#Cheating in relationship problem solution

[faithandfairies]

Re-visiting Antoinette

So, I've been re-watching the show and it has me coming back to Antoinette. Which, I think I always come back to Antoinette because she is important, just not in the way a lot of people think.

The thing is, Louis and Lestat don't communicate properly so you have to look at their actions to figure out where they are at mentally and emotionally at any given time. And painting a more complete picture of Lestat's actions in relation to Antoinette and her purpose according to Lestat does that.

You see, I think by the time Antoinette enters, Lestat feels like he is losing Louis. Their relationship is going down the drain because they're not communicating properly and on top of that Louis isn't feeding well so he doesn't have energy for the parts of their relationship that do work. Louis' lack of proper feeding though is tied to his feelings, his humanity. And his shame of what he is, for which Lestat partly blames himself because of how he handled Louis' turning and their relationship.

And so Lestat starts trying to re-write history to get Louis back. Fix the mistakes he made in the past that Louis holds against him to get Louis back in the present but also as a way to remind Louis of the good times. And he uses Antoinette to do that.

As such Lestat casts Antoinette in the role of Ernesto. Because that's where everything started to go wrong in their relationship. Louis being disgusted with how and why Lestat kills. In Louis' opinion Lestat should never have killed Ernesto. At the very least not in the way he did.

Just like Ernesto Antoinette is a musician. And just like with Ernesto as she leaves Lestat is looking at her like he wants to drain her but he doesn't at that point even though I believe he wants to.

He then also uses Antoinette to remind Louis of his courting period with him. I think Lestat's intention with Antoinette is for Louis to miss him during that two week period as he lavishes all of his attention on someone other than Louis only to then try to seduce him at the end of it, recreating the first time he and Louis slept together after their two week courting period with Antoinette in the role of Lily. Also using the fact that Louis is hungry to try to get him to feed.

I genuinely think Lestat would have killed Antoinette if his plan had worked here. Drained her with Louis most likely. Ernesto's death, but with different circumstances. No humiliation, no torture, just pleasure and lulling her into a false sense of security so Louis can feed. Trying to listen to the objections Louis had to the way Lestat killed. Because the killing itself is non-negotiable, but the circumstances can be negotiated. Lestat is willing to hunt for Louis, and in whatever way that will make it more likely that Louis will feed human.

Lestat's genuinely trying to find viable alternatives for Louis to feed on. Because Louis isn't opposed to feeding on animals. But that isn't a sufficient diet. So what is the human equivalent of an animal to Louis? Louis is opposed to feeding on black people because he considers them his people. Louis is also gay, attracted to his own sex, so all men might be off the table. So I think Lestat goes, would white women suffice? Would that be impersonal enough? Or do you need it to be more personal? Would a white woman that looks like me make you angry enough to feed if you can direct your anger at her? Since male criminals don't do the trick? Or do you need variety of the sexual sort? Do you need to have sex that then devolves into you draining your victim in the heat of the moment?

And I mean, Lestat hit the nail on the head too, you've got to give him that. He knows Louis very well. Because Louis in Paris feeds on humans when he hallucinates his victims as Lestat and directs his anger at them. And in San Francisco Louis sleeps with his victims then drains them. They need so much therapy by the way.

But then here that doesn't work. Louis leaves to feed on animals instead of joining Lestat and Antoinette. So Lestat's like okay, I've got to go back even further. Fix every mistake I've ever made with Louis. Not kill Lily, not turn Louis two weeks into knowing him and use Antoinette to represent that. And so he continues to cast Antoinette in the role of Lily and adds Louis-stand-in and doesn't kill or turn Antoinette. Instead he continues a relationship with her as a human.

But I think Lestat's also realizing it won't make a difference, even if he has learned from his mistakes. I think his relationship with her devolves into a form of self-flagellation through her then. Because he can't turn back time and not turn Louis after only two weeks of knowing him, ease him into things so that Louis doesn't hate Lestat and himself for what they both are. So that he doesn't want to hurt himself and Lestat for what they both are.

I think Antoinette also ended up becoming a way to bridge the gap between Lestat's vampirism and his humanity to save his relationship with Louis when Louis became hard to reach, because Lestat stopped being able to read Louis' mind to understand him and because they didn't communicate well. And because Lestat kept making missteps that created an increasingly larger chasm between them.

Because that's one of the problems, although Lestat understood where Louis thought he went wrong enough to try to fix it I don't think Lestat fully understood why Louis thought certain decisions Lestat made were wrong, why Louis saw things the way he did. Lestat acts on instinct a lot, having been a vampire for as long as he's been by the time he meets Louis and having embraced it as he has. He just doesn't think about things the same way Louis does or at all.

He left Antoinette human as long as he did because it was beneficial to him, because it meant she could help him understand Louis' human side, to be a confidante and a sounding board, but it also genuinely offered a layer of protection to him and Louis for him to be seen with a woman when he and Louis were suspected to be lovers by the town.

Until of course it was more beneficial to have her as a vampire. And of course her love becomes a stand-in for the love he wishes he got from Louis, that he feels he could have gotten from Louis if he'd handled things differently with him.

The thing is, just like everything else in Lestat's mind his involvement with Antoinette is for Louis. It's just that Lestat being Lestat everything he does or thinks he does for Louis alone he's usually also doing for himself.

[writingwisterias]

Patience is key

ID!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Slight Homewrecker Leon, Oral (M receiving), Cheating (not Leon or Reader), Drinking, Penis in Vagina Sex, slight Overstimulation, unprotected sex, aftercare

Felt inspired by @biohazard-4ever post the other day! Click Here. It was only meant to be a drabble and then it turned into a whole oneshot! Hope you enjoy

He knew it was wrong as he watched you argue with him. The evidence of your partner cheating, that he so lovingly collected for you, slapped against the desk as you practically threw it there. He watched as his co-worker stumbled to find the correct words, as he desperately ran through every pathetic excuse he could possibly come up with to keep that ring on your finger. But it was too late. Leon bit his lip to hide the smirk as he heard the metal clatter against the mahogany desk. You stormed off ignoring the looks of his other Co workers, tears escaping your pretty eyes no matter how hard you tried to keep it together.

He didn't need to follow you, he knew where you would end up. Where he knew you craved to be despite your relationship. Leon never missed your cautious touches or lingering looks when you spoke with him; bandaged his wounds. In the past months he found himself lingering towards the medic bay, using his hangovers as excuses to get your soft fingers to caress his forehead as you applied the soothing cream. It was in these moments he felt the tension, the need that rolled off your body. The only evidence he needed to know that dickhead wasn't satisfying you.

Perhaps it was too soon to lean into him, to follow the tug against your soul that called for Leon to be the right person. Maybe it's because in a time period you felt so fragile and broken he made you feel loved. Handing out the small sections of affection you craved with your partner. Leon was cunning, you knew his plans when the only solution to the problem he would offer was for you to separate; to call off the wedding you had excitedly been planning. Yet you didn't stop him, you actually listened to his promises of a better future; without even realizing it was one he wanted to give you. Leon's arm welcomed you, his scent suffocating you further. You didn't want to cry, you couldn't cry; it was done. Your relationship you were building for years over in a flash - perhaps it was over before you shouted at him in the workplace, when he decided to cheat and chose that woman he knew you were jealous of instead. Perhaps it was over when you looked into Leon's eyes and he took the flask back. The whiskey warmed your system against the cold, his body making you feel fuzzy.

Leon didn't have to follow you out because you would end up back to him again. Looking up at him with your pretty tearful eyes as you begged him for comfort. So he could sooth your forehead from those deadly thoughts of worthlessness that would begin to claim your mind now he had admitted it. He finally let his smirk free when his phone chimed;

Usual spot?'

You didn't need his reply to know he would show up, you wiped your eyes with your sleeves ignoring the makeup that stained your jumper. You were to look like a mess right now as you sat at the bench. Your fingers craving something to hold onto as you felt like you were drowning, praying for the world to give you a happy ending for once. Leon's aftershave filled your nose as he sat down, the musky scent overpowering the saltiness of the pier. He was highlighted by the setting sun, giving his skin a warm orange glow as he looked at you. His confidence was dangerous, his smirk just as deadly when he looked at you. Leon was always a secret desire, a curse that you didn't meet before you wasted your time with the idiot that claimed to love you. His hip flask was cold against your hand as he pulled it from his jacket, handing it over as a silent invitation. He already knew what happened, he had swooped in over your rants and fear of your partner's infidelity when you accidentally let it slip when you tended to him again. So he began to help to the point of handing you the evidence.

There was no reason for you to reject him now; you were technically a free woman. Leon was waiting for your move, to tell him yes or no with your body language. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" His voice rumbled throughout your body from where you were laying against his side. The chill of the bench now bit against the fabric that covered your legs. "Please" you meekly responded. You allowed him to lead you away, to follow him towards his bike. You wrapped your arms around him, tugging your body close to his as you trusted him to take you away; to follow him in a new life.

His apartment wasn't anything new, you had shared many moments on the couch you were now perched upon, wrapped in the jumper he always preserved for you in the wardrobe. The glasses clinked on the coasters as he set them down, the whiskey bottle soon after as he filled the glasses with the amber liquid. The TV was quiet in the background of the room, the reality TV show providing entertainment neither of you were interested in. Leon's fingers itched to touch you, to tangle them in your hair as he tugged you close to his body. He was so close to succeeding his goal, to having you instead of that petty excuse of a man. You tried to focus on the TV and not the shift in his thighs or the way his fingers clenched against them. His jeans were tight around his crotch his bulge prominent and he wasn't even hard. You wanted to tease him, to be the reason his jeans became uncomfortably hard but it was too soon wasn't it? Would it make you just as bad as your partner? You were sure he would just go crawling on her arms now he had the freedom to do so. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad that you did the same.

Leon could feel your gaze, the intensity of it as he turned to meet. His eyes darkened as he peered at the lust that now glazed over your own. It was instinct that he leaned in capturing your lips with his in a clash of passion. He didn't care he was so eager to help you dump your ex, practically feeling giddy when he took those photos when he caught him in the act. All of it was worth it for you. To taste the hint of whiskey on your lips, to smell his aftershave and wash powder faintly on his hoodie that swamped you. His touch was needy, sliding under the item of clothing touching the skin of your waist. He towered over you, sinking you back into the fabric of the sofa. Leon's hips thrusted against you; the jeans providing friction to his actions. You could feel his need already, the bulge now prominent with the exact thing you craved.

His fingers paused at the clasp of your bra silently waiting for your permission. You knew if you didn't want this he would move, forget this happened and wait but he didn't have to do that because he caught the small nod of your head. A low chuckle leaving his lips as the smirk finally leaked onto his face. His body was too inviting, made you feel too special as he freed your tits from the bra. His finger instantly rolls over your pebbled nipples causing small whines to leave your lips. He swallowed them, drowning in the small heaves your body gave off as you lifted your chest towards his fingers with each breath. His stubble tickled your neck as he sucked on the skin there. You finally tugged on the strands of his hair bringing him close to you. His nose dug against the pulse point of your neck as his teeth nibbled leaving small marks. Claiming you as his finally.

Your hands reach to pull your pants and underwear away, attempting to shimmy the fabric away a difficult task with how he was pressed against you. Leon pulled back helping you, admiring how desperate you were to be treated right. He began to work on his own trousers, his cock springing free from his restraints. You admired it as he took off his shirt, you wanted to taste the beads of pre cum that dribbled from his tip. Leon sighed when he felt your kitten licks, his thrusted forward forcing his cock to enter the warmth of your mouth accidentally. He wanted to apologize until he heard your moan. The sound vibrates around his length like the expensive flesh light he has tucked away in his bedside table.

You were forgiving, taking his length as best you could whilst you ground yourself against the couch. You knew you looked pathetic, like some horny dog beneath him yet when you looked at him beneath your lashes he looked at you lovingly. Like he enjoyed how much you were pleasuring yourself instead of looking at you like you were providing a service or taking too long. His hand stroked the soft strands of your hair as he urged you to take more of him smiling as he felt you gag around him. "I don't want to do it like this princess, as nice as it feels" he whispered, almost pleading. You released him a line of dribble and pre cum following you.

You reached your hands at the hem of the jumper, ready to display your breasts for you but he stopped you. His hands pulling yours away pinning them above your head. "Don't you want to see them?" You whispered, confusion pinching at your brows. His hair fell over his face as he shook his head, "And miss the chance of fucking you in this jumper? The jumper I keep just for you to wear one-day as a proud display of being mine?"

His words sent heat to pool in your lower stomach, your clit throbbing with need and desperation of friction...pleasure. And who was Leon to deny you? To prevent you from feeling what a real man's love is, what a genuine orgasm is. So he began to work, one hand slithering down as he distracted you with a heated kiss. You gasped against his lips as he began to circle your clit, occasionally brushing over the sensitive nerve. He smiled as your hips followed his movements desperately trying to chase the pleasure that flooded your system. His mouth released yours allowing you whines and quick pants fill the room. He could feel his cock twitching the more the thought about your fold welcoming him. He slid his hand between your folds groaning at the arousal that had begun to leak against his couch.

He pulled his hand away, swallowing your whine with another kiss as he pushed himself into your warmth. He let out a deep groan as he bottomed out, feeling you clench around him. Leon was larger than your ex, stretching you more than he ever did. His balls thumbed against your ass as he began to move. His hands finally pulled away from your wrists, his thighs shimming under yours. His hands gripped at yours almost bruising the flesh as he started to move. You watched his eyes close as his mouth parted. For some reason you never expected him to be so vocal but the sounds were welcome.

You felt bad comparing him to your ex, comparing how much better he touched you, how possessive he was over you. You could feel the dull throb of the marks that littered your neck, your body covered in a light sheen of sweat from the heat his jumper was trapping. His thrusts quickened as he focused on drawing an orgasm out of you, his eyes pinning you in place as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He loved this. So thankful he did what he did to get it, it was his little secret gathering the evidence, pointing him in the direction of a coworker he knew the pathetic man wouldn't be able to resist.

He knew you were the one, no matter how persistent he was to treat you right before he formed his plan you rejected him and now you were here. Panting beautifully getting lost in the pleasure his cock was giving you. Your walls clenched tightly around him signalling you were close. So he worked faster. His pace was unforgiving, your toes curled against his waist as you wrapped your legs around him. Your nails scraped the skin on his forearms. "Please....please...leon- so close" you panted, chest heaving. He smirked angling his hips higher at the request. His fingers toying with the ball of nerves. Finally you broke, becoming limp in his arms as your orgasm shattered through you.

He followed through, working towards his own as he felt you gush around him. It didn't take long as the balls tightened. "Where?" He groaned trying to hold back waiting for your reply. You blinked at him smiling as you tried to process his words. "Princess...please..where?" He grunted. His fingers tapped your cheek bringing your attention back to him. "Inside..." You stuttered. You smiled as you felt his warmth flood through you. His load shooting so deep inside you, filling you with his essence. Leon's hips shuddered, his head falling against your shoulder as he savoured the feeling.

When he pulled his softened cock out he immediately began to find a cloth or tissue. You watched his naked form roam around his house. You admired him, appreciate his aftercare was to take care of you as you laid dazed on his couch before even dressing himself. Your form highlighted from the TV lights. His touch was soft and gentle as he cleaned you. Pulling on your underwear before his own. When he returned to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions he pulled you into his arms, enjoying how this felt as he draped a throw over the two of you. He kissed the crown of your head watching you as your eyes fluttered close. In this moment he promised not to mess up this chance, to finally have someone to care for, to live for. Even if he did do unconventional methods to obtain you, but that was his little secret.

[jjkbambi]

is it new years yet? luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! you run into ex-boyfriend!luigi mangione at a nye party! smut!

warnings: fratboy!luigi, darkfic (very much implied he slips something in ur drink), cnc?, long fic, mentions of calvin harris music, inspired by the fact that he had to nominate himself to win this category

masterlist

the new year was meant to feel different.

yet, the doors at phi kappa psi open for you and a chances of anything more seems to slim. a record number of beer cans trashed in the hallway, the kitchen buried in chaos, and the overwhelming stench of beer clings to the air, impossible to ignore. you were surprised at how easily they’d let you enter—the bouncer was known for being a bit mean, strict on names and IDS and ages and sorority associations, yet one short smile was enough to get you and your best friend, lacy, into their annual new years eve party.

there wasn’t a second break from avicii or calvin harris, the crowd bouncing with red solo cups in hand. about a dozen of drinks were spilled on you already, and you were sure this was an indicator of a good night.

“is that him?” your friend’s nudge proves your prophecy wrong. your stomach drops immediately as you turn to the direction she was staring in—and yes, there he was, shirtless and six-packed on new year’s eve, surrounded by his pack of fraternity brothers.

the world suddenly feels so much smaller. you turn quickly. “lacy, he cannot see me.”

“have you spoken since the breakup?”

“if i had, id be in classier heels,” you retort, shaking your head.

you show her the reason you’ve been off your phone so much recently. about 34 days since you’ve seen each other in person, and a stunning 78 texts and 29 missed calls left in lieu of a breakup conversation. it honestly felt like too little an amount considering how long you’d been dating, but perhaps that was the least of your relationship problems, seeing as though you’d caught him making out with another girl at a football game.

she groans. “why’d we have to come to this house?”

“free entry? fireworks?” you come up with a lie that’ll make the both of you feel better. “i honestly don’t think we’ll run into each other. it’s such a big place.”

“he’s walking over here.”

“aaand we’re moving,” you sing, dragging her into the crowd of calvin harris enjoyers. for two hours, slipping in and out of the chaos seemed to be a surefire solution in avoiding your ex-boyfriend. that is, until you turn and suddenly your best friend isn’t there. you stiffen immediately, backing into the kitchen. in that step back, you bump shoulders.

“y/n,” an all too familiar voice says.

oh for fucks sake.

you smile tightly at the sight of luigi, trying not to make this already awkward situation more awkward. he looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. his usually short hair had grown out longer, his beard more prominent. he looks… grown.

“hey!” you say, attempting to make a swift getaway. “happy new year, man!”

“get back here.” he grabs your wrist, pulling you right back to him. “what’re you doing?”

“it’s new years!”

“what are you doing here? wearing that?”

you smile, feigning innocence. “getting a re-fill!”

luigi’s eyes were dark and his grip firm. your air of innocence is almost completely defeated at his warmth, his body leaning into you, intent. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

no, you can’t do it. this was gonna be a new year for you. no setbacks, no cheating ex-boyfriends.

“i’m surprised you even noticed, with all your other distractions.”

luigi’s head tilts. “what does that mean?”

“you know what it means.” you pull away from him with as much force as possible. “seriously, lu, it’s over.”

“no, it’s not.” he argues. you shake your head as you walk away. “y/n, we’ve got to talk about this—“

“just leave me alone!” you leap out of the kitchen as soon as opportunity arrives, and pour the entirety of what’s left of your cup into your mouth. the wicked sting of alcohol had never been so relieving.

minutes pass but the sound of avicii is constant. phi kappa psi has promised fireworks and began to gather in the backyard and you want nothing more than to join in on the party—but lacy. your best friend. you need to find her. the recovery mission begins with a stumble down the hallway and a headache. it’s more than a headache, it all of a sudden feels like you reallyreallyreally need to take a nap.

“hey, hey, i’ve got you,” it’s luigi again. you can tell by his warmth and his scent and the way he grabs your hand. “where are you going?”

“lacy.”

he takes the drink out of your hand, then lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck. and suddenly, the warmth of his body isn’t so intimidating anymore. “that’s not my name.”

“i know.”

he leans in closer. “come on then, what’s my name?”

“lu,” you murmur. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going anywhere.” luigi promises you.

within a second, his lips are on yours, and suddenly his warmth is everywhere. you whimper into the kiss, trying to spell out protest but you’re too weak. “relax for me,” he tells you.

you were entirely too relaxed. any reasonable part of you wouldn’t allow for him to be this close. but before you can stop him, his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate him, and you gasped at the feel of his length pressing against you. he’s so hard.

“i love this dress on you,” he murmurs.

desperate, you try to push, “no, no, we need to find—”

“we’re taking care of her, too, baby, don’t worry.”

you squirmed underneath his touch, which only made the friction hotter. “what?”

he doesn’t care to tell you anything more grinding into your resistance mercilessly as his hands clamp around your hips, rocking your body back and forth on his thigh.

“you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, you know,” he grumbles into the kiss, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle in your core. every kiss he gave you was hungry and heated, and you gasp when he goes to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “walking around my house dressed like a fuckin’ slut. got me all worked up in front of everyone.”

you despise the helplessness that washes over you as he holds you down. tears sting at your eyes as you beg, “lu, stop.”

“pull your dress up,” he orders, drinking in your scent. his scruff scratches your skin.

“no.” you shake your head again, though his kisses are persistent. “luigi, we can’t.“

“you’re right,” luigi agrees, chuckling into another kiss. “i’m not fuckin’ sharing you.”

his lips don’t leave yours—theyre all over your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your tits—as he carries you into the nearest room, and you’re too lost in the moment to notice whether it’s his own. your dress hits the floor and his hands are all over your nude. the mix of confusion and pleasure leaves you breathless. before you can process it, you’re on the bed with your ex-boyfriend on top of you.

“you know how many other guys were looking at you tonight?” he growls as he flips you over. “swear ill fucking kill them”

he was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made luigi laugh. a choked gasp left you, and your mouth was soundlessly parted as he started to thrust into you, hips snapping against yours every time.

“fuckin’ knew it,” lu groans. your teeth sink into your lips as you tremble underneath him, his hard length relentless in its assault. “knew you’d take it f’me like this, yeah? like a good fuckin’ girl.”

the bed shook beneath you as he pounded into you. he goes to bite your neck, his curls tickling your skin. he feels so good, but the weight of how wrong it is lingers in every touch. “lu,” you moan.

“what?” he says, smug. “what d’ya wanna say?”

“it hurts,” you whine.

”i don’t care,” luigi says in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “you know how fuckin’ long it’s been since ive had you? no, you’ve got no clue. drove myself crazy thinking i’d never have this pretty pussy again.”

“it’s your fault—“

“shut the fuck up.” his hand comes down hard on your ass and a whimper slips from your lips. he growls low, feeling how tight you’re holding him. “you’re mine,” he grunts. “don’t you ever forget that.”

“luigi, wait,” you moan, your mind going blank. it’s too much—wrong in every way, yet too good to resist.

you feel him smirk against your neck. despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length as a flood gushes from your trembling core. he chuckles darkly, mocking your resistance. “can’t take it? too much?”

“lu, please.” your voice was embarrassingly breathless. he goes faster, which felt entirely impossible.

he must’ve heard the plea this time, because he doubled his efforts. he picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand went to massage your clit. you could hardly breathe.

“so good,” he groans. “be a good girl and cum for me, princess. all over me, come on.”

“please,” you whimper again. you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but it hardly mattered. the most devastating orgasm of your life was building deep within you, an unstoppable force growing stronger with every moment—and you were desperate to chase it.

“you’re all fucking mine,” he laments. “i wanna hear you say it.”

you couldn’t possibly. your mind goes blank as he ruts into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the room and almost drowning out the sound of the new year celebration.

“tell me what i wanna hear.” he demands.

“yours,” you mewl.

“good girl.” he bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. he fucks you harder, faster, slamming into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave a mark inside you.

you couldn’t take it anymore. your pride snaps inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating his massive cock in your cunt. pleasure consumes you until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. he groans at the sight of your orgasm, his cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

luigi grumbled a soft, “fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock deep into your still pulsing cunt as he came. he let out a long moan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

“i’m so glad you came around, so glad,” he murmurs, turning you over to kiss you over and over and over again. “i love you, baby, you know that, right?”

the day after

[cinnawonbabe]

Please Me

pairings ❀ sex therapist heeseung x patient fem!reader ft treasure jaehyuk

warnings ❀ doctor x patient, mentions of cheating, alcoholism, depression, verbal abuse, mentions of DV, toxic relationship, smut, oral(fem receiving), secret affairs etc etc

overview ❀ y/n and jaehyuk’s relationship was going into shambles. they fought constantly and her needs weren’t met. the arguments got worse and worse as days dragged on. y/n decided to talk to a therapist about her relationship problems and heeseung had a solution for her every needs.

taglist🏷️: @nayeoniiz @hoonielvv @riqomi

Not Proofread!! PLEASE ENJOY!

the sound of yelling and glass shattering filled the small one bedroom apartment. causing a disturbance to their fellow neighbors. that’s going to be another complaint for the fifth time this week.

“you never fucking listen to me! you’re always out with your home boys or on that damn game!” y/n screamed as she smashed the living room tv with her fists, drawing blood from them as shards of the glass sliced into her fingers and knuckles. the pain was unbearable but in the heat of the moment, she couldn’t have care less.

jaehyuk watched from behind her with a look of disbelief apparent on his face. he couldn’t believe his eyes for one second. he couldn’t handle another one of her manic episodes right now as he sat on the couch with his headset on and gaming controller in hand. suddenly rage took over, his face burning red as he watched y/n destroy the only peace he had in this hellhole. four years of them being together and never had he ever felt so much aggression towards her.

he got up from the couch, taking his gaming set off and sitting on the table in front of him before heading back to their shared bedroom.

enraged by his sudden lack of care, y/n followed after him screaming at him, “where do you think you’re going, huh?! answer me!” she grabbed his arm, trying to drag him back out but he was far too strong as kept pushing her off. y/n’s frustration continued, her blood boiling. he never listens. never wants to hear how she feels. it’s always about him. he goes and spend his time with his friends or he’s always playing the game. its like her existence never really mattered to her. four years of being together and its all the same. she couldn’t contain it anymore and started punching him in his chest. he stood there taking the hits, letting her get her frustration out for a bit until a punch landed in his face, causing his head to turn. blood poured out from his mouth, his lip was busted. the room grew silent as she watched his take his hand and wipe his lip. his face read an expression she couldn’t quite understand but it scared her. his eyes darkened and her heart began to race.

he took a step forward causing her to take a step back to to keep space between them but he continued to push forward until he backed her into a corner closing the gap between the two. he had her trapped. before she could process anything she watched him raise a hand as if to hit her, she closed her eyes and waited for him to hit her back. she flinched upon heaing a loud thud next to her. she opened her eyes to see he had punch the wall behind her, his hand mere inches away from her face. “you know what? i’ve tried to learn to love you but i just can’t.” he spoke lowly but truthfully. there was a point in time where he did love her but with time, things come to an end eventually. when the arguments started to get worse he tuned her out and eventually fell out of love. he stayed because he didn’t want to let those years go to wast but he couldn’t stay any longer.

hearing those words leave his mouth felt like her world fell apart in front of her. he was right there in her face yet fell so far and unattainable. tears brimmed in her eyes as he stared at her, not one ounce of remorse for her. she felt so much smaller than she was.

jaehyuk laughed bitterly at her as she silently sobbed in front of him, “now you wanna play innocent? you constantly scream and beat on me all day everyday and i do nothing but now you wanna cry?” he said truthfully. y/n tried to free herself from being cornered but he wouldn’t budge, keeping her from running away this time around. he wanted it to be known that he was done with her. this relationship was the reason why he wasn’t happy. she turned her attention away from him, she couldn’t face to look at him any longer as her heart shattered. jaehyuk grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. he stared at her, watching the tears stream down her face, snot dripping down her nose. “you want to know why i’m never home? i fucked your best friend giselle, she treats me better than you ever could,” he said coldly, his words felt like daggers to her heart. she blacked out, not knowing what to do next, in that moment of time she felt like she was in a bubble, suffocating in her own thoughts of self pity.

she watched as he removed himself from her, walking to the bedroom, presumably to gather his things and leave. she stood in the same spot, letting things unfold in her mind, replaying them over and over again. and with that, he left and never came back. her life ended that night. she didn’t understand why. just why couldn’t he have tried but it was far too late now.

month went by and y/n never left her home besides from going to work but even then her coworkers noticed a shift in her demeanor. that bubbly person everyone knew and love was gone. she was heartbroken. her mind clouded by the memories of him and his words forever echoed in her mind.

after finding out her best friend betrayed her, she cut off ties, blocking them both on everything. she wanted nothing left to do with either of them.

she spent her days alone at home, drowning herself with alcohol to numb her pain as she scrolled through social media. she paused on a particular add for a therapist, not really reading much into it and clicked on it. it took her to a website where she could book appointment for a session. she signed up immediately and booked her appointment for the next day not thinking too much about it. eventually she passed out asleep, succumbing to the drowsy effects of the liquor she was drinking on.

she woke up around noon with a killer migraine. she knew she was hungover bad but she didn’t care. she pushed herself out of the bed and dragged her aching body to the bathroom where she stared out at herself in the mirror. she was in terrible shape. eyes puffy, face blotchy, her hair unkempt, he hadn’t showered in almost two weeks since the breakup. she hated herself for letting herself go even though she knew he didn’t feel the same.

she was absolutely devastated about herself and decided it was time for a change. she prepared for a shower,she wasn’t going to let this break up ruin her life.

she undressed herself from the clothes that reeked of body odor and booz and stepped into the shower, letting the steaming hot water run down her body. it was relaxing and refreshing feeling the water droplets bounce off her skin. she stood under the shower head and let the water drench her hair. she soon washed up in her favorite whipped vanilla body wash and shampoo. scrubbing her body of every memory of jaehyuk and wiping it from her mind. she wanted to forget that man. she wanted nothing more to do with him. she wanted peace.

she rinsed her body off and hair off and stepped out the shower, wrapping her body in her silky robe and towel drying her hair. she stood at the sink and wiped the fog off her mirror so she could finish getting herself together by washing her face with her favorite skincare products and brushing her teeth before heading to her room to get dressed.

as she was about to head into her closet her phone rang on the side of her bed. who could that me? she thought to herself.

she walked over and looked at the caller ID and it was a number she didn’t recognize but nonetheless she answered it.

y/n: hello?

called ID: hello may i speak with y/n?

y/n: speaking

caller ID: hello y/n i’m jake with love affairs therapy. i’m dr heeseung’s assistant and i’m calling to remind you of your appointment with him today at 2:30pm. are you still available or would you like to reschedule?

y/n went silent on the other end. she was dumbfounded. an appointment for what? she doesn’t remember setting an appointment for anything.

caller ID: ma’am are you still there?

y/n: yes yes i’m still here sorry i spaced out for a moment

caller ID: no worries at all! so you still available or would you like to reschedule?

y/n: i’m available! i will be there

caller ID: great! you will be receiving a text message with the address and a confirmation code to use upon arrival if you want the first session to be free!

y/n: sounds great! see you soon!

caller ID: of course and you have a great day ma’am.

and with that the call ended. she still doesn’t know how she got herself into this situation but she has a feeling that drunk her decided to take things into her own hands.

as on que she received the text message and looked up the address. it was a thirty minute drive. she checked the time to see it was now 1:56pm. fuck! she wasn’t going to make it on time if she didn’t leave now. she hurriedly got dress in leggings and a loose fitted hoodie and threw on her slip on vans before going all her belonging and rushing out her small apartment to her car. she quickly typed the address into GPS and started her route to the building.

the drive there was relaxing. the music playing helped calm her nerves a bit. maybe seeing a therapist is all that she needed since she’s been sulking about the breakup.

she finally arrived and parked her car right in front of the building. it didn’t look odd or anything, just a normal building to her. she took a deep breath and gave herself a little pep talk. you can do this. it’s just one free session, what’s the worst that could happen? she thought to herself.

she finally got out of her car and headed inside the building. upon entering, all she could see was a desk area where a male receptionist sat behind as soon as she walked through the door. she looked around and saw a waiting area where a few other people sat as they waited for their appointment. she walked up to the desk to get checked in.

“hi i’m y/f/n and i had an appointment today with dr heeseung!” she said, flashing a small smile. the man behind the desk looked up and she almost froze in her tracks. he was so handsome as if he was sculpted by god’s hands. his raven hair fluffy, flowing down his face and his updo smile as he greeted back made her heart swoon.

“hi ma’am i’m jake! i think we spoke on the phone earlier. fill these out and someone will be right with you!” he said sweetly as he handed her a clipboard with paperwork to fill out. she took it from him, still never taking her eyes off him before she scurried off to find a spot to sit down.

she sat down and filled the papers out, occasionally stealing glances at jake as he sat at his desk. she couldn’t help it. he was breathtakingly handsome. she watched as he typed on his computer before they locked eyes. she immediately looked away as he face grew hot. she’s been caught. how embarrassing. as she was finishing signing the last few paper she had left, a door opened revealing another attractive man. his hair was blonde and fluffy and he almost resembled a cat with big boba eyes. what is this place? she asked herself.

“y/f/n?” the blonde man called out. she instinctively raised her hand, gaining his attention. he flashed her a toothy smile. “hello ma’am i’m jungwon and i’ll be taking you to the room where you’ll have your appointment.” he said, signaling her to follow. she got ip nervously, following after him. maybe she was at the wrong place but how could she be since everything was normal but why was everyone so attractive so far. it felt like a fever dream.

“here i can take those papers for you and get them into our system.” jungwon said holding his hand out to take the clipboard and so she gave them to him. she followed his further down the hallway, making turns here and there until they finally got to room 609.

he opened the door for her to walk in first and she thanked him. as she entered the room there was a little couch and chairs set up as well as a little desk that sat in the corner. “you can have a seat on the couch and he’ll be here shortly but in the meantime would you like anything to drink?” he said walking back towards the door. “a water would be fine.” she said sweetly and he smiled and nodded before leaving her alone in the room.

she studied the room more, looking at all the paintings of abstract art that were hung up. she was so immersed with looking around she didn’t hear the knock on the door or someone walking in either. she looked around some more before turning around to be met with a tall, lean gentleman with red hair walking towards the desk in the room. she screamed from being surprised by the sudden appearance of him which caused him to laugh.

“sorry miss y/n i knocked and didn’t a reply so i let myself in and you were looking at the painting so i didn’t want to interrupt,” he said honestly as he sat at his desk. “so what brings you in today?” he asked, taking his glasses off and loosening his tie. she took this time to sit down in the chair that was situated in front of his desk. she admired his features as she spoke. “i just got out of a toxic long term relationship and just haven’t been myself so i wanted to seek help,” she stated, her eyes tailing over his facial features. his eyes stared deep into hers as they made eye contact for a minute before he started jolting down words onto his notepad, “go on,” he said and so she did. she vented for what felt like forever.

her heart still aching for a man who never cared about her for one bit. tears brimmed in her eyes once more as she spoke. letting her soul pour out as heeseung continued to listen and write into his notepad. “have you tried finding something to keep your mind off him?” he asked and she shook her head. what else could she have possibly done to keep her distracted from the fact that her heart still yearns for him. “well maybe i could help?” he said and stood up from his desk and walked to stand behind her. “is it okay if i may give you a massage?” he asked. she was confused, what kind of therapy session was this? she thought but nonetheless she accepted it.

she felt his big but warming hands on her shoulders, massaging them. the pads of his thumbs had enough pressure to hit the depths of her muscles, easily relaxing her body. she melted into his touch, heaving out a loud sigh. “you’re really good at this,” she complimented and he hummed in response. soon his hands trailed to the back of her neck, hitting all the right spots. she never knew how tense her body was. she was so immense in the massage she didn’t feel his hands trail down to her breast, caressing them ever so gently that it felt too normal.

his hands soon trailed down to the hem of her pants, slowly sliding down into them and he began to rub small circles on her clitoris. a moan escape from her lips, soon bringing her back to reality. she jumped up from her seat, turning to face him as her face was flushed from the certain action. “w-what are you doing?” she asked, hugging herself as she stared at him. he chuckled, a sweet smile on his face as he looked down at her.

how could he be laughing right now? like he didn’t just assault her? what kind of therapist is he? so many thoughts were running in her mind. she didn’t understand what she had gotten herself into. she needed to leave. she was about to walk passed him but was stopped in her tracks. “you have no clue what you signed up for do you?” he said, cutting her off and standing in front of her. her breath hitched in her throat, feeling so small in this moment.

he took a step forward, causing her to step back. that cycled continued until her back hit his desk. he leaned forward, placing both his hands on the sides of her as he cornered her. “you do know what this place is don’t you?” he asked once more, his eyes low and darkened with what she assumed was lust. she watched as he licked his lips and his gaze fall. she looked to where his eyes had wondered and it was towards her breast. she immediately covered herself, earning another chuckle from him. “where am i exactly?” she asked, trying her best to change the subject and find a way to escape from this. “sex therapy,” he said plainly, “did you not read the forms you signed or the website you signed up for?” he said, grabbing her by her waist and hosting her up onto his desk.

she couldn’t believe what she heard. why on earth would she sign up for this? she blames the alcohol. drunk y/n must’ve been horny and out her mind to sign up for something like this. “you’re more than welcome to continue your session or we could end it here,” he added as he stared into her eyes, looking for the answer he would need.

she stared at him for a moment, taking in his features. he was a handsome young lad. she’d be a fool to miss up on this opportunity. fuck it. she thought and grabbed his face and smashed her lips onto his.

they kissed passionately. their lips intertwined with one another. his hands made their way back upon her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her so hungrily. he bit her bottom lip, gaining a soft whine from y/n. he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her open caven and explore the wonders of her mouth. their tongues fought for dominance with the sloppiness of their saliva dripping from their mouths, ultimately heeseung won the battle.

his hands soon found their way to the bottom hem of her shirt, in a swift motion he pulled it off her, breaking the kiss to stare at her body. she took this time to catch her breath, her face hot and flustered from their heated makeout sesh. she noticed his eyes were staring at her now exposed body so she covered herself, now feeling a little insecure. heeseung shook his head, removing her arms and placing a small kiss on her forehead, “don’t hide yourself, you’re beautiful baby,” he said softly, making her heart swoon. he took the time to take in in her every features. admiring every inch of her as he thought she was crafted so heavenly just for him to take.

soon he took off his shirt exposing his well defined toned muscular body. her gaze fell down, taking in his physique. his abs defined and scrumptious to look at and his toned muscular arms and hands were just a treat. she wanted him to absolutely wreck her. her eyes soon trail down to his crotch, seeing the ever growing bulge that was prominent in his pants, asking to be let free. she took this time to rub his erection through his pants, earning herself a groan out of him. she watched as his lustful eyes darkened with a desire that she could not resist.

he stripped her out of the rest of her clothes, leaving her bare as she sat on his desk. the cold air from the room sent chills down her spine.

she watched as he kneeled down in between her legs, now at eye level with her dripping core. “already wet and we barely did anything,” he said, his voice low and deep. she couldn’t help but give in. this was a once and a lifetime opportunity for her to get her guts rearranged by someone as handsome as he was and he wanted it just as much. even though she knew deep down that this was his job to do, she couldn’t help but to think that he was all for her because in this very moment it felt so surreal.

he began to place chastise kissed on her inner thighs, nipping at the skin here and there as he left love bites all over them. teasingly making his way to her dripping core but never touching her there. her whines became uncontrollable, she desperately wanted to be touched oh so badly. “please..” she muttered at, eyes brimming with tears as she pleased with the man. he looked up at her, seeing the effect he had on her only boosted his ego even more. “beg for it.” he said sharply, now rubbing small circles onto her clitoris just enough to edge her on but not enough to give her full control. she started to grind against his hand, heeseung laughed sinisterly, removing his hand as she cried out from the lost of contact. “you’re not getting it that easily baby, i said beg for it.” he stated with a strictness in his voice that made her wanted him even more than before.

she caved in, letting her pride aside and begged for it. “please touch me… daddy fuck my tight little cunt please!” she pleaded, crying for his touch. a sly smile appeared on his face, satisfied from what he had heard, “as you wish.” and with that, he answered her plea. he licked slowly between her folds up, his tongue darting in and out of her cunt and lapping up all her juices that dare threaten to spill out. her hands travel to his red locks, grabbing a handful as she holds him closer. she felt elastic, feeling his tongue fuck her pretty little cunt.

he devoured her like she was his last meal. eating her out with such delight. he took two of his digits, plunging them deep inside of her, curling them with every thrust, hitting all the right spots.

she threw her head back in pleasure as he continued to please her, making her toes curl. she felt a familiar sensation in the pit of her stomach, the squelching sounds of him finger fucking her and him sucking loudly on her cunt along with her uncontrollable moans feeled the room. how does he even know how to do this. she has never been ate out like this before, not even by her ex boyfriend jaehyuk. this sensation was unfamiliar with her, she couldn’t hold it any longer as he fucked into her much harder now, his fingers massaging a certain spot in her she didn’t even know was their. he body slowly grew weak from the overwhelming pressure that built up from all this pleasure she was receiving. her more grew more and more incoherent with every moment of him worshiping her and giving her just what he knew she need, a good fuck to take her mind off things.

heeseung looked up at her, watching how close he was getting her. his pants grew tight, his erection hurting from being so confined in his trousers. “cum for me,” he said and she did exactly that, screaming as she came undone in his mouth. he gagged a bit as her squirt hit the back of his throat but nonetheless he didn’t stop until her body gave out and fell onto his desk.

she laidback there a moment, never moving as she tried to regain herself from being overstimulated. he stood up and watched as she took a moment to catch her breath. “how. did. you. even. know. to. do. that.” she said in between breaths as she collected herself. “i just know how to please a woman, that’s all. but we’re not done yet. we still have ten minutes to spare,” he said, she pushed herself up onto her elbows to meet his gaze only to be met with his lower half exposed. she watched as he stroked his big and girthy member. her eyes widen, there was absolutely no way that he was going to fit that monster of a cock inside of her. “what’s with the face, are you scared?” he asked, stroking his erection. she shook her head no, she accepted the challenge and who knows, she’ll probably like it. “good girl now bend over that desk for me,” he said sternly and she obliged. she got up and stood before him, soon turning around with her back facing him as bent over his desk. he smirked at how obedient she was. he liked this, usually his patients never lasted this long but she was a different breed and he loved every moment of it. he then spat onto his hands and stroked it on his throbbing cock before aligning himself with her entrance. she braced herself for what was to come, her hands gripping onto the edge of his desk as she felt his cock tap her cunt a few times before he slowly entered her.

her face scrunched up in pain as she felt his tip finally slid in. he sucked in a breathed as her cunt sucked him in. he took his time with her, slowly inching his member in and giving her time to adjust to his size until he was fully inside her. he waited a moment, not moving as he didn’t want to hurt her and to give her time to get use to the stretch.

her insides her a little as his cock stretched her tight little cunt open. she felt every inch of his girthy member inside her as her walls contracted around him. “p-please move,” she whispered out and so he did. he slowly but sure pull out enough, leaving just the tip in before plunging back into her at a decent pace. that went on for a few minutes until her heard her moan, indicating that she was okay and he could up the pace.

he began to fuck into harder and deeper, each thrust earning a scream fro her as she felt him member hit that familiar spot again. her walls contracted with each thrust, hugging his member tightly. she couldn’t help but feel that overwhelming feeling again, but this time she let loose, squirting as she felt his tip abuse her gspot. the sound of wetting squelching noises and skin clapping filled the room once more. she felt so good around him and he couldn’t even deny it. this was by far the best cunt he’s ever been in and it drove him crazy.

he dugged into her like crazy, he didn’t even know what had came over him but he just went bonkers. he pulled her close to him, grabbing her by her neck and choking her as he fucked her standing up. she cried out in pleasure. why does this feel so good. she thought.

“fuck! you’re so fucking wet for me baby. look at you squirting all over daddy’s dick. you like that don’t you?” he growled into her ears. she couldn’t help herself but to gasp as the grip on her neck tightened. she was loving every second of this. she didn’t care that she was losing oxygen in this moment because alk she could think about was the feeling of him fucking her so good.

heeseung soon felt him coming to his climax, he was a few stroke away from coming undone. he pushed her back onto the desk, and hammered his fat cock into her as her body went limp and her moans were now just shots of breaths as she tried so hard to catch a breath but found it difficult as he was rearranging her insides. “fuck i’m going to cum.” he moaned out, his thrusts getting sloppy as he was about to explode. he pulled out and stroked his member, his cum shooting all over her ass cheeks and he finally came undone.

he checked his watch, seeing that their session was now over. “times up. lets get you all cleaned and ready to go.” he said, walking around his desk and reaching inside to grab towels and wipes that were conveniently placed there. he walked back to her as she laid still and began to clean her up. she didn’t know how to feel in this very moment. it was like she changed into a whole new person, completely forgetting why she came here in the first place.

once she was all cleaned, he helped her get dress before tending to himself. “do you do this with all your patients?” she asked, laughing a bit as he helped her put her pants back on. “no actually, i’ve never gotten this far. they’re usually tapped out after i eat them out, you’re the first to go all way through.” he answered honestly. some part of her hoped that it was true because now she has found herself falling for a man she doesn’t even know.

“oh well i’m glad i did haha it was nice, thank you.” she smiled, now grabbing her belongings to prepare to leave. she was about to head to the door but was stopped by him grabbing her hand. she turned around to face him but was taken aback when she felt his lips onto hers. she melted into his kiss, soon wrapping her arms around his neck before he pulled away. “a little something for the road and here’s my card, you should call me sometime,” he said, handing her his business card. she smiled and took it happily. “oh i’m definitely calling you later.” she said as they both laughed together. “well i should get going then, i guess i’ll talk to you later?” she said, the last part being a question because she wasn’t sure if she should or not. “you better and be safe. text me and let me know you made it safely.” he said and with that smiled and made her way out of his office and out the building. who would have known that a silly ole breakup would lead her into the arms of another man.

[helvegen-s]

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a Lando Norris one-shot

Summary: Lando Norris's career is spiraling. The solution? A fake relationship with equestrian star, Charlotte Hayes. It's a clean deal, in theory. But fame is a wild animal, and feelings are even wilder. What happens when the lines blur, and the cameras keep rolling?

Word count: 18k ☠️☠️

Warnings: public scrutiny, fake relationship, emotional manipulation, cheating…

A/N: uuuuhm, yeah. please give it lots of love beacuse writing for lando???? nuh uh. anywaysssss, I hope you like it a lot and that you enjoy it. Comments, likes, and reblogs are welcome. Your support is what keeps me motivated to write more stories!!!!! <3

masterlist

Fame was a wild animal.

It could lift you like the wind to the top of a mountain or drag you down like a treacherous current, leaving you breathless in the depths. And the worst part was that you never truly had control over it. No matter how disciplined you were, how many strategies you devised, or how many times you tried to make the right choice, in an instant, an out-of-context photo, a misleading headline, or a wildfire of online speculation could change everything.

Lando Norris had learned that the hard way.

The past few months had been a parade of headlines that had little to do with his talent on track and far too much to do with his life outside of it. Leaked photos, baseless rumors, internet theories spreading like uncontrollable fires. And while it wasn’t the first time the media had linked him to someone or accused him of being too carefree, this time, things had escalated too far. His team was concerned. His sponsors were losing patience.

And that was how he found himself sitting in a conference room in London, arms crossed over his chest, a deep scowl on his face, as they told him that the best solution to his problem was to pretend to be in love with a woman he had never met in his life.

Charlotte Hayes.

The name didn’t mean much to him, but the story did. A professional equestrian, from a family with a strong tradition in the sport, with a clean and promising public image. She had faced her own share of controversies—a footballer ex-boyfriend with too many scandals to his name—but unlike Lando, she had managed to restore her reputation. And now, if everything went according to plan, she would do the same for him.

But this agreement wasn’t just for Lando’s benefit.

For Lottie, being associated with someone like him meant more than just controlled damage. Formula 1 wasn’t just a sport with millions of fans worldwide—it had one of the strongest young fan bases on social media, capable of skyrocketing her public image. More visibility meant more sponsorships, more opportunities both within and beyond equestrian sports, and a definitive way to leave behind the shadow of her past relationship.

The agreement was clear. They would fake their relationship until the end of the season. They would be seen together in public, attend sponsor events, she would make occasional appearances in the paddock, and he would show up at some of her competitions. They would smile for the cameras, blur the lines between reality and fiction, and make people believe whatever they needed to believe.

It was a clean deal. Simple. No emotional complications.

At least, in theory.

Because fame wasn’t just a wild animal. It was unpredictable. And once you stepped into its game, you could never really know how things would unfold.

Lando had spent the past hour looking for a way out.

It wasn’t the first time his team had put a contract in front of him and expected him to sign without question. But this? This was ridiculous. Pretending to be in a relationship with a stranger just to smooth things over with sponsors? It was humiliating. Unnecessary.

And yet, here he was, sitting in a sleek London office, with his PR team on one side of the conference table and Charlotte Hayes—his supposed fake girlfriend—on the other.

She wasn’t alone.

Her own PR manager sat beside her, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tone when she spoke. If Lando’s team was desperate to get him under control, hers was just as invested in making sure this arrangement benefited Lottie.

Because that was the truth of it—this wasn’t just about fixing Lando’s public image. It was a mutually beneficial deal. His reputation got a necessary clean-up, and Lottie? Well, she got a fast track to an even bigger audience. Formula 1 was a marketing machine, and a name like Lando Norris, whether she liked it or not, came with global reach.

Not that she seemed fazed by any of it.

Lottie sat with one leg crossed over the other, scanning the contract with the same calm focus someone might use while reviewing their grocery list. Her long fingers drummed idly against the table, her posture relaxed, her expression unreadable.

Meanwhile, Lando was radiating I don’t want to fucking be here energy, and everyone in the room could tell.

"Lando, this is the best course of action, mate," one of his PR reps finally said, exhaling as if this wasn’t the first time he’d had to repeat it.

Lando scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "No, the best course of action would be to let people talk their shit and move on, just like we always do."

"Except we aren’t moving on. The rumors are getting worse, and sponsors are—"

"Yeah, yeah, they’re unhappy. I got the memo."

Across the table, Lottie flicked her gaze up from the contract, eyebrows raised slightly at his tone. "They do have a point, you know. This will help you."

Lando’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like the way she said it—like she was stating a fact rather than trying to convince him. "And you? What do you get out of this?"

Before Lottie could answer, her PR manager spoke for her, voice crisp and professional. "Increased media presence. New sponsorship opportunities. A stronger connection to younger audiences, particularly through social media engagement."

"Ah, right. The noble quest for clout."

Lottie didn’t even blink. "Says the guy who’s been in half the tabloids this month for allegedly dating six women in one night."

The room went silent.

Lando’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and disbelieving. There was no hostility in her voice, no sharp edge of annoyance. Just a perfectly neutral observation, like she was reading a headline aloud. And that only pissed him off more.

"Bold of you to bring up fake relationships when you were dumb enough to date a walking scandal, Hayes."

His PR team collectively inhaled.

Lottie’s manager frowned.

Lottie herself? She just let out a soft breath, a hint of amusement flickering in her expression, but nothing more.

"Touché."

And that was it. No anger, no embarrassment. Just one word, calm and measured, before she turned the page in her contract as if he hadn’t just insulted her choice in men in front of a room full of professionals.

Lando hated that. He wanted her to get pissed. He wanted her to roll her eyes, throw the contract back at his team, and call the whole thing off so he wouldn’t have to. But she didn’t. She just waited.

"We need to move forward with this, Lando," his manager cut in, sensing his growing frustration.

Lottie tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the table, looking at him expectantly. "Are you going to keep whining about it, or are you going to sign?"

Lando clenched his jaw.

Fucking hell.

With an irritated sigh, he grabbed the pen, flipped to the last page, and scribbled his signature.

Lottie, still cool and unbothered, signed her own name right after.

Then, as she capped her pen, she glanced at him with the smallest, most infuriating smirk. "Welcome to the relationship, babe."

Lando was going to hate every second of this.

Lando adjusted his jacket for the third time, resisting the urge to tug at the collar. The café was warm—too warm, or maybe it was just him. Outside, the London drizzle painted the windows in shifting streaks of grey, blurring the figures that lingered on the street. He could feel them, even if he didn’t look. The quiet anticipation. The not-so-subtle presence of cameras, some hidden behind the glass, others held up brazenly by people passing by.

He hated this.

The performance. The expectation. The weight of eyes that didn’t belong to him, of opinions forming before he had even said a word.

Across from him, Lottie stirred her tea with deliberate ease. She didn’t seem bothered. If anything, she looked almost bored—like a woman indulging in an afternoon routine rather than sitting through the first act of a meticulously staged fiction.

Lando envied that.

She had chosen the table, one with just enough privacy to allow conversation, yet positioned well enough to guarantee they’d be seen. Everything was calculated—the placement of their drinks, the slow, natural rhythm of their conversation. They had to sell this. Make it seem real.

"You’re staring," Lottie remarked, not looking up from her cup.

"I’m processing," Lando muttered. "Trying to understand how you’re so relaxed about this."

"Because I came prepared." She finally met his gaze, unbothered. "Unlike you, apparently."

Lando scoffed, leaning back. "Sorry, I don’t have a manual on how to fake-date a stranger for PR points."

"Shame. I hear it’s a best-seller."

Despite himself, Lando huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Right," she continued, placing her spoon down. "Let’s get the basics out of the way. We should have a story, something simple. Mutual friends?"

"Sure."

"And a timeline—when did we supposedly meet?"

"Couple of months ago?"

"Too soon. Feels rushed."

"Fine. Six months."

"Better."

Lando exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "This feels like an interview."

"It kind of is." Lottie tilted her head. "Though you’re terrible at answering questions. No wonder you get into trouble with the media."

"Wow. Thanks."

"Just an observation."

Lando narrowed his eyes. "Fine. You want questions? Let's switch it up. Since we’re dating, I should know something about you."

"By all means," Lottie gestured. "Impress me with your curiosity."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Favourite food?"

"Easy. Pasta."

"Boring."

"Says the guy who survives on toasties and Monster."

"Fine, what’s your biggest fear?"

"The Daily Mail."

Lando snorted. "Valid."

Lottie smirked, taking a sip of her tea. "What about you?"

"Oh, we’re making this mutual now?"

"Obviously. It’s only fair."

Lando pretended to think. "Losing a race by milliseconds. Or getting stuck in an elevator with someone who chews loudly."

"Fascinating depth of character, Norris."

"Thanks, I try."

Lottie shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "God, you really do sound like you’re in an interview. 'Yeah, no, obviously, it’s just great to be here, the team did an amazing job—'"

Lando groaned. "Oh, shut up."

"’At the end of the day, we gave it our all, and that’s what matters—’"

"Charlotte."

"’We keep pushing, onto the next one—’"

"I swear to God."

The moment the first flash went off, the spell was broken.

Lottie pulled back instinctively, her laughter dying on her lips as reality set in. Across from her, Lando stiffened, his easy grin vanishing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. Neither of them turned immediately, but they didn’t have to. The sound of hurried whispers, the unmistakable shuffle of someone pretending not to take a photo—it was enough.

They’d been caught.

Of course, they had known this would happen. The meeting had been carefully orchestrated, a casual café in the heart of London, just enough visibility to invite speculation without being obvious. They had prepared for it, planned every detail down to what they should wear, where they should sit.

But still, feeling watched—actually living the moment—was different.

Lottie exhaled quietly, reaching for her coffee to give herself something to do. "Well, that’s our cue to leave," she murmured, taking a slow sip.

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Yeah. Before we end up on every gossip page in the next twenty minutes."

She refrained from pointing out that they already would.

They moved with practiced ease, keeping their pace natural as they slipped out of the café and onto the street. The cool London air hit immediately, but Lottie barely registered it—she was too focused on the shifting energy around them, the occasional glances from passersby, the girl a few feet away already typing furiously on her phone.

Lando walked beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture the perfect blend of relaxed and detached.

They made it a block before he spoke. "So, how long do you think until the internet tears this apart?"

Lottie hummed, tilting her head. "I’d say... fifteen minutes? Maybe ten if we really underestimate them."

Lando scoffed. "Fantastic."

And as soon as he got home, he sat on his couch, phone in hand, already regretting opening Twitter.

The photos had spread like wildfire. There they were—walking out of the café, sitting across from each other, that one moment where Lottie had laughed and leaned slightly toward him. If he hadn’t been in the situation, he might have thought they looked... believable.

The internet, however, was not convinced.

PR stunt, obviously.They look like they’re negotiating a business merger.Maybe they’re just friends?Why does Lando look like he’s being forced to be there at gunpoint?No way this is real. No one flirts like that.

Lando groaned, tossing his phone onto the table before dragging a hand over his face.

This was not going well.

Somewhere across the city, Lottie was probably reading the same comments, except she was probably laughing. She had taken this whole thing with the kind of casual indifference that should have made things easier, except it only highlighted how utterly useless he was at this.

And the worst part?

This was only the beginning.

Lando barely had time to process the disaster unfolding on social media before his phone buzzed aggressively on the table.

His manager.

He groaned, already knowing exactly what was coming.

"Yeah?" he answered, sinking further into his couch.

"Are you actually incapable of looking like you enjoy someone’s company?" Mark’s voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point.

Lando exhaled slowly. "Nice to hear from you too."

"Mate, I am getting calls." There was a pause, followed by a rustling sound—papers, maybe, or the sound of Mark rubbing his temples in frustration. "Do you have any idea how bad it looks when people are debating whether or not you even like her as a person?"

Lando pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we agreed we weren’t rushing into anything too intense. You know, slow build-up, natural progression, all that bullshit."

"Yeah, well, ‘slow build-up’ only works if people believe it’s actually leading somewhere. Right now, they think you were having a business meeting with your accountant."

Lando let his head fall back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. Fantastic.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Next time, I don’t know—smile, Norris. Maybe look at her like she’s a human woman and not a tax consultant."

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but Mark steamrolled right over him.

"And fix it fast, because I can guarantee her team is just as unimpressed as I am. They’ll probably want another public sighting soon. This time, try to act like you don’t want to die, yeah?"

With that, the call ended.

Lando scowled at his phone. "Brilliant."

He was about to toss it onto the table when another notification popped up—this time, a message from an unknown number.

[Unknown Number]: Heard you’re not a fan of tax consultants. 👀

Lando frowned. Before he could process that, another message came through—a screenshot from Twitter.

It was a meme. A side-by-side comparison of their café photo and a painfully awkward stock image of two businessmen shaking hands. The caption?

"Tell me this isn’t a corporate merger meeting."

Lando blinked. Then, before he could stop himself—before he could think—he let out a laugh.

Another message popped up.

[Unknown Number]: At least I look good in this one. You, however… yikes.

Lando didn’t need to ask who it was. He already knew.

Lottie.

Lando stared at the message for a second, debating whether to engage.

On one hand, he could ignore it. Pretend he was already asleep. Maintain some semblance of control in a situation where he clearly had none.

On the other hand... Well, Mark was right—this whole thing was a disaster. And if he was going to be stuck in it, he might as well make it slightly less painful.

His thumbs moved before his brain fully caught up.

[Lando]: Wow, cheers. Great to know my suffering is at least entertaining for you.

Three dots appeared immediately.

[Lottie]: Of course. If I have to put up with this, I at least deserve some entertainment.

[Lando]: Nice to know where we stand.

[Lottie]: You did look like you were in the middle of a hostage negotiation.

Lando huffed a laugh. He stretched out on his couch, feeling the conversation ease some of the irritation left behind by Mark’s call.

[Lando]: Not my fault I wasn’t born an actor.

[Lottie]: Not asking for DiCaprio, mate. Just try not to look like you’re planning your escape next time.

A pause. Then—

[Lottie]: Speaking of, where is next time? Or are we just going to wait until PR locks us in a room again?

Lando rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering.

The easy thing would be to let their teams handle it. Wait until some official plan was in place. But that had gone so well last time…

So instead, before he could second-guess himself, he typed—

[Lando]: Your turn to pick. Somewhere that doesn’t make me look like I’m being held at gunpoint.

It took all of five seconds for a reply.

[Lottie]: Got it. See you soon, finance bro.

Lando rolled his eyes. Brilliant.

Hyde Park, late afternoon.

Golden sunlight filtered through the bare branches, stretching long shadows across the gravel path. The crisp bite of early spring lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city. Joggers wove between tourists, families pushed prams along the walkways, and somewhere nearby, a street musician plucked at a guitar. It was peaceful. Unassuming.

And yet, Lando knew better.

There was always someone watching.

That fact alone made the entire situation unbearable. But if that wasn’t enough, there was also the dog.

A whirlwind of fur and energy, bounding ahead with a tail that moved like it had a mind of its own, panting happily as if every scent, every patch of grass, every floating leaf was the most exciting thing in the world.

Lando eyed the dog warily. "So… this is why you picked Hyde Park," he muttered.

"What, you thought I just liked scenic walks with fake boyfriends?" Lottie shot back, smirking. "Caesar needed his exercise. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"Caesar," Lando repeated, watching as the dog enthusiastically sniffed a nearby bush. "Of course he’s called something ridiculous."

"Technically, it’s Caesar von Woofenstein," she corrected. "But we keep it informal."

Lando snorted despite himself. "That might be the most pretentious dog name I’ve ever heard."

"He’s a rescue mutt. Mostly Border Collie, maybe some German Shepherd. Bit of a menace, but he means well," Lottie said, just as Caesar abruptly turned and flung himself onto Lando’s feet, rolling onto his back in the universal demand for belly rubs.

Lando stared down at him. Then back at Lottie.

"You mean to tell me I’ve been suffering through this entire ordeal, and I could’ve just been hanging out with him instead?" he muttered, crouching to scratch the dog's stomach.

"I’ll be sure to let PR know you’d prefer to date Caesar instead," Lottie deadpanned.

Lando grinned. "At least he wouldn’t drag me into this mess."

"No, but he would steal your food and ruin your furniture. Pick your battles, Norris."

With a final pat, Lando straightened, dusting off his hands as they resumed walking. Caesar trotted between them, completely unaware of the tension his owner was trying (and failing) to ignore.

Lottie broke the silence first. "Alright, small talk. Let’s make this look natural."

Lando groaned. "Again with this?"

"Yes, again with this. We’re supposed to be a couple, Lando. Couples talk. Casually. Like normal people."

"Right, normal," he muttered. "Because everything about this is normal."

Lottie ignored him. "Okay—music. What are you listening to right now?"

He shot her a look. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Humor me."

He exhaled, thinking for a second. "I don’t know. Arctic Monkeys, probably."

Lottie hummed. "Predictable."

"Excuse me?"

"You give off strong ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’ energy."

Lando frowned. "And that means what, exactly?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

Despite himself, Lando let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Alright, your turn. Favorite artist?"

Lottie tilted her head. "Fleetwood Mac, I think."

Lando shot her a sideways glance. "Fleetwood Mac? Bit old school, isn’t it?"

"Says the guy clinging to his 2013 indie phase."

"Fair point."

The conversation lulled into something easy, their footsteps syncing as the city moved around them. Lottie’s grip on Caesar’s leash loosened, and the dog took full advantage—darting toward a pigeon, sending it flapping into the sky.

Lando grinned. "Menace, huh?"

"Oh, don’t act like you’re not obsessed with him already," Lottie said. "I saw your face when he rolled over for belly rubs."

"I mean… he’s alright, I guess."

"I’ll take that as a win."

For a moment, the weight of their fake relationship faded into the background. The cameras, the speculation, the absurdity of the entire situation—it didn’t feel so suffocating when there was something as simple as a dog trotting between them.

Then—Lottie grabbed his hand.

Lando stiffened. "What—"

"Relax," she muttered. "Two o’clock. Someone’s already got their phone up."

Right.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to react. Their fingers didn’t interlock—just a light press of palms, casual enough to seem natural, deliberate enough to be caught on camera.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"This is commitment," Lottie corrected.

"You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Absolutely."

And then—she laughed.

Bright, unrestrained. Like she’d just heard something genuinely funny.

Lando blinked. "What?"

"It’s your face," she said, breathless between laughs. "You look like you’re being held hostage."

"I do not."

"You really do."

Lando opened his mouth to argue—

—and then the camera shutter clicked.

Their eyes met.

The moment shattered, and just like that, reality came rushing back.

They weren’t two people, walking through the park, talking about music and careers.

They were Lando Norris and Charlotte Hayes.

And the internet was about to lose its mind.

The click of the camera was unmistakable—sharp, invasive, a reminder that they weren’t alone.

But Lottie didn’t let go.

Instead, she tightened her grip just slightly, grounding the moment before it spiraled into awkwardness.

Lando felt the shift, the deliberate ease with which she handled the situation. No stiffness, no hesitation—just a perfectly timed adjustment, as if she was actually comfortable walking through Hyde Park with him, hand in hand.

She wasn’t, obviously.

But she was better at faking it.

Lando exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral as they continued walking. Caesar trotted ahead, blissfully unaware of the media circus about to erupt online.

Lottie reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a bright yellow tennis ball.

"Alright, enough about me," she said, rolling the ball between her fingers. "Tell me something about F1. Something interesting."

Lando arched a brow. "That’s vague."

"Fine, I’ll narrow it down." She gave the ball a light toss in her palm. "What’s the hardest part?"

Lando scoffed. "Everything."

Lottie shot him a look. "I feel like I should be offended on behalf of your entire profession."

"I mean it," he said. "It’s not just driving fast. You have to know how to manage tires, fuel loads, track conditions. You’re constantly adjusting, constantly calculating. And that’s before you factor in other drivers, team strategy, weather—"

Lottie hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like a headache."

"More like a hundred headaches per race."

She nodded, considering, then suddenly wound back her arm and launched the tennis ball across the grass.

Caesar exploded forward, a blur of black and white fur, tearing after it with single-minded determination.

Lando watched him go, vaguely envious. Must be nice—having one simple goal and just going for it.

"Alright, next question," Lottie said, dusting off her hands. "Biggest misconception about F1 drivers?"

Lando smirked. "That we only turn left."

Lottie blinked. "Wait. Do people actually think that?"

"Americans do."

Lottie laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, now I feel bad for underestimating your job."

"You should," Lando said solemnly. "It’s very hard being me."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Caesar came sprinting back, ball clenched triumphantly in his teeth. He skidded to a stop at Lottie’s feet, tail wagging furiously.

"Good boy," she cooed, ruffling his fur before prying the ball from his mouth.

Lando watched, mildly fascinated. He wasn’t particularly bad with dogs, but there was something effortless about the way Lottie handled Caesar—like they understood each other in a way that didn’t require words.

She caught him staring.

"What?"

Lando shrugged. "Nothing."

She arched a brow but let it go, tossing the ball again. Caesar bolted after it without hesitation.

The wind picked up slightly, ruffling the edges of Lottie’s coat, brushing stray strands of hair across her face.

Lando glanced down at their joined hands—still together.

It should’ve felt weird. It did feel weird.

But maybe… slightly less weird than before.

The breeze carried the sound of laughter—distant, fleeting, swallowed by the open space of Hyde Park. A couple passed them, a man with a pushchair and a woman with a takeaway coffee, barely sparing them a glance. Lando had to remind himself that, to most people, they were just another couple out for a walk.

Which, in a way, was exactly the point.

He tightened his grip on Lottie’s hand—not dramatically, not enough to be noticeable in any pictures, but just enough to reinforce the illusion.

She didn't react, simply watched as Caesar disappeared into the distance, chasing his ball like his life depended on it.

"Alright," Lando said, shifting the focus. "Enough about me. Your turn."

Lottie gave him a side glance. "You want to hear about dressage and cross-country courses? I didn’t think you cared."

"I don’t." He grinned when she scoffed, then shrugged. "But I figure I should know a little more about the person I’m supposed to be madly in love with."

Lottie rolled her eyes but played along. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Lando thought for a second. "Biggest misconception about your sport?"

"That it’s not a sport," she said instantly. "That the horse does all the work."

Lando snorted. "Do people actually believe that?"

"All the time," Lottie said. "There’s this idea that riding is just sitting there, looking pretty, while the horse magically does everything for you. But the reality is that you need insane core strength, leg control, precision. And trust—because no matter how good you are, you're still riding an animal with its own mind. One bad decision and you’re eating dirt."

Lando hummed. "Sounds like a headache."

Lottie arched a brow. "Did you just recycle my words?"

"Might’ve."

She shook her head, suppressing a smile. "Alright, next question."

Lando hesitated, then went for something lighter. "What do you do when you’re not taming wild beasts or dodging paparazzi?"

Lottie tilted her head, considering. "Depends. If I’m not training or competing, I like quiet things. Reading, movies, hiking. Cooking, if I’m in the mood."

"Cooking?" Lando looked at her, amused. "That surprises me."

"Why?"

"You don’t seem like the ‘domestic’ type."

Lottie scoffed. "What does that even mean?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "You just have that ‘raised by nannies, never had to chop an onion’ energy."

Lottie gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you—I can chop an onion. I just choose not to."

Lando laughed, genuinely, and for a brief moment, the whole situation—the cameras, the pretending, the contract—faded into the background.

But then—click. Again.

Fuck it.

Lando felt the weight of the charade press down on him, a subtle but constant reminder of the performance they were putting on for the cameras. He looked at their joined hands—his fingers slowly loosening their grip on hers, the fleeting warmth from her skin now distant.

"Alright," he said, his voice breaking the stillness between them. "I think that's enough for today."

Lottie glanced at him, her expression unreadable, but there was something in the way she tilted her head that made him feel like she knew exactly what he meant.

"It was… nice," he added, trying to soften the abruptness of his words. "The walk, the conversation. But I've got stuff to do."

Lottie nodded once, a small movement, her lips pressed together in something like acknowledgment. She didn’t push for more. She just stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, looking at him with that same cool composure.

"Right," she said simply. "See you later."

And just like that, the air between them shifted, the artificial ease of the moment slipping away, leaving them standing at the edge of something neither of them had fully understood. Without another word, Lottie turned, her steps brisk as she walked in the direction of the park’s exit.

Lando watched her go for a moment, a mix of thoughts swirling in his mind. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. The sound of Caesar’s distant bark was the last thing he heard as the distance between them grew, until all that was left was the quiet hum of the city around him.

Lando had been to equestrian events before. Not many, but enough to navigate the showgrounds with ease. His sister, Flo, competed in show jumping—not eventing like Lottie—but it was close enough that he wasn’t completely out of his depth.

Still, there was a world of difference between watching his sister at a local event and standing here, at the prestigious Burghley Horse Trials, one of the most important competitions in the eventing calendar. This was the ultimate test for Lottie, with her place on the British Olympic team for Paris 2024 on the line. The pressure was palpable, and Lando felt it more than he expected as he watched Lottie prepare for her round, the cameras tracking his every move, waiting for his reaction.

He tugged the brim of his cap lower, shading his eyes, and slid his sunglasses up his nose.

This was the latest move in his PR team’s strategy. Their last public appearance, the walk in Hyde Park, had drawn mixed reactions from fans—some skeptical, but overall, the response had been positive. Both teams had agreed it was time to solidify things, to reinforce the image. This was the moment to take things further.

So here he was, dressed down in a hoodie and jacket, doing his best impression of a supportive boyfriend.

Except, Lottie was actually impressive.

Show jumping was more complex than he'd given it credit for. He had always thought it was about clearing fences without knocking them down, but now he saw that there was so much more—pace, timing, rhythm, the delicate balance between power and control.

And Lottie made it look effortless.

Her horse, a powerful dark bay, trotted around the warm-up area, each stride smooth and fluid. Lottie sat tall in the saddle, her posture perfect, her gaze intense as she prepared for her round. The arena around her buzzed with activity, but she was a picture of focus, the noise of the crowd, the shuffling of horses, and the calls of the event staff all falling into the background.

She was in her element.

When her name was announced over the loudspeaker, the crowd erupted in applause, their cheers carrying across the arena. Lando felt it in his chest, that electric surge of energy that reminded him of race weekends. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation.

Lottie barely reacted. She squeezed her horse forward, entering the arena with calm precision, her eyes locked on the first fence ahead. Her movements were measured, controlled, as she guided her horse with practiced ease.

The first few fences were textbook. Clean, precise, no hesitation. Lando found himself on the edge of his seat, watching her maneuver through the course. The jumps came quickly, and her control never wavered.

As the course grew more demanding, Lando could feel the intensity building. He knew enough to recognize the risks—the way each stride counted, the critical split-second decisions that could make or break the round.

Lottie rode with unshakable focus. She urged her horse forward, pushing him for speed without sacrificing form. It was a delicate dance of speed, timing, and trust, and Lottie was executing it flawlessly.

When they cleared the final fence, the clock stopped.

A perfect round.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound like a wave crashing around him.

Without thinking, Lando stood and clapped, the excitement of the moment taking over. For a brief second, he forgot the cameras, the PR strategy, the pressure. He just watched Lottie, as she slowed her horse and came to a stop, her expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her helmet.

Then, as if she could feel his gaze, she turned her head.

Their eyes met.

And Lottie—stoic, professional Lottie—smirked at him.

A small, knowing thing, barely there before she turned away.

Lando exhaled sharply, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The weight of that smile settled over him, and for a moment, everything else—the cameras, the contract, the whole PR game—seemed to fade into the background.

He blinked, suddenly aware of the cameras still trained on him. He hadn’t meant to stand up so eagerly, hadn’t meant to clap so loud. He was supposed to be playing the part of the supportive boyfriend, not the starstruck spectator. But Lottie had earned it.

Before he could retreat back into his seat, he found himself already making his way out of the grandstands, the crowd parting for him as they recognized who he was. He barely registered the smiles, the camera flashes—just enough to see the social media posts that would pop up in a few minutes. Lottie’s PR team would love that he was in the stables now, not just in the stands. His PR team would too.

He was walking toward the stables before he even realized it, his mind racing ahead of him, but when he reached the barn doors, the world around him seemed to still.

Lottie was there, bent over her horse, speaking to one of the stablehands, the horse’s head nuzzling her shoulder. The moment felt completely different—no cameras, no crowds. Just the faint smell of hay, the hum of the horses in their stalls, and the quiet intimacy of the space.

Lando didn’t know what to do. He had imagined this moment, sure, but the reality of it was a bit more daunting. He had no role here, no script to follow. It was just him and Lottie—and her horse, of course.

For a few seconds, he just stood there, watching her in silence, unsure of his place in all of this.

Finally, Lottie turned, catching his gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker in her eyes, something that softened the hard edge she always wore when she was in public.

"You’ve really been following me all the way out here, huh?" she said with a teasing tilt to her voice, as though she were surprised to see him.

Lando cleared his throat, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, figured I’d check in. You know... make sure you didn’t get lost in the whole... victory thing." He gestured vaguely toward the arena, trying to play it off cool.

Lottie raised an eyebrow, and then a small, smug smile tugged at her lips. "You mean 'make sure I’m not too busy for you,' right?"

Lando smirked, but it felt more like he was stumbling. "Something like that." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Anyway... You were... incredible out there."

Her smirk widened, though there was no real arrogance in it, just a playful recognition. "You’re not too bad at this, Norris," she teased. "Getting all sentimental over a horse show."

Lando chuckled, a little nervous but enjoying the banter despite himself. "I didn’t think I’d be clapping that hard for someone jumping over fences."

Lottie rolled her eyes, the warmth in her smile softening her usual sharpness. "You’re lucky you don’t have to do it yourself. This thing’s got more math involved than you’d think."

"I thought the horse did all the work," Lando shot back, remembering their earlier conversation, his grin widening.

Her laugh was quick, genuine. "Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention. You really should try it someday."

Lando shrugged, the moment of awkwardness beginning to ebb away. "I think I’ll leave it to the professionals."

They stood there for a beat, the easy banter flowing between them again. The tension from earlier, from all the weirdness of their fake relationship, had dissipated a little. It didn’t feel completely normal, but it was a start.

Lottie leaned against the stable door, her attention back on her horse. "So," she said, her tone turning slightly more casual, "what now? You just gonna stand there, or do you actually want to help me untack him?"

Lando blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. He cleared his throat. "I... wasn’t sure if I was allowed to get involved," he admitted, his voice a bit sheepish. "You seem like you’ve got it all under control."

Lottie chuckled, a low sound that seemed to fill the space between them. "Yeah, well, you’re not here to just watch me work. Come on, hold the reins for a second."

Lando stepped forward, taking the reins she offered, but his hands were a bit unsure as he adjusted his grip. "I’m not sure how much help I’ll be," he muttered, looking at the horse with a degree of caution. "This isn’t really my area of expertise."

Lottie smirked, her gaze drifting back to the horse. "I figured. But hey, it's not like you have to do anything complicated. Just stand there and make sure he doesn’t decide to wander off."

Lando gave a slight nod, trying to act natural. "Yeah, just stand here and look like I know what I’m doing, right?"

She shot him a teasing glance, her tone softening a little. "Basically. Don’t worry, he’s pretty easygoing. He’s more interested in snacks than anything else."

Lando relaxed slightly at that, but then caught the way Lottie was moving—how she worked with her horse so confidently, as if every movement was ingrained. There was something mesmerizing about it. He took a breath, unsure how to keep the conversation going.

"So, uh... how does it feel, you know, being this close to the Olympics?" He winced inwardly, wishing the question didn’t sound so... forced.

Lottie’s hands stilled for a moment, and she looked up at him, her expression guarded. "It’s not something I think about all the time," she said slowly, the words deliberate. "If I focus too much on it, I’ll start psyching myself out. But yeah, it’s kind of always there, hanging over you."

"Must be a lot of pressure," Lando said, feeling a sudden sympathy for her. He had his own kind of pressure—just in a completely different world. "I mean, with everything else going on, the media, the competition... I don’t know how you do it."

Lottie gave a small shrug, her face softening a little. "You just do. You can’t let it break you, or else what’s the point?"

Lando nodded, feeling a surprising respect for her resilience. "I get that. In my world, it’s the same. But I guess that’s why I’m here, right?" He glanced down at the reins in his hands, then back at her. "To make sure you don’t break under the pressure."

Lottie’s lips twitched into a smile, but it was brief. "Oh, so that’s your role here? The unofficial pressure manager?"

He gave a half-smile. "I can manage that."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, returning her attention to the horse. "Just don’t expect me to thank you when I make it to the Olympics. I’m not that sentimental."

Lando chuckled, leaning back slightly. "I’ll take what I can get."

For a brief moment, the awkwardness between them seemed to fade, replaced by the kind of easy banter that, for whatever reason, seemed to come naturally. Lottie continued working, and Lando stayed quietly by her side, holding the reins and trying to act like he belonged here.

As the last of the gear was removed from the horse, Lottie finally turned to face him again. "Thanks for the... moral support," she said dryly. "Now, go on. You’ve done your part."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "That’s it? I thought I was supposed to be the hero in this scenario."

Lottie smirked, glancing at him sideways. "Yeah, well, you’re not quite there yet, Norris."

As Lottie finished up with her horse, she gave him one last pat on the neck before stepping away. “Alright, Norris,” she said, wiping her hands on her breeches. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You can go back to whatever it is you do when you’re not being dragged into the equestrian world.”

Lando huffed a laugh, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “You say that like you’re getting rid of me.”

Lottie smirked. “Aren’t I?”

He didn’t have a real answer to that, because truthfully, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. And somehow, instead of heading for the exit, he fell into step beside her as she made her way back toward the event grounds.  The competition was still in full swing, but many spectators had drifted toward the sponsor booths, the food stalls, or the shaded VIP areas.

Lottie walked with an easy confidence, the same way she rode—with control, purpose. Lando, on the other hand, was just along for the ride, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his cap pulled low over his forehead.

They were almost past a group of young women chatting near one of the merchandise tents when Lottie heard an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, that’s Charlotte Hayes!”

She barely had time to react before the group turned toward her, faces lighting up with recognition.

“You were incredible out there!” one of them gushed.

“We’ve been following you all season—you’re seriously insane on cross-country.”

“Can we get a picture with you?”

Lottie blinked, a little taken aback. She was used to attention at equestrian events, but she wasn’t used to fans being quite this enthusiastic.

Before she could answer, Lando—who had been standing beside her, entirely unnoticed—cleared his throat dramatically. “Well, this is new,” he said, smirking. “People actually ignoring me for once.”

The girls turned at the sound of his voice, their excitement doubling when they recognized him.

“Wait—Lando?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t even see you there!”

“I had no idea you were into horses.”

Lando gave a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well. She’s making me a proper equestrian, one event at a time.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Don’t let him fool you. He still thinks the horse does all the work.”

The group laughed, and one of the girls held up her phone. “Lottie, can we—?”

“Of course,” Lottie said, already reaching for the phone.

But before she could take it, Lando snatched it from her hands with a grin. “I got it,” he said. “I’ll be the photographer today.”

The girls practically melted on the spot.

“That’s adorable.”

“He’s so boyfriend-coded.”

Lottie shot Lando a look, but he was already positioning himself, phone in hand. “Alright, ladies,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Make sure to smile—this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Lottie groaned. “Oh, shut up and take the picture.”

He did. A few, actually. By the time he handed the phone back, the girls were giddy.

“You guys are actually, like… the cutest couple,” one of them said.

Lottie let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Too late,” Lando said, flashing a smug grin.

They said their goodbyes, the girls walking away in a flurry of excitement, undoubtedly uploading the pictures as they spoke.

Lando fell back into step beside her, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “See? You’re famous.”

Lottie scoffed. “You’re just upset they didn’t ask for a picture with you.”

Lando placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “I’m secure enough to let you have the spotlight.”

She arched a brow. “Really?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ll survive.”

Lottie shook her head, amused despite herself. But as they continued walking, Lando noticed something—she was smiling. Not for the cameras, not for PR.

Just for herself.

And for some reason, he really, really liked seeing it.

The Miami heat was already oppressive, pressing down on the tinted windows of the car as they rolled through the paddock gates. Outside, the usual chaos of a race weekend was in full swing—fans gathered behind barriers, cameras flashing, media personnel darting around like they were on a mission.

Inside the car, Lottie was acutely aware of the fact that they were being watched.

She had seen the madness surrounding Formula 1 drivers before, but this was the first time she was in it. And it wasn’t just Lando they were looking at—it was her.

"They’re already taking pictures," she muttered, staring out at the sea of fans through her sunglasses.

Lando, sitting comfortably beside her in the passenger seat, let out a chuckle. "Yeah, get used to that."

She shot him a look. "Easy for you to say. You signed up for this."

"So did you," he pointed out with a smirk. "Technically."

Lottie huffed, leaning back against the leather seat. "I signed up to fix my PR. I didn’t sign up for... that." She nodded toward a group of girls holding up their phones, faces lighting up the moment they spotted them.

Lando followed her gaze, then smirked again. "Welcome to the world of the WAGs."

She turned to him, frowning. "The what?"

"WAGs," he repeated. "Wives and Girlfriends."

She snorted. "That’s a thing?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Oh, it’s a thing. The fans love them. Some people treat them like celebrities. Others act like they personally offended them just by existing. It’s all a bit... intense."

Lottie stared at him, processing that information. "So, what you’re saying is... there’s an entire part of your fanbase that’s obsessed with who you’re dating?"

"Yup."

"And some of them hate me just because I’m standing next to you?"

"Basically."

She scoffed. "That’s ridiculous."

"Welcome to Formula 1."

Lottie exhaled sharply, adjusting the sunglasses on her face. "Great. Can’t wait to be publicly analyzed and torn apart by strangers."

Lando grinned, nudging her playfully. "Just smile and wave, Little. Smile and wave."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at her lips.

Outside, the fans were practically buzzing with excitement as the car rolled to a stop.

Lando turned to her just before reaching for the door handle. "Ready?"

Lottie took a deep breath. "Not even a little bit."

"Perfect," he said, his grin widening. "Let’s go."

And with that, they stepped out into the Miami heat, into the cameras, into the madness.

Fans were already gathering, some chanting Lando’s name, others snapping pictures as they caught sight of him and Lottie. The loud hum of the paddock, the smell of the fresh tires, the mechanical sounds—everything seemed heightened for Lottie. She could feel herself stiffening at all the attention.

Lando, noticing the subtle change in her posture, immediately slowed his pace, instinctively staying close to her. He didn’t want to make her feel isolated in this sea of excitement.

Instead of rushing off to greet the fans, Lando subtly guided her toward the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, a quiet gesture of reassurance. His touch was firm but gentle, keeping her close as he navigated them through the crowds.

As a few fans called out for pictures, Lottie was about to step back, not wanting to be the center of attention. But before she could, Lando leaned in slightly, giving her a reassuring glance, his hand still resting on her back. “We’ll do this together,” he said through his actions, offering her the chance to stick with him as he engaged with the fans for a moment.

When the fans asked for photos, Lando didn’t hesitate to take the lead, not stepping too far away from her, making sure to always keep her within arm’s reach. He made a few jokes with them, but his focus was still on Lottie, ensuring that she never felt left out or uncomfortable.

As they continued walking, Lottie noticed how little he was engaging with the crowd compared to his usual self. Normally, Lando would stop for autographs or selfies at every opportunity, but today, he kept moving, his attention always returning to her. His hand never left her back, guiding her through the noise of the paddock.

“Lando,” she said quietly, glancing up at him, “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can talk to the fans. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look at her, but his thumb made small, soothing circles on the back of her shirt as they walked. “I’m not doing it because I have to,” he replied softly. “I want to. Besides, I’m not letting you get lost in the crowd.”

Lottie felt a knot she hadn’t realized was there slowly unravel. She didn’t say anything more, but her posture softened, and she stayed right beside him. She was beginning to realize just how thoughtful Lando was—how much care he was putting into making sure she felt at ease.

As they walked deeper into the paddock, Lando started introducing her to people from his team, pointing out familiar faces to help her feel more comfortable. His gestures were small but meaningful: a gentle nudge to the side, a soft, “This is Jane, she’s in charge of our PR, and that’s Tom, he handles our data,” always making sure she wasn’t left in the shadows.

Lottie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she watched him, taking in every small movement: the way he always made sure she was within his line of sight, the way he’d subtly check if she was okay whenever the crowd grew too loud. He never overdid it, never drew attention to it. It was just... him looking out for her, even when she didn’t ask for it.

They reached a quieter part of the paddock, away from the main traffic. Lottie took a breath, finally feeling like she could relax a little, and turned to him.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her words almost lost in the noise of the paddock. She wasn’t sure if he heard her at first, but when he glanced at her, she could see the quiet acknowledgment in his eyes.

“No need to thank me,” he replied with a smile, though his eyes softened when he looked at her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Lottie chuckled softly, but there was a warmth in her expression now that hadn’t been there earlier. She wasn’t used to people looking out for her this way—so naturally, so without expecting anything in return.

But here was Lando, offering that kindness without hesitation, without ever drawing attention to it. She wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, but for the first time since stepping into the paddock, she felt like maybe she could actually enjoy this, after all.

The day had been a whirlwind. The noise, the constant movement, and the flashing cameras felt like they’d been part of their lives for hours. But as they finally found a quiet moment later in the evening, something was different between them. It wasn’t awkward—no, it wasn’t that. But there was a subtle shift in the air, something unspoken, like the calm before a storm, except there was no storm coming. It was just... different. Neither of them could pinpoint it, but there was a softness between them now that hadn’t been there before.

They chose to ignore it for the time being, pushing aside the strange tension in favor of the noise and chaos of the weekend. They weren’t sure how to navigate it, and so they didn’t.

That night, Lottie found herself sprawled out on her bed, still in her pajamas, replaying one of her past competitions. The footage was old, but it was comforting. Watching herself perform, even when she hadn’t been at her best, helped her focus, bringing a sense of peace to her mind after the chaos of the day. The low volume of the TV and the dim light created a calm atmosphere in the room, and she sunk deeper into the soft comfort of the bed.

But the peace didn’t last long. There was a knock at the door, followed by a familiar, playful voice.

“Room service,” Lando called, his voice making her smile despite herself. She had half-expected him to show up—he had been unusually thoughtful all day, checking in on her, introducing her to people in the paddock, and now it seemed he wasn’t going to let her end the day without at least a little more of his attention.

Lottie hesitated for just a moment, wondering what exactly he was up to, before pushing herself up from the bed and making her way to the door. When she opened it, she was greeted with a tower of takeout boxes, burgers, fries, and some of the most indulgent comfort food imaginable. Lando smiled at her, clearly proud of his delivery.

“I figured you were probably starving,” he said with a raised brow, playful as ever. “You didn’t seem all that keen on the paddock snacks today.”

Lottie couldn’t help but laugh. “You do know I’m not a child, right? You didn’t have to go all out like this.” Her eyes scanned the takeout boxes, each one more tempting than the last.

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to spoil someone like this,” Lando teased, winking as he set the food down on the small table by the window. His movements were relaxed, natural, like he belonged here, in this space with her, despite the high-energy atmosphere of the paddock just hours before.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Spoil me? I think you’re just trying to make sure I don’t get mad at you for dragging me into your chaotic world.”

Lando chuckled, collapsing onto the bed beside her with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Not true. I just thought we could have a quiet night for once. You know, just food, no cameras, no crazy crowds.”

Lottie glanced at him, and for a moment, their eyes lingered, the shift from earlier hanging between them. The way they could just be in the same space, without any of the external noise or expectations, was oddly comforting.

“You’re right,” she said softly, her voice quieter now. “It’s kind of nice to have a normal night for a change.”

Lando grinned, his expression carrying something more genuine than the usual playful exterior. “It’s not perfect, but it’s... better than nothing, right?”

They dug into the food, the tension that had been there before starting to fade. Lottie couldn’t help but let out a satisfied sigh as she bit into a burger.

“So, what’s it like?” she asked after a moment, glancing at him. “The whole paddock thing, I mean. The chaos, the pressure... Do you ever get used to it?”

Lando shrugged, chewing slowly before answering. “Not really. It’s a lot of pressure, yeah. But you just sort of... get into the rhythm of it. And it helps when you’re surrounded by people who’ve been doing it for years. They make it look easier than it is.”

Lottie nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Must be a weird kind of pressure," she muttered, her gaze drifting to her fries. “I mean, I have my own pressures with competitions and everything, but this... this is next level.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s the difference between being part of the team and being the one everyone’s watching, huh?”

The conversation shifted into comfortable silence as they ate. There were no rushed words or forced small talk, just the simplicity of being together in the same space, enjoying the quiet.

Lottie shifted on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I think you’re right, though. It’s kind of nice not to be in the spotlight for a change.”

Lando met her gaze, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “it is.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, tossing a fry into his mouth with a playful glint in his eyes. “So, I was thinking... if you ever make it to the Olympics, we should totally get matching tracksuits. You know, like a power couple thing.”

Lottie burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “A matching tracksuit? You’d be the only person in the world who’d actually want to wear that with me.”

Lando grinned. “I’m serious! It’d be iconic. We could make it a thing for every major event—show up, match, and make the headlines.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we could make it work for your major events, but I’ll pass on the Olympics tracksuit idea, thanks.” She smirked, then her expression softened. “But honestly, I’m not sure what’s scarier: actually going or the pressure to not mess up once I’m there.”

Lando’s grin faded, and he looked at her more seriously. “It’s normal to feel that way. I mean, every race, every qualifying, I feel that weight too. But sometimes, the pressure is what drives you to be better. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night.”

Lottie tilted her head, her gaze steady on him. “I get it. But with the Olympics... it feels like this one shot. And if you mess it up, it’s not just one race—it’s everything. The years of work, the people who’ve supported you. And there’s me, wondering if I’m even good enough for it.”

Lando’s tone softened, his eyes locking with hers. “You are good enough. I don’t think anyone doubts that.”

Lottie gave a small, almost bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s not even about how good you are. It’s the other stuff—the media, the expectations. It’s exhausting.”

“I get that,” Lando said quietly. “In F1, it’s all about the performance. But everyone’s watching, critiquing every little thing you do. It’s like you’re never allowed to just... be human.”

Lottie met his gaze, a slight frown on her face. “Yeah. You can’t just make a mistake, because that mistake will follow you around forever.”

For a moment, silence filled the room, but it was different this time. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just understanding. Lottie shifted uncomfortably before speaking again, her voice quieter.

“You know, I used to think I had to handle everything on my own. I mean, I have to, right? But... it’s weird, having someone else who gets it. Who doesn’t just brush it off like it’s no big deal.”

Lando met her gaze, his expression softer now. “I get it. It’s not easy, and yeah... I guess I’m here if you need someone to talk to about it.”

Lottie didn’t look away this time. “I know. I appreciate that, Lando. More than you think.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of their respective pressures felt a little less heavy. For the first time in a while, they didn’t have to carry it alone.

Finally, Lottie broke the silence with a playful grin. “But seriously, no matching tracksuits. Ever.”

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, relieved to lighten the mood. “Alright, alright. No tracksuits. I’ll settle for just being your number-one fan instead.”

Lottie smirked. “That’s more like it.”

The morning light filtered softly through the hotel curtains, casting long golden streaks across the room. Lottie blinked awake, her body heavy with sleep, the exhaustion of the weekend settling deep in her bones. Instinctively, she reached for her phone, scrolling through the usual flood of notifications, skimming mindlessly—until one email stopped her cold.

British Olympic Committee - Selection Confirmation

Her heart stumbled.

With shaking fingers, she tapped it open, her breath hitching as she read the words that would change everything.

"Dear Miss Hayes, we are pleased to confirm your selection for the British Eventing Team for the Paris 2024 Olympic Games..."

A sharp inhale. Her vision blurred, the letters swimming as the weight of it all came crashing down on her.

She covered her mouth with her hand as the first tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. Her whole body trembled. Years of training, every fall, every broken bone, every grueling hour spent chasing a dream that had always felt just out of reach—until now. She was in. She was going to the Olympics.

A small, breathless laugh escaped her, equal parts disbelief and sheer, overwhelming joy. She wanted to scream, to call someone, to—

But no.

Not today.

Today wasn’t about her. Today was Lando’s race. And as much as she ached to tell him, to share this impossible, life-changing moment, she knew better. He had enough pressure on his shoulders without her dropping this on him hours before he got into the car.

So she wiped her tears, steadied her breath, and tucked the secret away for later.

Later, the McLaren garage buzzed with a nervous, electric energy, every person within it tuned into the same frequency of anticipation. Mechanics darted back and forth, engineers murmured into headsets, and the screens flickered with the ever-changing numbers of a race that was unfolding at breakneck speed.

Lottie didn’t have to fake anything.

Every time Lando made an overtake, she felt her pulse jump, her stomach twisting in that awful, addictive way that only live competition could bring. The cameras caught her reactions, but for once, she barely noticed. She was too caught up in the moment.

And then came the final lap.

Lando was leading.

The entire garage held its breath.

The roar that erupted when he crossed the line was deafening. The sheer force of celebration was enough to shake the walls as the McLaren crew erupted into cheers, throwing their arms around each other, jumping, screaming. Lottie felt it all at once—a rush of relief, excitement, pride so intense it made her dizzy.

She didn’t hesitate. She ran with them, pushing through the chaos toward parc fermé, the euphoria carrying her forward.

He celebrated, shouting into the sea of orange, hugging engineers, mechanics, anyone in reach. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. Lottie. Standing just beyond the McLaren team, watching him with the brightest, most genuine smile he’d ever seen on her face. She wasn’t faking it for the cameras, wasn’t playing along for the sake of their contract. She was just… happy. For him.

And suddenly, he had to go to her.

Lando pushed through the crowd, still buzzing with euphoria, and reached her just as she was laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. “You did it!” she shouted over the noise, breathless, laughing, not caring about anything else. “You actually fucking did it!”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, still shaking from the adrenaline. “Hell yeah, I did!”

She nodded, and then, almost without thinking, she blurted it out—because what better moment was there than this? "I made it."

Lando frowned for half a second, still catching his breath. "Made what?"

Her smile wobbled slightly, her hands gripping his forearms like she needed to steady herself. "I got the email this morning. I’m in. The Olympic team. I—Lando, I’m going to the Olympics."

His world, which had already been spinning from the win, somehow tilted even more. His hands moved on instinct, gripping her shoulders, grounding them both in the chaos. "What?"

“I got the email this morning.” Her voice wavered, but her smile didn’t falter. “I made the team, Lando. I’m going to Paris.”

For a split second, everything around them disappeared. The noise, the cameras, the flashing lights—it all faded into the background as he just looked at her.

And then, without thinking, without planning, without hesitation—Lando kissed her.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t passionate. Just a brief, fleeting press of lips, quick and instinctive, like an exclamation point to a moment too big for words.

But it was enough. Enough to make both of them freeze in the aftermath, their faces inches apart, wide-eyed and breathless. Enough for the world around them to catch it, cameras flashing, thousands of eyes capturing something neither of them had expected.

Lottie swallowed hard.

Lando blinked, as if realizing what he’d just done.

Oh.

The moment stretched between them, fragile and electric. Lottie could still feel the ghost of Lando’s lips on hers, barely there, but somehow lingering.

They just stared at each other, breathless, caught in something they didn’t have time to untangle—because before either of them could say a word, McLaren’s team swarmed in.

Lando was yanked away in a blur of orange, lost in a chaos of arms slung around his shoulders, cheers, shouts, hands thumping his back, shaking him, pulling him into the celebration. He was gone in an instant, absorbed by the frenzy of victory.

Lottie remained frozen in place, watching.

Her heart was still pounding, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the race, from the sheer overwhelming euphoria of the moment—or from that. From the fact that, for the first time since they’d agreed to this whole thing, something had happened that wasn’t scripted.

A kiss wasn’t in the contract.

It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been necessary.

So why had he done it?

Why had she let him?

Lottie swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe as she stood there, the noise of the celebrations ringing in her ears. She tried to convince herself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just the adrenaline, the heat of the moment, a natural reaction to winning.

But a small, unwelcome thought curled in the back of her mind.

Have we just crossed a line?

After the podium, the celebrations carried on in the McLaren garage, thick with champagne, music, and the high of victory. Lando was in the center of it all, surrounded by his team, his friends, people who had worked for this just as much as he had. He was laughing, grinning so wide his face ached, letting the euphoria consume him.

But even through the haze of it all, he kept catching glimpses of her.

Lottie, standing at the edge of the room, drink in hand, smiling at something one of the engineers had said. But not fully present. Not quite there.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach.

So he slipped away, weaving through the crowd until he reached her side.

“Hey.”

She turned, surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to seek her out. “Hey, champ.”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, still high on everything, but suddenly feeling way too aware of himself. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hesitating for a second before blurting out—

“I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

Lottie blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

Lando exhaled sharply. “I mean—I didn’t plan to. It just... happened. I thought it would look good for the cameras, and I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I should’ve asked. I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s okay.”

Her voice was quiet but certain.

Lando studied her face, trying to gauge if she really meant that, or if she was just saying it to make things easier.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of unspoken questions, things neither of them dared to say.

Did it mean something to you?

Because I think it meant something to me.

Lottie cleared her throat, breaking the moment. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. We’re fine.” She offered him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Lando nodded, pretending that was enough.

But as the party carried on around them, as the noise swallowed them up again, neither of them could shake the feeling that something had shifted. That maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something they weren’t ready for.

The night split them in two.

Lando, wrapped up in the whirlwind of celebration, surrounded by his team, other drivers, friends—anyone who wanted to drown in the euphoria of victory with him. The energy of the night was electric, pulsing through the city, through the people, through the drinks passed from hand to hand in the dim glow of club lights.

Lottie, on the other hand, chose something quieter.

“I think I’ll head back,” she told him when the chaos started to spill out of the McLaren garage, into the night. “I need to call my parents, tell them about—” She hesitated for just a second, then smiled. “About the Olympics.”

Lando blinked, like he’d almost forgotten that massive piece of news in the mess of everything else. “Right.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, of course. That makes sense.”

She could see the question forming in his mind before he even said it.

“Are we—” He stopped, shifted on his feet. “We’re good, right?”

Lottie tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Good?”

His jaw tensed, and she could tell he was choosing his words. “With everything. With us. I just—I don’t want things to be weird after—”

“They’re not,” she interrupted, soft but firm. She didn’t let him finish. “We’re fine.”

And maybe it was the way she said it so certainly, the way she met his eyes without hesitation, but Lando believed her.

Still, something inside him felt unsteady.

She leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to his cheek. “Go celebrate,” she murmured.

Lando barely had time to process it before the cameras around them clicked, a frenzy of flashes capturing the moment. A sweet, calculated moment. One that did exactly what it was supposed to—sent the message loud and clear: Charlotte Hayes and Lando Norris are stronger than ever.

Lottie pulled away, sending him one last small smile before stepping back, disappearing into the night, leaving Lando standing there, watching her go.

And then, he let himself get swept away.

The morning hit like a freight train.

Lottie wasn’t even fully awake when she reached for her phone, still hazy from sleep, her body aching from the long weekend. But the second she saw the notifications, her brain jolted awake.

Her screen was flooded.

Headlines. Twitter threads. Photos. Speculation.

Lando Norris partying the night away after victory—who’s the mystery woman?

A few hours after celebrating with his girlfriend, Lando Norris was spotted leaving a hotel that wasn’t his own.

Has Lando Norris already moved on from Charlotte Hayes?

Lottie sat up so fast she nearly got whiplash.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she clicked on the photos, one by one, each image sharper than the last.

Lando in the club, drink in hand, a dark-haired woman pressed close, his head tipped toward her ear.

Lando laughing, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Lando walking out of a hotel at sunrise, looking wrecked, his hoodie pulled low over his face.

The rage hit her fast.

Hot, violent, immediate.

It clawed up her throat, burned behind her ribs.

Because it wasn’t just about the rumors. It wasn’t just about what the press was saying.

It was the fact that he had done this.

After last night. After everything.

Lottie squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose, trying to breathe through the anger simmering under her skin.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what kind of person Lando was. She knew what she had signed up for.

But this?

This was humiliating.

And Charlotte Hayes didn’t do humiliation.

Lottie didn’t think.

She moved on pure, unfiltered rage.

Barefoot, still in her sleep shorts and hoodie, she stormed down the hallway of the hotel, barely aware of the pounding of her own footsteps. The anger was a living, breathing thing inside her, tightening its grip with every step.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate.

Just shoved the door open with enough force to make it slam against the wall.

Lando was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, looking like absolute shit. His hair was a mess, his hoodie wrinkled like he had slept in it—if he had even slept at all. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, making the exhaustion in his eyes even more obvious.

The second he looked up and saw her, his eyes widened. “Lottie—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the heavy morning air.

Lando winced, dragging a hand over his face. “Listen—”

“No. You listen.” She took a step closer, fury radiating off her in waves. “I wake up this morning to see the entire world debating whether or not you’ve cheated on me. Do you have any idea what this looks like?”

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything, Lottie. I swear. Yeah, I was drunk, and yeah, she was—close, but I didn’t—”

“I don’t care.” Lottie’s voice was deadly quiet now. “It doesn’t matter what actually happened. It matters what people think happened. And right now, the entire internet is convinced that you just made a fucking fool out of me.”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, frustration evident in every tense muscle of his body. “It’s not like I took her to my room! Those photos—Jesus, I was literally leaving my friends’ hotel. That’s it. That’s the whole fucking story.”

Lottie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “And what, you think people are going to believe that? You think the fans, the media, the sponsors, are going to take the time to fact-check before they start writing the next big headline?” She shook her head, stepping even closer. “This isn’t about truth, Lando. It’s about perception. That’s all a PR relationship is, and you just made it look like I’m the pathetic girlfriend getting cheated on.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “You’re not my girlfriend.”

She laughed. A sharp, bitter sound. “No, I’m not! And thank fuck for that, because at least I don’t have to actually deal with your bullshit!”

He stood up then, closing the space between them. “What do you want me to do, Lottie?” His voice was lower now, but the frustration was still there. “I can’t change it. I can’t go back and undo it.”

Her breath came fast, her heart pounding. “You want to fix it? Fine. Handle it.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “Clean up your own fucking mess.”

Lando swallowed hard, his hands flexing at his sides. “Lottie—”

“Don’t.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. If you have something to say, tell my team. I’ll be busy—I don’t have time to be dealing with your shit when I have the Olympics to focus on.”

His brows pulled together, his expression unreadable. “That’s it? You’re just gonna cut me off?”

“No, Lando.” Her voice was steady. “I’m just reminding you that this isn’t real. You do whatever the fuck you want—I’m done cleaning up after you.”

She turned before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her, leaving him standing there in the wreckage.

Weeks go by. The headlines cool down. His PR team works damage control, pushing a new narrative—"misunderstanding," "taken out of context," "no trouble in paradise." They make sure Lottie and Lando are seen together again, and soon, the internet forgets.

But Lottie doesn’t.

She’s too busy winning. Training harder than ever, pouring all of her focus into the Olympics. And if there’s something fierce in the way she throws herself into it, something angry—well, she doesn’t think too much about that.

Then, their PR teams drop a bomb on them.

"Vacation."

Together.

"To keep up appearances," their managers explain. "To make sure everyone knows things are fine."

Lottie is livid. She wants to refuse, wants to tell them all to go to hell—but she can’t. This is what she signed up for. And if she has to suffer through another week with Lando Norris, she’s going to do it her way.

So, she picks the location.

Her family's estate. A sprawling, old-money English countryside estate—complete with horses, etiquette-dinner expectations, and the poshest group of people Lando has ever encountered in his life.

If she has to deal with him, then he has to deal with this.

And that?

That’s where the real fun begins.

Lando has been thrown into hell. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

The estate is massive, straight out of a period drama, with towering trees lining the driveway and an overwhelming sense of old money oozing from every brick. The kind of place where history isn’t just remembered—it’s lived in. The house itself is ridiculous—high ceilings, chandeliers, endless hallways leading to even more endless rooms. Every surface gleams, polished to perfection, and the whole place smells faintly of expensive wood polish and fresh flowers.

Lottie is clearly thriving.

She doesn’t even try to ease him into it. If anything, she seems delighted by his suffering.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” she says sweetly their first morning there, leading him into the grand dining room for breakfast. “We have a dress code for meals.”

Lando looks down at his hoodie and sweatpants, then back up at her. “You’re joking.”

She isn’t.

He doesn’t change. Not for breakfast, not for dinner, not ever. He shows up every morning in his McLaren hoodie, every evening in his cargo shorts, and every time he catches Lottie’s mother glancing at his outfit, he just smiles and takes another bite of whatever very expensive meal they’re eating.

It’s a battle of wills. And Lando? He likes winning.

But even though he’s standing his ground on the clothing front, there’s one battle he’s losing—the absolute zoo of animals in this house.

Caesar, at least, is familiar. The big German Shepherd recognizes Lando immediately, tail wagging as he trots up to him like they’re old friends. Lando crouches to scratch behind his ears, muttering, “At least you don’t hate me.”

But then come the others.

Three other dogs.

One of them—a scruffy little terrier mix—steals his shoes every time he takes them off. Another, a massive black Labrador, insists on sitting directly on his feet whenever Lando is standing still. And the third, a tiny white ball of fluff, just stares at him. Silent. Judging.

Then there are the cats. So many cats. Lando has no idea how many there actually are—every time he turns a corner, there’s another one. On the stairs. On the windowsills. Watching him from the bookshelves like tiny, furry spies.

“I feel like I’m being monitored,” he tells Lottie one afternoon, eyeing a particularly fluffy orange tabby that hasn’t blinked in minutes.

Lottie just hums, flipping a page in her book. “You probably are.”

Then there are her brothers, the twins. They don’t hate him. They don’t even intimidate him. But they do make him uncomfortable.

Because for the first two days, they just watch him. Always there, just slightly in the background. Lando will be sitting in the lounge, and suddenly, he’ll realize they’re behind the couch. Not saying anything. Just observing.

Or he’ll walk into a room and they’ll already be there, speaking in low voices, only to stop immediately when he enters.

At one point, he catches them sitting across from each other in the drawing room, both drinking tea, both looking at him with the exact same neutral expression.

“You two are terrifying,” he says flatly.

One of them blinks. “Thank you.”

But then, on the third day, something changes.

They’ve just finished dinner, and Lando is mentally preparing himself for another round of polite-yet-unsettling observation from Lottie’s twin brothers when one of them—Oliver? Nate? No clue—leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Do you play FIFA?”

Lando pauses, thrown by the sudden normalcy of the question. “Uh. Yeah?”

The twins exchange a glance.

“Come with us.”

It sounds less like an invitation and more like a summoning, but Lando follows them anyway, intrigued. They lead him through the house, down a hallway, and into what can only be described as a shrine to sports and gaming. A massive flat-screen TV, shelves lined with games, beanbags strewn about, and a top-of-the-line gaming console already set up.

They settle in, and within minutes, they’re locked in battle.

It turns out the twins are good. But Lando is better.

By the time he scores his third goal in a row, he can practically hear their egos fracturing.

“Jesus,” one of them mutters, scowling at the screen.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver,” the other points out. “How the hell are you this good? Do you really have time to play games?”

Lando just smirks, lounging back into the couch. “Hand-eye coordination, mate.”

For the first time since he arrived, the tension eases. The twins stop analyzing him like some strange foreign specimen and start treating him like a competitor, someone worth their time.

They play for hours, their competitive streaks fueling each other, and by the time they finally call it quits, Lando almost forgets that, technically, he’s supposed to be suffering on this trip.

Almost.

The next afternoon, Lottie and her parents sit outside, having tea at a shaded table on the terrace. The estate stretches out before them—rolling fields, neatly kept gardens, and, at the far end of the property, a large, open field.

It’s there that the twins have dragged Lando, a football at their feet.

“He’s definitely better than them,” Lottie remarks, watching as Lando effortlessly weaves through her brothers, making them look ridiculous in the process.

Her father hums, sipping his tea. “They need to be humbled from time to time.”

Her mother sighs. “I am starting to like him.”

Lottie grins, eyes fixed on the game. She can hear them shouting at each other—frustrated, determined, cursing when Lando scores yet again.

And then, something unexpected happens.

Lando looks up from the field, his eyes searching. And when they find her—when he finds her—he grins. Wide, smug, bright with victory and mischief.

Lottie rolls her eyes, pretending not to care.

But she feels it.

That warmth creeping in, that quiet, dangerous thought—maybe this isn't fake at all.

And then, it starts subtly.

Lottie notices it in small gestures, little shifts in body language that would go unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t her.

Her mother, for example, stops looking at Lando like he’s a particularly loud guest overstaying his welcome. Instead, she starts noticing things.

The way he always greets her politely in the morning, even when he’s barely awake. The way he thanks the staff every time they serve a meal. The way he lets Caesar jump onto his lap, even though he’s wearing one of his expensive hoodies and will absolutely leave covered in dog hair.

But the real moment of change comes one evening when they’re all gathered in the sitting room. It’s been a long day—Lottie had spent the afternoon training, Lando had been dragged into yet another ridiculous scheme by her brothers, and now, finally, there’s a lull in the chaos.

Lottie’s mother is knitting, a quiet habit of hers that keeps her hands busy while she listens to the conversation around her.

And then—without a word—she sets down her knitting, stands up, and disappears into the hallway.

Lottie barely notices, until she returns a moment later with a folded blanket in her hands.

She walks straight over to where Lando is slumped in an armchair, clearly exhausted but still trying to follow the conversation. He blinks up at her, confused, as she unfolds the blanket and drapes it over his shoulders.

"There," she says, smoothing it down as if he’s one of her children. "You looked cold."

Lando just stares at her. Lottie stares at her.

Her mother doesn’t say anything else—just pats his shoulder lightly and goes back to her seat, picking up her knitting again like nothing happened.

Lottie’s brothers immediately start teasing him for it.

Lando, dazed, just pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

He’s in.

Her father takes longer.

Not because he’s particularly cold—Lottie’s father isn’t unkind, just reserved. Measured. He was never one for overly warm welcomes, always preferring to keep his distance until someone proved themselves worth the effort.

But he watches Lando.

Watches him joke with the twins, watches the way Caesar follows him around, watches how he doesn’t complain about any of it—the formality, the expectation, the centuries-old family traditions he clearly doesn’t understand but still respects.

And then, one evening, as they’re all gathered in the sitting room after dinner, he finally speaks directly to him.

"You’re a racing driver, but are you into cars?"

Lando, caught mid-sip of his drink, swallows quickly. "Uh—yeah."

Her father hums, thoughtful. "I rebuilt an old Aston Martin years ago. Did it myself. Took months."

Lottie stares.

Her father never talks about that.

Lando, however, lights up. "No way. What model?"

And just like that, they’re talking. Really talking—about engines, about restoration work, about classic cars versus modern builds. Lottie watches as her father, the same man who barely tolerated Lando’s existence a few days ago, nods along, asking questions, engaging in a way that he rarely does with people outside their world.

It’s… unexpected.

And then—

"You should stay for the hunting weekend," her father says casually, sipping his brandy.

Lando blinks. "The what now?"

Lottie groans, dragging a hand over her face. "Oh, God. Don’t encourage him."

Her father just chuckles. "It’s tradition."

And that? That’s acceptance.

Lottie sees all of it.

Sees her mother treating Lando with the same quiet care she gives her own children. Sees her father warming to him in his own quiet, begrudging way. Sees the twins, who were dead set on making his life miserable, inviting him to play, to join, to be part of it.

She watches as Lando stops acting like he’s just tolerating it, and starts enjoying it.

And worst of all?

She watches herself let it happen.

It starts with curiosity.

Lando had never paid much attention to horses before—never needed to. His world had always been fast cars, roaring engines, and sleek designs built for speed. The idea of an animal being an athlete in its own right was… foreign.

But then there’s Lottie.

And Lottie is magic on a horse.

He watches her every morning, perched on the edge of the fence as she takes Vermento through his paces, guiding him through intricate dressage routines, moving as if they share the same mind. He watches her during jumping sessions, the sound of hooves hitting the ground in rhythmic beats, her focus razor-sharp, her body a study in control and precision.

Some days, she disappears into the cross-country course—a winding, forested path with water jumps, fallen logs, and sharp turns that demand both trust and instinct.

That’s when Lando gets bored. And a bored Lando is a reckless Lando.

Which is how he ends up on a bike.

The twins had found it for him, laughing their asses off as they presented the ancient, half-rusted bicycle that had probably been sitting in one of the estate’s storage sheds for decades.

But Lando? Lando sees a challenge.

So the next morning, when Lottie heads toward the cross-country course, he grabs the bike and pedals after her.

She doesn’t notice at first, too focused on guiding Vermento over the jumps, but when she finally turns her head and sees him—legs pumping furiously, struggling to keep up—she nearly falls off her horse from laughing.

“What the hell are you doing?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Winning,” he shouts back, even though he’s absolutely not.

He lasts about ten minutes before his legs burn like hell and he nearly crashes into a bush. Lottie watches, still laughing, as he slows to a stop, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

Vermento trots back toward him, ears flicking curiously. Lottie, still grinning, leans forward in the saddle. “Not as easy as it looks, huh?”

Lando glares up at her. “Shut up.”

But the next morning, he does it again.

And the next.

And the next.

Then there are the photos.

It’s part of the reason they’re here, after all—damage control, reassurance for the fans. So they take pictures together, post casual stories of their “vacation” online.

A blurry shot of Caesar flopped on Lando’s lap, captioned: Officially Lando’s dog now. Sorry, Lottie.

A picture of Lottie sitting on the fence, sipping coffee, watching Lando struggle to clean Vermento’s hooves under the supervision of one of the grooms.

A short video of Lando trying—and failing—to keep up with her on the bike, her laughter in the background as she zooms past him on horseback.

They’re easy, effortless.

And the internet eats them up.

Fans flood the comments—he’s obsessed with her, they look so happy, look at the way he looks at her.

And Lando doesn’t read them.

Not because he doesn’t care, but because he doesn’t need to.

Because he knows how he looks at her.

He knows that he’s spent hours watching her train, noticing things he shouldn’t—like the way her expression softens when she talks to Vermento, or the way her hair slips loose from its tie when she’s too focused to fix it, or the way she bites her lip when she’s planning her next move.

He knows that the way he feels when she smiles at him, really smiles, is different from how he’s ever felt before.

He knows.

And that?

That’s terrifying.

The house is empty.

Lottie doesn’t notice at first—too busy going through her post-training routine, stretching out muscles that burn from the morning’s work. She assumes the usual background noise of the estate will fill the space soon enough—her brothers causing chaos, her mother calling for dinner, her father reading in his study. But the house stays quiet.

No staff. No family.

Just her.

And Lando.

She finds him in the sitting room, sprawled out on one of the massive couches, flipping absently through a book he definitely isn’t reading. His McLaren hoodie looks ridiculous in the setting—old paintings, antique furniture, crystal chandeliers—but he doesn’t seem to care.

He glances up when she walks in.

“You realize we’re alone?” he asks.

Lottie arches an eyebrow. “What, scared?”

Lando scoffs. “Terrified.”

She smirks, crossing the room to sit with him, curling her legs up beneath her. For a moment, there’s silence—calm, easy. But then Lando shifts, sets the book down, and his expression changes.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands curl slightly against his knees.

Lottie knows that look. He’s about to say something.

And then he does.

“I’m sorry.”

Lottie stills. “…For what?”

“For Miami.”

The weight of his words settles between them, heavier than she expects. Lando leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s been holding this in for too long.

“I fucked up,” he continues. “I didn’t think. I—” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I was stupid, and I didn’t think about you. About how it would look, about the contract, about—everything.” His eyes flick up to hers, and something about the way he looks at her now makes her throat tighten. “And I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was pissed, but that’s not an excuse.”

Lottie watches him, heartbeat steady but heavy.

She swallows.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Lando exhales, nodding.

And then—

“I was angry,” she admits, voice softer now. “But… it wasn’t just about you. I mean, it was, obviously, but—” She stops, pressing her lips together for a second before continuing. “It felt like him again.”

Lando doesn’t need to ask who.

He already knows.

“My ex—” She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “He was always in the papers. Not for good reasons. And I was always in them with him, whether I wanted to be or not. The drinking, the fighting, the—” She cuts herself off, biting the inside of her cheek.

Lando stays silent, waiting.

Lottie glances at him, then away.

“I was stupid,” she mutters. “I thought I could make it work. I thought I could fix it. But it just kept getting worse, and worse, and worse, and suddenly I wasn’t just Charlotte Hayes, the equestrian—I was Charlotte Hayes, the girlfriend of the asshole footballer who can’t keep himself out of trouble.”

Lando’s expression hardens.

“I hated it,” she continues. “I hated him, by the end of it. Hated how he made me feel—like I was just an accessory, something he could drag into whatever shit he got himself into. I hated waking up and not knowing what headline would be waiting for me that day.”

She exhales.

“And then Miami happened.”

Lando rubs his hands together, gaze never leaving her.

“I get it now,” he murmurs. “Why you reacted the way you did.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

There’s another silence—longer, deeper.

And then—

“The kiss.”

Lottie’s breath catches.

Lando watches her closely.

“After the race,” he clarifies. “That was… real, right?”

She doesn’t answer immediately.

Doesn’t know how to.

But then she remembers the way it felt—the rush of it, the warmth, the absolute lack of hesitation.

“Yes,” she says.

A beat.

Lando’s gaze flicks down—to her lips, to the slight shift of her hands against her lap—then back up.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I thought so.”

Lando doesn’t move back.

And neither does Lottie.

They're close—closer than they’ve ever been without an audience watching, without a script to follow. It should be strange, unsettling even, to have the space between them collapse like this. But it’s not.

It feels inevitable.

Lottie’s heart beats steadily beneath her ribs, not frantic or panicked but slow, deep—aware.

She doesn’t drop his gaze.

Lando swallows. “I think about it.”

Her fingers twitch against her lap. “Think about what?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop. “You. Us. The kiss. That stupid fucking contract.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I tell myself it’s fake. That it’s just job. That none of this should mean anything.”

Lottie listens, hands still, spine straight.

Lando lets out a breath.

“But it does.”

It’s quiet. Honest.

Her pulse trips.

He leans back slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, shaking his head as if he’s just said something completely ridiculous.

“I don’t even know when it stopped being fake,” he mutters, like he’s trying to figure it out himself. “Maybe it was Miami. Maybe it was before that. Maybe it was that fucking dog of yours sitting on me like he owns me.” He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I stopped pretending a while ago.”

Lottie feels like the air has been knocked out of her lungs.

Lando Norris—the boy who fought this arrangement like it was the worst possible punishment, the boy who complained and sulked and refused to even try in the beginning—is looking at her now like she’s the only thing in the world that makes sense.

And maybe she’s been fooling herself.

Maybe she’s been pretending, too—pretending that she doesn’t notice the way her chest gets warm when he looks at her, the way his voice settles in her stomach, the way her body always seems to find him, whether it’s a shoulder bump, a hand on his arm, a touch that lingers too long.

Her throat is dry.

“Lando—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “I just—” He sighs, glancing up at her. “I just needed you to know.”

Lottie swallows, fingers tightening in the fabric of her leggings.

And then she hears herself say—

“I think about it, too.”

Lando goes completely still.

Her voice is quieter than his, softer, but just as steady. “I don’t know when it stopped being fake either. I just know that… it doesn’t feel fake now. It didn’t feel fake when I saw those photos of you and that woman, when all I felt was jealousy.”

He looks at her.

She looks at him.

And suddenly, the space between them feels laughable.

Lando moves first.

Or maybe she does.

It’s impossible to tell, because one second they’re sitting across from each other, and the next, his hand is cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his hoodie, pulling—

And then his lips are on hers.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s not careful.

It’s certain.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes her forget where they are, the kind that makes her stomach tighten and her hands pull him closer, the kind that answers every unspoken question between them.

Lando breathes her in, deep and slow, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to feel her, to lose himself in the way she tastes.

And Lottie lets him.

Lets herself.

Because this? This isn’t for anyone else.

It’s not for cameras, not for headlines, not for the PR team that bound them together in the first place.

This is real.

And neither of them want to stop.

The room feels different when they break apart. Not in a bad way.

Just—different.

Like something invisible has shifted. Like the air is thicker, charged with something unsaid but understood.

Lando stays close, forehead nearly brushing hers, breath warm against her skin. His hand is still on her jaw, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her cheek like he can’t quite bring himself to let go.

Lottie doesn’t move either. Because she doesn’t want to.

Her heart isn’t pounding, her breath isn’t shaky—there’s no frantic rush of adrenaline, no sudden panic. Just a slow, deep certainty settling in her bones.

Lando swallows, his eyes flickering over her face, searching for something.

Lottie already knows what he’s looking for.

And she gives it to him. She smiles.

Small, at first—barely there. But then it grows, stretching across her lips, warm and real.

And Lando—Lando laughs.

Not a nervous laugh. Not an awkward one. A relieved one.

A breathless, head-tilted-back, holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-we-just-did-that laugh.

Lottie shakes her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing too.

It doesn’t work.

He leans back, resting his weight on his hands, running his tongue over his bottom lip like he’s still tasting her.

“You’re smiling,” he points out, smug.

“So are you,” she retorts.

Lando shrugs. “Well, yeah. You are a pretty great kisser.”

Lottie rolls her eyes, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet—” He gestures vaguely between them. “You kissed me back.”

She huffs, shaking her head, but her face is warm, and she knows she’s not fooling anyone.

Lando watches her in silence for a moment, as if he’s still processing everything. Then, he tilts his head slightly.

“So what now?”

Lottie blinks.

The question should make her panic. It should make her overthink, replay every clause of their contract, think about the press, the consequences.

But it doesn’t. Because this—him—feels easy.

And when has anything in her life ever been easy?

Lottie exhales, tilting her head. “Well, I was planning on going riding before dinner.”

Lando lets out a scoff. “That’s not what I meant.”

She smirks. “I know.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Lottie drops her gaze to her lap, tracing the seam of her leggings with her fingers. When she speaks, her voice is softer but just as firm.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I know I don’t want to keep pretending.”

Lando watches her, and something in his expression shifts.

He nods, slowly, thoughtfully.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

That’s it.

No dramatic speeches. No complicated plans.

Just—okay.

And somehow, it’s exactly what she needs.

Lottie exhales, a small, satisfied sigh, and pushes herself up, stretching her arms over her head. Lando’s eyes follow the movement, dropping instinctively when her shirt lifts just slightly. And Lottie knows he’s thinking about the kiss again.

She grins, playful. “You coming?”

Lando blinks. “What?”

“To ride.”

“Oh.” Lando clears his throat, straightening. “For a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Lottie raises an eyebrow. “Thought what?”

Lando presses his lips together, crossing his arms. “Thought you meant something else,” he finally admits, his tone casual, but his eyes—his eyes are something else.

Lottie blinks once.

Twice.

And then she laughs.

A real, genuine, completely entertained laugh. Lando watches her with mock indignation, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

“Come on, city boy,” Lottie says, patting his shoulder before heading for the door. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Lando groans, but he follows anyway, muttering something about how much he’s going to regret this.

But when she smiles over her shoulder at him and he feels the warmth still lingering in his chest—

He knows he won’t.

At first, nothing changes. Not really.

Lando still races every weekend, still chases milliseconds and podiums, still stands under bright lights answering the same questions over and over again. Lottie still spends long days in the saddle, pushing herself harder, training for the biggest moment of her career. They still show up where they’re supposed to, still play their roles, still exist under the constant hum of cameras flashing, fans speculating.

But something shifts. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

Maybe it’s the way Lottie reaches for his hand without thinking, fingers slipping between his like it’s second nature. Maybe it’s the way Lando starts looking for her in the crowd, his eyes finding her before they find the checkered flag. Maybe it’s the way the obligations don’t feel like obligations anymore, the way their time together no longer feels like something arranged but something inevitable.

One night, after a race—after a victory—Lottie is driving them back to their hotel. Lando is slumped in the passenger seat, his body loose with exhaustion and alcohol, the adrenaline of the night finally fading. He’s still wearing his team polo, though it’s wrinkled now, untucked, the top buttons undone. There’s a stupid little grin on his face, one that hasn’t left since the champagne was sprayed.

Lottie glances at him briefly. “You good over there?”

Lando hums, his head lolling against the seat as he turns to look at her. His pupils are a little blown, his cheeks flushed. “Mhm,” he says. Then, after a beat, his voice a little quieter, a little sleepier: “I think I like you.”

Lottie’s hands tighten slightly around the wheel. She flicks her eyes toward him again, taking in the way he’s watching her—not searching for a reaction, not trying to gauge her expression. Just saying it, like it’s a passing thought that slipped past the filter in his brain.

She exhales a quiet laugh. “You sure it’s not the tequila talking?”

Lando’s grin widens, lazy and content. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His head tilts slightly. “But I do think I like you.”

Lottie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now. “That’s nice, Lando.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “I think I like you too.”

Lando hums again, as if he’s just won another race, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Maybe it’s not about a single moment, not about some grand realization or dramatic confession. Maybe it’s about all the little things, the ones no one else sees.

Like the way Lando always waits for her after an event, even when he doesn’t have to, even when it would be easier to slip away unnoticed. Or the way Lottie starts spending more and more weekends at his races, standing in the back of the garage, her presence as steady as the roar of the engines.

Like the morning after a race when Lottie wakes up to find Lando cooking breakfast in her kitchen, hair still a mess from hours of travel, moving around like he’s been doing it forever.

“You’re in my kitchen,” she says, still half-asleep, leaning against the doorway.

Lando smirks, flipping a pancake. “And?”

“And I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because I have a key,” he says simply, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You gave it to me, remember?”

She blinks, a memory flickering in the back of her mind—of tossing her spare key at him in a rush one day when she was late for an event, barely thinking about it. She hadn’t even realized he’d kept it.

Lando plates a pancake and sets it in front of her. “If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me for it.”

Lottie looks at him, at the way he’s standing there like he belongs, and she smiles.

“I think you can keep it.”

By the time the Olympics arrive, the lines between real and pretend are long gone. They don’t talk about it—not directly—but it’s there, in every shared look and every quiet moment. In the way Lando texts her good luck before every qualifier. In the way Lottie wears his hoodie on cold mornings at the stables.

What they have is no longer just a story for the media. It’s theirs.

Still, she doesn’t expect him to be there. Not really.

But when she rides into the arena for her final round, when she hears the crowd roar and the unmistakable, ridiculous sound of a vuvuzela echoing through the stadium, she looks up—and there he is.

Lando, standing at the front of the crowd, wearing a Union Jack bucket hat and sunglasses far too large for his face. He is surrounded by his childhood friends and a couple of other drivers she recognizes even from this distance. Russell is wearing a stupid shirt with Great Britain’s colours and her face all over it. She doesn’t want to ask who convinced Verstappen and Piastri—none of them british—to paint his face with the Union Jack. Still, they are all chanting for her.

There’s a banner the size of a small country with her face on it—two, actually. One reads "GO LOTTIE GO" in massive glitter letters. The other has a blown-up photo of her from her most awkward teenage competition, helmet askew, braces on full display. Classic Lando.

And just behind them, regal as ever, are her parents—elegant, composed, but unmistakably proud. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Her father’s clapping like a man possessed.

Lottie doesn’t have time to react. Because the bell rings, and the round begins. She breathes, just once, and lets instinct take over.

But for Lando, everything slows down.

The moment she takes the first jump, the world tilts. It’s like watching a memory unfold in real time—except it’s happening right now, and it’s everything.

He sees her laughing in the hotel corridor, towel around her neck, cheeks flushed from a workout. He sees her pressed against him in the rain after a paparazzi ambush, their hands linked tight. He remembers the smell of her shampoo, the scratch of her voice when she’s tired, the way she whispers his name like it’s a secret only they share.

He thinks about mornings in her kitchen, the stupid key he never gave back, the hoodie she stole and never returned. He thinks about how she cheers louder than anyone when he races, how she knows exactly when to squeeze his hand before a big day, how she never pretends to be anything she’s not.

And in that moment, Lando realizes he’s completely, utterly gone for her.

He is so, so in love that it's ridiculous. It’s not even a feeling anymore—it’s just a fact, steady and true, like gravity.

And when she clears the final jump, when the scoreboard flashes GOLD FOR GREAT BRITAIN, it snaps him back to reality.

He’s already moving. Vaulting the barrier without a second thought, weaving through the chaos. He barely hears the cheers, the announcers, the pounding in his own chest.

Lottie reins her horse, Vermento, to a slow trot, trying to breathe, trying to believe what just happened.

And then she sees him.

Lando, running toward the arena. The horse sees him too—ears flicking forward, recognizing him in an instant. To everyone’s amazement, the horse trots toward him, calm and curious. Lando lifts a hand instinctively, and without hesitation, reaches for the reins as if he's done it a hundred times.

He steadies the horse, eyes never leaving Lottie. She’s still catching her breath, still wide-eyed with adrenaline and disbelief. He lifts one hand, silently offering to help her down.

She doesn’t speak—doesn’t need to. She takes his hand, and he helps her dismount, his other hand still gently on the reins.

It’s a stupid little gesture. A small, quiet thing. But it says everything.

“You absolute maniac,” she breathes, barely standing still, laughing as she lands on solid ground. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes are bright, full of something bigger than pride. “You really thought I’d miss this?”

“You didn’t even tell me,” she says, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Wanted to surprise you. And, you know,”—he gestures toward the ridiculous crowd of friends behind him—“make a scene.”

“You definitely did that.”

Lando grins, but then his expression softens.

He leans in, voice low and steady. "You know, I used to think winning was the best feeling in the world."

Lottie raises an eyebrow, breath still catching.

"But then you started showing up. And suddenly... the best part was who I got to share it with." He pauses, smile tugging at his lips. "Even if you do keep stealing my hoodies."

She looks at him, really looks at him—at the mess of curls under the stupid hat, the stupid sunglasses pushed onto his forehead, the softness in his eyes.

“I know,” she whispers.

“I mean it, Lottie. I’m in this. For real. I want—God, I want all of it. The chaos and the quiet and the early mornings in your kitchen and even the horses that kind of scare me.”

Her laugh breaks on a sob.

“I want you,” he says simply.

And this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

She kisses him, right there in front of everyone—in front of the cameras, the crowd, her parents, the entire world.

It’s messy and joyful and a little breathless. And it feels, finally, like the start of something real.

Their friends erupt into cheers. Someone sets off a confetti cannon. Lottie’s dad starts filming, and her mum is openly weeping.

But all she can feel is Lando’s arms around her, grounding her, anchoring her to this exact moment.

Home, she thinks.

He feels like home.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

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[aperrywilliams]

1000 Times (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader) - Part III

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Author Masterlist

Part I (May 7th)

Part II (May 14th)

Part III (May 21st)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your mom is getting married, and you have to come back to your hometown for the wedding. There is a little problem, though: you told her months ago you have a boyfriend, and now she wants to meet him at the wedding. Your best friend, Spencer - who happens to be the guy you are in love with, too - offers to help you with that. If you say yes, will things work out like they are supposed to?

Word Count - Part III: 8.1k

Warnings: Fluff/Angst/Smut/Angst/Fluff (I think that order is correct). Minors DNI. The smut is not detailed and mostly implied. Reader and Spencer are Idiots in love. The Reader's dad died. The Reader has poor and unhealthy family relationships, especially with her mom. Cheating is mentioned (in a past Reader's relationship). There are discussions about child trauma. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Part III is here. It's the end.

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-

'And I would die to make you mine Bleed me dry almost every time But I don't mind, no, I don't mind it I would come back a thousand times.'

-

A deadly and stupid mistake.

You can't say if the wrong move was to stop things before they got further or to allow them to go this far in the first place. Either way, the outcome makes you sick to your stomach. Spencer is mad at you, or even worse, disappointed. You said some hurtful things, and you can't take them back.

Would it be better just to say the truth? No. That would leave you too exposed and vulnerable. You hope he'll understand eventually. Eventually, if not, you'll be dammed.

Although the turmoil in your brain doesn't subside, you can't stop thinking about his lips on yours, the way his body pressed against yours, and the tingling sensation running through your body. Would it have been easier just to let things go further?

The lust is partially dissipating, and now you are left with your thoughts, tossing and turning in a bed that could have been not so lonely tonight.

Now, you beat yourself up for a lack of bravery. You should have said the truth: You love Spencer, in body and soul, and pretending not to is killing you more than any snark remark your mom could have made.

Cool head. That's what you need—a cool head. It would be tomorrow's problem, though. Now you let your tears run freely—frustration, sadness, hopelessness.

What a great idea it was to let Spencer come with you this weekend.

At some point, you stop feeling the tears. At some point, the dread of the day makes you succumb to slumber.

In the room next to you, Spencer is cursing himself for getting carried away. It was out of line, considering there is no way you reciprocate the intensity of his love for you. There is no reciprocation at all. That's his conclusion after hearing you say you would appreciate his friendship more than a 'mindless hookup.' Even if you didn't use those exact words, the idea remains the same. Spencer is left with the dilemma of pressing about the matter, risking the chance of you acting in self-defense, and building a higher wall between you both. Or stepping back, assuring it was a mistake and trying to pretend it never happened, so that things can remain 'normal' between you. It pains him, already knowing the last option is the safest, but it is a clear step back to where he thought you were standing.

Why is this so complicated? Spencer is sure Morgan would have a simple solution to offer, but simple isn't safer right now. Spencer decides to play safer. With that determination, he lies on the bed, fighting for his brain to shut up and reconcile with sleep.

After a solid hour of tossing and turning, sleep finally catches him.

-

The morning finds you in a light sleep. As the sun's rays start to filter through the curtains, you are already awake. With no intention of trying to catch any more sleep, you grab a book from your desk and plop on your sofa: Wuthering Heights, the same Spencer was reading yesterday.

'He shall never know I love him, and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same,' reads one of the pages, and you can't stop thinking of the irony. You have never believed in soul mates or things of that sort, but when you met Spencer, this quote started to make sense in more ways than one.

A knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. It's still early, so your mom or anyone else in your family is discarded as an option. You have one left, though, and you don't know if you're ready to face him yet.

"Come in," you call anyway, and Spencer's figure peaks from the door.

"Hey," he mumbles, not so sure how you would take his presence.

"Hey," you try to muster a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

It's pretty obvious for both of you that neither of you got enough sleep or any sleep at all. Spencer's dark bags under his eyes are his best tell. The redness in your eyes is enough for Spencer to know you possibly spent hours crying. And he hates it.

He made you cry, and now wonders how he'll fix it.

"Can we talk?" The question goes out tentatively. Spencer knows he was the one who walked away last night, so it would be reasonable for you not to want to talk to him at all.

Meanwhile, your brain goes into overdrive. Is this the moment when Spencer tells you everything has been a mistake, and he won't keep supporting the lie to your family anymore, getting a flight back to DC?

"Yeah. Come in," you prompt, and Spencer obliges, still in the clothes he wore yesterday. Last night, in a rush to leave the room, he didn't grab something to change into, hence the rumpled look he is sporting now.

Closing the door behind him, he keeps standing there. And although he had rehearsed all night what he wanted to tell you, now he can't find the right words. You beat him first.

"Spencer, I'm sorry. About what I said, I didn't mean to offend you; my intention was never to play with your feelings. I overstep-"

"No. Don't say that. The one who needs to apologize is me," Spencer cuts you off. "I got carried away, and you were right. Our friendship is the best thing that has happened to me. I don't want to jeopardize it for - well, a kiss in the heat of the moment."

Pal, you want to say it was more than a kiss, but maybe it was only that for him.

You don't know if his reaction is better than you thought it could be or not. Spencer doesn't want to lose your friendship, but that means there is no chance to be more than that in the future. Something you secretly hoped. But after last night, you buried any chance of it. And maybe for the better.

Is it the outcome you need right now? Possibly. Is that what you want? Definitely no. But he's right, the bond you have can't deserve to be threatened by complicated feelings.

"I said awful things. I feel terrible." You can't stop voicing your thoughts. All night, you went over and over about what you said - and what you didn't - and at least you need him to know you are sorry.

Spencer purses his lips. "I did that too. You were vulnerable, and I didn't respect it."

There is the Spencer you know: thoughtful, caring, but remorseful. You need to pass this, for the good of both of you.

"Can we redo, then? I mean, we can stop the charade I put you in with my family, tell them the truth." You offer—Spencer's eyebrows furrow.

"No. It's okay. We don't have to say anything. It's just one more day." Spencer tries to sound like it isn't a big deal. At least, he knows where you stand with him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You won't. I'm sure."

You nod in acceptance. "We good, then?"

"We are good," Spencer confirms, a timid smile on his face. Then his eyes go to the book on your lap.

"Did you know everyone becomes ghosts at the end?"

He uses the same thing you said to him yesterday, and you can't help but laugh at his remark. Spencer's chest grows in pride, knowing he can make you laugh despite the 'patch' from last night. It's a good sign.

-

Breakfast is rarely quiet today, though. It's only your mom, Dylan, Spencer, and you. Ralph and Lincoln, with their respective families, decided to go to town to get breakfast and do the last shopping before the event.

You and Spencer act no different from yesterday. There is small talk, focusing on the wedding ahead, and questions to your mom and Dylan, but there is a lingering tension between you both. You think it would be fading with the passing of hours, but even if your mom doesn't mention it, which is rare itself, she does notice.

"So, I guess you've got to meet with some of the family, didn't you, Spencer?" Dylan asks.

"Yes. I did. Uh, there were a lot of people last night. I assume today will be more?" Dylan scoffs.

"Lot more. Ann wanted a big party, so we'll get a big party."

There is no snarky remark from you or a roll of your eyes. It's like you aren't even listening to what the men were saying.

That quietness in you spoke volumes. But you don't think anyone notices. Wrong. They did.

"Speaking about the big party," your mom says, looking at you. "I'll allow you not to give a speech, but you won't get away without helping me dress and do makeup, so you should say goodbye to your boyfriend until the ceremony."

In other circumstances, you would be protesting for such a boring task at hand, but maybe it's safer to stay away from Spencer for a couple of hours. So you only shrug and look at Spencer apologetically.

"Don't worry, I'll keep him busy," Dylan says, patting Spencer's shoulder.

Ann and Dylan were right. They have both been keeping you and Spencer apart and busy with menial tasks. But that does not prevent your mind from flying to places you don't want to be right now.

Seeing your mom in a wedding dress is quite odd. For several reasons, actually. When she married Alan, almost two years after your dad died, you barely remember anything. You were hidden most of the time, and just showed up at the ceremony because Ralph convinced you somehow. You were angry, lost, and didn't understand much of anything.

Right now, things look different. There is no longer the same anger as there was before. It's still not a particularly happy moment for you, but somehow things are not terrible anymore. It's not about you. Maybe it never was.

But a second thought slips through: Will you get something like this someday? It is not the sparkle, not the fancy party, but the chance to promise someone love in that way.

"When you marry Spencer, you could do the ceremony here," your mom suddenly says as you fix her makeup. You can't help the scoff leaving your lips.

"What? I know you don't like fancy parties, but a little something in one of the gardens could work for you."

"Mom, no one says I'll marry Spencer," you correct her. It's mostly for the idea of your mom trying to get you married every chance she has. But deep down, there is a hurt tone, one that could be related to the real thing of your relationship with Spencer—something you won't discuss with your mother, of course.

"Are you saying he's not the one?"

"I'm saying not all good relationships have to end in a marriage; that's all."

Ann hums in contemplation.

"Let's say you're right. Not that I agree with it, you know, I'm about to say yes for a third time. But, anyway. I'm not necessarily talking about the 'formal way of commitment,' because let's be honest, I'm past that with you."

You snort. "Oh, mother, thank you very much."

"But you love him."

It seems she won't drop the subject. Any other day, you would snarl and make a sharp remark to end the conversation, but today it is different. Between the grace you're giving your mom for her wedding and the lump in your throat every time Spencer enters your thoughts, you don't see the harm in indulging your mom in some crumbs of your sentimental life.

"I do. I do love Spencer very much."

It's not a big declaration, nor adorned with poetic words, but the way you say it tells your mom everything she needs to know. Ann's face fills with something you can't say what it is. Satisfaction? Pride?

"What?" You ask, confused.

"He's a good man. And he really loves you."

Can she possibly know that? Considering the whole weekend has been staged by you and Spencer. Your curiosity piques at her security, and you can't stop your mouth.

"How can you be sure about that? You have only seen him for two days, a couple of hours to be exact."

"Believe it or not, it's enough for me. I'm not going to go into details, but that man is mad about you. And I know it, not because of the things he has said, which have been quite a lot - the man likes to talk, and Dylan loves him already for it." You chuckle at the comment. It's just like Spencer is.

"I know it for the things he didn't say."

Your eyebrow rises. "The things he didn't say?"

"He was willing to join you on this trip. And I'm sure he knows why you didn't put a foot here in ten years. You trust him, and he looks at you as if you were hanging the moon. Every time you enter a room, his eyes light up like a lost puppy who just found its way home."

'Because he's a great friend,' you want to say, but refrain. It'll lead to questions you don't want to answer now. You shake your head. "Only you can compare my boyfriend with a lost puppy," you complain. Your mom gigles, knowing you're deflecting, but not wanting to push this time.

"I think it fits," she says.

A knock on the door ends the conversation. It's Andrew.

"Madam, everything is settled. All the guests are here, the judge too, and Sir Dylan is at the altar already," he informs.

"Thank you, Andrew. Please, tell Lincoln and Ralph to wait at the end of the stairs."

"Of course." Andrew leaves the room, and you look at your mom.

"Nervous?" You ask. Ann chuckles.

"I know it will sound weird, but even if it's the third time, I'm pretty nervous."

"It will be great. You thought of every detail. Nothing will fail, I'm sure." Your reassuring words seem to have a good effect on her.

"I'm pleasantly surprised by your confidence in my organizational skills, but that doesn't stop me from feeling nervous," your mom counters.

"Come on, let's get this done quickly so you can have your first glass of champagne and relax," you joke to lighten the mood. It works.

"You sure do know your mother after all!"

-

Spencer is by the end of the aisle, side by side with Dylan. Lincoln is walking down with your mom, arm in arm. You go next with Ralph. Your mom requested that only her kids walk with her down the aisle. That left Dylan waiting with Spencer at the altar.

You and Spencer haven't seen each other since breakfast, and the moment you see each other, it's like the air has left your lungs. You look stunning, glowing. If Spencer thought you were marvelous yesterday, today that definition is clearly short of reality. Is the love he has for you speaking? Probably. But nobody can deny that you're the most beautiful woman in the venue right now.

Just for a second, Spencer indulges himself in the fantasy. What if it's you walking down the aisle to him at your wedding?

Is he really thinking about that kind of scenario? Yes, he is. For Spencer, there is no one with whom he would want to do something like this in his life but you.

It's just a dream, though. But it doesn't mean Spencer has to stop looking at you like you're the world to him. And he doesn't. And you hold your gaze on him the whole walk to the altar. Are you thinking the same? No, Spencer doesn't think so.

As Lincoln shakes Dylan's hand, the bubble pops. Spencer steps back and follows you to his seat beside you. He avoids looking at you now, and you do the same. Both focused on the couple about to get married.

The ceremony is kind of a blur to you—words about love, commitment, and new beginnings. Vows are exchanged, sealing the deal with a kiss. Your mom looks happy, and you're so glad for her. It's been a long road for you to come to terms with the fact that adult life is complicated and everyone has the right to be happy the way they want. Even you. Whatever that means.

Once it's over, you walk arm in arm with Spencer, feeling the glances of the people around.

No way. You're not the married couple, and nobody is paying attention to you.

Before people gather to congratulate the newlyweds, you approach your mom and hug her.

"Congratulations, Mom."

"Thank you, darling. And thank you for being here."

It is short, but enough. You retreat and find Spencer waiting some steps behind. A smile forms on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks quietly as you both move away from the crowd. You interlace your fingers with him.

"Yeah. I'm okay. We still have the party," you joke. Spencer chuckles, following you to where the celebration will be hosted in a couple of minutes.

As the cheering for the newlyweds subsides, laughter and warm chatter ripple through the elegantly decorated place, the clinking of glasses punctuating the festive atmosphere. Guests gather around the head table, offering well wishes to Ann and Dylan, who beam with joy amidst a sea of smiles. Soon, the gentle chime of a glass draws everyone's attention, signaling the start of the evening's formalities. Lincoln stands, a smile on his lips, and raises his glass high, inviting all to join him in the first toast—an earnest tribute to love, laughter, and the promising future ahead. As the final words of his speech echo through the room, the band softly begins to play the opening notes of a romantic melody. All eyes turn to the couple as they make their way to the center of the dance floor, taking each other's hands for their first dance together as husband and wife.

They are soon followed by the rest of the family and their partners. Spencer clears his throat and leans toward your side.

"Shall we?"

Of course. It's expected. And even if you have danced with Spencer in countless Rossi dinners, this feels quite different. You take his hand and let him drag you to the dance floor. Ralph and Lincoln are already dancing with their respective wives.

Awkwardly, Spencer puts one hand on your hip as the other reaches out to yours and starts swaying at the sound of the music. Your free hand rests on his chest, right above his heart. You can't tell if it's really beating faster or if it's the music that masks its true rhythm. Before you can think much of it, Dylan is taking your hand to dance with you, as Rose does with Spencer, while your mom dances with Lincoln.

The dynamic goes like that for the rest of the song. At the end, you have danced with your stepfather and both of your brothers.

The camera's flashes, which had faded for a while after the first dance started, now return to life when the newlyweds go to the table and grab the mic to thank everyone before starting the dinner.

If there's one thing you should give your mom credit for, it's her flawless ability to organize events: perfect food, good and plentiful drinks, music, and fun for all her guests. After dinner, the party began. You and Spencer were seated at the head table, along with your brothers, sisters-in-law, and the newlyweds. People are now on the dance floor, while Spencer and you watch everyone have fun, doing your own analysis about the party.

His voice is low but edged with laughter. "Did you see the look I got when I almost used the wrong fork?" he whispers, eyes wide with mock horror. You grin, swirling your glass of wine.

"Please, I'm still haunted by the napkin origami. I felt like I was defusing a bomb."

You stifled the giggles, pushing to get through, glancing around at the impeccably poised guests starting to get loose with the alcohol.

"Honestly," Spencer says, "I keep expecting someone to lecture me for breathing too loudly." You shook your head, your smile softening. "If I have to attend to something like this again, I swear I'll never get married and just elope and go to a pizza place to eat."

Spencer's snort mingles with the orchestra's music.

Sipping his drink, Spencer keeps observing his surroundings. For him, this is more of a social experiment than a wedding. You're grateful for his scientific approach, which makes everything less boring.

You chuckle, swirling your glass with the remains of wine. "You know, I warned you my family would be a lot."

Spencer grins, glancing at your brother Lincoln, visibly drunk, hugging Dylan.

"A lot? I thought you meant chatty, not a full-on Hallmark movie performance. Is Lincoln always this dramatic, or is it just for weddings?"

You roll your eyes with a smile. "Trust me, this is him toned down. Wait until the cake." Spencer raises an eyebrow. "Should I prepare myself for interpretive cake-cutting or stuff like that?"

You nudge him playfully. "If you survive Mom's speech, you'll deserve a medal." Spencer chuckles. "With this much entertainment, I'm glad I'm wearing comfortable shoes."

The party keeps going, and you have to admit you're having a good time. The tension you felt in the morning with Spencer isn't there now, and you're having such a good time, you feel like getting up from your chair and going dancing.

"I guess it's time to get some dance done, Doctor Reid, don't you think?" you say to Spencer, nudging him with your elbow. He raises an eyebrow.

"Feeling festive already?" he asks, playfully.

You only shrug. "Blame the wine." Spencer chuckles.

"Of course. Always the wine, right?" You huff a mock-annoyed laugh.

"Don't get preaching on me, come on."

Laughing, Spencer takes your hand and follows you to the dance floor. The music is upbeat, and you take the opportunity to put on a little show by showing off some improvised dance moves. You know it will make Spencer laugh and relax him.

"If your idea was to go unnoticed, you're not succeeding," Spencer teases you.

Still dancing, you take his other hand and try to get him to repeat your steps. "Come on, it's easy. Let those long bones loosen up a little."

"I doubt the problem is only my long bones," he complains.

"That's called lack of practice. I've seen your progress at Rossi's dinners, and you were improving quite a bit."

"It's a shame we don't have those dinners so often anymore, right?" Spencer says, trying to spin you in place with one hand above your head.

And so, the upbeat music continues, and although neither of you is making a real effort actually to dance, you're enjoying it. Spencer loves seeing you relaxed, happy, and laughing, even if it means making a fool of himself in front of all these people. Good luck, he thinks, because he'll probably never have to see them again.

But as the gentle sound of a slow melody starts to drift through the air, your steps slow. You don't have a plan for a change like this. And suddenly your mind goes to the waltz at the beginning. It's not a friendly fooling around with your best friend and your currently fake boyfriend anymore.

You have the option of subtly inviting him back to the table or going for a drink. But wouldn't it be obvious that you're trying to avoid the situation? For his part, Spencer watches your every movement and expression. Is it a good idea to just stand there and do nothing?

Before any of you can say anything or step back, Spencer's hand slides to your waist, a sign that he's settling into the position of a slow dance.

The decision is made.

And that's when the world around seems to fade away.

You place your hand on his chest, moving slowly to the beat of the music. Spencer can't help but inhale your scent, that perfect blend that makes you you. Afraid of what would happen if you look at him, you close your eyes, now resting your head in his chest.

'Make me wait forever Push me away, tell me never But I don't mind, no, I don't mind it I would come back a thousand times.'

Spencer feels your warmth, his hand trembling slightly where it rests at your waist, and he wonders if you can sense the hectic thrum of his heart.

You're caught off guard by how perfectly you fit together, you both drawn closer by invisible threads of longing and something more: love.

Neither dares to speak for most of the song, frightened to shatter the delicate spell, but your eyes can't help but meet—searching, lingering, confessing what your lips cannot. In that shared silence, every unspoken word and hidden feeling swirls between you, making the moment more intimate than either could have imagined, and both silently wonder if, just maybe, the other feels it too.

In a bold move, your arms go up to lace around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape. Spencer barely blinks. His breathing quickens, and the only two options on his mind are: kiss you or tell you he loves you. Why not both? He's not sure if there's enough time and if one option might bury the other.

But before he can make a decision, you stand on your tiptoes and kiss him first. Spencer's heart stops for a second, then beats faster as he doesn't hesitate to kiss you back.

But before the kiss can deepen, you end it yourself, looking at Spencer with horrified eyes at what you just did. Spencer's confused look only makes your stomach churn at your mistake. It was you who didn't want to take things to the next level last night, you who put friendship above a lie. But what's the real lie now?

You want to run away, but you remember people are surrounding you. You slowly put distance between you and Spencer, murmuring a quiet 'sorry' before leaving the dance floor and, as subtly as possible, heading outside.

Spencer stands there watching as you reject him for the second time, even though you were the one who gave in first this time. Should he run after you? What could he possibly say? Looking around and seeing that no one has perhaps noticed what happened, Spencer decides to give you space and hope things haven't gotten any worse than they already were.

-

The fresh air contrasts with the warm in your body. You swear your cheeks are still red out of embarrassment, and the speed of your heartbeat still doesn't go down.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What did you do?

Are you unable to control yourself? For the second time in less than two days, your actions gave in to the pressure of your feelings, without even explaining. What will you tell Spencer now? What explanation will you try to use to convince him—and yourself—that it doesn't mean anything? What a tremendous lie. You never thought that, in an attempt to protect yourself, you'd have to lie to the person you love the most.

"I know it's concrete, but if you keep pacing like that, sure it will be a ditch at the end of the night."

You haven't noticed you were frantically pacing until Dylan says it. You look at him with confusion and a bit of desperation.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you."

"No. It's okay. I - uh. I just needed some air," you lie. "What are you doing here anyway? Mom didn't seem very keen on stop dancing with you a while ago."

That's it (Y/N), the old technique of diverting the conversation. Dylan laughs.

"You're right. But Ann understands neither of us is in our twenties. And fresh air is my call right now. Hers is social chatting."

You chuckle. Of course. That's your mom.

"Until she misses you by her side," you add.

"Clearly. I guess you can say the same about Spencer."

Shit.

"What?"

"He seems very lost there inside. Actually, he looks very lost every time he's not with you."

In another context, you would feel flattered, but after what you did, the statement sits uncomfortably in your heart.

"Oh. I just -" You are about to explain yourself why you left your poor boyfriend at his luck inside the venue, but Dylan doesn't let you.

"Whatever it is, you don't have to explain to me. It is your life, (Y/N). But we're both sure we're not only talking about why Spencer is inside, and you're here."

It's hard not to think Dylan looks a natural in the profiling field.

You shake your head. "I have messed up so many times in my life, Dylan. I bet my mother has told you about it," you say, a self-mocking tone in your voice. "And, you know? None of those times have hit me the way it is hitting me now."

Great, now you're discussing your love life with your stepfather.

Dylan hums. "Well, good thing you can fix this one."

You chuckle. "How can you be so sure about that?"

"Call it old-man guts. Or something like that, if it exists. You know? The first time I fell in love I was so damn confused. She was my friend. We spent all the time together. It was like we acted as a married couple without being one."

"Did you tell her?"

"Of course not! I was a young, inexperienced boy. Scared that if I opened my mouth, I would ruin everything. Men tend to do that. We don't usually act unless it's the last resort."

"What happened?"

"She left town. I never saw her again. I was so used to having her near that it didn't matter to me to love her from afar. But then she was gone."

Your eyes soften. An older man is there confessing about his first heartbreak. He didn't get the chance to come clean.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Life has mysterious ways. I paid for my cowardly because I didn't want to be rejected. Who knows? Maybe she wouldn't have rejected me."

You are afraid to ask why he's telling you all this, but deep down, you already know.

"I know the autopreservation mode is strong, and I don't criticize it. Everyone has their reasons, but time closes the opportunities. In my humble opinion, your young hearts have so much to live together. It would be sad seeing that chance fade away."

With a comforting smile, Dylan says nothing more and leaves you there, alone with your thoughts again.

-

As time passes, and you don't come back inside, Spencer goes to the bar to ask for a drink. He doesn't really know what to do with himself. Some people he has been presented with earlier wave at him as they pass by his side. Spencer only returns a polite smile.

He asks for his drink from the bartender, but he fails to notice Kim there, who is obviously by his side in no time.

"What a miracle that my cousin left you to take a break for a while."

Spencer resists his urges to roll his eyes. Why does she have to refer to you that way?

"I just came for a drink," he says flatly.

"And I'm sure you need it. (Y/N)'s tantrum over there could upset anyone."

Fuck. Kim saw what happened. Spencer isn't thrilled about it, but it's not her business anyway.

"We are good."

"You could be better."

Spencer doesn't know how much patience he can maintain right now. Where are you? Why did you leave him reeling the way you did? Why can't you accept that he can love you?

Your mom catches Spencer at the bar, cornered by Kim. He looks uncomfortable with the attention he's receiving from her, but is polite enough not to stop her shameless flirtation. Shaking her head, Ann approaches them.

"Kim, darling. I hope you are enjoying the party," your mom says as she reaches the bar. Kim turns to her, smiling.

"Ann, of course, it's the best party I have been to in a long time. I just was telling Spencer that."

Your mom can tell, by looking at Spencer, that Kim's words are not quite true.

"I'm glad. I hope you don't mind if I steal Spencer from you for a while, do you?" Ann doesn't ask, and Kim knows.

"Oh, no, no. Please. Don't worry about me."

No sparing Kim another glance, her focus is on Spencer. "Are you up for a little walk?"

Confused and intrigued by your mom's sudden interest in him, Spencer nods.

"Sure."

Neither of them says anything as they walk slowly outside the house, a little further away from the party's hustle and bustle. Spencer isn't sure if Ann really has something to say or if she was just trying to get him away from Kim.

Your mom stops walking just as they reach a small terrace with an excellent view of the property's gardens.

"You know? The idea to buy this house came from Arthur, (Y/N)'s dad, right when I told him I was pregnant with her. We used to live in the city, in a sort of penthouse, with Lincoln and Ralph still toddlers. Arthur convinced me to have a huge place, with large gardens, so our children would have all the space and beauty available to explore. It's funny when I think about it, because while I never liked the idea, now I couldn't leave this house even if they forced me."

"It's a lovely place," Spencer muses. He still can't make up Ann's point, but he thinks maybe she is just a little nostalgic.

"It is. It was (Y/N)'s safe space for a long time. You could always see her walking through the gardens, a book in her hand. Summer or winter, but spring was definitely her favorite season."

Ann's tone as she talks about you reveals some fondness, something Spencer isn't familiar with from the little interaction he has had with her during the weekend and from all he knows about you.

"Yeah, she loves spring."

"And she loved this house. I know things got complicated after Arthur passed away, but I never thought I would lose a daughter."

That feels uncomfortably pained and private. Spencer should at least say something or just listen?

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't get where this is going," Spencer says frankly.

"It took her ten years to put a foot here again, and at some point I thought she won't come."

How can Spencer explain to your mom the inner struggle you had before making the decision?

"I know you think I'm a superficial woman who doesn't care about anything but herself. Naive, shallow."

Spencer thinks he should say something polite to refute that, but doesn't get the chance.

"It's true to some extent. I'm not going to deny it, so you don't have to lie to me telling me otherwise. See? I'm talking about myself again," she chuckles. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about one thing, actually."

Spencer's eyebrows furrow. "Okay?"

"You might think I don't know my daughter, that I lost that privilege the moment she left. But it isn't like that. I know her, and yes, she's way different from her brothers. You know? She's more like her dad. Temperamental and stubborn, but with the biggest heart someone could have. Sometimes I get kind of jealous of how she had the strength to pursue what was against what people, including me, expected. But that trait of her personality has carried consequences that I'm sure you're familiar with."

"I don't think I follow, ma'am." Ann chuckles.

"She is self-sufficient, a problem solver, a good friend to her friends, but never letting her scars be seen, never letting herself be truly loved, afraid of being hurt."

Spencer can't disagree with that.

"I'm surprised she trusts you that much. Sure, you are special to her, although she has never told you she loves you, did she?"

Spencer's eyes widen. Ann's words fall like a cold water bucket on him. Should he deny that statement, right? In an important relationship, it is expected to say 'I love you,' but his and yours is not that kind of relationship. He wishes it would be, though.

"I love her." It's not what Ann asked, but it's Spencer's truth. Your mom nods.

"I know you do. And I know my daughter does love you, too. And before you say anything else, I know your boyfriend-girlfriend thing doesn't exist. But don't worry, nobody else but Dylan and I know."

Spencer's face burns at your mom's scrutinizing gaze.

"You knew? How?"

"Oh, kid. The glances, the little touches. For a pair in a relationship running for months? It doesn't fit. But again, it doesn't mean you don't love each other. I have been watching you both, and I know that look on her face. It's the same look her dad had when we married."

Spencer would give anything for your mom's words to be true, but he isn't naive. You have rejected him twice.

"I think you have read it wrong. Your daughter wants me only as a friend," Spencer says, in a pained tone.

Ann hums. "I'm sure she does. But there is more, and she won't say anything. You know why."

Does he? Spencer, the scientist he is, has a strong hypothesis, but his insecurities have been sabotaging the conclusion.

"She doesn't want to get hurt," he mumbles quietly.

Ann nods in agreement.

"I love my daughter, Spencer, but even if I could say something to her, she wouldn't listen or believe me. I'm not her best love relationships reference."

"So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm sure she's worth the effort of you telling her the truth and stopping playing the guessing game. What are you feeling? She is feeling it too. Take the risk for her. Don't waste any time."

Spencer ponders your mom's words. She's right, and he knows that your reluctance comes from a place of self-protection. He'd only thought that after all these years, he'd been able to break through that wall.

"She's already rejected me," he tells your mom. Ann frowns contemplatively.

"Have you been honest with her? Have you told her the real reason why you're still orbiting around her? Actions can indeed speak louder than words, but 'assuming' isn't something a person who's been through a lot can afford to do."

Spencer can't afford to wait for you to come to him. You're confused, and he hasn't been clear enough with you, at least not sufficient to allay any fears you may have.

Those three words have to come out of his mouth, and you have to listen to them. Enough of pretending everything will fall into place 'eventually.'

"Thanks so much for this chat, Ann, but if you'll excuse me, I have to be somewhere else right now," Spencer apologizes. Ann smiles.

"I think it's the most sensible thing you can do," Ann agrees. Spencer nods. Before he can go far, your mom calls his name.

"And Spencer?" He turns to her.

"Yes?"

"If you hurt my tough girl, I'll kill you. She's suffered enough."

The threat is unnecessary, but it speaks volumes about how important it is to your mom to set the record straight for your sake.

"I would never hurt her. Never."

"You know what you have to do, then. But please, can we keep this conversation private for now? I don't want her to feel I'm softening with years." Spencer chuckles, nodding.

"Of course."

-

It doesn't take long for Spencer to find you. After your conversation with Dylan, you didn't dare return to the party and retreated to the gardens, especially the bench under your favorite tree. The same spot where Spencer had kissed you the night before, taking your breath away.

"Hey," Spencer's voice makes you look up.

"Hey," you say back. Taking in him, you see his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, posture with a sort of hesitation.

"You didn't come back."

It's an accurate statement, but beyond it, you know there is a question he doesn't want to ask and you don't want to answer.

How can you say you were doing it on purpose after the intimate moment you both shared in that dance? After you kissed him? How can you say you don't know what to do with your feelings right now?

"Yeah. I guess I still need some fresh air."

Spencer can say you're lying; the way your hands run down the fabric of your dress gives you away.

"Me too," he says, taking his hands out of his pockets and nervously playing with his fingers. "Can I sit down?"

"Sure," you say, shrugging and avoiding his gaze. Why is it so hard? You feel the words stuck in your throat, but there's no way to get them out.

"You know we need to talk, right? Really talk," Spencer says, and you dare to look him in the eyes before nodding.

"I know. But I don't know where to start," you confess.

"I do know," Spencer states, his voice soft so as not to scare you.

"Yeah? Where, then?"

"Let's start with the time we first met. When you joined the team and on your first day, you practically tackled me because I scared you when I talked to you, and your back was to me."

You laughed. "That wasn't like that!"

"Hey, I have an eidetic memory here," Spencer defends himself. "Well, after that embarrassing moment for both of us, I never thought I would find in you the person I would come to call my best friend over time."

"Me neither," you agree, a longing in your voice.

"These have been years of difficult times and beautiful moments. Working together, being part of our BAU family." Spencer chuckles. "For a long time, I believed my life was complete with that. I didn't feel alone; I really felt like I could be someone's support, have their affection, and give my undivided attention to that special person in my life: You."

"Spencer-"

"And I still believe that. I still think you're that special person, my best friend. But I realized it's not enough for me anymore. And the thought terrifies me because I feel ungrateful for wanting more than I deserve. I mean, our friendship has been perfect from the start, why risk it? And I understand when you say our friendship is what you treasure most. But isn't there more? I've felt that way, and with guilt. The guilt of not being able to be honest with you and tell you I can't stop thinking about you for even a second. To tell you that no matter how hard I try, I can't settle for just being your friend, because I love you, because I'm in love with you, in body and soul."

Your eyes widen. Spencer just told you he loves you. And you can't help but believe him, even though your brain is tricking you into thinking this isn't real and that the bubble will eventually burst.

You feel the tears welling up and pushing to come out, but you don't want to let them go. Not when you haven't even been able to utter a single word this whole time.

"And I understand that you're scared, and that letting your defenses down hasn't brought you good experiences. I know, because you told me so yourself, and I, the idiot, haven't been able to show you that I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. I just need a chance to show you that you deserve to be loved most completely and timelessly, until the end of time, beyond this universe. And I want to be that person who proves it to you."

Spencer is practically breathless after such a declaration, but he feels exhilarated, relieved, and hopeful.

You take his trembling hands in yours, caressing each knuckle like the most precious thing in the universe.

"You're right when you say I'm scared. I've lived afraid of my own feelings for years, and that's why I hide them. I'd rather deal with serial killers than face my fears. And these last two days have been a lot of that. That's why I've hesitated, why I've acted erratically, pushing you away."

You release one of his hands to gently caress his cheek, and he leans into your touch.

"I don't doubt for a second that I love you. Because I do, I've loved you for so long I can hardly say when it started. But this playing pretend, and believing that maybe it was all a lie, has been too much for me. It would be my downfall to realize because of me, on a childish whim, I ruined the best thing I've had in my life in years: you."

Tears start to roll down your cheeks—the emotion of finally voicing your feelings.

"You could never ruin anything. I promise you," Spencer's voice cracks at the end, softly wiping your tears with his thumb. As he does that, he recites: 'I've never told my love vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears.'

You smile, recognizing immediately the quote.

"I love you, Spencer. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. And I'm so sorry for pushing you away." Spencer's arms envelope you, his hand on your head, which rests on his chest.

Mumbling, you recite back: 'My affection for him is like the rocks at the bottom of the earth, which remain eternally the same, never changing. It's an affection I can't do without.'

Spencer chuckles, thinking how accurate those words are.

Some treacherous sobs escape from your lips—sobs of contained emotion and relief.

"It's okay. I understand. I just needed to know if you feel the same, and that I'm not crazy for feeling the way I do."

You part from his embrace to look at his eyes.

"Well, a bit crazy if you're really in love with me," you say with a tiny smile gracing your lips.

Spencer snorts, kissing your forehead and leaning back to meet your gaze again.

"Can we make it real this time? I mean, the boyfriend and girlfriend thing?"

Your cheeks heat, for God knows why. The man already confessed his love, and you did, too, but the idea of calling him boyfriend still makes you giddy.

"There is nothing I'd love more."

Grinning, Spencer leans slowly to catch your lips with his. This time, the kiss is soft and sweet. There is no rush. There is no 'buts' hunting your minds, no doubts about how real this is. This kiss is as real as you dreamed it to be. And you can't be happier about accepting Spencer's offer to come with you to your mom's wedding.

Little do you know that from a balcony, Ann and Dylan are looking at you both, and toasting to the best outcome in their wedding: you and Spencer really together.

-

'Make me wait forever Push me away, tell me never But I don't mind, no, I don't mind it I would come back a thousand times.'

-

[drdemonprince]

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

[saeun]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

[idkshithead]

having a bad day .ೃ࿐

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

╰┈➤ ❝ seong gi-hun x fem!reader ❞

ʚɞ ๋࣭⭑ — tws: age gap (reader is 25, gi-hun is 47) mention of murder, mention of self-harm, pts.

ೀ ⋆.˚ — genre: fluff!

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ — summary: you've had a really shitty day so when u get home from university your bf is there to comfort you and cheer you up.

・❥・ — a/n: hii! i’m new here and this is my first time publishing a ff🥹 i wrote this out of boredom so idk if it’s good. also my first language isn’t english so i’m sorry for eventual mistakes, i appreciate every kind and constructive advice on how to be better(no insults or hate tho!)<3 if i think your comment is hateful or disrespectful or anything like that, i’ll delete it! so be nice pls🫶🏻

❕ — warnings: timeline is season 2 but i changed his age. if you don’t like age gaps/have problems with them GET OUT👉🏻

enjoy! ❤︎

It was 9 PM in Ssangmun-dong and you were walking down the empty, rain-soaked street you travel every day. You were carrying a heavy backpack, the straps digging into the skin of your left shoulder, a sign that it was full of notebooks. The dim streetlights flicker, casting a dull glow across the wet floor and your footsteps were covered by the constant "pats" of the rain drops falling to the ground. The downpour was rentless and it was drenching your clothes and your nice hair but you barely seemed to notice cause your mind was wrapped up in something else. It had been a very tough day and you wanted nothing more but to be in your boyfriend's comforting arms.

His name was Seong Gi-hun. You weren't korean but you thanked God you moved there when you were 18 cause if you didn't, you probably wouldn't have met him. The day you two crossed paths was almost 4 years ago and you remember it like it was yesterday: he used to have a gambling addiction and thanks to your friend, who brought you with her to gamble, you found him. Or even better, he found you cause the very first time he bumped onto you as he was getting chased by some men; meanwhile the other times, you went to talk to him cause you found him pretty cute and...pathetic.

At the time you were 21 and he was 43 but you really didn't care about the age gap. Plus, he looked younger than he actually was. The first weeks you two started to date as close friends and soon you learned he’s got a 10 years old daughter and an ex-wife. They divorced because of his addiction which led to him having several debts that he couldn't pay. His daughter's name was Ga-yeong and she was very sweet, just like her father. She liked you even and you, of course, liked her back. As the days went by, Ga-yeong revealed you her father's secret: he liked you and every time he knew he was going to see you, he would put up nice clothes and adjust his hair; and she hoped you would like him back but God, how could you not like him? He was such a gentleman, so sweet, so respectful, so caring; this headed to both of you starting a relationship (a serious one too), and at first it was hard due to his addiction. Firstly because every time he didn't pay his debt in time, he would get beaten up and threatened to be killed. So many times you would yell at him cause he spent all his money, and the one you gave him, to gamble but you understood that yelling and getting mad wasn't the right solution of solving this, thus you got used to it and you were determined to help him go through that shit. Later you met his mom and his childhood friend whose name was Sang-woo and you were actually surprised they didn't think less of you just because you were younger. If you were in your native country, everybody would look at you as a person of no value and would think he was a pedophile, even tho you were a grown ass adult. Before him, you've been in a toxic relationship for 2 years; between cheating, threats and punches, you managed to leave that guy.

Gi-hun, on the other hand, treated you so good it was overwhelming, to the point that you didn't even think you deserved to be treated like this, to be loved and you were glad he proved you wrong so damn sure you weren't gonna let go of him just because he was older. He helped you going through your self-harm addiction, he helped you with your traumas and insecurities. Basically, he was a mix of the perfect yet worse man to date.

Not even a year later tho, he disappeared for a whole week without any news or informations. You were so fucking worried about him and you never stopped calling him and searching for him. You even talked to his mother every day but she always said she had no clue of where he was and the police, of course, didn’t give a shit. Often times you thought that he got himself killed due to his non-paid debts but you really didn't want to think about it so you liked to think that maybe he was out of town and didn't call you. Or maybe he just decided to cut off contact with everybody and left. In that time, your own self-harm addiction got worse due to the stress and the fact that he had left. Everything went down once more. Your life was falling apart and you didn’t know what to think at this point. Was it your fault? Was it his fault? You didn’t know.

Yet he eventually came back to you, all injured as if he had been in a rough fight and apologized to you so many times as you cried and punched his chest due to the all the overwhelming emotions you didn’t manage to let out. He told you he found his mom dead in his house. In some ways, you felt guilty that you didn't help him with the medicines for her cause you had some money but most of it would go to the men he had to repay. He talked about the games he’s done, about all the murdered people.

You couldn't believe him, of course and thought he was just very drunk but the day after you realized it wasn't like that.

A year later he wanted to move in America to go to his daughter but soon changed his mind when he knew that the recruiter of those games was still out there so you both moved to a motel as he searched for him all day, every day.

He barely slept and he started to smoke more, which broke your heart to see him like this. So tired, so traumatized and you realized that the old Gi-hun would never come back, even tho a part of him was still the same when he was with you. When he finished to pay his debts, thanks to the money he earned from those sick games, he called Mr. Kim, the boss of loan sharks, to help him find this recruiter.

The only times you saw each other, tho, was in the evening cause in the morning you went to university while he kept searching for that man among the city. He always apologized to you for never spending much time together but you always reassured him that it was completely okay and that it was nobody's fault. You knew how insecure he got after that traumatic event tho you tried your best to comfort him. After he lost Sang-woo, Sae-byeok and Ali; after he saw so many innocent people die because of the God called money. They all died in front of him and sometimes he could still see their blood on his face, on his hands, on his body. Everywhere.

He became even more possessive and protective over you to the point that he made you install a gps on your phone or any other device you owned, in case you’d be in trouble or something and he eventually taught you how to shoot cause you asked him.

So here you were, 2 years later, having a shitty, rough day, soaked wet due to the rain, heading back home and already feeling guilty cause Gi-hun had to comfort you from your stupid, dumb and idiotic problems. You didn't even know if he was home by that time and if he wasn't, you would go take a shower and eventually fall asleep on the couch while miserably trying to wait awake for him. As always.

When you approached the motel you both lived in, you grabbed your keys from your pocket and opened the principal door. You entered and closed it before taking your way up the stairs. Once you reached the door of your shared apartment you opened that one too, slowly closing it behind you. You weren't expecting Gi-hun to be home but when you heard his voice, you felt kinda relieved.

"Y/n? Is that you?" you heard him say. You didn't answer and you didn't know why. Maybe cause you were so tired you didn't even have the strength to breathe, to say the least.

You took off your shoes and walked through the small corridor before reaching the living room and put the keys on the round table at the center of the room. You quite ignored your boyfriend who was very worried when he saw you completely drenched.

"Hey..why didn't you bring an umbrella with you this morning?" he asked softly as he approached you and rubbed both of your shoulders. You were glad to hear his loving voice after a long day.

You let your backpack fall on the ground, causing it to make a loud noise and grabbed a small, broken umbrella which was in a side pocket of the backpack, before placing it on the table, too.

"I did." you managed to say. Your voice was barely audible and you were on the verge of breaking down, thing that he immediately noticed but before he could talk, you threw yourself onto him to hug him. Your arms wrapped around his body tightly as you cried quietly. His nice yet smokey smell invaded your nose and you took all in. You didn't pay attention to his outfit but you were so sure he was wearing his usual baggy pants and large jacket.

He didn't think twice before holding you tight against him and his right hand found its way to rub your hair while the other rubbed your back. He had this way of hugging you, of comforting you as a way to shield and protect you from the world that you didn't even know how it was possible but that's how his hugs, his touch made you feel. It has been a long time since you last cried and let go of everything in front of him but that night you really needed it.

"It's okay baby, I've got you. I'm here." he mumbled softly to your ear. He slowly started to rock himself back and forth, as if you were his little child afraid of monsters hiding under the bed.

He didn't ask you what had happened cause he knew it wasn't useful in that moment. He knew that all you wanted was comfort and reassurance. He didn't care that you were all wet and soaked, he cared about trying to make you stop crying and he managed to do so since you calmed down after some minutes. He pulled back slightly, enough for him to be able to see the sad look on your face.

He cupped your cheeks and wiped your last tears away.

"It's okay. You let it all out?" he kindly asked you and you slowly nodded. He wanted to make sure your chest didn't feel as heavy. Then he leaned in and placed a soft, tender kiss on your forehead.

"How about you go take off these wet clothes and take a shower while i prepare the couch for some cuddles to cheer that sad pretty little face up, hm?" he asked while moving a strand of hair out of your face.

"And then maybe, if you feel like doing so, you tell me what's gotten you so upset." he then added.

His voice was so soft, sweet and full of love it made you want to cry again out of happiness but you fought the urge. He somehow always knew what were the right words to say and in which tone he had to pronounce them. It was incredible. That man was incredible.

You slowly nodded and he escorted you to the bathroom as he told you to call him for anything you needed. He didn't hurry anything, he told you to take your slow and nice time, he would be there waiting for you.

You softly thanked him and closed the bathroom door, opening the water in the shower. You really didn't know what good things you did in life to have someone as loving as him as your partner but you preferred to not question anything and to just appreciate everything he gave you, everything that life (or God) gave you.

You knew he told you to take your time and to wash yourself slowly and stuff but you were so happy and enthusiastic to cuddle with him, that your shower lasted 10 minutes. When you got out, you could hear him doing stuff on the other side of the wall and you called out his name.

"Yes, my love?" said he while opening the door. He had a small yet genuine smile on his face and you knew he was doing all of that just to make you feel better.

"Can you...bring me one of your shirts..?" you mumbled.

"I know they're much larger than my size but-" you were cut off by the door closing. You didn't know exactly why he shut the door on you talking but you really hoped he didn't mean to do so. Later, he returned in the room, holding a stuffed clothed in between his hands, turning out it was one of his large shirts.

He walked towards you and handed you the cloth, before cupping your cheeks again and kissing your temple.

"You know you don't owe me any explanation. Whatever you want, i'll give it to you. You could ask me to wear my underwear and i wouldn't question it." he explained gently.

"Even tho that would be weird." he continued and chuckled slightly and you did so. You felt a warm feeling in your chest. A feeling that only he was able to bring you and you will forever be grateful to him.

"Thank you.." you murmured and smiled.

"There it is that pretty smile." he said and pinched your cheeks gently, causing you to widen your smile.

He then told you he would wait for you as you got dressed and later he dried your wet hair cause he didn't want his girl to make such efforts when she was so tired already.

A few more minutes passed by and after you got all showered, dried and dressed, you were both laying in each other's arms on the couch. Your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around your body while one hand stroked your soft hair.

"You feel like telling me what's wrong?" he asked softly, in which you answered with a nod.

You began by explaining that you hadn't slept much the night before, which was the main reason you woke up already feeling upset and exhausted. You were so tired that you really didn't feel like going to university, but you had a test and knew you had no choice, so you forced yourself to get up. Just when you stepped out of the apartment, it started raining heavily, and you got all wet because your umbrella wouldn't open properly. Once you finally made it to the university, you sat down to take the test, but you were so distracted by your exhaustion that you were sure you had messed up every single question. Your mind wasn't in the right place, your eyes felt heavy, and you couldn't focus. Everything felt like a disaster. After the test and the rest of your lessons, the wind picked up on your way home and your umbrella finally broke so you had nothing to protect yourself, leaving you even more soaked. And as if your day hadn't already been terrible enough, a car sped through a puddle and splashed you completely. You felt overwhelmed, defeated by the anger and stress that had built up throughout the day.

As you were telling all of this you still felt kinda upset but when he spoke again, you really forgot the reason of why your day went bad.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, my love. You should’ve called me, i would've picked you up with the car." he said with disappointment. Not towards you, but towards all the factors that made you so sad and also at himself. He could’ve gave you a call instead of focusing on finding that son of a bitch.

"I didn't want to bother you..." you mumbled, as your fingers traced comforting circles on his clothed chest.

"You know you never bother me, y/n." he said firmly. He didn't like the fact that you could even think you were a bother or a burden to him.

"Yeah but what if right when i call you, you find the guy you've been searching for years?" you asked and got your head up slightly to look at him. You could feel his hesitation before answering but when he did, you knew he was sincere.

"I'd still pick you up. As much as i wanna find that man, you come first. I didn't put so much effort in us for nothing, you know." he smiled slightly at his last sentence and placed his large hand on your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Hmm.." you murmured and sighed. You gently rested your chin on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath you and the warmth of his body comforting against your skin, while your head remained slightly turned to face him, allowing you to study his face closely. Your gaze lingered on each feature—his relaxed yet tired expression, the curve of his jaw, the corners of his lips slightly turned upward—capturing every detail that made him, him, as if you were memorizing them.

You didn't know how he managed to look that handsome for his age. Not that he was that old, but still.

"Have you been sleeping these days?" you kindly asked him. You knew, deep down, that he would always look after you, putting your needs before his own, but at the same time, you saw how little care he took of himself. It was as if he neglected his own well-being in favor of focusing on everyone else; you, above everyone. Every time you noticed him pushing himself too hard or ignoring his own health, you'd find yourself gently scolding him, urging him to take a moment for himself, though you knew he'd brush it off. In the end, this was just who he was.

"Yes, a bit." he answered and you could feel he was being honest but still decided to make sure.

"Are you sure?" your tone was low and comforting, yet full of worry. You noticed the small bags under his eyes, you noticed his tired expression and often times you would feel guilty that he had to reassure you while he was feeling so defeated.

"Yes, i'm sure." he said sweetly and pinched the tip of your nose softly.

You subtly pushed yourself up, enough to lean your face closer to his, and pecked his lips. Your chest was now in contact with his and your hands were placed one between his hair and the other on the soft mattress of the couch, surrounding yourself.

"You look so tired..." you whispered while caressing his scalp. Your faces only inches away. He moved his hand to grasp your waist while the other was still on your cheek.

"Yeah but you always bring all my energies back.." he whispered back, causing you to smile a bit.

Your eyes wavered all over his face, admiring everything about him as your pupils dilated some more, as if turning into a heart shape. You didn't know exactly what did u see in him, but you saw something. Maybe that's how real love feels like: inexplicable. Almost as if it's no sense.

Then, you sighed and looked away from him.

"I'm sorry." said you while resting your head next to his. He looked at you confused.

"For what?" he asked and adjusted himself so that he could look at you but also be in a comfortable position. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallowed hard.

"I don't know..that you gotta take care of my shit while you're already feeling defeated and stuff.." you explained, almost whimpering.

"I notice how tired you are every day..we barely see or talk to each other before the evening and when i see you like this i feel like a burden or like i'm not doing enough for you...i don't know, i just miss you.." you added. You didn't want to add more pressure and stress on his shoulders but you needed to tell him.

You saw his expression on his face, focused on listening to you and all your rantling and he looked sad.

"Y/n..." he started.

"Honey, don't say that again. Yes i am tired but that doesn't mean i don't gotta take care of you when you feel down as well. Just because we're both not having the best of the days, it doesn't mean we gotta ignore each other or something like that. I take care of you cause i want to. Cause it makes me feel better when i manage to bring your smile back." he gently explained while playing with some strands of your hair, in a desperate attempt to soothe you.

"I'm sorry we barely see or talk to each other during the day, i wish we both had more time one for the other even tho at night i try to stay up as much time as possible, even if you are asleep cause i wanna make up for lost time." he continued, hoping you'd understand his words. You lowkey wished things went different. Wished that he never went to play those sick games.

"Yeah but...i don't know, i just wish i could do more for us, for you. You always take care of me but i never do enough to take care of you.." she said. Your tone of voice hid a hint of sadness in it.

"No, y/n. You do more than enough and that's what matters. I will always appreciate the little things you do cause i know how much effort you put into them. I know you love me, i know you care about me. I don't have to worry about anything else." he said. He knew you wouldn't believe him but he hoped that he managed to reassure you even if it was just for the moment.

You nodded slowly at his words and accepted them. You hid your face into the crock of his neck and snuggled against him, holding him as tight as you could, wanting to enjoy his company, his warmth for the night. His fingers found their ways in between your thin hair and caressed your scalp while the other hand was busy holding you against him. He wanted to protect you from everything and everyone. He wanted you to feel safe and he'd do anything to not let you get hurt.

He started to whisper reassuring words in your ear to facilitate your sleep.

“Please don’t ever leave me, Gi-hun.” you mumbled.

"I won’t, I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you." those were the last words you heard from him before you sweetly murmured: "I love you.." and drifted off to sleep.

He kissed your head tenderly and whispered an "I love you, too" muffled before closing his eyes and fully relaxing his body under yours, feeling his thoughts drifting away into dreams.

So there you were, both laying in each other arms after days full of stress and pressure, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable and to rest for the night.

[tightjeansjavi]

honey pot 🍯

A/N: so after watching a very ✨spicy✨ video, I came up with this deliciously filthy idea of neighbor!joel becoming your fuck buddy. The only problem? You have a boyfriend already 🤭 just a disclaimer, I do not condone cheating and this fic might not be for everyone, and that’s okay!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: you’ve been fucking your hot neighbor, Joel Miller, all summer without your boyfriend finding out until you end up faking an orgasm with him. You tell Joel that you can no longer see him, and he comes up with a solution that works for the both of you.

pairing | hot neighbor!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut, age gap (Joel is 36 reader is 25) infidelity/cheating (done to the readers bf) dom/sub, daddy kink, unprotected piv, praise kink, pet names: baby, angel, sweetness, petal, fluff, consent, some angst??pussy play, we can’t fuck, but we can do other things! Joel is a real good filthy talker, reader and Joel are down bad for one another, helping hand vibes, fwb/fuck buddy, smut with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions but keeps her genitalia groomed, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

You had been fucking your ridiculous, sinfully hot neighbor for the entirety of the summer. It started off as some innocent nonchalant flirting that you thought was harmless. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wouldn’t harm him, right? Besides, you were feeling deeply neglected in your current relationship. The honeymoon phase had worn off, and you were feeling frustrated and lonely on most nights. Guess football and guys night held a higher importance than his relationship with you. Well, so be it then. You could play the good little girlfriend that your boyfriend wanted you to be..and still have your cake and eat it.

That’s why falling head over heels for your neighbor Joel Miller was as easy as sliced pie. It was early June when you found a bouquet of fresh wildflowers on your front porch step with a note attached to one of the stems. It read, ‘Out of all the flowers in the patch, you are by far the prettiest petal.’ -J.M

So, he was hot and poetic? What more could you really want?

It was the following Friday that Joel finally got the courage to show up on your front step. He barely was able to ask you if you’d like to come over for dinner that evening when you blurted out an enthusiastic ‘yes!’

Joel was hot, poetic, and he could fucking cook? Yeah, you were positively screwed in the best way possible. Not only could he cook, but he actually showed interest in you. Your hobbies, your likes and dislikes, and for the first time in months, you actually felt like you were being appreciated.

So, it came as no surprise that after you both indulged his cooking skills, that you proceeded to let him ravage you on the table. Yours and his clothes were practically shredded to the floor as he kissed and licked every inch of your skin like a man starved. He made you cum more times in that evening than you thought was even possible, and my god, his cock? Jesus christ, you’re getting wet all over again just thinking about how it felt like he was splitting you in two, filling you to the fucking brim as you cried out his name and begged for more. Faster, harder, oh please, daddy, don’t stop!

“Yeah? You want more of daddy’s cock? S’that what you want?” He nearly purred as his sweat stained curls lightly tickled your forehead. His eyes were glued to the spot where your bodies were connected. He sucked in a harsh breath as his vision glazed over at the sight of your pretty little pussy tugging his cock right back in with each of his heavy thrusts.

“See the way your pussy is huggin’ my cock so tight? Pullin’ me right back in? Look how fuckin’ pretty she is, baby. Think she is the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my entire life. She’s all mine, right? C’mon, my petal, I needa hear ya say it.” His nostrils flared as he licked hungrily into your mouth. He was consuming every last bit of you, and you were enjoying every minute of it.

“Yours, daddy! All yours.” You whined as your walls clenched down like a tight fist around his cock.

All good things must come to an end unfortunately, and your little fantasy that had been fulfilled every evening that summer, was going to have to end. That stupid boyfriend of yours was beginning to catch on ever since he caught you faking an orgasm the last time you and him had sex. Oops?

It physically pained you to even think about cutting ties with Joel. He was unconditionally good to you. All he asked for was your company. He didn’t need to ask; it was already his.

The leaves were beginning to change with the seasons as fall was approaching on the horizon. It was nearing five in the evening when you heard the all too familiar sound of Joel’s truck tires grinding over the cement. His driver side door swung shut as his footsteps neared your front steps. He was home from work, and immediately he wanted to see you. Nothing else mattered to him except seeing your pretty face.

You were pacing nervously in the front hallway as you went over the exact words you were going to tell him. We can be friends, right? Right. After you’ve spent months in his sheets, and he in yours, you’re just going to be friends? Fat chance.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of his knuckles rapping lightly on your front door as you wringed your hands together, taking a few deep breaths before you grasped the door handle in your palm and pulled it open.

“Hey, baby. Lookin’ gorgeous as usual.” Your fuck buddy drawled with that low, deep, texas twang of his as he leaned his elbow right up against the doorjamb.

Oh, fuck. You could feel a gush between your thighs just from the way he was leaning against your damn door.

Stay strong. Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Don’t–

“S’matter, baby? Everything’ all good n’that pretty head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side as a frown slowly spread across his lips when he saw your eyes suddenly grow glassy as a stray tear wobbled down your cheek.

“Baby–” He started, but you cut him off.

“We can’t fuck anymore, Joel.” You painfully muttered as his hand reached out to warmly cup your face while his thumb lightly brushed away your tear.

“Baby, what’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happen?” He sounded genuinely concerned as more tears began to fall and land on his bronzed skin.

“It’s my boyfriend,” You sniffled solemnly. “He knows, Joel.” Your misty dewdrop eyes met his calm gaze as he let out a soft breath between his parted lips.

“Oh, baby..I'm so sorry. I thought we were bein–’”

“Careful? Yeah, I did too.”

“How does he know?..”

“I faked an orgasm with him the last time we had sex which I think it was a week ago? Well, he grew suspicious after that. I’m so sorry, Joel. I never meant for things to get this messy.” You truly did feel awful for dragging Joel into all of this, and you never had the intention to hurt him.

“Baby, s’alright. Y’know what ain't alright? That stupid boyfriend of yours still not knowing how to treat his fuckin’ girl right. You’d think by now the guy would have some idea of how he should be treating you.” Joel held in a scoff as his hand that wasn’t presently caressing your cheek, dropped down to your waist as he pulled you in close. “I..guess this is goodbye then?”

“I don’t want it to be.” You murmured softly as you leaned into his comforting touch along your needy skin.

“Baby, y’know..it doesn’t have to be a goodbye then.” The gears in his brain were already beginning to twist and turn as he thought of a viable solution to your little problem.

“What do you mean? Joel, i’m serious, we can’t fuck anymore.”

“Sweetness, I know we can’t, and I respect that. I’ll never put my dick inside of ya again, unless you ask. But, I do think I have a solution for our little problem.”

Your pupils nearly doubled in size as the tip of his thumb dragged down across your lower lip as he tugged the soft flesh gently. His eyes bore deeply into yours as your thighs subconsciously rubbed together to relieve the building tension that was growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What is your solution, Joel? I’m all ears.”

“Well, first, I was hopin’ I could get a kiss. Been thinkin’ about these pretty lips and how badly I wanna kiss ‘em the second I walked through that door.” He rasped warmly.

Your immediate reaction was to loop your arms around his neck and close the smidge of a gap between the two of you before firmly pressing your lips against his. You licked into one another’s mouth with the same amount of passion. You could taste a morsel of tobacco along his tongue; must have bummed a smoke off of Tommy, as his hand that was wrapped firmly around your waist, slowly drifted down as he grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek. A surprise squeak slipped past your lips as your tongues tangled.

“So, we can’t fuck, but there’s somethin’ else we can do..” He trailed off as he slowly detached his lips from yours. A string of saliva was visible between your once linked lips.

“You are not fucking sticking your dick up my ass. Don’t even think about it.”

He stifled a chuckle before stealing one more quick kiss. “Baby, I wasn’t thinkin’ about stickin’ my dick up your ass. I promise. I had somethin’ else in mind. Can I show you what I'm talkin’ about?”

You were weary at first, because what could he possibly have in mind? Going down on you? Okay, sure. You certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just say it?

“Okay, I want you to show me what you’re talking about.” You agreed.

“Good girl. I promise this will be worth your while baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he reached for your hand. Your fingers interlaced as he proceeded to lead you up the stairs to your bedroom. Your panties were undeniably soaked at this point, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Go���n sit on the bed for me, darlin.’” He spoke firmly, yet softly as you padded over to your bed and slowly sunk down along the comforter.

“Now, sweetness, before you start worryin’ your pretty little mind about that silly boyfriend of yours, I promise that he won’t know about this.”

You dumbly nodded as you crossed one leg over the other, awaiting his next request.

“I trust you, daddy.” You softly cooed.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to take your pants off for me, baby.”

You wasted no time to pop the button off your jeans as you dragged the zipper down. You started shimmying the denim fabric down your thighs and legs, but before you could even grasp the band of your panties, he was stopping you.

“No, no, Angel. Jus’ your pants. Keep your panties on.”

Why was that so hot.

You slipped your thumbs out from under the thin elastic band of your panties before you kicked your jeans to the side. Your mouth began to water the moment you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle clinking open.

“Good girl. Now, I jus’ want you to lay your pretty ass on the comforter. Spread your thighs a little, but not too much.”

You could feel the wet patch pooling through the thin fabric of your panties as you slowly leaned back on your elbows along the comforter and spread your thighs just enough that he could fit between them.

Your pussy pulsed inwards the second your eyes landed on his bare cock that was hanging out of the opening in his jeans. You nearly drooled as he swiped his thumb across his ruddy weeping tip that had a bead of pre-cum drooling from the small slit. He twisted his wrist a couple times before he slowly approached you.

His lips curved upwards in a sly grin when he saw the cock-dumb look on your pretty face. You took your lower lip harshly between your teeth when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush across your covered aching clit as he gently rubbed the swollen nub in tight expert circles. His freehand was still wrapped around the base of hs cock as he watched your face twist into pleasure.

“Y’know, it makes me so fuckin’ mad that you ain’t bein’ treated right. The only weepin’ you and your pretty pussy should be doin’ is the good kind. Y’got literal honey drippin’ between your thighs, darlin.’ He oughta start worshipin’ you sooner, before someone else ends up doin’ it for him.” He tsked under his breath.

“Joel,” You whimpered wantonly.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna respect your wishes n’not fuck you, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t make ya feel good. I’ll always take care of you, angel. No silly boyfriend of yours can stop me from treatin’ you right.” He murmured as he dragged his thumb down to the inside of your panties. He gently hooked his thumb around the damp fabric before he pulled it to the side. His mouth went dry at the sight of your glistening, puffy, needy little pussy. When it came to women, he didn’t mind their choices to never shave, or to just trim, or to completely go bare. He loved their pussies regardless of how they were groomed, or their natural appearance. They were all beautiful in his eyes, and deserved to be worshiped. But, he couldn’t deny how fucking pretty yours was, and how your slickness clung to the fabric of your panties like glue made his cock twitch in his palm.

He could bite his fist right then and there, but he had a job to complete.

“So pretty, baby. Prettiest little pussy. G’nna take extra good care of her now, okay?”

“Thank you, daddy.” you spoke above a whisper as he slowly slid the tip of his cock underneath your panties. You could feel the slick coolness of his pre-cum sliding across your folds as he rolled his hips forward. A deep grunt rumbled up his chest as he nudged your clit.

“You’re welcome, baby. Y’jus’ sit back and enjoy yourself, okay? Daddy is gonna do all the work for ya.” He promised you with a chaste kiss to your swollen lips as his hands came to rest along your thighs.

Now you fully understood what Joel meant by his solution to not fucking you. Christ, this was almost better than the feeling of his cock splitting you open. How lucky you were to have a man treat you like a princess.

“Oh, fuck.” You mewled as he thrust his hips faster, mimicking the same movements as if he was fucking you. “That feels so good, daddy.”

“Mhmm. I know it does, baby. I told you this would be worth your while.” He took his own lip between his teeth as he focused on the rhythm of his thrusts.

“This is almost better than fucking, almost.” You softly moaned as he increased his pace. Your hands found his as your orgasm slowly began to build.

“Nothin’ is better than fuckin’, Angel. Jus’ so lucky to make you feel good one last time. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. I want you to cum, okay? I want to see you ruin those pretty little panties.” He urged you praisingly as the tip of his cock continuously bumped against your clit.

He was playing your pussy 100x better than your boyfriend ever could as you reveled in the pure pleasurable feeling one last time.

It didn’t take you long to reach your high as Joel’s hips stuttered forward as he spilled his hot seed right between your slick folds. He slowly slipped his cock out from underneath your ruined panties. He pressed soft kisses to your face, a playful nibble to the tip of your nose before his lips found yours in a searing kiss.

“Better take these for safe keepin’ so your boyfriend doesn’t know I was here.” He stated with a snicker as he gently slipped your soaked panties down your thighs. “I’ll getcha a fresh pair, okay, sweetness?”

Just as he was about to get up from your bed, your hand encased around his wrist, caging him in your grasp momentarily. “Wait, Joel?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Maybe..this won’t be the last time?..”

“Baby..”

“I want you, and if that means I have to break up with my stupid boyfriend? Then so be it. I’ll break up with him.”

“Angel, are you absolutely sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. i’ll call him up as soon as you finish fucking me, and i’ll tell him that it’s over.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips as he situated himself between your thighs once more. “Well, I guess you won’t be needin’ a fresh pair of panties after all, huh baby?” He teased.

“Nope. Not while you’re around, Daddy.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika ✨

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[sillysiluriforme]

senti monster chloe makes sense! like audrey clearly doesn’t like or want chloe and dislikes her husband andre enough to cheat on him and have a whole other child with some random guy in new york.

maybe andre desperately wanted a child while audrey refuses, having no interest in a child that she thinks will be a nuisance and a hindrance to her career. audrey also probably will avoid andre (she doesn’t want a kid, wants nothing more than her career, refuses to even carry a child and honestly might avoid andre even in the bedroom).

and andre turns to his long time supporters and sponsors, the agrestes who after hearing about his problem reveals a solution. and thus sentimonster chloe is born!

and ofc audrey hates chloe and thinks her existence is useless, because she never wanted her! or a child! but no andre turned up with a newborn one day and it’s their kid now. audrey might know vaguely about the miraculous to know how chloe was created but does not care about it. and andre completely spoils chloe because he finally has a daughter! except! he’s the mayor of paris and still cannot physically spend time with her. and poor chloe has an absent father who expressed his love through money and a mother whose out of her life and doesn’t care about her.

I think the relationship between Adrien “I look like my mom and she loves it” agreste vs chloe “I look like my mom and she hates it” bourgeois is sooooooo fun.

[laduenadelswing]

Lavender marriage

summary : soaps wife feels a little unsatisfied, when Soap has an unusual idea…..

The front door burst open, a gust of wind carrying the scent of gunpowder and sweat. Soap, dishevelled and exhausted, stumbled in. It was a long time since you last encountered your lavender husband. You loved Soap more than any friend, but your marriage was only on paper. Everything in your marriage was perfect, Soap was funny, talkative, a great listener and eager to make you happy, everything was perfect except for one thing, your non-existent bedroom life. Soap confessed when you got to know each other years ago, that he was not interested in woman. Still, your friendship blossomed into the healthiest relationship you ever had. Your marriage was out of convenience but it was smoother than any other marriage you knew, there was no drama, nor cheating. Maybe, your marriage went so well because there was no sexual component, which could have ruined your friendship. Still, Soap often noticed how you missed that masculine part in your life, someone who could satisfy all your needs. It´s not that he never imagined you without close, it just didn´t turn him on, he was just like you attracted to strong arms, brought shoulders and a trim waist.

Where was his wife? He wanted to surprise you with his great solution to your marital problems. You were in a deep sleep, not knowing when Soap return from deployment, unaware of what he brought home just for you. Ghost and Soap decided to call it a night.

The next morning, you woke up just to see your husband next to you. “ Johnny, your finally back. Why didn´t you wake me up? I will make you a coffee.” You mumbled and gave him a quick hug, you were relieved that your husband / best friend was safe after the mission. Slowly you rolled out of your bed, stretched and went downstairs. The sun was shining into your face, it seemed like a normal sunny, uneventfull day with your lavender husband.

Unaware, you went into the kitchen, to make a coffee. A simple drink, which never failed to wake you up, lighten your mood and start a day.

“Morning, Babe.” A deep, raspy voice echoed through the kitchen. You turned around and saw a mountain of a man towering before you. Deep brown eyes pierced into your soul, he was starring at you as a cold shiver ran down your spine. His face was covered by a skull mask, you wanted to run, scream or fight. Instead you froze on the spot, almost peed your panties, your body feared for it´s life. Slowly you begged off, the cup of coffe fell to the ground and shattered. He looked at you almost amused with a smirk under his mask. She was so scared of him, he couldn´t deny that she was just as cute as he had imagened soaps wifey to be, a perfect smile, beautiful eyes and perfect hair even though she wasn´t even ready for the day. Soap is a lucky man, he tought. Finally you got yourself together and did the only logical thing which came to your mind. “Johnny.” You screamed, before you graped the longest kitchen knife within your reach. Ready to go one on one with the masked man infront of you, in nothing but your lingerie.

With a sift movement, the man unarmed you. “Thats so cute.” He mumbled, while looking into your soul.

"This is Lieutenant Simon Riley, or Ghost, as we call him," Johnny shouted as he sprinted into the kitchen, he forgot to warn you about his surprise. When Johnny heard his name, the realisation hit him like a wall of bricks. "He's a great guy, war hero and he's here to... uh, help us out." Johnny explained as his hands wildy gesticulated in the air, a nervous smile spread across his face.

Ghost's gaze lingered on you, a silent challenge. "Help us out with what, exactly?" Your voice was tense, the anger was clearly audible. You thought that this could have been your last breath, but it was just a college of your husband Johnny.

Soap shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you see, Ghost here is a bit of an expert on... well, on relationships."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Relationships? What does a soldier know about relationships?" Ghost smirked. "More than you might think." that bastard was actually turned on by your fear, you thought.

What was going on? Why was Soap bringing this mysterious stranger into our home? And why did he seem so nervous around him?

Ghost's eyes flickered with amusement. "So that's the pretty wifey you told me of."

Your face flushed with a mixure of anger and embarrassment. "Soap, you can't just bring someone here to... to fuck me? Do I look that desperate?"

Soap winced, his cheeks turning red. "Hey, it's not like that! I just thought... well, maybe you two could, you know, talk." Ghost chuckled. "Talk, huh? I think we can do better than that." Your eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean?"

Before she could react, Ghost stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear. "I mean, I think we could have a lot of fun together."

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Ghost smirked. "I'm giving you what you want."

With that, he leaned in and attempted to kiss you. “ Are you guys out of your minds?” You yelled, as you pushed Ghost back. “ Absolutely not.” With that you left the kitchen, disregarding the mess you made and locked yourself in the bathroom.

[sooyamine]

ANGST! where you see your ex boyfriend with his new girl.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Four months ago your heart was broken, your dreams were thrown away, your plans were interrupted, your hopes shattered. All because he decided that he no longer had room for you in his hectic and difficult life. You tried everything: you talked, you suggested solutions, a break in the relationship so that he could settle down, you cried and begged him to let you stay in his life. You humiliated yourself. But nothing made him change his mind, he had already made it up (maybe a long time ago, you just didn't know it.)

How could you move on after spending years hearing that you would be the mother of his children? That you would get married at the end of spring so that you could have a honeymoon at the beginning of summer?

You were fighting every day to get through it all, practicing sports, studying even harder, working harder than ever. Turning pain into efficiency has always been your way of dealing with problems, why should it be any different this time? Despite everything, you tried to take it one day at a time, even if at nightfall your strength gave way to tears.

On the day the relationship ended, it was agreed that it would be a separation on good terms, so that a friendship could remain between you two (as if that were possible). This only resulted in months of no contact or interaction of any kind. Neither of you took the initiative to remove each other from social media, but you couldn't follow the life of someone who used to tell you every detail of his day through a screen, so you decided that silencing his profile updates would be enough, but that couldn't be done in real life. It couldn't be done now, where you could see him in the bar that used to be your place with another woman.

Nothing could prevent or prepare you for the sharp pain in your heart, the shortness of breath, the sickness in your stomach and above all, the disappointment. You wanted to cry, scream, destroy every damn part of that place, beat him up, sell your house, set fire to all your clothes and call a priest to exorcise your demons. Even if it made you die screaming, you wanted him to hear everything.

All these things were just wishes and intrusive thoughts, because you could only look at the scene without looking away. He made her laugh, showered her with kisses and stroked her face while removing locks of hair from her cheeks, just as he did with you. Fuck, he was doing it in the exactly same way. How could he fall in love again in such a short space of time? At least was it a short time or was he already with her while your relationship seemed to be sinking?

You want to have the answers to all these questions, really. But the only things that popped into your mind were questions: "how could he not miss me?" "did he ever really love me?" "was I being cheated on all this time?" An evening that was supposed to be relaxing and peaceful was completely ruined by that vision.

The only action you had the strength to take was to turn on your heels and walk out the door, feeling the cold of the night burn your cheeks, which by now were beginning to get wet with tears. In a sudden movement, your hands hovered under the cord around your neck: a gift from Suguru, given to you on your birthday. You used to do this when you wanted something to keep you safe, something to remind you that he was always there. Then you realized there, amidst the tears, that old habits really do die screaming.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

hi, guys! first of all i'd like to apologize for any grammatical or coherence errors, English is not my first language!

i was listening to The Black Dog by Taylor Swift and thought "why not write something inspired by that?"

(btw, this is my first time writing smth and it would mean a lot to me if you guys could help me with tips and constructive criticism about my writing! :3)

[k-tarotz]

can you fo an ateez cersion of who would cheat .....

y’all like this more than I thought but I think I kind of get it so no judgment here 🤧 will do this w twice and riize as well since they have been requested

seonghwa

queen of pentacles, five of swords, ten of cups

unfortunately yes.

but not with his body, he might just do it emotionally, meaning he might fall in love with somebody else while he is in a serious and committed relationship with someone. he knows it’s not exactly correct to do and that it’s not right but he might as well just be one of those people who think/say “I have so much love in my heart and I have to share it”, you know? he doesn’t exactly have the strongest control of his emotions, if any at all. he is too idealistic and might be drawn to toxic dynamics.

hongjoong

two of wands, ace of pentacles, strength

no

nope! like everyone, he has his faults but he seems like a very family oriented guy who always plans ahead for the future. no matter how much he thinks about it cheating just doesn’t seem worth it at all to him. even if he would be attracted to someone he would have better self control than to just throw away his life like that for a few minutes, at the very least, that’s his own self image of himself. although, I do want to mention that rather than his loyalty stemming from a desire of love towards his partner it’s pretty much fuelled by his ego, the thought that it makes him better than other people so he has to keep being loyal. not to say he wouldn’t love his partner, because he would, it’s rather just a subconscious motive.

yunho

temperance, nine of wands, nine of cups

no, lol

this one reminds me of felix, because they both would become annoyed if you ever asked them wether or not they would cheat on their partner. the answer is of course not! yunho is much more mature than that and prefers to give all his love to only one person you know? if he is in love, he is all in. he doesn’t take cheating as something light, at all. he prefers dating seriously and nothing can really change that, no matter how desperately someone comes onto him. (bc he for sure wouldn’t make moves on anyone while in a relationship.)

yeosang

page of cups, hermit, six of pentacles

yes :///

I will be honest, yeosang seems like a pure and innocent person but exactly because of that he doesn’t fully comprehend the weight of emotional cheating. he definitely would, and he would keep it a secret because he is aware that having a crush or being in love with someone else while you are in a relationship is wrong but he is pretty much easily swept away by puppy love kind of emotions. this would especially happen if his partner makes him sad. no mistreatment necessary, just prone to falling for someone else in a relationship that doesn’t go smoothly.

san

the emperor, three of cups, ten of wands, the chariot, page of wands

hell no lol

in his eyes, if he is in love with someone and they have committed to one another his job is to make that person feel loved, safe and comfortable every single day, whenever they interact. he desires to protect his partner and be someone they are able to rely on, so to him cheating is stupid. why would he hurt someone that he loves so deeply? he wouldn’t, and quite frankly wouldn’t even give it a second thought bc he already is aware he has no desires to do this. if he has a problem with his partner he rather would find a solution to deal with it together, even if it’s silly or unusual but it would never involve bringing a third person into their relationship because that’s just not right in his eyes. it would affect him quite negatively if his partner were to ever suggest it too, because in his eyes they are the only one. although, I do think he isn’t the kind of person who would distance himself from his friends just because he is in a relationship. some view that as cheating, but I don’t and neither does he. he would prefer to be close to both his partner and friends you know?

mingi

the star, five of swords, four of swords

nah

he seems like such a lover boy since the cards show that he would only have eyes for his partner and no one else. might as well kiss the ground they walk on, because he would look at them as very beautiful, loving and deserving of the world. he would never cheat and expect them to be loyal as well. though, he seems so anxious to lose what he deems as the love of his life that even if he were to get cheated on he would forgive them even though it would put him in a lot of emotional pain. (mingi stand up ??) regardless, he views cheating as such a vile, mean and ill spirited form of betrayal that the thought of it annoys him. he wouldn’t do it because he wouldn’t have a desire for it and he would also have an anxiety towards losing his partner and a bright future.

wooyoung

the hierophant, two of swords, knight of pentacles

no, tf

no, lmao. his energy in this is quite similar to san, but his is a bit more calm. he wouldn’t ever cheat, because it wouldn’t even be a possibility for him. he would be blind to that option. so rather than being mad or disheartened if anyone were to suggest he would be perplexed and offended they felt comfortable asking that. regardless, he has a very nurturing energy and seems to want to get married one day in life. not now, more than likely not soon, but he wants to get married once and he wants it to be a stable and loving relationship. so to him loyalty is an absolute necessity, like something you don’t have to ask your partner for but an act of love that you both owe to one another regardless of what happens in life.

jongho

four of cups, eight of pentacles

nope

he doesn’t seem to have a strong opinion on it other than a huge feeling of annoyance, but he does have morals when it comes to cheating… which is simply to not do it at all. it’s unnecessary and it’s taking your partner for granted. rather than cheating he would much rather prefer spoiling his partner with love whenever someone flirts with him or something he doesn’t like happens. not necessarily with gifts, but rather with loving them unconditionally and seeking their warmth and closeness. he is also the type to stand up for and protect his partner even when they aren’t around rather than use that vulnerable to stab them in the back. his love seems like a serious, deep and true one. to him his partner is not something to be played with, but a human with emotions and value.

no lies y’all, this turned out much more positive than I thought it would! I hope you could enjoy this anon 🫶🏻

– Candy

[kezzanza]

ME, YOU & HENNESSY.

Pairing: Jude x Fem ! Reader Tags: Drunk Sex, One Night Stand Word Count: 5.4k Content Warning: Drunk Sex, Smut, 18+ Jude is the perfect guy to make you forget about your cheating ex.

The black dress you wear is revealing. Its silky fabric clings to every curve on your body in a way that's both exciting and unsettling. No part of your body is left to the imagination.

You move through the entryway and feel the weight of curious eyes drifting toward you, drawn in by the boldness of your outfit. It's been a while since you've dressed up like this.

Two weeks ago, you left a year-long relationship. One where you never got to wear what you wanted without your ex complaining. You more than deserved the appreciative eyes on your figure. It felt good to make yourself look pretty and not have your insecure ex in your ear whining about it.

Inside the villa, the energy is vibrant and lively. A mix of music, laughter, and chatter fills the air. The vibrant purple lighting on the walls makes the modern, all-white interior feel electric. You look around the room, the strangers that look back at you remind you that you have no idea who is hosting the party.

This isn't your usual scene—more uptown and expensive than you're used to. It's Lily, your best friend, that showed up at your place tonight with an invitation. She took one look at you sprawled on the couch in your pajamas and forced you to get ready. But after spending this month eating ice cream and watching comfort shows after being broken up with, it didn't take much convincing—you knew you needed to have some fun.

You're wearing the outfit you've been saving for a special occasion. Lily is clear about her intentions: she wants you to have fun and get laid. You couldn't help but agree with her.

She pulls you along as she navigates the crowd in search of the bar. Through the bodies, you catch a glimpse of the backyard. Large windows and open sliding doors blur the boundaries between indoors and out. People spill onto the grass and into the evening air. If there's a pool out there, you'd swear you're in Ibiza rather than Birmingham.

It's obvious as you look around the room that the guests are both well-dressed and well-off. You often wondered how rich people partied. Now you have your answer: just like everyone else, except they're grinding on each other in thousand-dollar outfits.

"Stop thinking so much," Lily says. You hadn't even realized she's looking at you. Too lost in thought for it to register. "What you need is shots," she concludes, flashing a smile at you.

You roll your eyes playfully. No matter the problem, her go-to solution always seems to be alcohol. Lily tells you that you need a drink to forget everything about your ex and let loose. You can barely hear her over the music—loud and heavy with a bass you can feel in your chest. But you know she's right, so you let her pull you to the bar.

There's a bartender expertly mixing drinks. An impressive array of liquor is lined up against the wall behind him. Rich people's parties really are different. Every detail, from the selection of spirits to the polished bar setup, speaks of an attention to detail you haven't quite experienced before. You're not surprised to see names of liquor you can't even pronounce.

Lily positions herself confidently in front of the bartender, half ordering and half flirting to get your drinks. Whenever you're with her, you don't need to speak much, which is fortunate because you're not good at sweet talking. You always had too much bite in your words.

The bartender pours two shots of a clear liquid. Lily hands you yours with a grin. You both clink your glasses together before downing the shots. The potent burn of the alcohol sears a trail down your throat. Despite its likely high price, the sharp taste is undeniable. The second round of shots is just as horrible, making you scrunch up your face as it burns down your throat.

"You're too beautiful to be pulling faces like that," a deep voice says from your left.

You turn, prepared to dismiss whoever's intruding with little patience for nonsense. But there, standing before you, is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He's clad in a crisp white short-sleeve button-up that clings to his broad shoulders and powerful arms. A few buttons are left undone to reveal a sculpted chest beneath. In black jeans that accentuate his long, strong legs, he's a vision of effortless allure.

As you look back at his face, it feels like the world goes silent, leaving just you and him in a private moment. It's embarrassing how attracted you are to him. The irritation you felt at his comment is helplessly replaced by an urge to hear him call you beautiful once more.

His presence is practically magnetic.

Men that make you feel like this are dangerous. You know you shouldn't be so quick to be swayed by him. And just by looking at him, you can tell he's a player, someone stringing along multiple women. You probably wouldn't even have his attention if you weren't dressed as sexy as you are now. It would be a bad idea to get involved with him.

But you've just come out of a rough breakup. One that hit you hard when you realized you had been left because your ex had cheated and chosen his side thing. This stranger seems like he'd make you forget about your ex. That's exactly what you need for the night.

"Jude," he says, offering his name with a knowing smile when it becomes clear that you're curious to know more about him. "But you probably already knew that."

He looks familiar even though you can't quite place his face to a name. Maybe he's a celebrity you've seen on the rare occasions you dip into social media. With his striking looks, he could easily be a famous internet personality. But you never really kept up with who or what was popular, so it's no surprise you don't know him nor his name.

"I'm not one of your fangirls, so no, I didn't know your name," you snap, eyeing him coolly. "Try impressing me with more than just your ego."

He regards you with a hint of disbelief, as if struggling to grasp that someone wouldn't know who he is. His cocky assumption that everyone recognizes him is both amusing and exactly the kind of audacity you need tonight.

"You want me to impress you? That's a first," Jude says with a smirk. "But if I'm making an exception, I need your name—so I know what to sign on the autograph you'll inevitably ask for."

You roll your eyes, but you're undeniably fascinated. "I'll tell you my name when I think you deserve it," you reply eventually, a playful glint in your eye. "But I don't mind dancing with you."

Sweet nothings and surface-level compliments quickly lose their charm for someone with a personality like yours. What you need is someone with a way with words. Someone who can make your pulse race and your core tighten with just a few carefully chosen sentences—Jude seems to be that person.

As you study his face, you're caught between hesitation and intrigue. The attention he's giving you feels different from what you usually get from other guys. It sparks something within you that's impossible to ignore. It doesn't hurt that every time you look at him, you feel a rush of desire.

Jude looks down at you, his gaze flickering with curiosity. It's as if he's trying to piece together the enigma that you are. You revel in this moment—loving the feeling of making him work for a chance with you.

With a flutter of anticipation, you offer your manicured hand. He grasps it confidently and guides you through the crowd. As you watch the muscles of his back flex with each step, you can't help but think this: tonight is going to be unforgettable.

Before you disappear into the sea of bodies, you glance back at Lily, managing to catch her eye as her face lights up with excitement. She mouths the words have fun with an animated enthusiasm that hints at something more. You can't help but wonder if Jude is a celebrity that Lily knows well. Her reaction suggests there's more to his presence than meets the eye.

You watch for a second as a tall, impeccably dressed man approaches Lily. He embodies the refined elegance of someone accustomed to a life of luxury. His groomed beard adds a rugged charm to an otherwise polished appearance. He looks a few years older, which was exactly Lily's type. You already can't wait for the stories you will both share tomorrow.

Turning your head back forward, you notice as the crowd's gaze subtly shifts toward you. 

Their eyes are bright with curiosity and a hint of intrigue as they follow your movement through the throng of bodies. A few onlookers exchange whispers, their heads tilted slightly as they try to piece together the scene unfolding before them. The murmurs and sidelong glances create a ripple of speculation and fascination.

You and Jude become the center of a quiet, yet palpable, spectacle. Despite the curious stares and whispered speculation surrounding you, your attention remains fixed on Jude. The peripheral buzz of the crowd fades into insignificance as you focus on his wide back and broad shoulders.

Jude stops in a pocket of space that isn't as crowded, turning around to face you. His hands find your hips and pull you close. His dark eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of desire lighting up his features. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt under your fingertips. You can feel the muscles shifting beneath your fingers with every movement he makes.

The song playing is slow and sensual, with a sultry melody that wraps you in its embrace. Its rhythm pulses through the room, creating an irresistible urge for bodies to press together and move in sync. The rhythm of the music merges with the pounding of your heart, making it hard to distinguish one from the other.

"You're stunning," Jude compliments with a husky voice as he looks appreciatively down at you.

"How many girls have you said that to tonight?" you reply nonchalantly.

His lips curve into a smirk as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Stop fighting this and dance with me," he says with a seductive whisper.

Without waiting for a response, he begins to move. Guiding your body in sync with his to the rhythm of the music. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder so you press yourself closer to him. Feeling the firmness of his chest against your softer curves.

The strength in his arms as they hold you securely stirs your desire. Each subtle movement, each brush of skin against skin—it heightens the connection between you. There are shivers of excitement coursing through your body. Jude's fingers tighten a fraction around your waist, pulling you even closer still. You can feel the power in his grip and it lights a fire inside you.

"Fuck," he groans in your ear, his voice thick with want.

You wonder why, but then you feel it—his hard length pressing against your thigh. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

"You already want me that badly?" you ask, your voice sharp and teasing.

Despite the challenge in your tone, your body leans into him, clearly contradicting your words. Your hips grind against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The heat between you grows palpable—a tangible force that threatens to consume you both. His hands move from your hips to your back, pulling you flush against him.

You could feel every inch of him now. The hefty size of his bulge was the unmistakable evidence of his desire for you. The thought of exploring this further, of letting him lead you upstairs and into bed, becomes increasingly enticing with each passing moment.

"I want you so fucking badly," he whispers in your ear, his voice rough with need.

His hands explore your body, tracing your curves with a bold familiarity. One rests at your waist, while the other lingers possessively on the curve of your ass. His body feels like a furnace pressed against you. But it's not the heat that ignites your desire, it's the electrifying knowledge that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You tiptoe and put your lips beside his ear. "So, what are you going to do about it?" you ask, your voice firm and deliberate, cutting through the music.

"I'm going to take us upstairs to my room," he replies in a low, husky voice, "Then, I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never forget my name."

Your heart races as his words hang in the air—the promise in them sending a thrill down your spine. The arousal that hits you is almost strong enough to make you fall into his arms right there, but you can't ignore what he says.

"This is your place?" you ask, your voice edged with skepticism. You pull back slightly, eyes narrowing as you assess him critically.

You scan the opulent surroundings—the sleek modern furniture, the expansive room, the high-end decor. You had pegged him as just another party guest. Now, with the realization sinking in that he could be more than that, you briefly question if you're out of your league with someone of his caliber.

He laughs softly, a sound that makes your heart flutter. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers grip your ass. You lean into his touch as your own hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"You really don't know me." He says, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I'm not just any guy attending a party. I'm the host."

As the words sink in, you pause for a moment, letting the revelation register.

"Should I be worried that someone as young as you can afford all this?" you ask, your tone unconvinced. "I'm not going to be kidnapped, am I?"

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about," he says, "But don't be surprised if you see my face in the newspaper tomorrow." He smirks. "The media always makes me the headline when I throw a party."

The moment stretches, and as you look at him, a powerful urge overrules your rational thoughts. You wanted this, wanted him and tonight, that's all that mattered. The attraction you feel is a craving that eclipses all other considerations.

In a split second, you make up your mind, letting desire take the lead.

You lean in, pressing your lips against his in a heated kiss that conveys all your unspoken hunger. As the kiss deepens, Jude's hands roam your body, exploring with a confident touch. His fingers trace your curves. You respond by running your hands over his shoulders. When you finally pull back, your eyes lock onto his with a burning intensity, your gaze filled with a steely determination. The need in your eyes makes it clear that tonight, he is all you want.

"Let's go upstairs," you say, your voice low and purposeful.

Jude's hand is firm around yours as he guides you across the room, effortlessly parting the sea of bodies. Each step up the staircase feels heavy, the murmurs and curious glances of the crowd providing a backdrop to your ascent.

As you reach the upstairs hallway, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. The corridor—bathed in soft, muted light—is a stark contrast to the vibrant purple glow and energy of the party below. The quiet emptiness of the pathway makes it feel like you're separated from the lively festivities, creating a sense of intimacy and romance.

Suddenly, Jude stops and gently presses you against the nearest wall. Under the soft yellow lights, his features become even more striking. The warm glow highlights the strong lines of his jaw and the depth of his eyes, making him look even more attractive.

His dark eyes trace the contours of your face before he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that's both fierce and tender. Your inhibitions melt away as his hands caress you, lighting a trail of fire wherever they go. You feel a surge of want as his breath grazes your ear.

"I could fuck you right here," he whispers into your ear. His fingers dance along your back, and you realize with a start that his fingers are slowly pulling your zipper down. "Nobody would ever know."

The words are like a match to dry tinder, sparking a fire deep within you. As you consider Jude's idea, a shiver of excitement courses through you. The more you think about it, the clearer it becomes: you're ready to surrender to his every desire.

"You're right," you reply, the sound of your voice thick with lust. "Nobody would know."

You feel the warmth of his fingers against your back. His hand pulls away after a moment, having fully unzipped your dress. The silky cloth remains on your body only through your shoulder straps and the tightness of the fabric.

Without another word, he hoists you up with hands against your ass. He does so with an ease that turns you on intensely as you feel the power in his muscular arms. It's a thrilling sensation, being manhandled by someone so strong and so capable.

He walks with a never-wavering stride, as if you weigh nothing at all. You tighten your grip around his neck, not for support, but out of a deep, insatiable need to keep him close to you.

Jude leads you into a room you assume is his. With one hand holding you up, he flicks on one of the two light switches. Soft, warm light from two side lamps bathes the room in a romantic glow. With that same free hand, he locks the door with a resonant click.

The sudden sound makes your heart skip a beat, highlighting how quiet the room is. The distant bass of the party is almost inaudible now. It's just you and him with the sound of your ragged breaths mingling.

He sets you down onto his plush, black bedspread. The tension is almost unbearable—a delicious cocktail of excitement and passion that leaves you breathless. It feels unreal when you look at his handsome face and realize what the two of you were going to do together.

Jude stands at the end of the bed and looks down at your figure. You sit up on your elbows to watch as his hands—strong and sure—start to unbutton his shirt. One by one, each button reveals more of his chiseled torso to the cool air. He drops the garment to the floor when he finishes, leaving him shirtless.

He climbs onto the bed and then above you, bracketing your body with his arms . "Tell me how badly you want me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper,

"I need you inside me, Jude." The words escape your lips before you can second-guess yourself.

With a swift and decisive motion, Jude pushes you flat onto the bed, following your body down. The mattress sighs beneath the weight of your entangled forms. His lips claim yours in a dominant kiss—the kind that leaves you moaning. Jude's teeth graze your lower lip, demanding a response that you can't help but give. Your hands instinctively grasp at his broad shoulders, feeling his warm skin under your fingers.

You feel like prey caught in the grip of his hungry mouth. But there's an undeniable thrill in the way he handles you, making your heart race with a delicious kind of fear. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing and probing. It's as if he's trying to leave no part of you untouched.

His hand slides gently down your neck then arms, easing the straps of your dress off your shoulders. With unbridled eagerness, he continues to undress you, pulling the tight material down your body. As the fabric falls away, it leaves you in just your lacy black lingerie, leaving you exposed to his dark gaze.

You feel the rush of cool air against your body as he drops your dress onto the floor. He climbs off the bed and walks to his nightstand as you lie on your back, sprawled against the bed. The sound of the drawer opening echoes softly in the quiet room, punctuating the heavy silence. He pulls out a shimmering packet that makes you feel heated when you recognize its contents.

This was really happening, you think with a rush of desire.

As Jude returns to the bed, the tension in the air is palpable. He climbs back on the bed, kneeling over your thighs. When he places the condom into your hand, you wonder if your heart can escape your chest from beating too hard.

"Put it on," Jude commands, his tone demanding and leaving no room for hesitation.

With hands that slightly tremble, you unbutton Jude's tight-fitting jeans, revealing the mouthwatering bulge that lies beneath his black boxer briefs. You trace the outline of his arousal with your fingertips as he groans. The fabric clings to him like a second skin, allowing you to feel the heat emanating from his body.

When you finally pull the waistband down, his huge length springs free, making your mouth water with desire. His cock is thick and veiny—standing proudly at attention as if eager to be released from its confines.

You take a moment to admire the sheer size of him, tracing the path from his tip to the groomed curly hair at the base. The head glistens with a bead of pre-cum, begging for your touch.

You put the condom wrapper on your teeth, tearing the foil and holding the condom in your hand. Gently, you grasp his shaft, the soft skin sliding under your hand as you stroke him from base to tip. He lets out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own.

Carefully, you unroll the rubber over his erection, watching as it stretches to accommodate his size. The condom snaps into place with a final caress.

Jude's eyes darken with desire as he took in the sight of you. One of his hands trace the delicate lace of your black lingerie. Your breath hitches as Jude reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra with ease.

The cool air of the room brushes against your exposed flesh as he pulls the garment off you. His gentle hands cup your breasts as his thumbs graze the sensitive peaks, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

He settles over you with a single arm supporting him. Leaning in, he captures your mouth in a deep kiss. With warm hands, he fondles one of your breasts, his touch growing more insistent with each passing moment. You moan into his mouth, the sensation of his thumbs circling your nipples almost too much to bear.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe. It's as if he couldn't believe his luck in having you here, willing and eager for his touch.

Jude's hand leaves your chest to continue their journey down your body. They trace the curve of your hips before teasing your upper thigh. He lingers there, caressing the sensitive flesh. He smirks when you part your thighs slightly, giving him more space, and he slides a hand between your legs.

You gasp when he touches your damp, wet core through your panties. Then, with a firm grip, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls them down, exposing your most intimate secret.

"So wet for me," he whispers, his voice thick with lust as he tosses the scrap of fabric aside.

You fluster at his words, but the embarrassment quickly disappears as he explores the soft folds of your pussy. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he spreads your lips, revealing the swollen bud of your clit. His thumb circles it lightly, sending waves of pleasure shooting through your body.

He repositions your legs, pressing your knees into your chest. Then, with a suddenness that takes your breath away, he slides two fingers inside you, moving inside you.

As if he's known your body for years, he finds your g-spot. You can't help but let out a loud moan as his fingers curl in that magical way that makes your eyes flutter shut. Your hips tremble, seeking more of his touch, begging for the pleasure that you know he can give you. Instead, he only slides his fingers out of you.

But you knew what was coming next.

Jude's breath brushes against your face as he leans in closer. "Look at me," he says softly.

His eyes search yours when they open, looking for any sign of hesitation. All he finds is a reflection of the desire that mirrored his own. The promise of what was to come ignited a flame that neither of you could resist.

"Jude," you whisper, your voice weak with desire. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asks, looking down at you with unbridled lust, his voice a seductive promise.

You hesitate for a moment, caught between fear and passion. But then his hand moved to your core, his thumb brushing against the swell of your clit, and all thoughts fled. There was no turning back now.

"You," you moan, your voice barely a whisper. "Everything you can give to me."

"Then let me show you," he says, his voice a command.

Jude aligns his length with your warm, wet entrance. The thick head of his cock presses against it. The initial resistance sends a jolt of sensation through your body, making you gasp. You feel a twinge of apprehension at his size. His gaze locks onto yours, reassuring and filled with passion.

His warm hands caress the back of your knees, urging you to relax as he begins to ease himself inside you. The discomfort is present, but the wetness of your desire provides a slippery path for his invasion.

With a soft moan, you yield to the pressure, feeling yourself stretch to accommodate his impressive girth. The pain is sharp but fleeting. The tension slowly morphs into a delicious ache that sends waves of pleasure rippling through your core.

Jude's eyes shutter as he enters you fully. He feels the velvety warmth of your body enveloping him, groaning at the sensation of being sheathed so completely. The way you moaned, your walls quivering around him—it only served to heighten his desire.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers a string of sweet nothings, promising to take you to heights of pleasure you've never known.

With the utmost care, he begins to rock his hips, his movements slow, allowing you to adjust to his size. Each gentle thrust sends sparks of sensation through your body. You respond with soft, breathy moans, but you can't deny you wanted more.

You weren't some delicate virgin—you could take more than this.

You wrap your legs tightly around Jude's waist, urging him to pick up the pace. His eyes, dark with desire, stare into yours as he reads the unspoken challenge in your gaze. You dig your nails into his back.

"Faster," you breath out, your voice a siren's call.

His rhythm quickens, the force of his thrusts increasing as he claims you fully. Hard and rough and fast—each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You bite your bottom lip to hold back a moan, but it escapes anyway, a sweet sound that spurs him on.

Jude leans down and presses his lips to your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your skin. You gasp, your hands finding his hair, gripping it tightly as pleasure washes over you. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, hypersensitive to his touch, his taste, his very presence.

Jude's deep, gravelly voice whispers in your ear, "You feel so good, baby. So tight around me. All mine."

His words are a declaration of ownership that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel his dominance in every inch of his body pressing into yours, in every pulse of his hips that drives you closer to the edge. His grip on your waist tightens. Fingers digging into your flesh as he leaves you no room to escape the overwhelming sensations he's creating.

Your moan helplessly as he leaves a mark on your neck, the sting of pain melding with pleasure as he says, "Take all of me."

The command in his voice is absolute, and you can't help but submit to him completely, your body arching into his touch, eager for more of this delicious torment. You cling to him as your body responds to his every touch.

You arch your back as he continues pounding into you. Jude's rhythm becomes more demanding. His hips piston against yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

"You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a dark promise that sends heat pooling in your core.

Your nails drag down his back as you try to hold on, to anchor yourself in the maelstrom of sensation he's creating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot, making your thighs tremble and your eyes flutter shut.

His pace is relentless, pushing you closer and closer. With every movement, you feel yourself losing a little more control. The tension coils tighter, a delicious ache that's almost unbearable. You whimper. Your body begging for the release that you know he's going to give you.

"Jude," you plead against his lips.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, he whispers, "Come for me."

Like shattering into a million pieces, your orgasm rips into you, responding to the authority in his voice. You cry out. Your nails dig into his back, leaving half-moons in his skin as you try to hold onto him, to hold onto this moment of pure ecstasy. Jude's eyes flash with triumph as he feels your body convulse around him, your orgasm clenching him tightly.

"Fuck, that's it," he groans, his own release approaching.

His hips continue to move, each thrust now slower and more deliberate. He draws out the last remnants of your climax until you're limp and boneless under him. He kisses you deeply, his tongue claiming your mouth as surely as his body claims your body, leaving no doubt in your mind who you belong to.

Jude's powerful hips drive into you one last time. With a groan, he stills, his entire body tensing as he follows you over the edge. The rush of his climax fills the condom. He holds you tightly, his breathing harsh and uneven, as he rides out his own wave of pleasure.

He collapses beside you, his breathing ragged, his body slick with sweat. You lie there, your heart still racing, your body tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. The room is silent except for the sound of your breathing. You turn to look at him, basking in the afterglow of your passion. His eyes lock onto yours with a fierce possession.

Jude's hand reaches out, brushing a stray hair from your face. You lean into his touch, craving the contact. You close your eyes, savoring the feel of his touch. When you open them again, his face is inches away from yours.

He gently kisses your forehead before moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He stands up with the grace of a man who's done this a hundred times before and walks into the bathroom.

You lie there, catching your breath, and waiting for him to come back.

His movements are careful and precise as he wipes away the evidence of your shared passion, tenderly cleaning you up with a soft cloth. His gaze never leaves yours, and you can't help but feel butterflies at the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

Once you're clean, he tucks you into bed, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine.

"You're not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff with emotion. "Not out of my sight."

With that, he settles back into the bed, pulling you into his embrace, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that have finally found their match. And as you lay there, safe in his arms, you know that, for now at least, you have no intention of going anywhere.

[ysaefinn]

okay but after reader tries to dump suguru and he doesnt allow it, how does he react to reader cheating as an attempt to escape the relationship

Cheating, toxic relationship, yandere suguru

I KNOW WHO THIS IS BTW???????

W question, bcuz i will pounce at the first chance i get to make him look as yanderish as possible...

First of all yeah you clocked it, he's not letting you go 💀 and you would be well within your rights to get you some ass cuz wtf do you mean "No darling, we're not breaking up. You belong with me, now hold on dinner's almost ready"??????????????

He will find out you cheated EVEN if you don't tell him you did literally the second you step back into your shared home, he doesn't even pester you with questions. Will only ask you where you've been and give you a quiet little "ok" regardless of your answer then immediately drop the subject. Mind you he is VERY clearly hurt, eyes glassy but he won't cry while you're there watching (to further push the narrative that everything is ok, mostly to himself) and then it's just eerily quiet, pretty creepy actually. He's (obviously) immediately targeting the person you were with btw, then comes home all smiles and giggles FULLY BELIEVING THAT HIS PROBLEM WAS TAKEN CARE OF, he really does give you the benefit of the doubt, it was just a lapse in your judgment, THEY seduced YOU, you were drunk or tired or something???? Lies on lies on lies, of course, he knows he's just clowning himself. The one thing he knows to be 100% true is that he's just fighting for his relationship/future marriage and has nothing to be guilty about.

(He holds you a little tighter at night after each kill, its like a pride thing really)

You're probably going to reach into your infinite wisdom and come up with the brilliant idea that cheating again is the solution to your dilemma (diva), and he's just gonna keep fucking murdering the people you keep seeing 💀 he can genuinely keep doing this all day anon. However, murder after murder, body after body, the illusion starts to crumble, and he can't keep deluding himself, you've made how many... 8 "mistakes" now?? No, no way, you're going out of your way to meet these people solely to hurt him, and yet his anger is still never aimed at you. Once the realization sinks he just breaks, and completely submits, you can do whatever you want atp as long as you're still coming home to him.

In canon JJK verse I see him being driven to madness from love and borderline grief and haunting you in typical Rika fashion lol (dream life) its so on brand for him really, not even death doing us part