth time now?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you’re surprised he’s decided to talk about it. “Yeah it was.” You set the menu down and grab the other flute. “Think I’ll get the steak too.”

Dinner actually turns out to be an amazing time. The food is decadent and Lando and you have good conversations that don’t revolve around you two being mistaken for a couple or being in love with each other. When the waiter brings the bill you’re quite sad because that just means this trip is that much closer to being over.

You take your time heading back to the villa, trying to savor every last moment you’ve got here. The sun was low in the sky by the time you get back and you tell Lando just how you want to spend your final evening in Italy. You hurry and change into comfier clothes and take off all your makeup before heading to the spot with the best view out back. Lando makes his way out there not too long after you, but he’s got one more surprise for you.

“Don’t think the evening or this trip would be complete without this now would it?” He pulls a bottle of pink moscato from behind his back along with two wine glasses.

He knew you too well, but it was something you loved dearly about him. “You’re a man after my heart Norris.”

He hands you a glass as he sits down next to you, the sun just beginning to set on the horizon. “I try.”

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a while and the only sound to be heard is from the waves below. It feels like paradise sitting here with this amazing view and the guy you love next to you. It’s probably boring to the majority of people, but this was everything you could ask for and more and the perfect way to end this amazing trip. You lean in closer to Lando, your head resting on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. A content sigh escapes past your lips as his thumb starts to draw mindless circles on your arm.

“Thank you again for everything. This trip was amazing and I’m glad we got to go together– just you and me.”

“I’m glad too. It was probably the best summer break trip I’ve had. Don’t think Ibiza will be seeing me for a while.”

You’re not even looking at him, but you can sense the smile on his face and you can’t help but laugh at his lie. “Yeah, and I don’t like pink moscato.”

“Alright so Ibiza will inevitably see me, but not as much as Italy.” He pauses for a moment, glancing down at you still resting on his shoulder, his heart swelling just by looking at you. “I think this may be our place now, just for the two of us.” His voice is soft when he says it, like he’s not sure if he wanted to say it outloud.

You lift your head up and are met with his piercing blue eyes staring back at you. He looked radiant as golden hour cascades over him and it’s like you’re in a trance as you look at him. You take in every last bit of him, all the little details about him that you’ve memorized over the years. The slight stubble on his face from not shaving for a couple days, the little moles, his long and somehow always curled eyelashes, those pink lips of his. He’s everything you could have ever dreamed of and more. You’ve had him at fingertip length for so long now and all you want to do is reach out for him, take what you want and never let go.

Lando feels his breath catch in his throat as you two make eye contact. You’d never looked more beautiful than in this moment and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take without you actually being his. You were the love of his life, his best friend, and everything he’s ever wanted. It may have taken him a long time to realize it, but he’s never felt like this about anyone before. You know each other like the back of your hands and it only makes sense that you’d be the one for him.

And it’s in this moment that it clicks for you two that it’s now or never. You’re never going to have a perfect moment like this again. It feels right, like the universe wants this moment to happen and if you let it go to waste you may never get the chance again. Lando takes his free hand and gently cups your face, his thumb ever so softly rubbing across your cheek. You’re practically putty in his hands and you feel like your heart is gonna beat out of your chest. You want to scream out to him that you love him, that you want to be his, but you can barely get your brain to communicate with your mouth.

“Lan-”

That’s all you can get out before Lando’s leaning in and his lips are on yours. He tastes like the sugary sweet wine and his lips are soft as they move in sync with yours. Kissing him is even better than you’d imagined and as your hand reaches up to his neck you deepen the kiss. It feels like you two had kissed a thousand times before and as he pulls away you’re already left wanting more.

Your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathless and a little light headed from that singular kiss. When you both actually internalize what’s just happened you’re both grinning, that then turns into laughing and it’s like music to both of your ears to hear each other laugh.

“I think that was a long time coming.” You state as you finally lean back onto the couch.

Lando reaches out for your hand, intertwining his with yours. “When did you realize?”

“That night when we got into that argument, which looking back now, you were totally jealous.”

“I was not jealous!” He tries to be serious, but the knowing look on your face has him cracking. “Ok I was jealous.”

“When did you realize?” You question.

“That same night. I couldn’t understand why you flirting with that guy bothered me so much. Well I guess now we know.”

“Yeah cause you’re in loooveee with me.” You’re laughing as you speak, but he shuts you up with another kiss and leaves you pouting when he pulls away.

“Only kissed you twice and you’re already pouting when I pull away? I think you’re in loooveee with me.”

You lean back in, capturing his lips in yet another kiss and you’re like teenagers who’ve gotten into their first relationship.

Lando sighs when you stop kissing him, he can’t believe he could have had this sooner if he would have just opened his eyes. “You think you could get another week off from work?”

You’d do anything to get another week in a paradise with him, but you know it’s not possible. “Hmm, why don’t you just spend a week in London with me?”

“Well you haven’t even told them that you now have a famous F1 driver boyfriend. Who if they didn’t know already is very needy and needs to see his girlfriend.” He teases.

“Well you forgot to add that you’re my hot and famous F1 driver boyfriend.” You counter back.

You’re both grinning like fools at each other and as you curl up into his side and take in the last sunset you’ll see in the place that now holds such a special place in both of your hearts, you’re glad you let him convince you to come on this trip.

As the sun finally sets over the water you actually say those three little words.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[0scarp1astr1]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞࿐ .

۫જ⁀➴ Desc: || Max and you always planned the best birthday parties for your daughter, Sofie. But, with the weight of her not having friends and a birthday going wrong. Max is willing to step in and make everything right. ||

ᯓ★ (Dad) Max Verstappen x Fem! (Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 3x Genre: Fluff, Humor, (bit) of angst

ᯓ★ Warning: Minor bullying, and of course, an angry dad Max.

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Here is some Max dad fluff, I am glad that some people are enjoying the dad writing so far. I do plan to create dad fics for most of the drivers, just cause parenthood on them is actually cute. Remember, my requests are open, as well as my messages!

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

If someone had told you years ago that you’d one day be Mrs. Verstappen, you would’ve laughed so hard tears welled in your eyes. You would have denied it with every fiber of your being, maybe even swore on your career that it would never happen. And yet, here you were.

You remember the first time you saw him clearly—Max Verstappen, standing off to the side of the Red Bull garage, jaw tight, his face carved in frustration. It was post-qualifying, and something had gone horribly wrong. You hadn’t needed to check the screens to know—his muttering, the way his hand combed aggressively through his hair, and the sharp glares toward the engineering team told you everything. He was livid.

You worked for Red Bull Racing, and it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like that. People tiptoed around him, allowing him space to rant, to burn off the steam like an overheated engine. You gave him that space, too—but not without approaching him with a bottle of water. “Want to throw it at someone or actually drink it?” you asked lightly, eyebrows raised.

His lips curved, just barely. “Both,” he muttered, taking the bottle from you.

And that was the beginning.

It started quietly. Texting. Late-night phone calls. Glances stolen in the chaos of a race weekend. He was intense, unapologetically so, and never cared to soften himself for the sake of perception. But with you, he didn't have to. You learned his language—understood that his silence didn’t mean absence, his anger didn’t mean hatred. He had sharp edges, but he never cut you with them.

Behind closed doors, after draining media days, he’d find you. He’d fall into your arms like he needed you to keep him grounded. “I’m not a bad guy,” he whispered into your hair once, exhausted. “They just… they don’t see me.”

“I do,” you whispered back. “I always do.”

You were his armor. When engineers muttered judgmental remarks, you were swift with your defense. When Jos Verstappen made comments laced with toxic pride or passive disappointment, you stood up taller, redirecting the energy in the room. And when Christian Horner made jokes that crossed the line, you didn't hesitate to call him out. Max didn’t always say it, but it filled him with smug satisfaction. He loved knowing you didn’t fear anyone—not for him.

When he finally asked you out, it was your birthday. You hadn’t expected anything beyond a few wishes from the paddock, maybe a slice of cake from the catering crew. But there he was—waiting outside your flat with the exact cake you mentioned in passing weeks ago.

“Be my girlfriend,” he asked, the moment the candlelight flickered between you two.

You stared at him, stunned. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “I’m not playing games with you. Not when it’s you.”

And from that moment on, he was yours. In private at first, by choice, not shame. The peace of an undisclosed relationship was intoxicating. But all it took was one slip-up in an interview—Max, talking about the importance of his "team," then gesturing at you and proudly adding, “My girlfriend, she’s my team too.” And just like that, the world knew.

He shielded you from the worst of it. He didn’t mind the cameras, the rumors, the headlines—so long as they stayed away from you. You loved him all the more for that.

Then came the proposal—romantic, quiet, over dinner under the Monaco stars. You said yes through tears. He told the whole world, but most importantly, his family. The F1 WAGs pulled you into an emotional celebration, all teary eyes and champagne flutes. You’d found sisters in them. They stood by your side on your wedding day, and eventually, you became Mrs. Verstappen.

Your life together unfolded in Monaco—a haven of love and racing memorabilia. The walls were adorned with trophies, framed pictures, and cat towers. Three cats, each more spoiled than the last. But nothing prepared you for the day you realized there was more than just fur babies in your future.

You were pregnant.

The baby shower was intimate, warm. Charles, Daniel, and Checo argued over who Sofie would call “Uncle” first. They made bets and silly presentations. And when Sofie was born, everything changed.

Max’s world shrank to her. He held her like she was made of stardust, something too delicate to exist. He cried—actual tears—and kissed her forehead with a reverence you’d never seen before.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, eyes wide. “So perfect.”

The protective dad mode kicked in hard. Drivers came to visit with gift baskets and toys—each of them getting a lecture from Max. “Hands washed. Masks on. No sneezing. Touch nothing until instructed.”

Sofie rolled over during tummy time, crawled in your living room, walked across the cat-strewn floor with Max filming and softly cheering. Her birthdays became events of pure magic.

Her first: pastel princess fantasy. Max teared up watching her toddle around in her tiara. Lando caught him. “Are you crying?” he whispered, smirking.

Max sniffled, glaring. “No.”

After the party, when Sofie was asleep, you cleaned confetti off the floor with aching feet and gave Max a tired high five. “Success.”

“Always,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple.

Her second: unicorns. Lando in costume. Carlos wheezing from laughter. “I might hire you in the future,” Carlos told Lando, who was sweltering in glitter and misery.

“Public humiliation,” Lando muttered.

Her third: animals. Of course. Oscar was the zookeeper, Lando a lion again, Fernando a grumpy honorary guest who Sofie insisted on including. You snapped photos of it all—blackmail, surely, for future teenage rebellion.

“Drink and movie?” you asked Max that night.

He kissed your knuckles. “Of course, mijn liefste.”

Her fourth: Sesame Street. Daniel was Cookie Monster by force. “She likes him,” Max offered, stealing a cupcake.

“She’s my niece. That’s the only reason I’m doing this,” Daniel muttered, swiping frosting off his suit.

Lewis wandered in. “Have you seen Roscoe?”

“She’s feeding him snacks under the table,” you said casually. “Good luck with that.”

Another successful party. Another sleepy Sofie, surrounded by “uncles” on the floor. Another high five. Another kiss goodnight.

But now… now she was turning five.

And something shifted.

Her dolls? Dusty. Her tiaras? Forgotten. Her plushies? Stuffed in the toy box, untouched.

“She’s changing,” you said one night, sitting beside Max, folding laundry. “She’s not into the princess phase anymore.”

He looked at you, thoughtful. “It’s a phase, schatje. She’s growing. Let her.”

You tried to believe it. But it still stung.

One morning, you served pancakes, placing the final plate down in front of your daughter. She sat across from Max, legs swinging under the table, hair tied up in her favorite pink scrunchie.

“What do you want to do for your birthday this year, lieve?” you asked with a warm smile.

Her eyes lit up. “Race cars! Like Papa’s racing!”

Your hand froze mid-air. You blinked. Max looked up from his coffee, noticing the way your expression faltered.

You smiled softly. “Race cars?”

“Yep!” she grinned. “I wanna drive and be fast and beat everyone like Papa!”

Max reached over, resting a reassuring hand on your thigh under the table. “She’s watching us, schatje.”

You blinked the emotion away, forcing a grin. “Race cars it is.”

She clapped, delighted.

Later that night, when Sofie was asleep, Max pulled you close. “She’s still your baby,” he whispered against your hair.

“I know.” You sniffled. “But she’s not… little anymore.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice thick with affection. “No matter how fast she grows, no one replaces you. You’re the one who made this life possible. You gave me everything.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning unfolded with a calm softness—rare, but welcomed. The skies above Monaco were clear, sunshine glittering off the glass buildings as Max drove through the winding city streets. You sat in the passenger seat, one arm casually resting along the console, the other hand wrapped around your warm coffee. Sofie sat in her car seat behind you, kicking her little legs and rambling excitedly in the way only a child could.

“…and the cupcakes should be chocolate, but also strawberry, and then we can have a race track cake, and Papa can bring his car—just for the party! And balloons, but red, not pink. Pink is for babies, Mama.”

You chuckled, glancing at Max with an amused raise of your brow. “You hear that? No pink. She’s officially too grown up for princess themes.”

Max smirked. “That’s devastating. I was looking forward to wearing another tiara.”

“Please,” you said, laughing. “Last year you wore it better than I did. Checo still has that photo framed.”

Sofie leaned forward, strapped tightly in her booster but determined to be part of the conversation. “Can Jack come too?”

“Jack?” you echoed, glancing back. “Of course, baby. I’ll talk to Toto and Susie. I’m sure they’ll bring him. He wouldn't miss it.”

Sofie squealed in delight, kicking her feet. “Yay! Jack and me are gonna beat everyone on the track!”

You smiled, already picturing the chaos of five-year-olds with tiny karts and an F1 audience cheering them on. You looked at Max, a warmth tugging at your chest. “Tell the drivers to hurry up and have kids. Our daughter needs a whole junior paddock.”

Max laughed. “That’s a dangerous idea.”

You smirked. “Why? Scared of a new generation?”

He made a show of pretending to think. “Oscar and Lily? Too busy being adorable. Yuki… still can’t take care of himself, let alone a baby. Lando? God help us all if he becomes someone’s dad right now.”

You snorted. “Amen.”

“And Fernando?” Max continued. “That man will father a championship before he fathers a child.”

You arched a brow. “And Lewis?”

“Lewis has Roscoe. That’s already a full-time kid,” Max said, glancing at you with a grin. “High maintenance.”

You both laughed until a tiny voice interrupted.

“Mama! Papa!” Sofie called, wriggling in her seat. “Invite my other friends too!”

You twisted to look at her. “Your other friends? You mean the ones at school?”

She shook her head quickly, digging through her little sparkly backpack like it was filled with secrets. With dramatic flair, she pulled out several sealed envelopes—gold stickers keeping them closed—and held them up like treasure.

“My racing friends. My brothers!” she said with a proud little nod.

You blinked, taking the envelopes as she handed them to you one by one. “Brothers?”

And then it clicked.

Kimi Antonelli. Ollie Bearman. Isack Hadjar. Liam Lawson.

They weren’t just names in F2 and F1. They were constants in Sofie’s little universe—regular faces at your table, in your living room, voices that made her light up with pure joy. To her, they weren’t rising stars or young drivers. They were her playmates, protectors, snack thieves, homework buddies—her brothers.

Max glanced at you and you saw the exact same realization cross his face.

“Right,” you said gently, brushing a hand over her knee. “Of course. Me and Papa will invite them, too. They’ll be there, baby.”

Sofie cheered again, eyes wide with excitement, and you felt your chest squeeze. You turned back toward the front as Max stopped at a red light, and for a brief moment, the hum of the world quieted.

“She really loves them,” you murmured.

“They really love her back,” Max replied softly.

You smiled to yourself, already seeing it in your mind—the boys trickling in, older but still so gentle with her. You remembered how Kimi would show up with his homework, slouched in your kitchen chair, pencil in hand while Sofie sat beside him with her toy laptop pretending to help. She called him “Kimi the Smart,” and he never corrected her—even when he barely passed a math test.

Ollie would stop by unannounced, digging through your snack drawer with the kind of hunger only a young driver could justify. “She said I could have cookies,” he’d argue. Sofie would appear from the hallway, arms crossed. “Only if you read me a bedtime story first.” And he always did.

Isack came for the food. Not the snacks—real meals. “It’s better than the paddock,” he always claimed as he helped set the table. He’d let Sofie braid his hair, even though it was barely long enough, and pretend to cry when she tightened it too hard.

Liam was dragged into everything—from tea parties to “driveway grand prix” races with tricycles. Once, he walked into your living room in a full Elsa dress, crown and all, because Sofie had insisted. Max nearly cried laughing. Liam stayed in it the whole afternoon.

They weren’t just boys passing through. They were part of the family you built. They showed up, again and again, not for obligation—but because they wanted to. Because Sofie mattered to them, and maybe, in a strange way, you and Max had created something much larger than a family of three.

You'd created a home that people wanted to come back to.

Max reached over and took your hand as the car rolled forward. “She really is growing up fast, huh?”

You nodded. “Too fast. But I think we’re doing okay.”

He glanced in the mirror at Sofie, who was now humming to herself, staring out the window like she could already see her party coming to life.

“We’re doing better than okay,” he said. “We gave her a team.”

You smiled, leaning back into your seat. “One hell of a team.”

The car rolled gently to a stop in front of Sofie’s school. Max reached over to put it in park, the soft click echoing in the morning hush. In the backseat, Sofie was quiet now, her earlier giggles and chatter about the party giving way to a more withdrawn stillness. She stared out the window, backpack clutched tightly in her lap, the colorful invitations barely peeking out from the front pocket.

You turned around from the front seat, noticing the shift. Her lips were slightly pursed, eyebrows scrunched just a little in thought—something she only did when she was nervous or trying not to cry.

You reached over to open her car door and unbuckle her from the car seat. As you leaned in, she looked at you carefully, her eyes wide.

“So… my brothers are really coming?” she asked softly.

You smiled warmly, smoothing back a wisp of her soft hair. “Yes, baby. I already told you, we’ll invite them today. They’ll be there. Especially Kimi.”

That brought the tiniest spark back to her face. “Tell bubba Kimi to bring Eli, please?” she asked in a small, hopeful voice. “She paints my nails really pretty… like the sparkle kind.”

Max chuckled from the driver’s seat, resting one arm out the window. “You’ve got quite the party committee forming.”

“She’s like a celebrity already,” you said with a soft laugh, grabbing Sofie’s bag. “Red carpet, mani-pedi, guest list.”

Sofie smiled faintly, then turned to Max. “Bye, Papa,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

He caught it with both hands this time, exaggeratedly pressing it to his cheek. “Have fun, sweet girl. Be fast, be kind, be you.”

That earned another small smile. You helped her down from the car, and she immediately reached for your hand, holding it tighter than usual as you began walking her toward the school.

As you entered the familiar hallway, the noise of the morning buzzed around you—shoes squeaking, zippers zipping, the hum of chatter and laughter. And then, a few feet ahead, a group of little girls stood in a loose circle near the classroom door, showing off big pastel bows clipped into their ponytails. Each girl had her own distinct color—lavender, bubblegum pink, sunshine yellow. They giggled, whispering as one showed off her sparkly unicorn clip.

You felt Sofie’s steps slow.

“Those are the girls you told me and Papa about, right? The ones who love unicorns and snacks?” you asked, glancing at them and then down at her.

She hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah,” she said quickly. “They’re my best friends.”

Her voice was a little too high-pitched, a little too forced. You didn’t catch it—not fully. You were watching the girls, not her.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “That’s great, sweetie. Make sure you give them their invitations, okay? They’ll be so excited.”

She didn’t answer, just gave a small nod, her grip on your hand tightening. You walked her the rest of the way to the classroom, where her teacher stood by the door greeting students.

“Good morning!” the teacher beamed.

“Morning!” you greeted in return, then crouched down to meet Sofie at her level. “Alright, soon-to-be birthday girl. I want you to have a really great day, okay? Be your kind, brave, smart self. And remember—don’t let anyone tell you your glitter bow isn’t cool.”

She looked at you for a long moment. And then, without a word, she suddenly threw her arms around your neck, hugging you tight.

So tight it surprised you.

“Oh,” you laughed softly, hugging her back. “Big squeeze!”

But she didn’t let go right away. She stayed there for a few seconds longer, her small frame pressed to yours. You didn’t see the way her face scrunched up, the way she blinked fast, trying to push down the sting in her eyes. You didn’t feel the way her chest trembled just slightly when she pulled away, looking down at the floor as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

“Hey,” you whispered gently, brushing your knuckles across her cheek. “You alright?”

She nodded again quickly. “Mhm. I’m okay.”

Her voice wavered, just a little. But then she stepped into the classroom.

You handed the teacher the small stack of extra invitations you had tucked in your purse, just in case. “We’re planning the party this weekend. She’s got quite a list.”

“She’s been talking about it for weeks,” the teacher said with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll help her hand them out.”

You smiled in gratitude, stepping aside as another cluster of kids passed by. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sofie sit down at her table, setting her bag beside her and slipping an envelope out to place in a cubby. You watched her glance up at the girls with the bows, who were still standing in their circle, whispering. They didn’t even look at her.

But she looked at them.

Just for a second.

Then back down to her desk.

You waved gently. She didn’t see it—her eyes were on her hands now, fidgeting in her lap.

You turned to leave, calling a final soft goodbye before walking back out into the sunlit morning.

Max was leaning on the car now, still nursing his coffee. He looked up as you approached, sensing something.

“All good?” he asked, tossing the empty cup in a nearby bin.

You nodded with a sigh, sliding your sunglasses on. “She hugged me like she was going off to war, but yeah. She’s good.”

“Maybe just nerves,” Max said, unlocking the car. “Party planning pressure.”

“Maybe,” you replied, sliding into your seat.

But even as you said it, a small thought nagged at the back of your mind.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

With Sofie dropped off at school, the car ride home was quiet, almost still. You sat beside Max, fingers tapping at a to-do list on your phone, while he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably between you.

“She asked for Eli,” you murmured, glancing over at him.

Max chuckled, the sound low and affectionate. “I heard. Bubba Kimi better show up with a whole salon kit.”

You smiled, heart a little full at the thought of your daughter wanting her "big siblings" at her party—Kimi and his girlfriend Eli included. She had her favorites, and Eli, with her fun nail kits and bright makeup bags, was always welcomed with open arms.

“We’ve got a lot to do before next weekend,” you sighed, leaning back in the seat.

“Which is why we’re seeing Toto and Susie,” Max said, turning the wheel. “Let’s get it done.”

By the time you reached their villa nestled in the Monaco hills, the late morning sun had lit up the soft cream stones of their front terrace. Monaco’s skyline glistened in the distance, but here, everything felt a bit slower, more personal.

Susie greeted you both at the door with that signature warmth of hers. “You’re early,” she teased, stepping back to let you in. “Which means you’re either running from something or planning something.”

“Both,” you joked. “We need help.”

“Breakfast first,” she smiled, already heading back toward the kitchen. “Toto’s in the back garden, sulking over emails and espresso.”

Max gave you a look and smirked. “He’s always in that state.”

You laughed together as you followed her in. The table was set with fresh fruit, flaky croissants, eggs, and plenty of coffee. You hardly got to sit down before Toto appeared through the sliding glass doors, sleeves rolled, sunglasses perched atop his head, holding a small plate of berries.

“Well if it isn’t Monaco’s most stubborn couple,” he said, placing his plate down. “What brings the Verstappens to my home this early?”

“We come with birthday demands,” Max said flatly, settling in with a croissant.

You leaned in. “It’s about Sofie’s party.”

Toto raised a brow, clearly interested.

“She wants a karting theme this year,” you began. “And not the pretend kind, either. She’s serious. She wants a track.”

“And she doesn’t just want to play at racing,” Max added. “She wants to race. Helmets. Flags. Mini podiums.”

Toto leaned back, his expression unreadable. “You know this is Monaco, right? We don’t exactly have open space just lying around.”

“We thought about that,” you said, pulling out your phone. “But we found something.”

You tapped open a photo of a tucked-away private outdoor kart track just outside the main city—close to the water, low-profile, small enough to keep intimate and safe, but polished enough to look impressive.

Toto leaned in. “This is the one near Fontvieille?”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Heard you’ve hosted a few team events there.”

“Private. Gated. Decent track for kids. There’s a viewing deck too,” Toto said, nodding slowly. “It’s not bad.”

“We want it for her birthday,” you said. “The whole afternoon. Preferably media-free, completely private.”

“She wants her friends to race too,” Max added, stealing a strawberry from your plate. “And her 'brothers'—Kimi, Ollie, Isack, Liam. She's got them all on a list.”

“And she specifically asked for Jack,” you added with a knowing smile. “So you and Susie have to come.”

Toto exhaled, but there was no resistance behind it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. I can make the calls. I know the guy who runs it—he owes me a favor or two.”

“See? I told you he still had his Mercedes clout,” Max joked, nudging your knee under the table.

Susie grinned. “You’re lucky we adore that little girl.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out four glittery, slightly crumpled envelopes. “She wanted these delivered personally.”

Toto took them carefully, reading the names: Kimi, Ollie, Isack, Liam.

“She calls them her racing brothers,” Max said, glancing toward the garden.

“And she asked for Eli to come too,” you added. “She loves how she paints her nails and makes her feel grown-up.”

“Eli’s already asking what color she wants,” Susie laughed. “I think she’s going to bring a little kit for all the girls.”

“That’ll make her so happy,” you said, the warmth curling in your chest. “She’s so ready for this birthday. I just want to get it right.”

“You two always do,” Susie said sincerely.

You glanced at Max, who gave you that soft, rare smile—the one only for you, the one he wore when you both shared the silent understanding of just how lucky you were.

Toto stood with a stretch. “I’ll call the track manager today. If all goes well, you’ll have your mini-Monaco Grand Prix ready to go.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Now we just need to build a podium.”

“Oh, she’s already asking for trophies,” you said with a laugh. “I may have to get them custom made.”

“I’ll get Jack practicing his wave,” Toto muttered.

You all burst into laughter, the morning filled with more than just plans—it held warmth, community, and the kind of love you couldn’t script if you tried.

As your coffee cup neared empty and the conversation began to slow, you leaned back in your chair, fingers laced loosely over your stomach as you glanced between Toto and Susie.

“Do you guys know if George and Carmen are busy today?” you asked, your tone casual, but already mentally organizing what needed to be done next.

Toto sat back with a thoughtful hum, brushing a crumb off his shirt. “I don’t think so. George mentioned he had the weekend off, and Carmen said something about wanting to check out that new home decor boutique near the harbor, but nothing concrete. Worth texting them.”

You nodded, already reaching for your phone. Before you could tap the screen, you glanced at Max.

“And you,” you said, narrowing your eyes in mock warning, “for once, can you please put whatever unspoken, silly track drama you’ve got with George behind you? Just for Sofie?”

Susie snorted behind her mug, clearly entertained, while Toto chuckled under his breath.

Max raised both hands as if caught red-handed. “I’m not the one who keeps trying to ‘accidentally’ block him during qualifying.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

He sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, eyes softening slightly. “Alright. Fine. I’ll behave. It’s about Sofie, not me and George.”

You gave him an approving smile and reached over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You guys are so dramatic,” Susie said, standing up to start clearing plates. “You’re just lucky you’re raising the cutest little girl on the grid.”

Toto stood too, taking the envelopes you'd handed him earlier. “I’ll call about the track the moment you leave. If it's available, it's yours. I’ll text you.”

“Perfect,” you said, rising to your feet. “Thank you both. For the food, the help, everything.”

You walked over to hug Susie tightly. “This birthday might actually come together.”

“It always does,” she said warmly.

“And thanks to you too, big boss,” you grinned, giving Toto a quick hug.

“You’re very welcome, princess of Red Bull,” he teased, earning a playful groan from Max.

As the door shut behind you and Max, the warm smell of Susie’s breakfast still clinging to your clothes, you walked down the steps with purpose.

“Okay! Before we meet up with George and Carmen,” you announced, tugging on Max’s sleeve as you both headed toward the car, “I need you to take me to Lando’s.”

Max stopped walking like you just asked him to drop you off at the devil’s front porch.

“Lando’s?” he asked, slowly turning toward you, narrowing his eyes. “As in Norris?”

You looked over your shoulder, already opening the passenger door. “Yes, as in Norris. I need to talk to him. Personally.”

Max blinked. “Personally?”

“Personally,” you repeated, hopping in the car like it was no big deal. “He owes me a favor.”

Max raised a brow and got in behind the wheel, giving you a suspicious side-eye. “Right. A favor. You sure you’re not just going over there so he can hit on you again in that stupid flirty voice he uses when he’s trying to pretend he has a chance?”

You grinned. “Max, please. I am a happily married woman,” you said, waving your hand in front of his face and flashing your wedding ring like it was a shield. “Married to the world champion. The father of my child. The man I trust to tell me when I’ve left the oven on. I’m not running off with Lando for some favors.”

Max muttered under his breath, “He probably color-coordinates the cones with his shoes.”

You snorted. “He does. And he also has a very cute balloon setup I’m trying to get for Sofie’s party. And I need a custom banner for her birthday, he's the man for the job, he's done it for his own niece—tell me that’s not fate.”

Max sighed as he started the car. “You know, if he flirts with you in that dumb little voice again, I might lock him in his McLaren simulator for 24 hours.”

“You’re welcome to try,” you teased, then leaned back in your seat, glancing at him sideways. “But you know I only flirt back when it’s for leverage.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “You flirted back?”

You grinned. “Relax, Verstappen. I said if. Besides, he’s harmless. Like a golden retriever in Gucci sneakers. and I never flirt with Lando, besides he's always joking and I always jokingly tell him you'll kick his ass."

He shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You better not give him that smile.”

“What smile?” you asked innocently.

He turned to glance at you at a red light. “That one. The ‘I need something, and I’ll giggle while I ask’ smile.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said sweetly, already pulling out your phone. “Besides, it works.”

Max sighed again, defeated but amused. “Fine. Go to Lando’s. But I’m staying in the car. If he comes out shirtless again, I’m driving off without you.”

You laughed. “Fair. But if he’s shirtless, I’m definitely getting that balloon arch.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And still your wife.”

“That part I don’t regret,” he muttered, shaking his head as the car took off toward Lando’s place in the glittering hills of Monaco, your laughter echoing in the air.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You didn’t knock. You never did. At this point, Lando Norris should’ve expected you to waltz right into his Monaco flat like it was your second home.

“Breaking and entering again?” he called out as he heard the door open.

“Only breaking,” you called back, already making your way into the kitchen. “I’ve entered smoother places.”

Lando appeared around the corner, tousled curls, no shoes, and wearing a hoodie that clearly hadn't seen an iron in weeks. He gave you a skeptical look as you grabbed a sparkling water from his fridge like it was yours. “You’re awfully comfortable for someone trespassing.”

You took a sip, resting your hip against the counter. “Please. If I was trespassing, I wouldn’t be asking for a favor.”

His brows lifted. “Ah, so that’s what this is. What am I loaning now? My yacht? My soul?”

You smirked. “Sofie’s birthday is coming up, and we’re trying to keep it simple, fun, and personal. Max and I could throw her some wild, luxury-level event—but that’s not who we are. We want her to remember the love, not the bill.”

Lando softened a little. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

You pointed at him. “Don’t get sentimental on me. I’m not done.”

He laughed.

“I remember you had that balloon arch set-up at your niece’s party. Orange and white? Minimal, but really cute. It’d be perfect for Sofie’s birthday.”

“You want to borrow it?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

“Yes. I could go out and order some new one from some event planner, but… why? You already have it. It’s cute. And it’s from someone who actually likes Sofie. That means more to us than overpriced glitter balloons that’ll pop in five minutes.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “You’re really pulling the emotional card, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s not an act. We want people she loves involved in this day—not just vendors with clipboards. The less it feels like a show, the more it feels like home.”

He nodded, then raised a teasing brow. “What’s next, you want me to personally blow up all the balloons too?”

You pointed again. “I mean, if you’re offering…”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Alright. I’ll get you the arch, and I’ll even throw in the mini banner I had made—just swap the name out.”

You lit up. “You’re a legend. And one more thing—if you’re thinking of getting her a gift…”

“Oh no. You’re not wrangling me into more.”

“You have a helmet collection,” you said, matter-of-factly. “She’s obsessed with them. Obsessed. She watches your behind-the-scenes vlogs and pauses to look at the shelves. A mini replica would make her year.”

Lando sighed dramatically, but there was no resistance. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get one custom-made. She deserves it.”

“See? That’s why I came to you.” You grinned. “Not because you’re the face of McLaren—though, you know, that helps—but because you care. That’s what we want for her birthday. People who care.”

He tilted his head. “Does Max know you’re here buttering me up?”

You checked your watch. “He’s in the car downstairs. I told him I needed to talk to you privately—strictly business. I assume he’s staring at the time, counting how long I’ve been alone with you.”

Lando chuckled. “Tell him I behaved.”

“Oh, I will. I’ll even tell him you offered to blow up the balloons.”

“Don’t push it.”

You pushed off the counter, tossing the empty bottle into his recycling bin. “You’re the best, Lando. Really.”

“Only because it’s for Sofie,” he called as you headed out.

You paused at the door and turned around. “Exactly why I came to you.”

“Came to me and not Oscar…” Lando muttered as he walked you to the door, arms lazily folded across his chest.

You turned back with a grin, already expecting the jab. “He’s next on my list. Love bothering dear ol’ Piastri. He’s so… composed. Watching him slowly unravel is kind of fun.”

Lando snorted. “What’s next—gonna ask him to DJ?”

You tilted your head, mock thoughtful. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea…”

He stared at you, half horrified. “No. No, no, no. That man listens to silence recreationally. I wouldn’t trust him to run a toaster, let alone a sound system.”

You grinned. “To be fair, you wouldn’t be allowed to DJ at my kid’s party either.”

Lando put a hand over his chest, fake-offended. “Excuse me? I have taste.”

“You have a playlist titled ‘Pure Chaos, Vol. 2’. And the cover is just a blurry photo of you in sunglasses.”

“Artistic expression,” he defended, then sighed. “Fine. So I can’t DJ. But I can still bring the balloons, the arch, the banner. The classics. I’m reliable.”

You tapped your chin. “Actually, one more thing…”

He leaned in dramatically. “Is it a pony? Because I draw the line at live animals.”

You snapped your fingers. “Music. Bring a speaker. Nothing crazy—just something we can hook up to my phone. I’ll make a playlist with her favorite songs.”

“Like the Moana soundtrack on repeat?” he asked, deadpan.

You smiled. “Exactly. She also loves that silly Dutch song Max taught her. I have no clue what it says but she sings it like it’s gospel.”

He chuckled. “Alright. I’ll bring a speaker. But just so we’re clear—it’ll be a small one. Real tiny.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “You’re a millionaire.”

He gasped. “Sofie is going to make me go broke!”

You both burst into laughter, and then, for a moment, things settled into a comfortable silence.

You stepped forward, wrapping him in a quick, warm hug. “Thanks, Lando. Really.”

He hugged you back with a grin. “You know I’d do anything for her.”

You pulled away and gave him a playful warning point. “No DJ-ing. No fog machines. Just show up, smile, and hand over the balloon arch.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Back downstairs, Max sat in the car, arm draped lazily over the steering wheel, scrolling on his phone. As you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, he glanced sideways.

“Did he flirt?” he asked without looking up.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, smiling. “He was a perfect gentleman. I’m irresistible, but he tried his best.”

Max smirked, tossing his phone into the console and starting the engine. “Good."

“Well,” you said, settling into your seat, “now take me to George and Carmen.”

“That’s stop number two?” he asked, pulling into the road.

“Oh, no, my love. After George and Carmen, I need Oscar. Then we head to Lewis. Then Charles. And by the time we’re done doing this grand prix of birthday planning…”

“We’ll be picking Sofie up from school,” Max finished with a groan.

You reached over and patted his leg. “Welcome to the domestic paddock.”

He just laughed, driving toward the next stop, knowing full well that for Sofie—you both would do this a hundred times over.

The day had been a whirlwind—no, more like a full-blown sprint from one friend to another, and the weight of planning Sofie’s fifth birthday was finally catching up to you.

You and Max had started strong with George and Carmen. They met you at a cozy café tucked away in Monaco’s quieter streets. Over warm pastries and espresso, they eagerly agreed to help coordinate catering—something that would bring together all of Sofie’s favorite comfort foods, from tiny grilled cheese bites to heart-shaped fruit platters and little macarons. Carmen even suggested a vegan dessert option “just in case,” and George promised to talk to someone about outdoor seating near the track.

Next was Oscar. You had warned Max ahead of time to let you lead, knowing Oscar’s naturally quiet demeanor. But surprisingly, he welcomed you both with a calm smile, and once you mentioned activities for a little girl’s birthday party, his entire posture softened. Growing up with sisters gave him a special insight—and Lily, his ever-supportive girlfriend, chimed in over video call with ideas about crafting stations and maybe a bubble machine. You left with a list of surprisingly thoughtful ideas, plus the promise of a gift from both of them.

Then came Lewis.

You met at his sleek apartment, a space that felt like modern art had collided with calm energy. You asked him to host the karting portion of the party—after all, kids looked up to him, and his name carried both weight and warmth. He was honored, of course, but you had one specific request. “Roscoe has to come.”

Lewis laughed, nodding as Max smirked. “I figured that was non-negotiable.”

“Completely,” you grinned. “She doesn’t want to race unless her favorite dog is trackside.”

Roscoe, aging but still regal, was happy to oblige—even if he’d mostly be napping through the event in a shady spot with his tongue out.

Then finally, you headed to Charles and Alex’s place. Their shared home was lively, filled with soft music and the smell of whatever Alex was cooking when you arrived. She was thrilled to help with the goodie bags—already pulling out themed stickers, ribbon, and mini toys. “Leo can’t wait,” she said with a bright smile, referring to their dog that Sofie also loved. Charles, lounging with a sleepy Leo on his lap, looked up. “I’ll get you all the merch we’ve got,” he offered, already pulling out his phone to message someone on the Ferrari team.

And now—at last—you and Max were walking into the final stop: the bakery.

The scent of sugar, vanilla, and warm bread wrapped around you both like a soft blanket. You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. The display case glittered with cakes like jewels—fondant-covered dreams in every shade and theme.

“Okay…” you said, lacing your fingers through Max’s. Your voice was quieter now, tinged with fatigue. “We know how many guests. We know how many layers we need. And we’re doing an F1 theme. We just need to lock in a flavor.”

Max stepped forward with a kind of quiet confidence that made your heart flutter despite the exhaustion. “I know what she likes,” he said simply.

You watched as he leaned casually on the counter, listing everything out to the baker with a gentle authority. “Five layers. Vanilla and strawberry swirl for the top, chocolate for the base. Middle tiers mix of lemon and white cake. No fondant. Just soft buttercream—Italian Meringue.”

The baker nodded, impressed. “And the design?”

He smiled. “A miniature track on the top. Small racing cars. One with her name on it. And pink accents. Lots of pink.”

You blinked slowly, your heart so full you could barely stand it.

This was Max in his element—not the race suit, not the podium, not the press. But here, in a bakery, ordering a cake for his daughter with the kind of care most people saved for world championships.

When he turned around, he handed you the order receipt with a satisfied little smirk. “Done. We pick it up the morning of the party.”

You scanned the paper briefly, then looked up at him. “Italian Meringue Buttercream?”

He nodded. “Only the best.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and stepped forward, kissing his cheek tenderly. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Max wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a moment, his lips brushing your temple. “She’s only five once,” he murmured. “Let’s make it count.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The day had finally wound down after what felt like a whirlwind of movement. Your phone had buzzed nearly non-stop—messages from drivers, friends, family. Each one confirming their part, their presence. You and Max had pulled it off again. Another party, another year, another carefully stitched-together moment of joy for your daughter.

Sofie’s birthday was going to be perfect.

At least… it looked perfect on paper.

Later that afternoon, you both picked her up from school. She clambered into the back seat with a sleepy grin, her voice soft, a little quieter than usual. She talked about her day in fragments—mentioning what she had for lunch, how the sun was too hot on the playground, how her teacher wore funny shoes that squeaked. And then, tucked in between all those little things, she said, “My friends are coming to the party.”

Your heart had lifted at first. You gave her a soft smile in the mirror. “That’s great, baby.”

But something about the way she said it… the way her eyes drifted to the window right after… it stayed with you.

The evening passed gently. Dinner was simple, the lights were warm, and the sea breeze brushed against the Monaco skyline as you helped Sofie settle into bed. She clutched her Ferrari plushie close, the one Max had custom ordered the year she was obsessed with pit stops. She didn’t fight sleep that night. She just turned over and drifted off like a leaf on water.

Her room was dim now, filled with soft pinks and whites, her little books neatly lined on the shelf. In the corner, her toy box sat slightly open, stuffed with a mix of stuffed animals and race cars. And on her nightstand was a framed photo—one of her favorites. Sofie, grinning from ear to ear, with her cheeks slightly smudged from a chocolate snack, standing beside Yuki Tsunoda in the paddock. Yuki had crouched beside her, doing a peace sign, both of them wearing oversized sunglasses. The photo had been taken during last season’s race weekend in Japan, and she had insisted it be framed because, in her words, “Yuki is small like me.”

You smiled at it briefly, then turned to finish cleaning.

It was late now. Max was downstairs, tidying the kitchen while you stayed behind to finish Sofie’s room. You moved quietly, scooping up scattered toys, fluffing pillows, straightening the corners of her blanket.

And then you saw it—her little backpack, tipped halfway off the side of her table.

You reached for it absentmindedly, grabbing the handle to move it to the hook. But the zipper was undone. Papers spilled to the floor like leaves on a windy day.

You crouched down with a soft sigh. “She always forgets to zip it up…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then you froze.

There, half-tucked into the folder pocket, were the invitations.

Uncreased. Unmarked. Untouched.

Still there.

All of them.

You slowly gathered them, your breath catching. The glitter glue you helped her with still shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the hallway light. Her little handwriting—proud and bouncy—read: “Come to my birthday!!” with hearts drawn around the names of her classmates. But none of them had left her backpack.

Not one had made it into a child’s hand.

Your chest felt hollow as you knelt there, gently placing the invitations back where they had come from. Your fingers lingered over them for a beat too long, heart twisting.

The house was still now. Too still.

You turned off the last light and made your way to the bedroom, your movements slow, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible.

Max was already in bed, scrolling lazily through his phone, waiting for you. When he looked up, the moment his eyes caught yours, his expression changed. He set the phone aside immediately.

“Lieverd…” he said softly, sitting up straighter. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You walked over slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was cleaning her room… and I found the invitations. The ones we helped her make for school.”

He blinked. “She gave them to her friends already, right?”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “No. They’re still in her bag, Max. Every single one.”

His eyebrows knit together, mouth opening slightly. “What… she must’ve forgotten. Maybe she was nervous about giving them out?”

You just looked at him, the silence answering for you.

And then you said, quietly, “Max… I don’t think she has anyone to give them to.”

He flinched, his features tightening. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” you replied gently. “But I’ve seen it. When we drop her off… the girls, they don’t even say hi. She sits at that tiny little desk, on her own, while the others group up.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes suddenly stormy. “No. She has friends. She plays with Kimi and Ollie and—”

“She calls them her brothers,” you cut in softly.

“Because she loves them,” he snapped, but the bite in his voice was more self-defense than anything.

“She never asks for sleepovers. She doesn’t talk about birthday parties at school. She only talks about our friends, your friends, and how she wants to be around them. Max…”

You sat on the edge of the bed, your voice shaking now. “I think she’s lonely.”

He stood abruptly, his voice rising—not in anger, but in desperation. “She’s got us. She’s got so much. She’s smart, and she’s bright, and she’s funny as hell, and beautiful, and bilingual, and—”

“I know she is.”

“She’s got your smile and my stubbornness, and she lights up every room she walks into—how can you say no one wants to be her friend?”

You stood too, reaching for his hands, pulling them down to yours.

“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it because I saw her face this morning when those girls walked past her without a single word.”

He looked away, his throat visibly tightening. You saw it now—under all the frustration and protest, he was hurting.

Deeply.

Because he had promised himself he would never let her feel the kind of loneliness he knew all too well. The kind he had carried through childhood, behind closed doors and in foreign paddocks. He had vowed to break that cycle.

And yet, here it was, slipping through the cracks.

"Max, at some point, you have to accept that this is happening," you said, your voice quiet but firm, the kind of tone that came from deep worry, the kind only parents knew. The words felt like glass on your tongue, but they needed to be said.

Max stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. He shook his head slowly, defiantly. “No,” he said, voice sharp. “Because I won’t let it happen.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging under the invisible weight you’d both been carrying all day. “Max, she needs friends her age,” you said gently, pleading with your eyes for him to hear you. “Hanging out with ours, yours and mine, it isn’t going to fix what’s going on when she’s not with us. When she’s at school, she’s alone.”

His face hardened, like stone forming under pressure. His voice turned into a low bite, his wall going up like armor. “She has our friends,” he snapped. “And she likes them. And they love her.”

“I know they do, Max,” you said, trying not to raise your voice. “But they’re not her peers.”

You stepped forward, hands reaching out as if to pull his stubborn heart closer, make him see what was breaking yours. “She needs people her age. She can’t go to every race weekend with you forever. She can’t tag along when Lando invites you out for a party, or when Charles hosts another rooftop dinner. She can’t sit next to you while you drink with Daniel or talk strategy with Fernando. That’s not her world.”

He looked away, blinking hard, trying to bite down the emotions climbing his throat. You could see the fight in his jaw, how he flexed his hands to keep from breaking.

“She has the others,” you continued, more gently this time. “Yes, she has Kimi, Isack, Ollie, Liam… but they’re getting older, Max. They’re teenagers now. They’re not always going to want to play board games or sit through cartoon movies. Oscar and Lily won’t always be around to have baking nights. Lando won’t always be free to play dress-up when she asks.”

You paused, swallowing down the rising lump in your throat. “She can’t always trail behind Checo when he’s with his wife and kids. Eventually… everyone has their own life.”

And then you said what neither of you had wanted to admit.

“She’s going to be left behind, Max. She already is.”

That hit something in him. Hard.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his breath shaky, his eyes darting around the room like he needed something to hold onto—something solid in a world that was beginning to crack.

“Bullshit…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “It’s all bullshit.”

But the way his voice cracked near the end—it was the sound of someone trying to run from the very thing that shaped them.

You stepped closer, your hand gently brushing his arm, grounding him. “I know what you’re feeling,” you whispered. “I know. You see yourself in her.”

He said nothing, but his shoulders dropped, and he finally looked at you. Really looked. His eyes were red-rimmed, glistening.

“That feeling…” he said quietly, like it pained him just to give it breath. “When everyone’s laughing and you’re sitting there… pretending you don’t care.”

You nodded.

“I hated it,” he said. “I hated how it made me feel. Like something was wrong with me. Like I was too much or not enough. Always trying to prove myself. Always trying to be liked by doing something. Never just… being.”

Your heart broke a little more hearing it.

“That’s why I gave her everything,” he said, voice shaking. “That’s why I bring her with me. To the races, to the garage, to dinner with the guys. Because there, she’s loved. There, she laughs. There, she’s seen.”

You stepped in front of him, pressing your forehead gently to his. “But we can’t build her whole life around borrowed moments from ours, Max. She needs a world of her own.”

He let out a long, tired breath and finally sank down onto the edge of the bed, like the truth had hit his chest so hard, his legs couldn’t hold him anymore.

“She’s so happy around us,” he said softly. “I thought that was enough.”

“It is,” you said. “But it’s not everything.”

There was silence for a long moment, and then he spoke again, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t want her to think she’s not enough.”

“She never will,” you replied, gently cupping his cheek. “Because she’s got us. And we’ll do whatever we can to help her build something of her own. We’ll talk to her teachers, find other kids with shared interests, maybe even change schools if we have to.”

“She deserves a world,” he whispered. “Not just to live in ours.”

You kissed his temple, your voice soft but filled with quiet power. “Then let’s give her one.”

And in the dim glow of your bedroom, the two of you sat together, not just as husband and wife—but as parents. Not with answers, but with a shared promise.

You would give your daughter the world. And if it didn’t welcome her with open arms, you’d build her a new one.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The days that followed were delicate—fragile, like trying to hold water in your hands and hoping it wouldn’t slip through your fingers. You and Max had made a quiet, mutual promise to show up more, to not just be parents, but pillars. Breakfasts became rituals—stacked pancakes shaped like hearts, fresh fruit slices fanned into rainbows, Sofie tucked between the two of you at the table, chattering away as her sleepy curls bounced with every excited word.

After school, there were quiet hours of play, where she lined up her stuffed animals for a pretend concert and made Max sit cross-legged while she turned into a glittering pop star. You cheered, Max clapped, and for a moment the world outside didn’t exist. But mornings… mornings were the hardest. School had become an obstacle no child should have to face with a brave face and a heavy heart.

So, when Max told you, “Let me take her alone today,” you agreed, though it left you unsettled. Something had shifted in him. You could see it in the way he zipped up her backpack for her, in the way he held her hand as if it were glass, precious and breakable.

At the school, Max walked tall, even in casual clothes, his hand protectively holding Sofie’s as they made their way down the hallway. She clutched her backpack, red sneakers squeaking with every step. He paused outside her classroom door, knelt to her level, brushing her curls behind her ears.

“Hey, you remember what I said?” he asked softly.

She nodded, whispering, “Shoulders back.”

He smiled. “That’s right. Strong like mama, brave like papa.”

She beamed and walked in, waving over her shoulder.

Max stood, his face hardening like steel. His gaze landed on her teacher, who was bent over a desk arranging colored pencils. He walked over, calm but deliberate.

“We need to speak,” he said, voice low but commanding.

The teacher blinked, taken off guard. She stood, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door gently behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Max didn’t hesitate. “Yes. A lot is wrong,” he said, eyes fixed and unwavering. “Why have neither my wife nor I been contacted about what’s been going on with Sofie?”

The teacher looked confused at first, then flustered. “I—I wasn’t aware there was a concern—”

“She has no one,” Max interrupted, his tone sharper now. “She tells us every day about her ‘friends,’ but when we watch her, she’s alone. Sitting by herself. The other kids ignore her. That’s not a concern to you?”

She hesitated. “Children go through phases—”

“She is not a phase,” he snapped, stepping slightly closer, lowering his voice but not the fire in it. “We don’t drop her off here every morning so she can be pushed aside. I understand children can be selfish, but isn’t that your job? To help guide them toward compassion? Empathy?”

The teacher said nothing. Her silence was too loud.

Max continued, “This weekend is her birthday. The invitations are in her bag. If I find them still there after school—if they are not handed out to every single child in that classroom—I will make sure this becomes a much bigger issue.”

There was something dangerous in the calm of his threat.

“She is a good kid. Bright, loving, loud, funny. She knows how to say ‘thank you’ in three languages and still thinks a photo of her and Yuki Tsunoda in the paddock is one of the best days of her life,” he said, voice softening for just a moment. “She deserves to be seen.”

From the doorway, Sofie peeked out, grinning. Max turned, and instantly, his features softened into a smile just for her.

He gave her a thumbs up.

She giggled and gave him one back, then blew him a kiss. He caught it with exaggerated flair, pressing it to his heart with both hands.

“I love you!” she called.

“I love you more,” he mouthed back, and then turned to walk away, shoulders square, heart still burning.

The dining room was chaos—in the most loving, sugar-filled, glitter-splattered way possible.

You sat on the floor in a cozy oversized hoodie, surrounded by boxes of checkered flag stickers, racing-themed whistles, mini trophies, and little plastic cars. A roll of pink ribbon dangled from your wrist as you carefully tied it around a goodie bag, cinching it tight.

Alex sat cross-legged across from you, working just as diligently. “This is like… if Formula 1 met Barbie and had a sugar-high child.”

You chuckled. “Exactly the aesthetic I was going for.”

The bags were a hit of adrenaline and sweetness—racing-themed from start to finish, but unmistakably Sofie: pink pit passes, mini tires filled with candy, and even small keychains shaped like helmets. Everything screamed her love for speed, but also her love for softness, for color, for joy.

You reached for a small checklist on your phone, double-checking the gifts. “Helmet keychains, tire gummies, flag stickers, race medals... check, check, check.”

Alex leaned back on her palms, raising a curious brow. “Did Lando ever finish that helmet thing you mentioned?”

Your lips curved into a secretive smile. “Yes. It’s done. Pink and black—just like his, but flipped. Even has her name etched in cursive on the back.”

Alex grinned. “No way. That’s gonna make her lose it.”

“She has no idea,” you said softly, pride and emotion tugging at your voice. “It’s just between me and him for now. We’re giving it to her at the end of the party.”

Alex clutched her heart. “You guys are insane with the details. No wonder she’s the most spoiled little speed demon on Earth.”

“She’s loved,” you corrected, looking over the pile of nearly-finished bags. “Not spoiled.”

Alex nodded, no argument. “And you both make sure of that every day.”

Just then, your phone rang—and the second you saw the contact, your stomach twisted.

You answered fast. “Charles?”

“I’m at the bakery,” he said with a sigh. “They’re claiming they don’t have the cake.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What do you mean they don’t have it? We placed the order days ago!”

“I brought the receipt. Still nothing in the system.”

You stood up, pacing already. “Tell them it’s under Max Verstappen. Look again. I swear, Charles, it was confirmed.”

“I’m telling them. But they’re acting like they’ve never seen the name in their life.”

You didn’t even hesitate—you tapped Max’s contact and dialed him.

He picked up instantly, like he knew it was urgent. “What happened?”

“They’re saying they don’t have the cake,” you said, your voice rising. “Charles is there, but they’re not finding the order. Her cake, Max. Her birthday is tomorrow.”

“I’m on it, mama bear,” he said, calm but tight with frustration.

“This has to be perfect. We’ve never messed up before. We can’t start now. Not on this.”

“I know,” he said firmly. “Trust me. I’ll fix it.”

You hung up with a deep exhale, fingers brushing the pink ribbons on the goodie bags as if they could calm your nerves. Alex handed you a gummy tire.

“Eat this,” she said. “And breathe. You’ve got Verstappen going full throttle into bakery battle. It’ll be fine.”

Across town, the little boutique bakery was filled with the scent of fresh pastry and just a hint of trouble.

Charles stood stiff at the counter, holding the order receipt like it was a legal document. “This order was placed for my niece. A five-layer cake. We submitted it days ago.”

The baker behind the counter shrugged again, like he had all the time in the world. “There’s nothing under Charles Leclerc. Nothing under Verstappen either.”

“Check again,” Charles pressed.

The bell above the door jingled sharply.

Max stepped in like a storm front. No greeting. No smile. Just purpose. He spotted Charles and walked straight up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, jaw clenched.

Charles held up the receipt. “They’re saying they don’t have it.”

The baker sighed. “There’s nothing in our system. We need to re-place the order—”

Max cut him off. “No. You’re not listening.”

He stepped closer to the counter, resting his hands there like he was barely containing himself. His voice was low but charged, like thunder before the lightning.

“This cake isn’t just some random request. It’s five layers. Top tier is vanilla and strawberry swirl. Middle layers are lemon and white cake. Base layer is chocolate. No fondant. Just soft buttercream—Italian meringue.”

The baker blinked.

Max didn’t stop.

“Decoration is a miniature track on the top. With tiny racing cars. One of them has her name on it. There are pink accents everywhere—because she loves pink. And because she asked for this. Specifically this.”

Charles stood a little taller beside him. “You don’t understand—this cake means everything. It’s not just dessert. It’s the centerpiece of the day.”

Max leaned forward. “I just watched my daughter walk into school this morning feeling invisible to every kid in her class. I saw her fake a smile. I saw her look for hope. This cake is part of the joy we’re trying to give back to her. So either you honor the receipt you were given—or you lose a whole lot of business.”

“And reputation,” Charles added. “Because I promise you, if this place is the reason my niece doesn’t get the birthday she deserves, you’ll be hearing about it.”

The baker paled. “I… I’ll talk to the kitchen. We’ll find a way to get it done.”

“Good,” Max said, stepping back. “Because if I come back here and it’s not being worked on—I won’t be calm next time.”

He turned sharply, walking out with Charles behind him. As the door shut, Charles exhaled a breath of admiration. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Max didn’t answer. His mind was already home again—imagining her smile when she saw that pink-iced track, her little fingers tracing her name on that tiny racing car.

No one was going to ruin that.

Not on his watch.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that afternoon, the air was soft and golden, the kind of light that kissed everything it touched and made it feel like the day might end gently after all the chaos.

You and Max stood hand in hand outside the school gates, the breeze tugging lightly at your jacket, fingers locked tightly together. You spotted Sofie before she saw you—her little frame bouncing down the school steps with her backpack bouncing right along behind her, hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from the warm afternoon sun. There was always a piece of your heart that healed just by seeing her.

She noticed you both and her steps quickened, her face lighting up like she hadn’t just seen you this morning. “Mama! Papa!”

“Hey, honeybee,” you smiled, crouching down with open arms as she ran into them, hugging you tight before shifting into Max’s legs.

Max bent slightly, smoothing her hair back. “Let me see your bag, baby.”

Sofie tilted her head, curious. “Why?”

Max gave a light grin. “Just wanna check something.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly slipped the straps off her shoulders and passed the bag to him. You leaned in, watching as he unzipped it carefully.

Together, you both sifted through the pockets—crumbled drawings, a rogue crayon, an empty juice box—and then, surprisingly, no envelopes. No stack of pink-and-checkered birthday invites. Your brows lifted.

“You gave them to your class?” you asked, your voice light, though your heart was thudding.

She nodded quickly, her excitement peeking through. “Yup! I passed them out after snack time!”

Then, a beat passed. Her expression changed—her eyes dropped slightly, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“I don’t know if they’ll come though…” she mumbled, her voice small. The uncertainty in her tone pierced right through you.

You glanced up at Max, your heart twisting. He met your eyes, reading your worry instantly. He gave the smallest shrug and then—like clockwork—he stepped in.

“If they don’t,” Max said gently, crouching to her level, “then they’re gonna miss out on the coolest birthday party ever.”

Sofie blinked at him, surprised.

“I mean—think about it,” he said, lifting an eyebrow, “they won’t get to eat that yummy cake we’ve got coming, they won’t get to hang out with your uncles—especially the ones who are basically kids themselves,” he winked.

She started to giggle.

“They won’t get to see Roscoe and Leo in their party bow ties. And they definitely won’t get to meet your best friend Jack.”

Her smile bloomed.

“And worst of all…” Max leaned closer, pretending to whisper, “they’ll miss me. Which is, let’s be honest, tragic.”

That did it. She giggled so hard she snorted a little, covering her mouth with both hands as her eyes crinkled.

You mouthed a silent thank you over her head to Max, overwhelmed by his constant ease, his unwavering ability to smooth the cracks before they spread.

He hummed in reply, then in one effortless move, wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up. She shrieked with laughter and clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder like it was her favorite pillow.

“We’re gonna eat at your favorite place tonight,” Max told her, kissing the side of her forehead. “And tomorrow—we party, okay?”

She nodded eagerly, confidence back in her voice. “Let’s go!”

As you all walked to the car together, you felt the weight in your chest loosen. The tension that had knotted in your stomach since that morning, the uncertainty about the cake, the kids, the timing—it all felt manageable again. Because Max had a way of doing that.

Now that you really thought about it, he always did. From the first time Sofie’s favorite toy broke and he spent an hour at the kitchen table with glue and toothpicks, to the time her markers dried out and he ran to the store before she even noticed. On nights when you were half-asleep in her bed from a nightmare, Max would carry her to yours and let her nestle in between you, then pull the blankets up gently around both his girls.

He had a habit of being exactly what the moment needed. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just there. Steady. Reliable. Yours.

The car ride was quiet, the soft hum of tires on the road blending with the calm buzz of the early evening. Sofie sat in her car seat behind you, half-singing a little made-up tune as she watched the world go by from the window. You reached over and let your hand rest on Max’s thigh, giving it a small squeeze. He gave your hand a soft pat, his thumb running along your fingers as he drove.

And then, from the backseat, her small voice piped up again.

“Can we get dinner and… watch the water?”

You and Max exchanged a look, a bit confused by the request.

“Watch the water?” you asked.

“Yeah…” she said dreamily. “Like near the boats. Where the ducks were last time.”

You smiled. “You mean the pier?”

She nodded.

Max glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sure,” he said with a shrug, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Dinner and a view. That’s what the birthday girl wants.”

You turned slightly in your seat. “We can grab your favorite—what do you say? Pasta?”

“With garlic bread,” she added firmly.

“Deal.”

A beat passed.

“Is Yuki coming to my party?” she asked, almost shyly.

You laughed softly, the tension fully melted now. “Of course he is. He wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re basically his favorite little human.”

She grinned.

You could already picture it: Yuki showing up with a gift too big to carry properly, Roscoe and Leo dressed in tiny party bow ties, Jack sprinting around with a balloon sword, and Sofie at the center of it all—smiling, glowing, loved.

And right now, in this quiet little moment in the car, with Max’s hand resting on your knee and Sofie humming softly behind you, you realized something:

This was it. The life you built. The family you fought for. The love that Max held together so effortlessly—even when things felt like they might fall apart.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The golden morning sun poured through the large kitchen windows, casting a soft glow on the breakfast table where laughter mingled with the smell of pancakes and strawberries. The air carried that familiar excitement that only came once a year—Sofie’s birthday. She was officially five now. A whole hand. Your heart ached and swelled all at once. Where had the time gone?

You smoothed out your white embroidered maxi dress as you moved about the kitchen, the delicate eyelet hem brushing your ankles with every graceful step. The shirred bodice clung softly to your figure while the thin straps sat lightly on your sun-kissed shoulders. You looked down at Sofie—your little sunshine—who was happily munching on a strawberry, her cream cherry-print jumpsuit just as sweet as she was. Her long blonde hair was still a bit tousled from sleep, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Max leaned casually against the counter, dressed in a ribbed beige knit shirt that hugged his frame just right, paired with light tan trousers and his usual quiet confidence. His watch caught the light as he reached for his coffee, his eyes settling on Sofie with a gentle smile.

The kitchen was buzzing with quiet chatter. Kimi, Ollie, Isack, and Liam had joined the breakfast table, each of them clearly still waking up but making the effort. “I’m thankful you all came all the way from England to Monaco for this,” you said, your tone genuine.

Liam waved you off with a smile. “It’s nothing. I wasn’t going to miss her birthday for the world.”

Max nodded in agreement. “Now that you’re all here, it really means a lot.”

Kimi carefully sliced a strawberry and placed it on Sofie’s plate. “So the party’s at the karting track?” he asked, looking to you and Max for confirmation.

Max chuckled, nodding. “Her pick. She’s officially done with princess parties.”

“She still likes pink, but she’s moved past princess wonderland,” you added with a fond grin, watching as Ollie made goofy faces at Sofie. She giggled, her little shoulders bouncing, the cherry print on her jumpsuit dancing along.

Max shook his head, amused. “Of course those two are having a competition before 10 a.m.”

There was something magical about that moment. The world felt still and warm, full of light and laughter. Sofie’s excitement was bubbling over, yet grounded by the comfort of having everyone she loved under one roof.

Your phone buzzed, and you excused yourself from the table, stepping just outside the kitchen into the sun-drenched hallway. “Hello?” you answered.

“Bonjour, we have the cake here, the party is all set!” Charles' voice rang with energy. “And believe it or not, some little guests are already here, waiting on the birthday girl. But don’t worry—I haven’t let them touch a thing. Now hurry up and get my niece here!”

You laughed. “I’m bringing her, Leclerc. Don’t get bossy. She has Verstappen blood running in her veins.”

Charles laughed back. “As long as she’s living in Monaco, she’s a Leclerc. Now bring her!”

You shook your head, smiling, and hung up. Stepping back into the kitchen, you clapped your hands to gather everyone's attention. “Alright! Finish up your breakfasts, we’ve got a party to attend.”

Everyone began to rise, but you raised a hand. “Hold on—sunscreen. All of you. It’s bright out today, and I want Sofie, Kimi, Ollie, Isack, and Liam protected.”

Max raised a brow, amused. “They can do it themselves.”

You arched a brow right back. “You’re putting sunscreen on too. I don’t care if you think you're invincible.”

He smirked, grabbing the bottle off the counter. “Yes, ma’am.”

They had gotten sunscreen on just the way you’d instructed—foreheads, cheeks, even behind the ears. You had given each of them a motherly once-over, especially Sofie, ensuring her delicate skin was fully protected from the summer Monaco sun.

Sofie was already bubbling with excitement, bouncing slightly on her toes until Isack crouched in front of her with a grin. “Hop on, birthday girl.” She squealed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, her laughter ringing out like windchimes in the breeze. Her curls spilled over his shoulder as he stood up, carrying her out the front door like the most precious cargo.

The others followed behind them—Ollie carrying his water bottle and party hat, Liam holding two gift bags, and Max trailing steadily behind them all with the black duffel slung over his shoulder. The bag held Sofie’s custom racing suit, one she had insisted on wearing for her "big girl kart race." Max’s steps were slow, steady, his eyes lingering on his daughter—radiant, joyful, entirely in her element.

You followed last, gently closing the front door behind you and twisting the key until the lock clicked. The moment you turned, Max was waiting, already a few paces ahead. You jogged a little to catch up, your dress swaying around your ankles, the embroidery catching the sunlight in soft reflections.

“You know,” you said, nudging Max gently with your shoulder as the two of you walked in unhurried step behind the rest, “Charles said she already has friends there. Like, real friends.”

Max didn’t respond right away, but you saw the tension drop from his shoulders like a weight shrugged off. His jaw softened, and he looked ahead where Sofie sat proudly on Isack’s back, talking animatedly with Ollie.

“That’s good,” he finally said, voice low and thoughtful.

You could hear the silent hope underneath that one word. Good. That she wouldn’t feel like some odd little girl being pitied by the children of her father’s fame. That maybe, just maybe, she was making connections of her own. That today’s party might be more than just a grand gesture—it might be the start of something more permanent, more normal. Friends who stuck around because they liked her, not because of who her dad was. Max didn’t say all that, but he didn’t have to. You felt it.

Up ahead, Kimi veered off to his own car. He gave Max a quick thumbs-up. “Picking up Maggie and Eli, see you at the track,” he called.

Liam did the same, calling out that he and his girlfriend would follow shortly behind.

You and Max moved toward your car as Ollie opened the backseat door, holding it open for Sofie as Isack gently lowered her in. Her little fingers fidgeted with the seatbelt, and Ollie helped her click it into place, all while she chattered away about the “super secret handshake” she and some girl named Lila had made at school.

Isack laughed and nodded along, and soon he and Ollie were caught up in a very serious discussion with Sofie about which kart color was the fastest. The backseat became its own little world of theories and giggles, a bubble of youthful imagination.

You slid into the passenger seat, smoothing your dress beneath you as Max got in and started the car. He glanced at you, eyes crinkling with something soft and unreadable—comfort, maybe, or gratitude, or the peace that came from knowing she was happy.

You rested your elbow on the door, turning your head slightly to watch him as he drove. The road to the track wound through the city in smooth curves, palm trees casting shadows on white stone and flashes of the marina glittering like a promise.

The day had only just begun, but already, it felt perfect.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Toto had come through brilliantly. The track venue was booked out entirely for Sofie’s birthday, giving the kids space to race in short karting rounds while a roped-off, grassy courtyard near the paddock had been turned into party central.

The party was alive with laughter, bright colors, and the unfiltered joy that only a child's birthday could bring. The yard was transformed into a wonderland of streamers and balloons, bubbles dancing through the air, floating like tiny glistening orbs in the warm sunlight. Music spilled from the speakers, a playful soundtrack to the chaos that unfolded across the lawn.

The water guns, of course, hadn’t remained in the hands of just the little ones for long. Kimi had started it—grabbing one of the bigger water blasters with a mischievous smirk—before Isack, Liam, and Ollie joined in, practically reliving their own childhoods. Franco and Yuki weren’t far behind either. Soon it was a full-on battle between the “older kids,” the laughter from their side of the yard mixing in seamlessly with the younger ones.

You stood beside Max under the shaded canopy, sipping a glass of lemonade as the chaos unfolded in front of you. His arm brushed against yours, and though neither of you spoke right away, there was something comforting about the shared silence. Just watching.

Leo ran in gleeful circles with the kids, his small golden tail wagging wildly, letting the children hug him between runs. Meanwhile, Roscoe lay peacefully on a soft blanket in the corner of the yard, basking in the shade and soaking up all the love and gentle pets he was receiving. He only opened one eye every so often, as if supervising the activity like an old man watching his grandkids play.

“I didn’t expect her whole class to show,” you murmured, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you counted more and more familiar faces from Sofie’s school. “What did you do?”

Max shrugged with a feigned innocence that you didn’t believe for a second. “Put a little fear into the teachers,” he said casually, smirking. “And the baker. That’s how her cake got done in record time.”

You smacked his arm with a laugh, earning a grin from him. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he said, not ashamed in the slightest. “She deserved it.”

Nearby, Lando was staring at Sofie, clearly moved. “She’s gotten so big. Goodness, I remember holding her when she was still wrapped up in that yellow baby blanket.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Are you crying?”

“What? No!” Lando huffed, wiping under his eyes a little too quickly.

Everyone chuckled, including Fernando, who sighed dramatically. “I feel too old being here.”

You pointed at him with your drink. “You were just running around with a water gun two minutes ago.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “True. But my back’s gonna feel it tomorrow.”

As the sun dipped lower, the golden hour wrapped the yard in a warm glow. Everyone gathered around for food—sandwiches, pasta salad, pizza, grilled veggies, tiny sliders. Sofie, with her plate full, sneakily dropped little bites of chicken and fries near Roscoe and Leo.

Charles caught her in the act but only chuckled. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.”

“Me too,” Lewis added with a shrug. “She is the birthday girl after all.”

After the food, it was time for the cake, it stole the show, the attention of those gathered, but it was beautiful, and you were thankful Max managed to get it on time.

Everyone gathered around, singing loud and out of tune, clapping and cheering as Max carefully removed the candle for her.

She took a deep breath and blew out the flame, her eyes sparkling as you clapped and kissed the top of her head. You cut the cake into slices as fast as you could, Daniel ruffling Sofie’s hair as he handed out plates. “Happy birthday, munchkin.”

She giggled, holding her plate with both hands, eyes wide at the sweet treat.

The cake was a hit, no one would be able to forget about it and you were glad to see the smile upon Sofie's face as she sat on Max's lap, eating away at her cake slice.

Adults and kids alike devoured their slices. Afterward came dancing, bracelet making with Oscar and Lily, and even makeup and nails with Eli under the craft tent. Sofie got a glitter heart on her cheek and her nails painted sparkly purple.

Then came the moment of chaos: gift opening.

Alex stepped forward, dramatically holding up her phone to record. “Our gift first, please!”

Sofie tore through the pink wrapping with careful excitement, revealing a soft white jewelry box. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a heart-shaped diamond pendant. She gasped, her fingers trembling as she touched it.

Your eyes widened. “A necklace? Charles, Alex... it’s beautiful.”

Max let out a low whistle. “That looks real…”

“It is,” Charles confirmed with a proud grin.

Max's jaw dropped slightly. “She’s five! She doesn’t need a real diamond necklace!”

“She’s a princess,” Alex teased. “Princesses wear diamonds.”

Oscar and Lily's gift came next, and it had Sofie hugging the box before she even opened it. Inside was a beaded bracelet with a tiny photo charm—it showed her grinning between Lily and Oscar at the kart track.

“A bracelet?! Mama! Papa! Look! It’s me and Lily and Oscar!” she exclaimed, showing you both.

Max laughed and leaned over. “You two are spoiling her so much, I’m afraid I’ll be buying her necklaces and bracelets worth half my salary by next year.”

Oscar clapped him on the back. “Welcome to parenthood.”

When Yuki’s gift came, Sofie squealed louder than before. It was her very own custom Red Bull race suit, complete with patches and her name embroidered on the chest.

“Now I’m like Papa!” she said proudly, twirling in it.

You clasped your hands together. “You look beautiful, baby.”

She ran over and hugged Yuki’s leg tightly. “Thank you!”

“You can race for us now!” he joked, beaming.

Lewis gifted her a pinky ring, small and elegant, with a tiny pink gemstone. You had reservations about it—another real piece of jewelry?—but the way Sofie’s eyes sparkled as she slipped it on melted your concern.

Kimi and Eli gifted her a child-safe makeup set, which nearly made Max groan audibly. Still, he bit his tongue and gave a tight smile as Sofie squealed in delight, already planning to give him a “makeover.”

Isack, Ollie, and Liam came through with plushies—an entire family of them. Unicorns, kittens, a racing-themed bear. You immediately knew you’d be picking them up off the floor for the next six months, but it was worth it to see her grin.

More gifts poured in: F1 merch, books, puzzles, glittery clothes, light-up shoes. She was spoiled, there was no denying it—but she was also so deeply loved. And as you watched her eyes shine with each new surprise, her cheeks sore from smiling, her voice getting hoarse from all the excitement, you realized that Max was right earlier.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The time had come — the part Sofie had been anticipating all day.

The sun had dipped just low enough to cast long golden shadows across the track, a soft breeze sweeping through the area as the children gathered at the starting line. The smell of rubber, faint gasoline, and birthday cupcakes still lingered in the air, blending oddly well with the thrill of what was about to unfold. Helmets were secured, tiny gloves pulled tight, and nerves buzzed just under the surface — not just from the kids, but the adults too.

You stood on the sidelines beside Susie, arms crossed gently over your chest, your heart thudding in rhythm with the distant hum of engines. Max was pacing lightly a few feet ahead, hands cupped around his mouth, shouting across the track.

“Go, Sofie! Full throttle! Brake late!” he bellowed proudly.

You nudged Susie with your elbow, shaking your head with a smile. “Think he might out-cheer Toto.”

She laughed, brushing her hair out of her face as a gust of wind picked up. “Possibly so. But I’m pretty sure Toto never did cartwheels after a heat win.”

You both watched as the kids took off — the little karts buzzing, weaving clumsily yet determinedly around the first corner. Sofie was near the front, her pink helmet gleaming under the floodlights now starting to flicker on around the track. She gripped the wheel with a seriousness far beyond her years, eyes focused, lips pursed in pure concentration.

Everyone was recording — phones up, laughter echoing, cheers rising. And in that moment, the world slowed. Nothing mattered except the look on her face, the joy, the pure bliss of being alive, celebrated, and fully seen.

When she took the final corner wide and pushed ahead to cross the line first, Max erupted in loud claps, pumping his fist in the air as if she’d just won the Monaco Grand Prix.

“That’s my girl!” he shouted, beaming.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The handmade trophies you and Max had ordered sparkled on a nearby table, waiting — not as symbols of competition, but as reminders of effort and joy. You had both agreed early on: this day wasn’t about placing first. But watching Sofie throw her arms up in victory — it was clear she had her father’s fire. And Max? Well, he looked like he’d just won father of the year.

The kids were ushered into a loose line for photos. Pictures, hugs, and videos followed, tiny hands gripping their miniature trophies while smiles stretched across frosting-stained faces. Sofie held hers like it was gold.

As twilight deepened and the air cooled, the buzz began to mellow. Guests started gathering their things, parents thanked you for the invitation and complimented the party. Kids gave Sofie tight hugs, one by one, and you could see how it warmed her. She wasn’t just loved by family — she had friends. Real friends. Watching her bounce from child to child, exchanging giggles and promises of playdates, made something swell in your chest.

You caught a glance at Max, who had gone quiet beside you, his eyes misty. He blinked quickly and coughed. “She’s growing up,” he said softly, not quite to you, not quite to himself. “Too fast.”

You placed your hand on his arm. “I know.”

As the final few families drifted out into the night, the stars now beginning to peek overhead, Lando stepped forward, holding a box tucked under his arm. He crouched down to Sofie’s level, his smile soft. “For you, kiddo.”

You stilled, heart tugging, already knowing what it was. You watched as Sofie’s eyes went wide, her little hands tearing through the wrapping with excitement bubbling over.

The moment she uncovered it — a custom black-and-pink helmet, her size, with a glimmering finish — she gasped.

Her hands trembled slightly as she turned it in her lap, then looked up. “It’s like yours... but for me!”

It was true. She’d always been obsessed with his helmet design — not because of branding or sponsorships, but simply because to her, it looked like something out of a dream. You could see her trying to hold back the tears that came anyway.

She launched forward, wrapping her arms around Lando tightly. He chuckled as he hugged her back.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said into her hair.

“She loves it,” you whispered, placing a hand over your chest.

Max smiled, watching the two of them. It was more than just a helmet. It was a memory — a gift she’d never forget.

Lando stood, ruffled her hair, and with one last “Happy Birthday” and a warm smile your way, he headed toward his car, disappearing into the night.

You and Max lingered in the quiet afterglow. The lights around the track were being turned off one by one, the venue slowly emptying. Sofie held her helmet tight, nearly dozing off as she clung to her final gift of the night.

There was nothing left to do now — no more cupcakes to serve, no more goodie bags to pass out. It had been everything you hoped for. Maybe more.

Later, the soft hum of cartoons filled the Verstappen living room, the glow of the TV flickering gently across the walls. You sat curled on the couch, Sofie curled up against your side, her head on your chest. She had fallen asleep almost instantly once the adrenaline wore off, helmet tucked nearby like a teddy bear.

Her trophy was carefully placed in a case by Max in silent joy before deciding to check up on you two.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep, too, until Max came in, stepping quietly around the couch. He paused, smiling at the two of you.

He reached down, pulling a soft throw blanket from the armrest and draped it over your legs and shoulders. He leaned in, kissing Sofie’s temple first, then yours.

Today had been good. Better than good. It had been magic.

He crouched a little, careful not to wake you, and held up his hand. Slowly, he gave your limp, sleeping hand a quiet high five, chuckling to himself.

“We really did it,” he whispered, voice low. “I did it. And I’ll make sure every birthday for her turns out just as well. Always.”

He stood for a moment, just watching you both — his whole world curled together on that couch — and let himself breathe.

Because this? This was what everything was for.

[pennjammin]

run, rabbit, run

JJK HALLOWEEN! nanamixreader

summary ❥ you babysit for the wealthy single dad who lives across the street. it’s the end of october and his halloween party is the talk of the neighborhood. you’re not invited because the kids are out of town, but you decide to pop up on him anyway, and he shows you just how badly he’s been dying to get you alone without the children.

CONTENT: age gap, 86’d sorcery, dilf!nanami, toys, smut, alcohol, dom!nanami, cunnilingus, afab!reader, fluff, friends to lovers kinda, bossxworker, aftercare, slowwwww burn, reader wears animal ears during sex, breeding kink, spit kink, masochism.

word count. 10k

soundtrack 💿: eating - madeintyo

p.s. there’s a joke in here involving the color of 🐱; i know everyone’s is not the same color so , fill in the blank for the color that fits yours if u have one LOL

✩

You give your ass a good shake.

You’re making sure the long, fluffy tail poking out of your blue shorts isn’t going to fall out. It doesn’t.

You’re dressed as a fox, but not just any fox. A fox cop. You have on a short blue collared top, matching shorts, and of course you’d be no real cop without your utility belt housing fake handcuffs and a plastic baton. To top it all off, you’re wearing fuzzy fox ears on your head, and sheer tights to cover your legs.

You nod in the mirror, satisfied. But the real test, to you, is if Mr. Nanami will like it just as much.

Mr. Nanami is your employer, but more importantly, your neighbor. You watch his two young children five days a week; sometimes even overnight when he has a particularly busy work day. You consider yourself close with them, but your feelings about Nanami are a little deeper than that.

You’d seen him the first time a little under a year ago, when he’d been out on an early morning jog. From then, on you’d become disgustingly obsessed ever since.

Your schoolgirl pining only gets worse every time you see him, and recently you've even gone as far as trying to shamelessly flirt - but he seems to have absolutely no idea. That is the less painful explanation, the other being that he’s just not interested.

But you’re planning to see if you can get that to change tonight. You always dress sensible in front of his children; this will be the first time he's seeing so much skin. It has to work, right?

Tonight, Nanami is throwing the party of the century. He has house workers of all kinds who serve towers of food and delicious mixed drinks. The cherry is that his entire gated lawn has been decorated to the perimeter of fun inflatables and spooky decorations. You know it's mostly for his kids, whom he goes nothing short of above and beyond for.

However, he had informed you days ago that they would be out of town this weekend - and, even if they were not, he's off work, so he doesn’t need you. This means he also had not invited you to his party.

You clearly still intend to show up unannounced, a bold move on your part.

You lock up your house - a small, co-owned property that truly looks out of place across from Nanami's home - which he technically pays the rent for. You carefully make your away across the overcrowded street full of cars, decorations, and humans who are already half past drunk.

As you walk up the stone steps that lead to his front door, your stomach is keyed up. You shouldn't feel any different than you normally do when coming over for work, but you’ve really let this highly unprofessional crush of yours get out of control.

You make it to the porch. You're unsure if he will even hear the doorbell, but you press it anyway. The door slides open after about ten seconds, as if he has been standing there watching it. You feel your body freeze immediately upon seeing him.

Nanami is towering over you in the threshold. His face lights up almost instantly, but that's not all that has your heart threatening to crack open your rib cage; it's also his delicious white button down, popped open by a few to reveal tiny bits of blond chest hair, and then of course there are the long, white ears on top of his head.

“Why hello, officer, did we get a noise complaint?” He chuckles at his own dad joke before bowing his head in greeting. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. I figured you would be thrilled to not have to look at these four walls for a few days while my children are with... their mother.”

You watch his face drop in disgust at the mention of his ex-wife, but he’s never said anything bad about her. Whenever you’d asked why things hadn’t worked out, he’d said "they just didn't." And that was that, but part of you aches to know what had happened.

It shouldn’t matter. He is not interested in you. He gives you a paycheck, and that is all.

"Well," you begin carefully, "Who would want to miss out on the most exclusive Halloween party of the year?"

This coerces a deep laugh out of Nanami, then he steps aside and allows you to walk in. He is holding a short rocks glass of unidentified brown liquor, and you can smell whatever it is in a cloud around him.

Once inside, Nanami’s voice is quite muffled from the clank of dishes and bustle of workers. The two of you stop to stand in the foyer, a grand crystal chandelier winking at you from above.

"Exclusive isn't the word I'd use," he says, following your eyes as he takes a sip. "Everyone and their mother is here. Literally." He tilts his glass towards an elderly woman who stands next to a redhead about Nanami's age.

You should be laughing at his joke but instead, your stomach knots grow tighter at the reminder of how many people his age are here preying on him, the neighborhood catch, with careers and homes of their own.

Nanami is seven years your senior, you think. No wonder he wants nothing to do with a young, non career-oriented thing like you when he has all of these sophisticated people crawling at his feet.

You can't think about that now, or the courage you’ve spent a week building will cease to exist.

"Heh - well, either way," you continue, "it's a big party. I know the kids aren't here, but-"

"But I'm glad you are," Nanami smiles, his eyelids hanging a little low from the liquor in his system. "You look very nice, darling. I like your ears."

He grins and points to his own headband. A grown and very, very large man dressed as something as vulnerable as a little rabbit has your nerves aflame.

"Hmm, I bet you do," you tease. “Like it so much you had to copy me?”

Nanami makes a disapproving sound with his tongue, leaning forward a bit to be eye level with you. "Copy you? I was unaware that rabbits and foxes were the same animal. In fact," he adds, "if I'm not mistaken, foxes are a rabbit's natural predator."

You had been trying to look away from him now that he has moved so close, but as the last sentence rolls out of his mouth, you make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes - and what you see makes your limbs jelly. Maybe it's your delusions, but he seems to be drinking you up equally as much as he is his liquor.

You laugh to pop the bubble of tension, but Nanami's face remains as still as ice.

"Well, I certainly don't think I pose a threat to you, sir," you say, voice unnervingly dry. "You are twice my size."

At this, his intense stare transitions into a soft smile. "You just have to get my guard down. Then, I'm sure a little thing like yourself would be able to have your way with me."

You blink quickly, assuming you've misheard him. Then again, though, he tends to say things that could be flirty - but he is just a naturally charismatic man. Means nothing.

"Ah," you mumble out, shifting your weight from side to side. You have to find a way to change the subject, but most importantly, you need get his attention off of you. You’d wanted it so bad, now you don’t know how to handle it. As you scheme, he sips his drink again, eyes still watching you over the rim of the glass.

"So... the kids always go with their mom on Halloween?" you ask abruptly.

Nanami quickly swallows his sip before shaking his head. "Well I had them for the Fourth of July, you recall."

You do recall. A little too well. Nanami in nothing but tight, black swim shorts and his signature sunglasses as he flipped meat over the grill - and you playing in his pool with the kids. He’d invited you to celebrate the holiday with him after his kids had begged, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. The memory popping into your head almost makes you not hear what he says next.

"We alternate holidays. So I will have them for Thanksgiving, she for Christmas," he shrugs a shoulder. "I would have traded Thanksgiving for Christmas, but alas. Christmas is always the busiest day of the year for me, so they would just miss out on time with their father anyway. I couldn't ask you to ditch your holiday plans for us, again, either."

He sighs. You feel your heart ache; he cares deeply about his kids, but he is definitely a workaholic. That is why you spend every chance you get at his house… well, that’s mostly why. But even then, you sometimes wish you stayed more to help, because Nanami works tireless double shifts, then spends his off days trying to make up for lost time with the kids.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," you say, attempting to comfort him. "You're an amazing father who is doing all he can. They love you so much."

He smiles and bows his head politely, so as to say thank you. "They love you as well. Sometimes, I think more than they do their mother."

You swallow a choke, before rutting out, “Surely not."

Before Nanami has the chance to reply, an older woman who you’d come to known as Agnes walks by with a large tray arraignment of bright green cocktails.

“Nanamin!” she shrieks out. “Where would you like me to put these? Very afraid of them falling. There’s drunkards crawling up the walls! I’ve already swept up sixteen broken glasses! Sixteen!”

You and Nanami turn to look at her with an equally astonished expression.

Nanami leans forward a bit to whisper in your ear, “My apologies in advance for her erratic behavior.”

Agnes is still staring wildly between the two of you as you giggle, awaiting further instructions from Nanami.

“Sit them wherever you think is safest,” he says calmly.

She huffs but ultimately takes his word, speeding off with her kitten heels clacking against the marble floor.

Nanami turns back to you and opens his mouth, but another voice cuts him off.

“Nanami, sir!”

You feel a twinge of irritation in your chest, but you really shouldn’t. He is the host and people need his attention. You should have seen this coming.

“Is everything okay?” he questions politely, turning to face the short brunette in front of him, who bats her eyelashes.

“I… I think that someone is fighting outside,” she says quickly, unable to keep eye contact.

Nanami is a smart man, though. “Oh? Well, what shall we do about that?”

“I thought you could run and stop them,” she says, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m in no mood to be in the middle of a brawl,” he says sternly. “Have the butlers stop it, and remove them. You try not to get involved either.”

She huffs and spins on her heel, walking back through the living room with an angry stomp in her step.

Nanami clicks his tongue, “I really need to have her counseled in compulsive lying. She cries wolf so many times a day.”

You’ve never seen her before, she must be new. This makes you jealous all over again. She’s not quite as old as the rest of the workers, but still older than you. The issue is you see yourself in her, the uncontrollable pining over your shared boss. She just makes hers much more obvious.

Nanami clears his throat, and you notice too late how his hand has slithered to the small of your back.

“Perhaps we should escape somewhere more secluded, hm?” he says. “I really am enjoying our conversation. A shame we keep getting interrupted.”

You swallow thickly. The hair on your spine has raised at his sudden contact, making you shiver.

“Yes, that’s a good idea, sir,” you say, trying to hide how dry your voice has gotten.

Not another word is uttered before Nanami is swiftly whisking you off to another room; his hands now free of his drink and instead gently guiding you by his hand placement.

His gaze is not as focused on you as it is leading you both through the overwhelming crowd of people, and to the hall under the stairs that you know for a fact leads to his workspace. He moves his hands into yours as he gently pushes you ahead of him.

You take the lead and find yourself pushing open the big door to his study. Inside is a complete reflection of Nanami, his wealth and his cleanliness. Even his desk is free of papers, or any indication at all that he works in here.

You recall the days he works from home, in this very study, and he'd still be in his work suit, just minus the blazer. You'd let the kids sneak in on him, only once or twice thoughout the day, just to see his smile; and while you’re already there, you'd drop off a cup of hot coffee to help him plow through the rest of his shift.

He shuts the doors behind you both as you run to make yourself comfortable in his desk chair, spinning around like a child.

As you do so, you fail to see or hear his fingers slyly clicking the lock on the door.

“Much better,” Nanami breathes, moving to flick on a floor lamp in the corner, giving the study a soft, warm glow accompanied by the full Halloween moon. “Now, what were we discussing?”

“You, uh,” you clear your throat as you stop spinning in the chair to face him. “You really didn’t have to come in here just to talk to me. You are the man of the evening, you know.”

Nanami rolls his eyes, an out-of-character action you never thought you'd see, but one that looked so tasty, so sultry. God, you’re a pervert in heat - and your sweet, sweet boss is completely oblivious to the kind of horrible thoughts you have daily about him.

Nanami's now staring at you. His mouth is moving, but you have no idea what he had been saying.

"… to spend time with all of those shallow, insolent creatures,” you register, “when I have someone like you here?" He walks over to the desk and leans against it, right next to you now, as he crosses his arms over his massive chest. "We have never just sat down and talked. We always have little people depending on us or wanting our attention. Tonight, I’d like that to change.”

You let his words simmer for a moment. “What is it you’d like to talk about, Mr. Nanami?” you then question.

“What did I tell you about that ‘Mr.’ nonsense?” He frowns. “That makes me feel so old.”

"Sorry, sir," you gulp, not intending to upset him. You just can't help the way 'Mr.' and 'Sir' roll off your tongue, or how bad you enjoy seeing him shift uncomfortably at the use of the names.

"Meanie," he tuts, knocking you playfully with his leg. Another uncharacteristic action.

"What'd I do?" you blink, tilting your head as you look up at him.

"You mean besides drive me insane with your teasing?" he questions, before his eyes widen and he looks as though he's just spilled a secret. "I- wow, I am sorry. That is not what I meant to say."

"I drive you insane?" you echo. "I didn't even think you noticed my… teasing.”

Nanami's face is neutral, but his jaw is working under his skin. "I’m not naive, little fox." He lets out a breath. “This was truly an excellent costume choice.”

He leans forward and flicks the furry ear on your head.

“Thank you,” you smile. “I can’t say the same for yours. You hardly scream innocent bunny.”

“What about me isn’t innocent?” he raises a brow, standing off of the desk.

“I…” you blink as he walks around to the back of the desk chair. “You’re just, um…”

“Fox got your tongue?” he coos, spinning the chair so that you’re forced to face him.

You inhale a deep breath and hold it as heat travels through your stomach and right to the center of your thighs.

“You’re a man who is about his business,” you say. “I imagine you’ve… had a lot of life experiences,” you pause to remind yourself to breathe, but it’s hard because of how ferociously Nanami is staring into your eyes. “So you c-can’t be all that innocent…”

“You seem nervous,” he coos. “Here. Let’s stand up, I’ll sit down. Maybe that will help you to not be so tense, hm?”

Your body obeys before your mind catches on. You’re standing in a beat, and Nanami has replaced you on the chair. Your bottom hits the crease of his large desk, and you slam your hands down on the surface to balance yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, putting a hand up to cover your face. “I don’t mean to imply that you make me uncomfortable, sir.”

Nanami's pupils flash white, but it's gone so quickly, you might have imagined it. "If I do, please let me know immediately.”

“No,” you say, dropping your hand, “I just think we need to get to know each other better, right? Our entire relationship is through the kids. I know that your son’s favorite shade of green is kiwi, but I don’t even know your first name.”

Nanami chuckles at this. “You know, I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He taps your knee. “Kento, silly girl. My first name is Kento.”

"A-And your favorite color?” you continue, trying to ignore how close he’s moved the chair towards you, now that you have fully planted your bottom on his desk.

“Pink,” he says, serious as death.

You giggle. “Why pink?”

“It’s the color of my favorite thing to eat,” he says, slowly placing his arms on either side of your thick thighs, hands planted flat on the surface of the desk.

You think for a moment. “Strawberry ice cream?”

“No,” he cocks his blond head to the side and his eyes fall on your tights. “Try again.”

You pretend to think, though you fear you may be catching on now. “Hmm, dragonfruit?”

“Nah,” Nanami says, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His pupils have been dilated from the alcohol, but there is an unrelated darkness in his eye now. “Something I don’t even have to swallow.”

You gulp. “Oh,” your suspicions have been confirmed.

“Get it now, little fox?” he coos.

“Mhmm,” you taunt back. “Well, I suppose I came prepared with your favorite dish, then.”

“Did you?” His hands boldly make their way to the top of your thighs, barely hovering over the skin but enough to make the flesh there light on fire. “Prepared it all nice and pretty for me?”

“Yes sir,” you nod eagerly, feeling your own boldness appear as your knees slide further away from one another. “How do you like it?”

“Extra moist,” he grits hungrily, fingernails curving into your tights and shredding a thick rip! through the material.

You gasp, entire torso lurching forward as he drags the hole bigger and bigger.

“Sorry, little fox. They were in the way,” he shrugs an innocent shoulder. “And what should we do about these shorts? They’re in the way, too.”

“Then let’s get them off,” you whisper, hardly registering that such filth had been uttered.

This truly can’t be happening. Is Nanami… Kento Nanami actually going to eat you out? Are his hands really slithering up your waist and fumbling with the button on your shorts, or are you in some kind of sick daydream?

"Mr. Nanami-"

"Please," he holds up a hand, one still remaining on the button of your shorts. "Kento. Call me Kento."

"Kento," you echo softly, and his eyelashes flutter. “You really want to do this?”

Nanami sucks in a breath. Several moments of silence pass, then his fingers are gently pressing against your chin, and he has risen to tower above you. "Maybe it's the liquid courage in me that's pushing me," he says, "but I’m okay with that. I dream about you on my tongue, night after night. I need you, Y/N.”

Instead of allowing you to reply, Nanami's lips are assaulting yours in a flash. A harsh, irrational kiss from a man who's lost his battle of self control.

Your hands fly up to his face to balance yourself at the sheer force the shock of the kiss has on you. He groans softly into you as your lips mold together, getting used to the shapes of each other’s mouths.

You want to begin deepening the kiss, but Nanami is suddenly pulling away.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. You look at his face; for a man who is always so calm and composed, he is flushed and even shaking a little. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

"Did you hear me complaining?" you ask sternly.

“No-”

“Then shut up and kiss me, Kento.”

He wastes no time obeying your command; this time as he kisses you, his hands find the soft skin where your hips crease into your thighs. You’re aware of your thighs rubbing against his stomach as he crawls further on top of you.

You slide your arms up around the back of his neck to hold onto him as his lips work pure ecstasy into your mouth.

You sigh against him and he digs his fingers into your sides to get you to do it again. Now his tongue is in your mouth, softly swirling your own, smacking fiercely on your lips as he does so.

You're panting now, but Nanami is swallowing your breath with every second. He's leaning his weight on his palm, so his body isn't quite attached to yours, but you want to make him lose his balance so he can crash down on top of you. Every moment that you stay like this, your cunt drips wetter and wetter, seeping through your shorts onto his desk.

"So perfect," Nanami utters into your mouth, "s'much sweeter than I deserve."

You frown at his self deprecation but don't comment, instead your hands start sliding down his chiseled back, exploring the deep ridges and shapes of pure, hard muscle.

Then, plop! You blink in shock as his bunny ears have fallen plum onto your face, nearly gauging out your eye.

"Oh," he gasps, breaking away from you. "Forgot about these."

He pulls away from you, standing upright but staying between your legs. You swallow a needy whine at his absence, before sitting up with him, staring expectantly.

"Think they'll look better on you though, huh, darling?" he coos, reaching over your head and plucking your fuzzy ears off. Then, he’s replacing them with his bunny ears. "There, that's more fitting. I feel much more like the hunter than the hunted.”

You tilt your chin defiantly. "Mm, so I'm just an innocent rabbit in the sights of a dangerous hunter?"

“Clever bunny,” Nanami murmurs, leaning forward and catching you by surprise with a wet kiss at the nape of your neck. You shudder. “Time for me to eat my latest catch, hm?”

“I-I guess so-”

“Oh, don't get shy now, bunny,” he mewls against your ear. “Do you want to do this?”

You pretend to consider it, but your dripping hole has already answered for you. "Yes, sir."

Nanami purrs in response and taps your earlobe with his perfect teeth - before you're being shoved back on the flat surface. Three quick beats occur. Beat, shorts off. Beat, tights off. Beat, panties sliding slowly down your legs.

"God," he says, hooking his fingers over the trim of the panties, which are light blue in color, accented by an adorable pink bow in the front. "All this time, I could've had you like this, if only-” he cuts himself off to lean down and place a kiss to your inner knee.

Your nerves send repeated quivers over you. You dig your nails into the desk, but your palms are so sweaty that your hand slips. Nanami catches you, a heavy hand on your lower back, the other hand entangling in your panties and proceeding to rip them all the way off. Your clothes are now in a discarded pile to the right of you, fuzzy tail and ears a reminder of what got you into this position in the first place.

“Well we can make up for lost time now,” you whisper, sliding your feet farther apart until your knees are angled into the air - gaping pussy winking up at Nanami.

His eyes nearly jump from his body as he watches you open up for him, glistening cunt all in his face. He's sinking back down into the chair before either of you really processes it, and his heavy palms fall flat on your inner thighs.

"She's s'pretty, sweetheart," he coos, the breath from his words tickling your clit and making you writhe pathetically. "Haven't even touched you yet. Why are you shaking?”

You whine out in embarrassment. Something about your most perverted fantasies coming alive before you, Nanami talking to you like this, and him staring directly at the forbidden parts you'd never thought he'd see, is depleting your confidence.

"What's wrong, bunny?" he asks, reading your expression. "You look like you are second guessing this."

"N-No!" you cry out, making him jump, before you sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. No, I want to. I'm just embarrassed."

"Why?" he perks a brow, astonished.

"Because you're so..." you huff uncomfortably, "fine, and here I am, of course anyone would be embarrassed of their own genitals, y'know I just kind of never expected this and-”

"Y/N," Nanami interrupts. "I've seen plenty of these before; all different types, sizes and colors. I am going to devour you regardless of what you think.”

You swallow thickly. Your head nods like a puppet, though you're unsure if that's you saying you understand, or telling him to go ahead.

While you're deciding, Nanami plants a kiss to your bikini line, then slides his hands to wrap his arms around your thighs so that it's now impossible for you to close them. Your stomach is on fire, and you're on the verge of gyrating your pelvis right into his stupidly perfect face.

"Tell me you want this, bunny," Nanami rasps, placing another loud kiss to your inner thigh.

"I want this," you confirm again, "want you."

You don't have to say anything else because his mouth has already found your clit. Warm breath travels between your folds as he keeps his tongue narrowed out to swirl agonizingly slow circles over the bulb.

Your hips convulse against his strength. It does nothing except prompt Nanami to flatten his whole mouth over your heat and pick up speed with his tongue.

"Oh, ohh," you drawl, your hands leaving the desk surface and going right through his fine hair. His hold on you ensures you can’t fall backwards, but you’re gripping his roots for dear life.

He grumbles against your cunt and you feel it all the way up to your ovulating uterus. The desire to have your womb house more of his children starts to enter your brain and you have to remind yourself that this is just sex.

Oh, but it's so much more than that. Nanami's taking his time to work your body, to know exactly which pace makes you cry out like a pathetic fucktoy, noting when you wriggle under his grip, as he pushes his fingertips into the flesh on your legs.

His warm tongue keeps your puffy lips parted effortlessly; lathering you up with his saliva, drinking in the fluid your body creates more of each second.

You sit up farther to look down at him; his eyebrows are furrowed and focused, his cheeks hollowed as he treats your twitching clit like his tongue’s dance partner.

He swirls, flicks, slurps - each variation unlocking a new noise from you as you fight back your orgasm.

As you watch him, your fucked-out, needy brain begins to tell you would give him whatever he wanted in this moment; six children and a house from scratch if that's what he requested. Because he deserves it; the way his tongue’s now dipping slightly into your desperate hole, making your hips jerk from the desk until he counter-forces them with his hands.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snaps, grazing his teeth over your clit.

You can’t even speak; he’s eaten your voice right out of you. His head shakes side to side as he plants his mouth back on you and peers up through his blond lashes, daring you to pull that stunt a second time.

Your hands are still deeply entangled in his roots, but at this point you can't keep your eyes in the front of your head. Your head lolls back on your neck as your hips twitch with an unholy amount of momentum. Your moans are growing dangerously loud; knowing full well there's an entire party nearby, as well as the possibility of nosy maids. Not that either of you care.

"Kento, s-so good," you lament, bucking your hips into his chin as if you could chase more pleasure than he's already giving you. The heat in your stomach is the first indication that your pleasure is morphing into an orgasm, but you don’t want to cum yet.

You want to try and run again, just to give yourself a little time to catch up…

The minute Nanami feels your hip bones sliding away from him, he pulls his mouth off of you; your orgasm slipping away. You take a deep breath in regret.

“Someone must not want to cum,” he taunts, keeping his mouth close to your trickling cunt. “Need you to stay still.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, trembling.

“Try for me?” Nanami requests softly, lifting your thighs into the air before plopping your feet flat on his shoulders.

He plants a heavy kiss to your clit after the adjustment in your position and you dig your toes into his back.

“F-For you,” you repeat mindlessly, brain officially scrambled like a breakfast platter.

“Mmh-” Nanami grunts, planting his fat tongue back between your slick folds, working his jaw intensely to finish pulling the orgasm out of you. He sticks the narrow tip back at your hole, flicking the rim of the inside as if it’s his purpose for living.

Your toes lift into the air as Nanami tests your flexibility, pushing your knees next to your ears. With the pressure built up in your stomach, you barely have time to mutter out the announcement of your orgasm before you're cumming all over his tongue and clenching your walls around the wet muscle.

"Give it to me, bunny," he moans, words muffled because of the way you're gripping his tongue with your pussy.

You keep shaking for a solid thirty seconds, because he is refusing to take his tongue out of you. When finally you’ve calmed to a slight twitch, he removes his face from between your thighs and the entire lower half of his face glistens in the light.

"That's one," he murmurs to himself, crawling back over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. "You did so well. You taste so sweet, bun.”

"Can I return the favor?" you ask needily, dragging your palm down his chest.

He grinds his pelvis across your lower half, so that you can feel the sheer length of his bulge beneath his pants. "What for?"

Your eyes widen at just how large it feels; surely it's smaller than it appears.

"Wanna please you, sir," you babble out, watching his eyebrows furrow at the self-proclaimed pet name.

"Hm, think that ship sailed long ago,” he chuckles, rubbing his clothed dick against your inner thigh this time, and now, you take notice of the warm trail of precum that’s leaked through his pants onto your skin.

You dig your nails into his chest instead of replying. He bites back a groan and kisses your neck.

“I’m going to have to restrain you if you want’a keep being so touchy," he whispers sternly.

"I do have handcuffs," you say, following it with a giggle. Though you’re only half joking.

"That's cute," he mewls. "You think I need handcuffs to restrain you?" He pauses. "What's that you said? That I'm twice your size?"

You swallow thickly, remembering that you had, in fact, said that.

"So I can, and will easily pin you down, bun," he continues. "Don't act up, and I won't have to, yeah?"

You wish you can say you won’t, but if he thinks you dislike the idea of being pinned down, he must not be faking his innocence, like you’d thought.

A moment later, he's standing away from you, and his hands expertly unbutton his shirt. You watch him with desire, and he smiles a little shyly at you as he shrugs off the garment and tosses it to the floor.

“Funny, you’ve seen me shirtless before,” he says suddenly. “Why do I feel a bit nervous about it this time?”

You giggle and cock your head to the side, legs still spread wide. “Should’ve always felt nervous. I’m a huge pervert, y’know.”

Nanami dips his head before coming back to be close to your body again, his fingers mindlessly tugging on the hem of your shirt now.

“I know,” he whispers. “A little minx, you are.”

“Took you long enough to realize it, hm?” you tease as you lift your arms to assist him in removing the shirt. But you are caught off guard when he doesn’t continue.

"You're still sure you want to do this?" he questions, changing the subject. “I'm sorry. I'm going to ask a hundred times, it’s just a habit.”

"Yes, Kento," you rasp frustratingly. "Do I have to get on my knees and beg to be fucked for you to get it?"

He blinks, stunned, as if that is not something he ever considered; but does sound appealing to him.

"No," he says quickly, slowly lifting your shirt further over your body. "How did we end up here, hm? Was this your plan from the moment you crashed my Halloween party?"

"Uh-uh," you say innocently, as he pulls the shirt over your head. Now you sit completely naked in front of him - save for the bunny ears on your head.

"I get the feeling you're a big, fat liar," he teases, leaning back over you, now your stomachs are touching and everywhere your skin meets is tingling. "Didn't I tell you to be a good girl? Good girls don't lie."

“‘M not lying," you argue. "Admit you were over here waiting for me to show up all night."

"Maybe I was," he murmurs, dragging his top teeth over the connection between your neck and your shoulder before planting a wet kiss on your collar bone. "And you came for me, like always."

A gasp erupts from your throat and Nanami cuts it off by sliding his hand there. He uses his fingers to apply the gentlest amount of pressure to the sides of your neck and your body arches against him.

"Tell me if anything I do is too much for you, little fox," he coos in your ear before dropping his hand from your neck and standing back straight to quickly unbuckle his belt.

He slides the garment out of his belt loops, and discards it to the side, on top of your clothes. So in other words: close by.

"Kento," you pant, "please."

"Please what?" he questions, raising a brow innocently as he pops open the button to his tight pants - visibly taking a deep breath as his bulge pokes free.

"You're dragging this out," you whine. "I've needed you for so long. This is torture."

"So what?" he shrugs, allowing his pants to fall to the floor, where he steps out of them.

"I..." you cut yourself off with a frustrated grunt.

"You said please, but you aren't using your words, little fox.” He slides his body back over yours - his boxers now being the only barrier between you. "What do you want?"

"You, your cock, your mouth," you pant all of it out in one quick sentence. "I... I just need you inside of me, Mr. Nanami."

Your breasts rub against his hard chest, teasing your achingly hard nipples. Just so pathetic. Can’t control yourself. Your brain's swirling with desire and ecstasy for him. If he can't read your mind, you're sure he can see it in your face.

"Okay, sweetheart," he says, voice returning to its usual softness, "you got me. All yours."

He tugs his boxers down quickly, desperately. Now your hips are aligned to each other's. He's still hovering, his cock not even touching you yet. He slides a hand between your legs as his other keeps you steady, gripping harshly on your hip which is sure to leave a delicious bruise.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he drags his mouth across your jaw before attaching his lips to your neck. His fingers gather the drip from your hole, and then he slides them up through your folds and to your clit. He swirls the fingers softly, keeping his ear right next to your mouth so that he can hear exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your legs shake against his ribs while you moan for him, and he grunts as he takes in all of your body's reactions to his touch.

He goes to try and put a finger in your cunt but you grab his wrist. He does not argue with you, which should be a red flag, but you think you’ve won until he takes the hand he had been using to play with you and grips your wrist, yanking it back, and your entire body goes falling against the desk.

Somehow, both of your wrists are being pinned to the wood in one large hand now. You whine and squirm under him, but he doesn't care. His free hand grabs his cock.

He takes the heavy tip and taps it against your clit several times, each time causing you to gasp and arch against him.

"That's right," he whispers above you. "No escaping now, bun."

You blink up at him, lifting your hips to grind your pussy on him, which causes his lips to part and his eyebrows to furrow.

You open your mouth, tongue flying out, wanting to appeal to another twisted fantasy. “Need your spit,” you mumble shyly.

He seems to ponder for a moment before he realizes what exactly it is you are asking, and a moment later he is leaning forward, dripping a warm glop of saliva from his mouth down your throat.

“Mmh-” you moan as you swallow happily, before looking down between your legs where he is finally done lubricating himself on your juice. He's staring at you hopelessly, as if he’s thinking that putting his cock in you isn't going to be enough.

“So nasty,” he coos, “ready for me, sweetheart?”

"Hngh- please," you beg.

Not a second later, hot pressure is at your hole. Nanami slides his hips upward to push himself deeper, deeper, deeper - the girth feeling like it's going to simply rip you in half.

You shriek and shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the pain to pass. It doesn't.

You feel so embarrassed as he takes his free hand to lift up your left thigh, because pain shoots up through your stomach - and not the good kind.

"Ah- wait," you cry out, eyes falling open.

Nanami stops immediately. "What's the matter?"

"It... it hurts," you admit shyly, biting your lip. "Wh-Why d'you have to be so big?"

"Why d'you have to be so tight?" he chuckles back, but carefully slides out of you. "Hang on. I know what will help, little fox."

He pulls away from you, letting go of your wrists to lean over and dig into a random drawer in his desk. You have no idea what he could possibly be doing until he stands back straight, a hand still holding up your leg, while the other holds a small, light pink, bullet-shaped rubber object.

"Brand new," he says, eyeing it as he rotates it between his fingers. "Just put batteries in it."

You swallow as you realize what this implies. He knew he was going to fuck you - or at least, that he was going to use this toy on you at some point. Or, a third worse thing: it hadn't been for you at all.

You don’t want to think about that possibility, though.

He hands the little toy to you, a small buzz coming from it already.

"Hold it for me," he instructs. "I need my hands to keep my prey from running."

You gulp and do as he says, and again he is taking his cock head and pushing it against you, before it slides through the gummy entrance and you cry out again.

You hold the toy to your clit and the feeling travels straight through your veins. You focus on the vibrations and before you can even inhale again, your insides are completely full.

"Deep breaths, bun," he grunts, "feel her o-opening up… now.”

Did he just stutter? Kento Nanami, who's always so composed. You'd made him lose his wording. You.

Nanami takes his hands and pulls your knees up, holding them to his sides, while you keep your hand occupied on the little bullet between your legs.

The combination of the toy plus his cock filling you up and molding your walls against it has you aching to spill over, already.

Now that the searing has begun to dissolve, his cock is gliding effortlessly inside of you - feeling as though the organ was crafted to fit you perfectly. Your juices cover every inch of him, delicious squelches creating a symphony with your moans as Nanami's pace quickens.

He has his hands still pressed on your thighs but he leans forward and gently pulls a nipple into his warm mouth. You don't know what to do with your free hand, so it ends up on his back, nails mercilessly breaking open his skin. He hisses and nips your nipple between his teeth.

"Fuck. Me," he groans, pulling away from your chest to look down at you. You want to make a comment about how you already are, but he just looks so fucked out - so vulnerable. Lips puffy and wet, eyes shut tight, hair dangling over his forehead.

He’s ruined.

He claws his fingers into your outer thighs. His fingers dig so hopelessly into you as his cock swirls your insides, his hips now moving in a rhythmic wave motion.

Your hand falls away from your clit with the toy and you hardly notice that it's gone because now, his pelvis is brushing over it, sweat practically gluing the two of you together.

"Aw," he purrs, and you look up to see that his eyes are staring directly between your legs. "You’re creaming all over me. Shit - your cunt looks so good, swallowing me up.”

Your face heats and you take your hands to grip his arms, as he's now drilling into you so torturously that you're gliding up the desk - the sweat on your back making your skin slick. He notices you're moving away and shifts his hands to grab your hips, holding you down onto him, and now his fat tip is violating your cervix.

"H-Hah Kento, ngh - God," is all you can manage to say, but there’s nothing holy about what his cock is doing to you, as he angles himself upward, attacking your uterus from a new direction.

You shriek, so horribly loud. It sounds like a horror movie - which is fitting. You’ve nearly forgotten that it’s Halloween night; the moon full, your passions like the tides, being pulled to their peak.

You desperately feel a needy confession on your lips but you know that now isn't the time. You can't love a man you don't date... right? But you definitely love the way he's tearing up your insides, sure to leave you swollen and limping.

"I don't remember telling you that you could remove your hand," he snaps, realizing you’ve removed the bullet, "put it back. Now."

You shake your head, begging for mercy. "Was too much, c-can't take it."

"Yes you can," he whispers, leaning forward and hovering his mouth over yours, cognac-scented breath teasing your parted lips. "Put it back, or I stop."

You whine and obey, the vibration revisiting your clit making your body convulse against him.

"Mhmm, like that sweetheart," Nanami coos, staring at you as your face twists every couple of seconds from the introduction of new kinds of pleasure. "Stick that tongue back out for me."

Your mouth is open, drool practically spilling out of the sides in a millisecond. He's spitting another alcoholic saliva drop into your mouth the next.

His breath is ragged as he drags out, "Thought I knew everything. But y’teaching - hah - me new things. Like how I can never live without your pretty pussy, ever again."

You quiver your lip and dig your nails into his back again, ready to cum on his cock.

"S-Stop talking like that," you grit out. "G-Gonna cum if you don't stop."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" he questions harshly. "You can cum over and over. I’m not finished with you."

You shake your head, but before you can fire back, Nanami is suddenly sliding himself out of you. You panic and sit up, staring at him with wide eyes as he drops to sit on the chair.

His hands come up to grab your hips roughly, and he's effortlessly pulling you down off of the desk. Your stomach makes contact with his thighs as he lays you over his lap like a disobedient child.

"Nanami?" you breathe, but he doesn't seem to hear you at all.

"We just needed to pause for a second," he says softly, running a hand down your spine and over the hill of your ass. His voice is very misleading, as are his gentle gestures; you have no idea what's coming.

"N-No," you whine, "I was so close."

"But, naughty bunny, didn’t you tell me to stop?" he questions, distracting you from the fact that his fingers are sliding between your asscheeks and down to your swollen hole.

You jerk in his lap as two of his fingers glide down your slick, parting your thick lips, repeating the process several times just to watch you squirm.

“Y-Yes, but-”

“What’d I tell you about lying?” he grits, and a blink later his fingers have parted from your skin.

You turn to scold him and his hand cracks down on the back of your thighs.

You yelp, but the action exhilarates you in some kind of disgusting way.

“Oh, and here’s another for calling me Nanami,” he spits, another crack landing on your backside but this time - higher, and harder.

“K-Kento, I’m sorry,” you whine, but you truly don’t want it to stop. Your fingers dig into his leg and he hisses, his cock jerking against your stomach as his body responds.

“How sorry, bun?” he coos, voice faking softness before another pop! of his palm stings your skin.

“I’ll be good, promise,” you whisper, arching your hips up to encourage another smack.

“You like this, don’t you, naughty bunny?” he realizes suddenly, and you try to shake your head in denial - but he’s caught on. “Hm. I’ll only accept your apology if you give me two more orgasms. Deal?”

“Two?” you cry. “I-I’ve already had one!”

“Good things always cum in threes, baby,” he murmurs, running his hand over the pretty hand-shaped welps he’s left on your skin. “You can give it to me. You want to be good, don’t you?”

You don’t know when the shift happened, but you loved it. You loved how he was letting his soft facade crumble to the ground so that he could truly slap you around like you were just a hole. Truthfully, that’s all you wanted to be. Wanted to let him take out the stress of being a single father on your guts, fill you up with more babies to care for, and then kiss you on the forehead when it was all done.

Pathetic. This is still your employer, your boss. And not to mention how much older he is. You don’t care, but you’re unsure if he does.

“I wanna cum again, please,” you beg, wriggling your ass up to show him you still needed punishment.

He groans before his two thick fingers are pressing between your lips and then, shoving through the soft ring at your center.

Your body shamelessly arches, but he allows your arms to stay free, clawing into his skin wherever you can get a grip.

Nanami is making his own noises above you but you’re on the verge of tears, wailing and carrying on as he fucks you with his fingers, curling the tips into your squishy ridges to try and drive the cum out of you faster.

“Maybe we should get one of those tails with a plug,” he comments, tone implying he’s thinking out loud. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to see you in your cute little tail while I fuck you.”

“Hngh - no, mmh…” you don’t even know what noises to make anymore. Words escape your brain.

Nothing but mush and the burning of your approaching orgasm are on your mind.

“Hold it in for me,” Nanami requests suddenly, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready for it, sweetheart.”

“God,” you shake your head and clench your thighs, but Nanami’s strong hand forces them back apart.

Your toes curl on the other side of the chair, your head falling forward. The pulse in Nanami’s cock is still drumming against your abdomen, as if knocking on your tummy to threaten you to hold your orgasm.

“I-I can’t,” you say, “Please, can I-”

“Cum.”

Nasty, wet squelches don’t stop as your body sends you over the edge. Your vision blacks and you shake so hard that you nearly roll right to the floor.

He hums approvingly, slowing his fingers down as you clench around them. “Good job, bun. Only one more to go.”

“I can’t take another,” you shake your head, as he gently guides you up into a sitting position on his lap.

“You’re so strong,” he says, “the perfect person for me. The way you always take care of me and the kids, how you fit so effortlessly into our little family. I know you can do this for me, sweetheart. Let me repay you for all that you do for us. Make you feel good.”

You hadn’t expected this little speech. It almost brings you to tears as Nanami gently rubs your back, sliding his free arm underneath your legs to lift you princess-style back onto the desk.

“Say something,” he begs, his voice hoarse.

“I wanted to be good for you,” you grin softly, and he smiles back as he runs his hands gently over the top of your legs. “But you want to be good for me. Which is it?”

“Both,” Nanami whispers. “I told you that you already do everything that keeps me content. Now, I want to please you.”

You realize that he is passing his power off to you. Letting his dominance slip through his fingers and right into the palm of your hand. You think you can handle being in control for your final orgasm, so you grip him harshly by his cock and scoot your ass to the edge of the desk.

He moans so softly that it could have been a whimper. You take his curvy length and drag it up to be aligned with your hole.

“Is your cock alone gonna please me, hm?” you purr, swirling your hips to tease his cock head, salty precum spreading across your hole.

“Y-yes ma’am,” he mutters, body lurching forward as if he’s the overstimulated one.

“Prove it,” you quip, shoving him back inside of you before pushing your hips down onto him.

You furrow your eyebrows to try and pretend the pain of him entering isn’t still intense. You lift yourself off of your palms and feet, using them to fuck down onto his twitching cock.

“Hah - Y/N,” he speaks your name in two sultry syllables, putting his hands on the desk to fully release his control as you use him.

“Baby, I need to fill you up,” he continues, “b-but if you don’t want me to…”

“Yes,” you say, “want me to have your babies, Mr. Nanami?”

“Oh,” he whimpers, “shit. Shit, don’t say stuff like that.”

You whirl your hips on him in the shape of an ‘O.’

“Want to breed me?” you continue. “Make me all big and pregnant?”

“That’s enough,” he snaps suddenly, hand clamoring down on the belt that is to your side, before he grips the garment in his hand. He sits up from where he’d been leaning on you, before taking the leather and slithering it around your neck, pulling it through the buckle, and yanking it towards him like you’re just a pathetic bitch on a leash.

“You had your fun,” he grits, “now you need to remember your place, bunny. I’m going to fill you to the brim until your cunt can’t take anymore and it drips back out of you, got it?”

“Mmh,” you pull against his belt as your hips are no longer the once controlling the pace. “Nanami, n-nooo…”

Your voice tapers off as he fucks you, fucks you so good and hard and mean until you’re drooling and crying and shaking and hissing and-

“Cumming!” you scream, but Nanami shows no signs of slowing down.

“That’s it,” he says. “Number three. What about four?”

“Y-You said…”

“Oh, you’re the only one who gets to lie around here?” he chuckles, a deep hypnotic sound that vibrates against your chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m gonna - ngh” and one viscid moment later, Nanami begins to shudder, and it is the beginning of the end.

You cannot tell if you are mourning or rejoicing the conclusion of this insane chain of events, but you forget all about it when Nanami is spurting hot semen all over your taut, spongey walls - that are now sore and quivering from the excessive abuse.

Your name leaves his lips in between the sultry noises he makes, and his body jerks on top of you until he’s finished spewing his load. Now, he stands in front of you with his head dipped down as he pants for several seconds.

“Do you understand how addicting you are?” are the first words that leave his lips after he is able to drag his head up to look at you.

You’re focused on your own huffing as you try to come up with a witty response, but with your brain so fucked out, the only thing you can mutter is “Oh, Kento.”

He nestles his sweaty face into your neck and plants a feathery kiss there, reminding you that he is still the same gentle Nanami that tucks his children in bed at night and drinks green tea in the garden.

He is everything you have dreamed of, but the sex had truly sealed it. Now, as he slips out of you and his cum follows soon after, you feel your post-high clarity morphing into embarrassment at the fact that all you’d been feeling is lust; Nanami deserves so much more than that, including his recognition as a father.

“Why are you staring at me? Have I still got your nectar on my face?” he jokes, and you admire his ability to loosen the tension.

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I just think you are amazing. I don’t want you to think I really did just come for some cock.”

At this, he laughs so hard that his torso shakes. You smile, as it is rare to hear, and you are the cause of it.

He grabs his shirt and begins to use it to wipe himself off, then does the same for you, his movements intentional and gentle as he cleans you up, rubbing all of the puffy, red reminders on your body softly.

“I don’t think that,” he says with a crooked smile. “But whatever the case, I do hope that things have… changed between us.”

You scoff. “I should hope so,” you tease, tilting your head as he stops his hands on your body. “I hope you’re not going around making every person who comes near you cum three times in one sitting and expect to just be friends.”

He grins. “Nah, that treatment is reserved for you, bun.” His hands slide up your hair and pat the fuzzy ears on your head. “We should keep these around, though. But I’d like to take you out before we use them again.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring his face to yours, planting a gentle kiss on his nose. “Of course. You did say good things come in threes,” you grin. “The sex was one. The date will be two. What’s three?”

And your question gets answered nine months later, when Nanami proposes to you on a white beach in another country.

…Right before you go into labor.

But of course, once the baby is out, it’s time to start on number 4 the following Halloween.

A/N 2.0

ty all sm for the love on this series so far i’m rlly havin the time of my life writing all these twisted monster-fucker stories ^.^

~ pennjammin

[abbotjack]

Godless Things

content/warnings: 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, rough sex with emotional intimacy, size kink, creampie, emotionally repressed male character, canon-typical violence references, possessiveness, praise kink. no one asked for this but yolo

summary : After a violent job leaves Pope simmering in guilt and emotional chaos, you show up uninvited—knowing full well what he is, and wanting him anyway.

word count : 1,429

You shouldn’t be in his house tonight.

Not after what went down.

But that’s the thing about Pope Cody—you never show up when things are good. You come when it’s bad. You come when he’s bleeding.

And tonight, he is.

Not in the literal sense—he’s showered, scrubbed the blood off his hands. But you can feel it radiating off him the moment he opens the door, tension coiled tight behind those tired eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says flatly.

You step inside anyway. Let the door fall shut behind you.

“I know,” you answer. “But I am.”

He stares at you for a long time, unmoving. Then exhales through his nose and walks back toward the kitchen without another word. That’s your invitation.

You follow.

The house is too quiet. The way all Cody houses get when something’s gone wrong and no one wants to talk about it. There’s a bottle on the table—something cheap, half-drunk, and untouched for at least an hour. He isn’t drinking anymore. Not really. He just keeps the bottle there. Like a warning to himself.

You watch him lean back against the counter. He crosses his arms. His eyes drop to your throat, then your hips, then back up. Calculated. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to react.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

His voice is low. Tired. Hoarse from shouting, maybe. You don’t ask what happened out there tonight. You don’t need to.

You walk to him slowly, unzipping your jacket.

“You.”

His breath stutters—barely. But you catch it.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

He laughs, dry and bitter. “You have no idea what kind of man I am.”

“I know exactly what kind of man you are.” You reach for him, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “And I want you anyway.”

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He grabs you.

Not gentle. Not cruel. Just urgent. Like he’s been starving for weeks and you’re the first real thing he’s touched in days.

He presses you back against the wall, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. His mouth doesn’t ask. It takes—a bruising kiss that tastes like guilt and need and everything he’ll never say out loud.

“You should be afraid of me,” he growls against your mouth.

“I’m not.”

“You should be,” he says again, and there’s something in his voice this time. Not anger. Not even warning. Begging. Like he wants you to run so he won’t have to do this.

But he’s already pulling your shirt over your head.

You tug his hoodie off, feel the heat of his body beneath it—lean, scarred, hard with muscle earned from years of running, fighting, lifting, breaking. This is a man who’s never known softness that didn’t turn on him. Who flinches when you’re gentle and falls apart when you’re not.

You strip for him. Slowly. Deliberately. His jaw tightens the more skin you reveal, like he can’t decide whether to fall to his knees or shove you against the wall and fuck you until the pain makes sense.

He steps closer.

And when he touches you—really touches you—it’s with both hands. One palm across your ribs, the other sliding down your spine, warm and firm and reverent in the most godless way.

“Go to the bedroom,” he murmurs. “Now.”

Your breath catches, but you obey. The bedroom is quiet. Sheets still rumpled from nights he pretended to sleep. He follows you in slowly, watching you with that sharp, analytical look he always wears before a job.

Because this is a job now.

Making you his. Marking you in a way that’ll outlast whatever sins he racks up next.

He strips in the doorway—shirt, jeans, boxers. You look at him and it hits you how ruined he is. Not just his body—though the scars there tell their own story—but the way he stands. Ready for violence. Ready for rejection.

But you don’t flinch. You open your legs.

And fuck, the noise he makes.

He’s on you in seconds. His cock is heavy and hot against your thigh as he shifts over you. You’ve never seen him like this—undone but still trying to hold it in. His whole body is tight with restraint, the kind that aches more than it satisfies.

He lines himself up and drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, slow, almost reverent—just once. Testing. Tasting. Marking you with it.

“Fucking soaked,” he mutters. “You want this?”

You nod, breath catching. “Yes.”

He doesn’t push in right away.

Not yet.

Instead, he leans in, voice low against your ear.

“You want me to fuck you, knowing what I did tonight? Knowing I’ll probably do worse tomorrow?”

You turn your face to his, eyes wide open. “I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s the edge.

He grabs the back of your thigh, shoves it up toward your chest, and thrusts in with a single, brutal motion.

You scream—half pleasure, half shock. The stretch is too much, nearly splitting, and you feel the air leave your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. Every inch of him fills you, thick and heavy and real in a way that drowns out everything else.

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t say that,” he growls, teeth gritted. “Say my name.”

You cling to him, barely able to breathe. “Andrew—fuck—Andrew—”

He groans like it hurts. Like hearing his real name in your mouth is worse than anything that happened out on the job. He starts to move—deep, punishing strokes, grinding down with each one like he wants to live in your body, like this is the only time he ever lets himself feel good.

You can’t even think. You’re gasping, grabbing at him, nails raking down his back, legs trembling with every thrust.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Taking me so fucking good—like you were made for it.”

“Harder,” you beg, eyes glazed, hips already chasing his. “Please—don’t hold back—”

He loses it.

He lifts your hips, changes the angle, and fucks into you with a brutal rhythm, hard enough that the headboard thuds the wall. Sweat drips from his temple onto your chest. His hands grip your thighs like he’s bracing himself from falling off the edge entirely.

“Fuck,” he pants, staring down at where he disappears into you. “Look at that. Look at you taking all of me.”

You’re shaking now. Drenched. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and frantic, but all you hear is him. His breathing. His grunts. His voice—low, unsteady, reverent like prayer.

He slides a hand between you, rubs slow circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb, and your back arches.

“Andrew—I’m gonna—fuck—I can’t—”

“Come on,” he growls, teeth at your neck. “Come for me. I want to feel it. I want you to fucking lose it around me.”

And you do.

It slams into you like fire. Your thighs clamp around him, your vision whites out, and you scream his name, loud and raw and real. Your pussy flutters around him, dragging a deep, guttural moan from his chest as he fucks you through it, not stopping, not slowing.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Just like that. That’s it.”

You’re still coming when he pulls out just far enough to slam back in again, harder, deeper, then stills. His whole body stiffens.

He groans into your neck—something primal, almost broken—and you feel him spill inside you, thick and hot, as his hips jerk with each wave. His hands are on either side of your face now, holding you like he might disappear if he lets go.

Neither of you move. Not for a long time.

He stays inside you. Head on your chest. Hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself to shore.

You run a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He whispers, barely audible:

“You make me feel clean.”

You press your lips to his temple. “You are.”

“You shouldn’t let me do this to you.”

You hold his face in both hands. “Then why do you treat me like I’m the only thing that’s real?”

He stares down at you like he’s trying to memorize your answer. Then, without a word, he lays back down—still inside you, still holding you—and closes his eyes.

Like this is the only time he ever sleeps.

[malum-forev]

More Than Casual?

Summary: After breaking up with Bucky, you thought you'd never see him again. That is, until you're required to make an appearance at one of the future congressman's events.

Part 1: Casual

CAABNW!Bucky x Agent!ExWidow!Reader

“You ready for the event?” Joaquin asks you as he throws a punch. 

“What event?” You huff, dodging the right hook. 

“Everyone on Cap’s team gets an invite to the White House.” He covers his guard. 

“Less talking, more punching!” Isaiah yells from the other side of his training room. 

You’d heard about the event being held at the White House but you decided to turn off the TV the second those familiar blue eyes were displayed. It was too early to see the man who still made you shiver. 

“Not going.” Is all you say, throwing him a rogue kick with more force than necessary. 

“You’re missing out on the event of the year for what? Ordering in pizza?” He laughs, but you take the opportunity to kick the center of his chest, making Joaquin fly across the room. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Isaiah hollers. 

You help your partner up. “What if I have plans?”

“Plans?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you finally opening your heart to love?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart sinks a little. You’d successfully gone weeks without thinking of him and now, with just a couple of words, he’s back in your mind. Pulling at your heartstrings so tightly it makes your chest cave in.

It wasn’t Joaquin’s fault, he had no idea that the man who’s being honored at the event is the same person who tore your heart to shreds. 

“I just don’t feel like going,” you manage to get out. “I much prefer to fight and protect, rather than prance and drink.”

——

“What’s this I hear about you not going to the gala?” Sam casually says a few days later. 

You choke on the water you’re drinking. 

“That serious, huh?” Sam jokes. 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t sound like something that I’d be interested in.”

Your words are careful and strategic. But trying to think of the perfect excuse while your team leader looks at you so inquisitively is almost impossible. 

“I’d be nice,” he shrugs. “To go out and support Buck.”

The nickname sends a chill down your spine. 

You called him that same name for years, especially when you wanted to tease him. In front of others you’d always referred to him as Sergeant. But in close encounters, especially when you wanted him to plead for something, you’d call him just that. Buck. 

It never failed to make you think back to when he was a kid. You’d beg him to see pictures, you knew he had a couple printed out after the rediscovery of the Howling Commandos files. 

“You’re looking at the best version of me there is, doll.” He’d always say. “No need to dwell on the past.”

But you knew it was because part of him was always scared to look back. It made him remember he had a life before all of this happened. 

“I’m busy that day.” You mutter, picking up the report on the desk. 

Sam crosses his arms. “I haven’t even told you when it is.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Sam asks carefully. He knows perfectly how to deal with guarded agents. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

You hum.

“So, I hope to see you there, Agent.” Sam narrows his eyes. He doesn’t need to use the words for you to know it’s an order. 

You nod your head without another word, leaving the conference room before your anxiety rises more through your body.

——

“You’re pretty amped up for someone who didn’t even want to come!” Sam yells over the loud music playing inside the limo sent for you. 

You don’t look back at him as you tip the vodka bottle, letting the clear liquid coat your throat.

On any other day, vodka wouldn’t be your liquor or choice but today, you need all the courage I can get. And in terms of fucking you up the fastest, vodka is the way to go. 

You can barely feel your heel poking your foot by the time you step out. 

Your eyes inadvertently scan every square inch of the room, not looking for anything suspicious but looking for the man who you’ve been dreading seeing. 

It’s bad enough his posters are up on every lamp post.

You make a beeline towards the free bar cart, Joaquin hot on your heels. 

“Sam sent me over to babysit you,” he leans on the edge of the cart. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say sarcastically, sipping on the martini the bartender set for you. “I’m having a blast.”

Both your eyes travel down to the napkin the bartender passes you, his ten-digit phone number neatly scribbled on the paper. 

You turn it over without looking at him.

“What happened to opening up your heart to love?” Joaquin whispers, looking back at the bartender. 

“I don’t have time for love.” You mutter, swirling the olives in your drink. 

He twists the cap on a water bottle before passing it to you. “You’ll never have time for love, if you don’t make time for love.”

“Who died and made you the team’s hopeless romantic?” You eye him. 

“Steve.” He shrugs. 

Joaquin goes on and on about love but you can’t hear him anymore. Because the second you look over to the other side of the room, there he is. 

Time stands still, and your legs threaten to give out.

Bucky’s changed so much since the day you said goodbye forever. His eyes have dulled, turning into a muted blue like the sky on a rainy day. His hair looks polished, but you know better than anyone else he hates how it feels. “I love it when you run your hands through it,” he used to murmur against your lips. “Makes me feel free.” But most importantly, his expression lacks that liveliness it used to have. The wrinkles near his eyes would deepen the second his lips would stretch into a smile. And it almost always came with a: “You have no idea how much I missed you, Doll.” 

Unsaid words stretch between you two. Your eyes say all the talking needed. 

Bucky’s eyes travel from yours, down to your left hand, where you’d always wear a vibranium bracelet that he’d gifted you. It had pieces of his old arm in it. Bucky used to say that after The Winter Soldier, he wanted nothing to do with him. Until he met you. He liked when you wore it because it reminded him that even with his past, he could still deserve someone as loving as you. 

You rub the spot where the bracelet used to lay. 

“You don’t deserve me anymore,” you whisper. 

“D’you say something?” Joaquin looks up at you.

You shake your head, ripping your eyes away from the man who caused you unspeakable hurt. But not before noticing how his expression hardened as he looked at the man standing next to you. 

You recognized it immediately. It’s Bucky’s signature: I want to rip your head off look.

And it had everything to do with the way Joaquin was rubbing your shoulder. 

“Torres, we’re friends, right?” Your eyes bounce from Bucky’s azure to your partner’s brown. 

“Yeah,” he eyes you suspiciously. 

“Could you pretend to be my boyfriend?” You get out before you can regret the words. 

Was it immature? Yes. 

Did you want Bucky to feel at least one ounce of the hurt you felt? Also yes. 

“Why?” Joaquin’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I hate these events because, as you can see,” you flip over the napkin with the bartender’s number on it. “Men always get the wrong idea. So, can you just act like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Is this some kind of test Sam put you up to?”

You pinch your lips together. “Sure.”

“Man! I’ve been waiting for an undercover mission,” he shimmies happily. 

“But you have to pretend with everyone, okay?” You look back at the future congressman who’s making his way towards the two of you. “And make it believable.”

Joaquin smooths down his lapels. “You got it.”

Not even ten seconds later, Bucky stands between you and Joaquin with a scowl on his face.

"Agents." He looks at both of you like he's done so many times. But now, his gaze holds Joaquin's for a second longer.

"Congratulations." You raise your glass to him.

"I haven't won, yet." He doesn't look away from the brunet to your side.

"By the looks of it, you're going to sweep the floor with all the other old bozos around here." Joaquin smiles, playfully shoving the super soldier's shoulder but he doesn't budge. Not one bit.

"Could I take her away from you, it'll only be a second." Bucky asks like you're Joaquin's property.

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to ask him."

"As your boyfriend," Joaquin not-so-subtly raises his eyebrows at you. "I approve of your parting."

"We're not in the regency era you doofus." You whisper as Bucky leads the way.

"I haven't been anyone's boyfriend in a long time! I don't know how to act!" He whispers back, throwing his hands up.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asks the second you're away from everybody else.

"Trust me, I didn't want to be here." You let out a dry laugh, pulling a cigarette from your bag and lighting it up.

"I mean, what are you doing here with him?" Bucky narrows his eyes toward your partner. "What's this? A debutant ball for your new relationship?"

"Why would you care, anyways?" You take a drag, liking the way the smoke coats your mouth.

"I don't care-I-I just-" Bucky runs a hand down his face.

"Look James," You watch as his PR guy paces around the ballroom, looking for the man who is standing in front of you. "It's best if you go back inside."

"I can't." He looks down at the floor. "I can't just leave you out here smoking alone."

A genuine laugh rips through you.

"That's the promise you're keeping up?" You raise your brows, laughing harder as his expression tightens. "Out of all the promises you made me, that's the one you're going with."

"This isn't-" He tries but you interrupt him.

"Tell me what this is?" You push for him to spill what you know is on the tip of his tongue. "What? Was this summon a friendly one? Or did you want to bring me out here just so you could see if you still had it? That power you had over me."

"N-no." He stutters over his words.

"I'm happy now, James." You let out more smoke. "And it's killing you to know that."

"I just don't know how you did it!" He finally snaps. "You come here, looking amazing like always, with another man next to you. Acting like what we had was-"

"What we had was casual." You repeat the words he said. "Nothing more."

"Was it?" His blue eyes lock into yours, tumultuous like the sea.

"Yes." You lie.

"Then why do I feel like this?" He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly combed hair.

"I don't care, Barnes." You drop the end of your cigarette on the floor. Bucky lifts his foot to step on it, just like he'd done a million times before, only for you to do it first.

You turn on your heel but Bucky stops you.

"Whatever we had is in the past, and I intend on keeping it that way." You look at him over your shoulder, hating the way his gaze still makes your heart squeeze and his touch makes your skin heat.

"I should leave, Congressman." You say through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression to all the voters around here. "

Authors Note: Hiiiihi! Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1! As always make sure to like and comment. Alsoooo I posted the first chapter of my book, it's on my page. I'd love it if you guys could give it a read. And if you'd like to support me, make sure to give me a follow on my ig and tiktok: @sophiabazar_author, I'll be posting all book related content on there! I'll be posting chapter 2 soon! If you'd like a part 3 to casual make sure to comment!

PART 3: NEVER CASUAL

Tagged: @erinallene @the-bucky-one @unaxv @kodzukenie333 @g1g1l @hanacheryl @ironwinnerwonderland