#c++ interview questions

[tpointtechblogs]

C++ Language Interview Questions for Tech Jobs in Top Companies

Top C++ interview questions to crack tech job roles in leading global companies.

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[soldierandawar]

i will say that out of all this the most unexpected thing is the actor of the LI seemingly being the person to actually want to approach the relationship with so much care and consideration of fans. didn’t have that on my bingo card can’t lie.

[deus-ex-mona]

looked through my gallery and found these two images next to each other… w h a t in the world happened in 2k22 man

[hiidkwhatimdoing7525]

every time I see this I lose some brain cells, which brings it to negative but who's counting?

[ayoitslilith]

almost every phone i've ever owned has been like a baby desiring to be dropped on the soft spot of it's skull. meanwhile, this piece of shit that i got free with the plan and doesn't run so much as it limps also is basically fucking impervious to damage and only got more rediculously durable once i threw a case and screen protector on it. when people ask me why i don't just get a new phone i always prove a point by throwing my phone as hard as i can at the ground, picking it up, and showing them that it's somehow not even scratched

[kxllerblond]

hello fellow deviants who are awake at this ungodly hour, what color and fabric are your muse's bedsheets?

[tccicomputercoaching]

Top 10 C Language Interview Questions with Answers

Are you really preparing for a C interview and having too many questions to ponder? Then don't! Think of us as your support system. The following is a very concise list of the Top 10 C Language Interview Questions with Answers that will hopefully be your answer to that next big interview.

Ready to dive deeper into C programming and other coding skills? Check out our Programming Course to get started!

1. What is C language?

Answer:

Think of C as a general-purpose procedural programming language designed by Dennis Ritchie in the 1970s; It meets our needs for system programming because of its fast speed, simplicity, and ability to access low-level memory.

2. What are the basic data types in C?

Answer:

They are basic data types, which include:

int (Integer)

float (Floating-point)

char (Character)

double (Double precision floating-point)

3. What is a pointer in C?

Answer:

In C, a pointer is a variable that keeps the memory address of another variable. It is used for creating dynamic memory management and working with arrays efficiently.

4. What is the difference between ++i and i++?

Answer:

++i means increment NOW, i. e., increment before using in any expression; i++ means use the current value of the variable in an expression and then increment it.

5. What is the use of sizeof operator?

Answer:

It returns the size of memory (in bytes) that a data type occupies. For instance, sizeof(int) may return 4.

6. What is the difference between call by value and call by reference?

Answer:

Call by value: passes the copy of the variable, so changes made inside the function do not affect the original.

Call by reference: passes the actual address so that changes modify the real variable.

7. What are storage classes in C?

Answer:

Storage classes tell us about the scope, lifetime, and visibility of variables:

auto

extern

static

register

8. What is recursion in C?

Answer:

Recursion is a condition wherein the function calls itself. It’s generally applied for calculating factorials or Fibonacci values.

9. What is a NULL pointer?

Answer:

A NULL pointer is a pointer that points to no location in memory. It is used for error handling and safe pointer initialization.

10. How would you differentiate between structure and union?

Structures allocate separate memory spaces to each member.

Unions allocate the same space in memory to all members, which saves space but allows it to hold only one value at a time.

Conclusion

These top 10 questions are about some of the basic concepts of C that are normally asked in interviews. So having command over these will surely be very helpful in boosting your confidence and making you a stronger candidate.

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Note: This Post was originally published on https://tccicomputercoaching.wordpress.com/2025/05/08/top-10-c-language-interview-questions-with-answers/  and is shared here for educational purposes.

[tpointtechadu]

C Programming Interview Questions: Test Your Knowledge Before the Interview

Preparing for a job interview can be stressful, especially when it comes to technical roles that demand strong programming skills. If you're applying for a role that involves C programming, it's crucial to sharpen your understanding of the language. That’s where revisiting C Programming Interview Questions can help you gain an edge. Whether you’re just starting out or brushing up your knowledge, this guide will walk you through the kind of questions that often come up in interviews and help you reflect on your grasp of C.

Why Interviewers Love C

C is one of the oldest and most powerful programming languages. Its simplicity, performance, and low-level memory manipulation make it the foundation of many operating systems, embedded devices, and real-time applications. Interviewers love C because it reveals a candidate’s depth of understanding about how software interacts with hardware, how memory is managed, and how algorithms are constructed at a low level. A strong command over C shows that you’ve built your programming knowledge from the ground up.

The Importance of C Tutorial Practice

Before jumping into specific C Programming Interview Questions, it’s essential to walk through a structured C Tutorial. Reviewing basics like data types, control structures, functions, and arrays lays the groundwork. As you progress, you should also focus on pointers, memory allocation, and structures—these are often seen as “make or break” topics in technical interviews. Even if you’ve worked with C in the past, refreshing these concepts through tutorials helps bring everything back into focus.

Core Concepts Interviewers Test

Let’s explore some of the key areas interviewers typically cover when asking C programming questions:

Memory Management: Expect to be tested on how C handles memory—both stack and heap allocation. You should understand concepts like dynamic memory allocation, memory leaks, and buffer overflows.

Pointers and Arrays: One of the most common and trickiest parts of C. Interviewers often want to know if you truly understand how pointers work, how they interact with arrays, and how pointer arithmetic can be used (or misused).

Data Structures: Even though C doesn’t have built-in data structures like lists or maps, you’re expected to know how to implement them using arrays, structs, and pointers. Interviewers may ask conceptual questions or have you describe how to organize data efficiently.

Functions and Scope: Knowing how functions work in C, including parameter passing, recursion, and variable scope, is essential. You might be asked about the difference between global and local variables, or how static variables behave.

Compilation and Execution: Understanding how C code is compiled and linked can be a big plus. Interviewers may ask about header files, macros, and the difference between declarations and definitions.

Edge Cases and Problem Solving: You might get questions that aren’t strictly about C syntax, but about how to solve a problem efficiently in C. These could test your logical thinking, debugging ability, or creativity in using C’s features.

Behavioral vs. Technical Balance

While it's easy to focus entirely on technical preparation, remember that interviews are also about communication. When answering C Programming Interview Questions, try to explain your thought process clearly. Even if you don’t know the answer right away, showing how you break down a problem can leave a positive impression. Being able to explain technical concepts in simple terms shows that you truly understand them.

Preparing Strategically

Start by identifying your weak areas. Did you struggle with pointers in your last project? Are you unsure about how memory leaks occur? Use your C Tutorial sessions to focus on these gaps. Practice answering questions out loud, even if you're by yourself. Simulating interview conditions helps reduce anxiety and improves your fluency in technical discussion.

Mock interviews with peers or mentors can also be helpful. Getting feedback not only helps you improve but also builds your confidence. Remember, interviews aren’t just about technical knowledge—they’re about demonstrating your ability to think and communicate effectively.

Final Thoughts

There’s no shortcut to mastering C, but by working through C Programming Interview Questions and revisiting your C Tutorial foundations, you can walk into your interview with confidence. Preparation is more than just reviewing facts—it’s about understanding concepts deeply and being able to explain them clearly. Use every question as a chance to show not only what you know, but how you think.

So before your next interview, challenge yourself with a mix of theoretical and practical C questions. Make your understanding bulletproof, and walk into that interview room ready to impress.

[interviewquestionspreparation]

Developers created C# as a high-level programming language in the early 1970s. Dennis Ritchie at Bell Labs originally developed and implemented it for the UNIX operating system. Today, C# is a popular programming language. It is used in many applications and systems. People use it to create desktop applications. It is also used to develop complex systems for businesses and organizations. Jobs in C# programming can range from entry-level positions such as a junior programmer or software developer to more advanced roles like a senior C# developer or systems engineer.

[umilily]

i go about ordering food like it's rocket science

[justnshalom]

Blazor Latest Interview Questions 2024

Introduction Are you preparing for a Blazor interview in 2024 and want to be well-prepared with the latest interview questions and answers? Look no further! In this article, we will provide you with a comprehensive list of Blazor interview questions that will help you crack your interview with confidence. 1. What is Blazor? Blazor is a web development framework developed by Microsoft that allows…

[whoevenisjavier]

sugar coated, lies unfolded

pairing: CEO harry castillo x exec. assistant f! reader

summary: you try to stay away, to do the right thing, but somehow, you end up back in your boss’ bed... well, your boss and his wife’s bed.

part 1 here

tags/warning: +18, mdni. harry castillo is 48 and married. reader is 25 and has a boyfriend. age gap. cheating. f!reader. partners dissing. oral sex (f! receiving). unprotected piv. anal fingering. she does stuff to him while his wife is on the phone i’m sorry.

w/c: 10k

Someone is talking about the ripple effects of the Forbes cover on New York’s business scene, explaining how the new feature on Harry Castillo will influence decisions made by investors and agents, especially now that Castillo & Co. is expanding operations in Asia.

“It’s an unbelievable feat to be on the cover of Forbes twice in just twenty months,” the public relations manager is saying.

You jot down the word unbelievable on your iPad before the rest of the sentence drowns in flashbacks from the night before, flooding your brain like quicksand made of memories, tastes, and touches.

You shift in your chair, wishing you were anywhere but a conference room at eight-thirty in the morning, and your gaze, though fixed on your tablet screen, starts to blur around the edges.

Between your legs is tender, deliciously sore in all the right ways after being claimed by the thick length of Harry until almost two in the morning, when he finally dropped you off at home.

You didn’t even make it to the bed in his Lenox Hill apartment. You had sex on the white oak floor in the living room, on top of a blanket, desperate, and everything on you is sensitive today.

You slept with your boss. You actually slept with your boss.

God. Harry has such a filthy mouth.

Someone calls your name.

“Do you think he’d want that?”

Your eyes meet those of Harry’s personal PR manager, who has one brow raised. You like her. She’s sharp and direct and doesn’t have time to waste, a trait that’s written all over the look she’s giving you now.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you admit. “What was the question?”

An impatient sigh.

“I asked if you think Harry would want to talk about his career journey.”

“No,” you say immediately. “He covered that in the last interview, and he’ll kill someone if he has to answer the same questions again.”

The intern to your left scrambles to erase something from her own iPad.

When you leave the meeting, it’s settled that Harry’s next interview will be with Forbes, set to be edited and published on a rush schedule. Now you need to inform him, schedule the interview, send ten thousand emails.

You press the elevator button and wait. When the doors finally open on your floor—Media, Marketing, and Advertising—there are three people inside, and your boss is one of them.

Your first instinct is to stay put, but one of the men is holding the door open for you, and Harry is looking at you with an unreadable expression. Everyone knows the two of you get along well, so you can’t exactly not step in.

“Good morning,” you say as you enter, greeted politely by the other two men. You stop beside Harry, both of you facing forward, side by side. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Morning.”

His tone is polite and to the point, as it always is when other people are around.

The doors close. The elevator screen shows stops on the fifth and seventh floors before heading to the fifteenth, where Harry’s office is. Background music resumes while you focus on breathing mechanically, because even that feels too tense right now.

Is he thinking about how he practically begged to come inside you twice?

The elevator stops. One of the men steps out, exchanging good mornings.

At some point last night, he brought up your boyfriend while he was still inside you, and you wanted to kill him for it, because your body was torn between being turned on by the wrongness of it all and feeling sorry for your partner, who was probably asleep at that hour, completely unaware of how his name was being dragged through the situation. But then the irrational possessiveness bug bit Harry and he made you admit your boyfriend didn’t fuck you nearly as well.

The elevator stops again. The last person exits, leaving just you and Harry in the confined space. The music starts up again.

Harry speaks first.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly, still looking ahead.

“What do…” you start to say, then remember how, toward the end of the night, you told him you were so sensitive between your legs, something Harry then soothed with his own tongue. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“You complained.”

“I made an observation,” you clarify. “Because it’s true. You and my boyfriend are different. And with you, it was hours.”

He says nothing.

“We said we wouldn’t talk about this at work,” you remind him. “Last night didn’t happen.”

The doors open on your floor, and Harry, without addressing your last comment, holds them open for you to exit first. You both begin walking to your respective places — your desk, his office — and you slip back into your executive assistant persona. The one who doesn’t know what his sweaty skin smells like, how his kiss tastes, or the sound of that deep groan when whispered into your ear.

“I need to talk to you about the Forbes interview,” you call after him. “Can we schedule a meeting at three?”

“Yes. Put it on the calendar, please,” he says without slowing down or looking back.

He enters his office and shuts the door behind him, which means: do not disturb.

So you don’t.

You and Harry are good actors. That you gotta admit.

For the next three weeks, nothing happens. He’s your boss, you’re his assistant, and that’s the only dynamic that exists between you. The world keeps spinning. And you don’t get fired, which was a very real possibility in the mental report you filed the morning after that night.

You start arriving earlier so you don’t have to stay late, which means you don’t have to be alone with him. Harry stops sending cryptic messages about his meetings. He also stops emerging from his office when you walk in wearing the red dress he once said he loved.

Three weeks later, on a Friday at four p.m., Harry steps out of his office and walks over to your desk.

You look up from the Excel spreadsheet where you’re logging his personal expenses and ask politely,

“Can I help you, Harry?”

“Are you going to the cocktail party?”

He’s talking about the Castillo & Co. event tomorrow night, celebrating the release of the Forbes issue featuring his new interview.

“Yes, of course. Do you need something?”

“I need you to come with me to the tailor and take the suit to my apartment. I’ve got something at six, won’t have time to go back to my house.”

“Okay. Now?”

“Now.”

You nod, like the good assistant you are, and save the file before shutting down your computer.

In silence, you both head down to the parking garage and slide into the back seat of Harry’s car. His driver is already behind the wheel. Harry immediately crosses one leg over the other, foot bouncing, and pulls out his phone. You turn toward the window as the car leaves the underground lot.

This is the first time you two are in a car together after that night, that had felt so different.

Harry had dismissed the driver, so he was the one behind the wheel. The silence back then was heavy with anticipation, tension, and the electric certainty that something was going to happen. When he stopped at a red light, he leaned across the console to kiss you and slid a hand under your skirt, pressing against you through your underwear in a way that made you feel completely, undeniably his.

You squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, steadying your breath.

The moment shatters with the sound of your phone. You glance down and see “baby” on the screen — your boyfriend. You’d asked him to call to plan dinner.

Shit. Perfect timing.

“Hey, babe,” you say softly. In your peripheral vision, you catch Harry’s foot stilling. Your boyfriend is cheerful, loud enough that Harry can probably hear every word. He asks if you’re still at the office. “No, I’m heading to the tailor with Harry, then I’ll go straight to your place. Is that okay?”

He says it is. Says he bought a special bottle of wine because the pink label reminded him of you—your favorite color—and the ache in your chest tightens.

“You’re so sweet to me,” you say, and maybe it’s just in your head, but your voice sounds too guilty. He tells you that you deserve it. You don’t know what to say, so you ask, “Do you want me to pick anything up for dinner?”

He says no. Says he just wants one thing from you. You lower your voice.

“What do you want?”

The car is dead silent. Your phone volume is up too high when he says, “I want you on the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but your panties, while I cook.” That’s your assignment, he adds.

You let out an awkward little laugh, praying Harry didn’t catch it.

“Deal,” you say. “See you tonight.”

When you hang up, Harry isn’t on his phone anymore. He’s just staring out the window, unreadable.

You arrive at the tailor and the driver opens your door. Harry joins you on the sidewalk and, for the first time in nearly a month, places a guiding hand at the base of your back as you walk inside. He used to do that all the time, but apparently that kind of touch was banned after what happened between you.

The receptionist greets you and leads you to one of the private fitting rooms. Three of the walls are mirrors and two velvet couches sit in the corner. There’s a tray with water and candied orange peels, and, In the center of it all, is the raised circular platform where Harry usually stands during fittings.

She shows him the suit, neatly arranged on two hangers, and tells him to try it on. Then she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

You head straight for one of the couches, which makes Harry’s hand fall away from your back.

“Want me to wait outside?” you ask, out of habit, as you sit down. You’ve done this a dozen times.

“Nothing you haven’t seen,” he says, pulling off his shoes.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Off comes the blazer, placed on the rack. Then the watch and the cufflinks are dropped into the tray. Then come the buttons—first the sleeves, then the collar, all the way down…

You clear your throat and open your phone, responding to emails, not looking at him.

“So your boyfriend cooks for you,” Harry says casually.

And just like that, you know he heard everything.

Half his chest is exposed. He’s not even looking at you as he untucks his shirt and slides it off, standing shirtless in front of you, wearing only slacks.

“Yeah, he likes to cook.”

“Is it a special occasion?”

“Does it have to be?” you counter, eyes glued to your screen.

“Just asking.”

He unbuttons his pants, and you lock your gaze on your phone.

“Anniversary,” you finally say, which makes you realize that you’ll need new lingerie for tonight.

“What if he proposes again? Will you say yes?”

“Harry,” you say firmly, lifting your gaze now that he’s put on the dress pants. “That’s none of your business. You pay me to manage your life, but that doesn’t mean you get to know everything about mine.”

“I love how passive-aggressive you get when I bring up your relationship. You hate it.”

“I don’t hate my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say you hate your boyfriend. I said you hate your relationship.”

He starts buttoning the newly fitted shirt, and his tone is so maddeningly casual you feel heat rising in your chest.

“You just want me to hate my relationship so you can feel a little better,” you say, holding your fingers up, barely apart, “just this much better, about the fact that you hate yours too.”

“I don’t need to feel better about it. I know the truth. If we didn’t hate our relationships, we wouldn’t have had sex.”

“We agreed not to talk about it.”

“Oh, that again. Has it helped? Not talking about it has made you think about it any less?”

You lock your phone and set it aside. Adjust yourself on the couch and look directly at him. Your voice stays quiet, but sharp.

“Of course not, but what do you want me to do? I’m in a relationship, you’re married, we have lives, and I need my job. And even if I do think about that night, I can’t do anything about it. So yeah, it’s better to pretend.”

“So you do think about it.”

“If that’s what strokes your ego, then fine, yes. I think about it. There hasn’t been a single damn day since that night that I haven’t remembered it. It haunts me.”

Harry finishes buttoning his shirt, tucks it in, then slips on the blazer. The suit fits like a glove. Every seam perfect, every line flattering.

“I told you I had morals,” Harry says quietly after a beat. “But I put them aside for you. And now, here I am, with none, asking you to keep going.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Keep going what?”

“What started that night in my office. I’m not going to ask you to break up with your boyfriend, and I won’t promise I’ll divorce my wife. I can sign a five-year job security agreement if that’s what it takes to make you feel safe. But I want you.”

“This won’t work.”

“Do you want it?”

What a stupid question. You nearly die a little every day from how much you want him.

But your answer never comes, because the tailor opens the door and walks in, greeting Harry cheerfully.

And now you can’t stop thinking

You think about it as you head to Harry’s apartment to drop off his suit, ignoring the pair of gold hoops on the entryway table that make it painfully obvious he’s a married man. You think about it later, when you go to your boyfriend’s place and undress for him. And even later, in the shower, when you notice the mark he left near your breast while you were having sex.

This has absolutely no chance of ending well, and you’ve never been the kind of person who lets irrational impulses get in the way of your career. But for the first time… you’re tempted.

And the worst part? You can’t tell anyone. Maybe your therapist, but she’ll just say again how unhealthy this dynamic is, and you don’t want to hear that. And you don’t trust her that much with this kind of secret.

You think about it as you get ready for Harry’s cocktail party, aching to see him and hoping for permission to touch him.

Your boyfriend approaches, eyes wide when he sees you in the strapless red gown, and lets out a whistle.

“Are you sure I’m even allowed to be seen with you tonight?” he teases, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your neck. “You look gorgeous. Stunning dress.”

“Harry gave it to me. Well, he gave me the money and his personal shopper bought it,” you say, because there’s no way you could afford a Schiaparelli, and your boyfriend is used to hearing about the things Harry buys you whenever there’s an event.

All so you look presentable as Harry Castillo’s executive assistant, of course.

“Of course he did,” your boyfriend says, rolling his eyes. “Ready?”

When you arrive at Castillo & Co.’s event hall, hand in hand with your boyfriend, you realize that, no, you’re not ready. The decor is tasteful and elegant in shades of fawn, black, and ice white and everyone is in black-tie. At the back of the room, a digital display showcases the Forbes cover. Harry looks amazing in the photo, completely fitting for the role he holds, but the headline reads: From Concrete to the Top of the World.

He must’ve hated that.

“Do we have fancy whiskey?” your boyfriend asks as you start to cross the room. “And shrimp cocktail?”

The questions are rhetorical. Before you can answer, he plants a loud kiss on your lips and heads off toward the food tables. You watch him walk away, wishing he stayed with you, but then a waiter offers you a glass of champagne and you accept. You walk toward the edge of the room, and sip while scanning the space.

People are gathered in polished little clusters, all impeccably dressed and beaming. But there’s a larger group crowded around one person, and the reason is Harry, who’s speaking with ease and commanding the social scene with effortless charm, looking absolutely delicious in a tux.

Your view is partially blocked when his wife appears beside him, placing a hand on his forearm, looking radiant in a white off-shoulder draped gown. Without stopping his sentence or glancing her way, Harry slips an arm around her waist.

She seems to glow under his touch. You understand the feeling, despite the hundred-pound weight settling in your stomach.

How ridiculous, to feel jealous of the wife. You are the wrong one, not her. And how twisted is it that, beneath the jealousy, there’s a flicker of satisfaction because Harry wants you, not just her?

Harry laughs at something one of the men says. He scans the room briefly, and that’s when he sees you. Your stomach twists, and nearly melts, when his eyes sweep over you from head to toe, so subtly that no one else would notice.

Smoothly, he turns back to the conversation, as if his attention had never strayed.

Your own attention is pulled back by your boyfriend returning.

“There’s so much food,” he says, his excitement making you laugh. He laughs too, but insists, “Seriously. It’s insane. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head, and he grabs your hand, guiding you toward the buffet tables. There are a million options, and you let yourself get distracted by them so you don’t start looking for Harry, which doesn’t work, because ten minutes later, he’s the one who finds you.

His wife is with him.

“Darling,” she says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That dress is stunning. It’s Schiaparelli, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you reply, and she keeps looking at you like she’s waiting for an explanation. You add, “A loan from Harry, so I wouldn’t embarrass him.”

“It’s not a loan. It’s yours,” Harry says, leaning in to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. His smell, what the fuck. He extends a hand to your boyfriend. “So you’re the boyfriend.”

“So you’re the boss,” your boyfriend jokes as they shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Castillo.”

“Likewise,” Harry says, though the tone is anything but warm. Then to you: “My PR rep asked for a few photos of us. Can you do that now?”

“Sure,” you reply, accepting his offered arm.

Harry kisses his wife lightly and says he’ll be right back. You do the same with your boyfriend. Together, you walk toward the PR team, and once you’re far enough from the crowd, Harry speaks, eyes still forward.

“Have you thought about it?”

“Do I have a deadline?”

“So you’re considering it.”

That shuts you up. Yes, you are considering it.

“If we were to do this,” you murmur to Harry, smiling politely at one of his business partners entering your field of vision, who’s always courteous to you, “I’d want that job security agreement.”

“I’ll call my lawyer right now and have him draft the contract.”

The conversation pauses as you reach Harry’s publicist—a tall man who always wears eccentric suits, whether because of the patterns or the bold colors. Tonight, he’s in blood-red with round glasses and greets you with a giant smile.

“Stunning,” he says, kissing both of your cheeks. “What an honor for Harry to be seen with such a beautiful woman.”

You shoot him a look.

“Besides Mrs. Castillo, of course!” he adds quickly, and you decide not to check your boss’s face. “Shall we?”

You and Harry pose in front of a wide LED panel bearing the Castillo Construction & Co. logo. He places a hand on your waist without a hint of a smile, and you fall into your executive posture: back straight, polite, demure smile.

Photos are taken with instructions from both the photographer and the publicist. When it’s over, but before you and Harry can step apart, he leans in, under the guise of a polite hug, and whispers in your ear:

“She’s traveling for work tonight. If the answer is yes, you know where I live.”

Then he disappears into the sea of people who can’t wait to be near him.

By sheer luck, you don’t see Harry again during the next two hours you remain at the cocktail party. Your boyfriend indulges in the expensive whiskey, and you sip two more glasses of champagne, but there’s an anticipation humming beneath everything you do, like something is lurking.

Like the night won’t end at your home, in your bed, with your boyfriend.

You leave around nine, and you practically have to guide your boyfriend into the Uber waiting at the curb. He’s nearly unconscious on the ride back to his apartment, just awake enough to walk on his own. You help him inside, stay with him while he showers, and then watch over him as he collapses into bed.

A glass of water and two aspirins on the nightstand. A kiss on the forehead. And then he’s snoring, totally out.

You close the door gently behind you and, leaning your back against it, pick up your phone.

You open your chat with Harry. The last message is a simple “ok” you sent after he asked to reschedule a meeting.

There’s no telling how long you stand there, staring at the screen and imagining a thousand different scenarios, but when you finally type something, it’s:

“Let the front desk know I’m cleared to come up.”

Because even though your name is on the list of people with access to his apartment, the building has strict policies about non-residents after 8 p.m.

Harry replies ten minutes later:

“Done.”

The doorman, an older gentleman who’s always polite, greets you as always: with a gentle tone, a compliment (this time about your dress), and a polite question about whether Harry’s being a decent boss. But you catch the slight wrinkle between his brows, the subtle confusion in his smile. It says: What the hell are you doing here at this hour?

You see the same look from the security guards, and from the person at the front desk. But you lift your chin, square your shoulders, and pretend your reason for being here is purely professional.

You build a whole story in your mind as you walk across the marble lobby, your heels clicking with each step, just to make it easier to face. Harry needs a report for Monday morning, and he’s paying you overtime for it, but the source documents are physical, and he can’t scan them.

He took them home because he planned to work on them tonight, but the cocktail party took over his evening.

You step into the elevator and enter the code for Harry’s apartment.

And he remembered the report at the event, of course he did, because the partner he’s meeting on Monday mentioned looking forward to the negotiations. So you, ever the good employee, offered to stop by and grab the documents.

The elevator doors close, taking you toward the penthouse duplex, and you shut your eyes, erasing the fake narrative.

Now, it’s just you and your conscience.

There’s no report. No meeting. No overtime. Now it’s just Harry and you, both willingly choosing to do this and hurt your partners in exchange for nothing more than physical satisfaction.

The doors open into the private foyer of the penthouse, warmly lit and lined with framed art. Harry is standing in the doorway of the apartment, barefoot, blazer gone, bowtie undone and hanging loose at his collar.

You take one step forward, leaving the elevator.

“How was the rest of the party?” you ask, trying to sound casual through your nerves.

“Good. They liked the feature.”

You stop a few feet away, feeling his eyes on you. You twist your clutch in your hands.

“We left early because she had to catch the flight,” Harry adds, answering the question you hadn’t asked. “Want to come in? I think I still have some champagne.”

You nod, agreeing, and step inside as Harry closes the door behind you. The long hallway leading into the living room, all decorated in earth tones and golden light, greets you like a witness.

“There are some things I’m assuming based on the fact that you’re here,” Harry says behind you. You turn to face him. “But obviously, I need you to say it.”

“I don’t know if I can say it out loud.”

He watches you for a beat, reading your face.

“Morals?”

“It’s called having a heart.”

He smiles, and it’s far too sensual for the subject at hand.

“Speaking of hearts… what excuse did you give your boyfriend?”

He walks past you, heading down the hallway, and you follow. The two of you move into the living room, and you settle onto the couch, watching as Harry disappears for a few seconds and reemerges with an unopened bottle of Bollinger and two flutes in his hands. He sits beside you, and within moments, the bottle is open and champagne is flowing into both glasses.

You slip off your heels. Harry tosses his bow tie onto the coffee table. And only after you’ve taken your first sip of champagne do you finally answer.

“I didn’t need an excuse. He was asleep,” you say, referring to your boyfriend. “I think he had a lot of whiskey.”

“That’s a shame. He could’ve spent the night with you, but he chose to drink,” Harry replies, settling in beside you as he clicks his tongue. “Rookie mistake.”

“You think it’s exciting to sleep with me because it only happened once and it’s forbidden. After three years, he doesn’t think like that anymore.”

“There isn’t a universe where I don’t find having you in my bed exciting.”

That makes you blink slowly at him, then at the ring on his finger, while the champagne tastes suddenly bitter on your tongue.

He notices where your eyes have landed.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, gesturing to the ring.

You don’t even need to think, which probably bumps you up twenty points on the I’m-A-Terrible-Person scale.

“No,” you say, because it’s true. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Tonight?” you nod, and he draws in a long breath. He seems to test a million possible words before landing on: “No. I didn’t. I was angry at your boyfriend, and then I felt like an asshole for that.”

When you don’t respond, Harry throws the question back at you.

“Did you?”

You take another sip of champagne, gaze fixed on the massive TV mounted across from the sofa.

“I wish I had. It would be easier to deal with all this if I felt guilty.”

Harry reaches over and takes a lock of your hair that had fallen over your chest, twirling it around his finger before brushing it over your shoulder. He does the same with the others, gently moving each strand behind you, letting it fall down your back.

Before anything else, he places his glass on the coffee table beside the bottle and settles into the cushions.

“Come here.”

The way he pulls you brings your body into his, with your back partially resting against his chest and your legs tucked beneath you.

“I usually have answers for everything,” Harry says. “But for this? I don’t.”

You tilt your head just enough to hear the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your ear, and you intertwine your fingers with his. His arm rests over your right shoulder.

“It’s okay… I don’t need comfort. I’m here because I want to be.”

Harry makes a low sound, like agreement, and presses his hand flat against your chest. He can probably feel the same quick heartbeat under his palm.

He changes the subject because that’s the smarter choice.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he says near your ear, his voice more intimate now, more private. You close your eyes and savor the sound like it’s dessert. “Everyone was looking at you and envying your boyfriend.”

His hand drifts lower, cupping your breast over the smooth silk of your gown, his touch feather-light. Your skin prickles.

“But I’m the one they should envy, right?” Harry keeps whispering. The dress has a slit that’s just wide enough for him to slip his hand underneath and cup your breast. “I was trying to think of a way to make that obvious.”

“That you’re cheating on your wife with me?”

His soft thumb finds your hardened nipple, and a wave of heat rolls between your legs as he circles it.

“That I got what all those wide-eyed bastards wanted.”

“You’re awfully possessive for someone who’s the other man.”

He laughs, and you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration under your cheek against his chest. You smile, and the smile stays as Harry reaches for the small zipper on the side of your dress and slowly, slowly pulls it down.

The fabric loosens with each inch the zipper drops, and you’re the one who slides the top of the dress down to your waist, exposing your breasts. His hands cover them one at a time, squeezing gently, and you push them toward his palms.

Soon, it’s his mouth on your neck, lips parted over your sensitive skin. You have to tighten your grip around the champagne flute just to keep from dropping it as Harry kisses and bites your neck, his beard scraping and tickling in a way that leaves your whole body weak.

“Turn around and kiss me,” he says, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the coffee table.

When he leans back into the couch again, you kneel on the seat beside him, just like that first night in his office, and meet his mouth. Harry holds your face with both hands but lets you set the pace, following your movements. And you devour it, because you’ve thought about this too much. His kiss, his taste, the way he leads without ever needing to be rough.

Your mouths part wider, undoing all the restraint that’s built up over the last three weeks. Harry slides one hand down to finish unzipping the dress completely and pushes it off your hips, leaving you in nothing but panties.

You’ve barely thrown the dress to the floor before his hand is already inside your underwear, and your knees weaken. He finds the slickness there and mutters a curse under his breath before sitting up straighter to get a better angle as he rubs slow circles over your clit.

The blood is pounding so hard in your ears that you barely register the phone ringing.

Both of you freeze, breaths and hearts racing. You meet Harry’s gaze, seeking some sort of shelter in it, and he looks back at you, lips red, before glancing toward the coffee table.

Before he can move, you kiss him again. Screw the phone. Harry immediately sinks back into the kiss, and the middle finger still inside your panties traces slowly from your clit down to your dripping entrance. It doesn’t take long before he slips it inside, and you swing a leg over his lap, settling into him.

The phone stops ringing.

Harry moves slowly, probably remembering how sensitive you were last time. He takes his time with just one finger, working you open, making you wetter. Your clit is practically throbbing, and he starts to speak—

—but the words are swallowed up by the phone ring again.

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry mutters, clearly annoyed, pulling his hand from your panties and gripping your waist. With you still in his lap, he leans forward and grabs the phone. You feel his whole body tense beneath you when he sees the screen.

“What is it?” you ask.

“My wife,” he says.

You want to be a bitch and tell him not to answer, to hang up, but you can’t. Even though you know he might actually listen if you said it.

“Answer. It could be important.”

Harry squeezes your waist as you try to move off his lap.

“Stay,” he says, and clears his throat before answering. “Hi, darling. Everything okay?”

“Hey, babe. Why didn’t you pick up the first time?”

You can hear her voice clearly because she’s speaking loudly and because of how close the two of you are, but you stay quiet and still, as if moving might somehow make her see you.

The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

“Sorry. I was on a video call with some investors in Japan. I didn’t see the phone ring.”

You keep your eyes on his as your hand reaches the button on his pants. You undo it silently, then ease the zipper down.

Harry doesn’t stop you.

“I’m at the airport,” his wife is saying. “I upgraded to business class, but for some reason they need you to authorize the purchase on your bank app.”

“That’s strange. They’ve never needed confirmation before.”

With the zipper all the way down, you slide your hand into his underwear and pull out his hard cock. Your mouth practically waters.

“I said the same thing!” she laughs. “I think I’m just going to cancel and try using my own card… Not the joint account.”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but it’s exactly when you lick your hand and wrap it around him. His jaw tightens and his eyes flutter shut. He pulls the phone away from his face to suck in a sharp breath.

“Harry?”

“I can authorize it from here,” he says into the phone, eyes glancing down to follow the motion of your hand. “Up to you.”

“Hmm… no worries, I’ll just use mine.” A pause. “My flight boards in thirty minutes and you know what I can’t stop thinking about?”

“What?”

You remove your hand from his cock only to quietly slip out of your panties. His gaze drops, devouring the space between your legs, and you sit back down on his thigh, not caring in the slightest if you leave a wet mark on his pants.

She says,

“The way you fingered me in the car after the party.”

Your hands freeze. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, and he gives you a small, crooked smile before replying to his wife,

“You liked that?”

“Mhm. Too bad I couldn’t make you come, too.”

You narrow your eyes and squirm with jealousy. You tighten your grip and focus on the swollen tip. Harry tries to stop you, but you challenge him and keep going, watching his expression break. You want her to hear.

“I didn’t need to,” he manages to say. “That was for you.”

Harry moves the phone away completely, whispering a curse just as her voice returns on the other end.

“But I miss sleeping with you.” Her tone is overly sweet, but there’s a hint of real sadness buried beneath it.

The smile that threatens to curl your lips is cruel and selfish, and you don’t dig too deep into what it means. Probably something about how you’re about to have what she wants. Which is awfully childish, you know that.

But part of you feels for her. That’s what you think as you lift yourself onto your knees, placing one over Harry’s thigh to get the angle right, and guide his erection to the slick heat between your legs.

You’d feel that way, too, if you were married to a man like Harry and he didn’t want you.

Harry leans his head back on the couch, avoiding your eyes. He stares at the ceiling, the knuckles of the hand holding the phone pale and strained.

“Sorry. A lot on my mind,” he says, just as you sink down on him.

His chest tightens in a heavy breath. His free hand clutches your hip, his thighs tense beneath you, a vein in his neck practically pulsing. He’s a vision of self-restraint, and you revel in it, grinding down onto him and biting your lip hard enough to nearly break skin just to keep quiet.

“I get it,” she says. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Darling, I need—”

“Promise me we’ll try harder.”

You lean forward as he stretches you, kissing the side of his damp neck while your fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, your tongue tracing the line of that vein. He shudders.

“I promise,” Harry says, his nails digging into your waist as you begin to rock in his lap, moaning against his skin. “I… I really need to go. Have to finish some documents. But text me when you land, okay?”

You don’t even register their goodbye. All you know is that Harry practically throws his phone onto the coffee table.

“Brat,” he mutters against your mouth as he pulls your hair, tugging off his shirt in one fluid motion. “Can’t believe the phone didn’t pick up the sound of this wet pussy.”

“Lucky you,” you say. “So Harry Castillo isn’t fucking his wife? What a shame.”

He tightens his grip around you and stands, pulling a gasp from your mouth as he slips out of you.

“You’re too old to be lifting like that,” you say, even as your thighs wrap around his hips. “Your physical therapist’s gonna be rich.”

“And you still want this old man?”

You nod, and Harry gives a smug little smile. Men are so easy to please.

He carries you through the hallway into the master bedroom. Your wide-eyed gaze meets his a moment before he sets you down on the enormous, messy bed. One glance to the side and you see the open door of his wife’s closet, purses and heels in view, just before Harry flips you onto your stomach and raises your hips.

You brace on your elbows, spine arching.

Two pillows rest at the head of the bed. One nightstand holds a book, a pair of glasses, and a man’s watch. The other has hand cream, a gold bracelet, a bottle of vitamins, and a pink hair clip.

It’s literally the most intimate part of a couple’s life, and this bedroom embodies that, exactly why you used to think, and agree, it was a line not to be crossed. But not for Harry, apparently, who climbs onto the bed behind you and slides into you again.

Your head drops forward, blocking your vision, fingers clutching the sheets as he sinks in fully.

Harry leans over your back, his fingers finding your pulsing clit, stroking in slow circles that make your whole body melt.

“Harry—”

“Come on my cock and I’ll fuck you.”

You writhe beneath him as his fingers move faster, smaller, tighter circles. You roll your hips forward and back in short, needy thrusts, just enough friction to push you toward the edge.

Your mouth dries, eyes squeezing shut as the tension coils in your belly. When Harry switches to horizontal strokes, rubbing directly across your clit, you come so hard it borders on painful, then dissolves into something warm and all-consuming, like being lowered into a hot bath.

“Just like that,” he whispers against your moans, slowing his movements so you can ride out every last wave. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

You nod, even though your ears are still buzzing. You nearly miss the weight of his body when he pulls back, but then one hand presses between your shoulder blades and the other grabs your hip, and he starts to thrust.

It’s almost too much. You’re still sensitive, your clit sparking with each slap of his balls, but it’s so good. You hear his grunts, low and rough, and you spread your knees wider, gripping the sheets. Your eyes land on his wife’s nightstand at the same moment Harry says,

“This what you wanted? Climbing on top of me while I was on the phone? Almost making me lose it?”

You nod. Harry pulls your left leg, then your right, laying you flat. He lies on top of you, keeping your legs tight between his, and thrusts again.

“Say it out loud.”

He kisses your neck, brushing your hair away. Your skin tingles.

“For a second, I wanted her to hear,” you admit, grateful you’re not facing him.

Harry breathes against your temple.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted her to know that what she wants…” You can’t finish before he speeds up, and you have to grit your teeth. With your legs squeezed together, every thrust hits deeper. “You’re giving it to me. And you’re so, so hard for me…”

There. You said it. This time, you break the rule about not talking about the others. And you can’t regret it, not when Harry wraps a hand around your throat, bites your shoulder, and fucks you, the slap of skin clashing with the wet sounds of his cock inside you, again and again, until he growls a curse.

He pulls out and flips you onto your back. Harry climbs over you, stroking himself, eyes roving over your body—your breasts, the space between your thighs. You touch yourself too, unable not to, watching his face tighten as he gets close.

And when he comes, it’s on your belly, whispering your name as the hot ropes of cum cover your skin.

“Open your legs,” he says, voice hoarse and skin sweaty. You fold your knees and spread your thighs. “You’re already close again… Look how you’re throbbing.”

This time it’s the tip of his cock that presses against your swollen clit, massaging it, smearing his cum across your skin as he strokes. His softening head glides over you in slow, steady movements. With his free hand, Harry uses his fingers to open you wider, and when he finds the exact spot again, he presses.

Your next orgasm isn’t as explosive as the first, but just as overwhelming. When it hits, you can’t take anymore. You clamp your legs shut and push his hand away.

He gets it. He lies down beside you, pulls you into his arms, and holds you while you catch your breath.

As your senses return, you notice the only light in the room is coming from the open closet. The bedroom is softly decorated, the sheets far too luxurious to have been chosen by a man, even one like Harry Castillo.

“Why did we have sex in here?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“You must have ten guest rooms in this penthouse. Why this one?”

He stays silent, stroking your back.

“Because doing something wrong turns you on?” you ask, turning to look at him. Harry meets your eyes, saying nothing, and his hand goes still on your ribs. “I get it. I think I got wetter when I realized where you brought me.”

Before he can reply, you ask,

“Will you think of me when you’re here with her?”

“I already do,” he says. “The difference is now I’ll have memories. Not just imagination.”

You lean in to kiss him, and Harry welcomes it.

Even so, the two of you sleep in the guest bedroom, because you don’t want to use her pillow or wrap yourself in the same sheets she does.

Harry takes you to the end of the hallway, into a room that seems like it’s never been used, even though the sheets smell like fabric softener.

The bed is bigger than yours, and after a quick shower, the two of you tangle up together, naked, beneath the covers. It’s the first time you’re actually about to fall asleep with him, and he behaves exactly as you expected: he wraps himself around you, throws a leg over yours, and presses you tightly to his body. You’re surrounded by Harry—in your skin, in your sweat, in the sheets, in the house, in the scent that wraps around you.

And just like that, sleep comes easy.

Maybe it’s the unfamiliar space, or the furnace that is Harry’s body, or the emotional chaos, but you wake up in the middle of the night.

He’s completely asleep, his legs trapping yours, and you try to fall back asleep for a few more minutes, but it doesn’t work. Slowly, you untangle yourself from his body and tiptoe out of the room to get your phone, which you’d left in your bag on the coffee table.

You sit on the couch to check for any unread messages, but the moment makes you feel exposed. The champagne bottle and flutes still sitting there give you a headache. You lower the brightness on your phone and go back to the guest room.

Harry hasn’t moved.

There’s a small loveseat by the window, and you curl up there, turning your phone screen back on. The first unread message is from your boyfriend, sent about an hour ago. He’s thanking you for taking care of him. Says you should’ve stayed at his place so he could wake you up with breakfast.

You deserve it for looking after me, he writes and you let out a humorless laugh, because you definitely don’t deserve anything.

There’s a message from your mom, a photo of her, and a few from your friends who saw your picture with Harry on Forbes’s Instagram. You click the link, and it takes you to the post.

Harry Castillo, CEO of Castillo Construction & Co., and his executive assistant, is the caption.

You both look good. You make a striking image.

Harry’s sleepy voice pulls your attention back.

“Can’t sleep?”

He’s rubbing his eyes, propped up on one elbow to look at you.

“Think it’s just the unfamiliar bed. I can’t fall back asleep.”

“That really all it is?”

You chew on your bottom lip, hugging your knees and resting your chin on them after leaving your phone aside. Even though you’re completely naked, you don’t feel uncomfortable around Harry, which is saying something.

“What now?” you ask instead, feeling sorry for him, seeing as he just woke up and is being struck with this emotional turbulence. “Are we something?”

“That was the proposal.”

“We’re gonna have to get really good at lying. You know that, right? At some point, ‘I need to stay late at the office’ won’t cut it anymore.” A headache pulses at your temples. You laugh. “This is crazy.”

“What is?”

“When I started working at the office, I was obsessed with you. I practically drooled when you walked by, watched all your interviews, melted whenever you talked to me. And then you got married, so I made it a point to find someone, or anyone, to date, just to get you out of my system.”

Harry looks at you in a way you don’t like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I’m not some virgin girl doing this because I’m in love. You fuck me well, and I like it. That’s all.”

Harry gets out of bed and grabs a pillow. He walks over to you and, without a word, places it on the floor in front of the chair. Then he kneels, and you fall silent at the sight of Harry Castillo on his knees before you, his hair tousled from sleep.

He lifts your left ankle, holding your leg halfway out to kiss from your ankle to your knee, taking his time. The moonlight from outside casts a soft glow over his profile.

You watch, heart pounding.

“I remember your first day at work,” Harry murmurs, sleep-rough voice breaking the silence as he parts his lips to kiss the inside of your thigh. Your stomach twists with nerves and anticipation. “You were wearing a white dress. Your hair was tied up. And you widened your eyes at everyone who came near, like a damn deer.”

Your own eyes are probably wide now as he rests your right leg on his shoulder, stretching your left again to repeat the same trail of kisses. You grip the edge of the seat.

He remembers what you wore your first day, four years ago.

“You came into my office,” he continues, and lifts your left leg to join the other on his shoulders, his face now nestled between your thighs as he places open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Asked if I needed help with anything specific, and when I told you to sit beside me so I could show you how to open my encrypted report, you tripped over the edge of the rug. In that exact moment, I wanted you.”

He says the last words right before he opens his mouth over your pussy, the heat of his breath making you arch into the chair and clutch his hair.

He looks up at you, mouth still busy, and God… if you could capture a single moment in a photo, it would be this.

You slide your legs off his shoulders just to grab his face and pull him up so you can kiss him. Harry kisses back eagerly, and there’s nothing tender about the way he licks into your mouth. There’s nothing tender about the way he breaks the kiss either just to place your legs back over his shoulders and bury his face between them again. One hand presses down on your lower belly to keep you in place as his mouth seals around your clit and starts to suck.

You hold his face with both hands, pressing him harder against you, watching him, watching the way his cock hardens just from tasting you.

“So good,” you whisper, your fingers on his jaw. “You have no idea how good it feels to have Harry Castillo on his knees for me.”

He doesn’t pull away, but you swear, if he could, he’d be smiling.

What he does instead is lower his mouth until his tongue is inside you. Your eyes flutter closed. Moans echo in the room, along with the wet sounds of his mouth, and you lose yourself in all of it, until his thumb slides inside you. But just as quickly, it leaves, and instead, glides down.

You open your eyes with a jolt just in time to see Harry sucking your clit while his thumb starts circling your other entrance.

It’s different. Strange. Not unpleasant.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks, likely meaning anal.

You shake your head.

“Well, look at that,” Harry says, overly pleased, rubbing in slow circles. “So, in a way, you’re still a virgin. Can I?”

There are very few things you wouldn’t give Harry if he asked.

“Just the finger. Just one. Slowly.”

“Always, baby.”

And he goes slowly.

He waits until you’re melting under his tongue, licking his thumb before returning it to your tight rim and gently pushing in the tip. It doesn’t hurt—not with just the tip—but it’s unlike anything you’ve done, something you never even tried with your boyfriend, even though he asked.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” Harry whispers. “Breathe. Let me in.”

You don’t know how much time passes before your breathing calms and something in you releases. You feel safer.

Harry plunges his tongue into your pussy and brings his other thumb to your clit, and you’re surrounded by him in every possible way when, slowly, he slips his lubricated thumb into your ass, pulling a deep moan from your chest. The build-up of sensitivity throughout the night, paired with the newness of it all, crashes into you, and you come in his mouth, pulsing around his fingers in both places.

He doesn’t stop, even when you try to push him away and close your legs. Harry keeps sucking your clit harder, and you shake beneath him, overstimulated. He brings you to the edge again with his mouth and hands, and just as you’re about to fall, he stops and tells you to ride him.

You do, on the floor of the guest room. Apparently, you two have a thing for sex on the floor, because it’s rawer, messier, heavier with tension. You kiss the whole time, grabbing at whatever part of him you can reach, and the two of you come together.

Harry, inside you.

You, wrapped around him.

Hardly a word between you.

The next morning, Harry drives you home in his car, without a driver.

You’re wearing one of his T-shirts over your dress, your hair still wet and your face free of makeup, and you probably look ridiculous. A charitable act from the CEO of CCC.

The good news is that the street is empty. It’s still nine a.m. on a Sunday, so there are fewer witnesses to your disastrous state. A few brave souls pass by in running clothes, others look like they rolled out of bed five seconds ago, forced outside by the physiological needs of the small dogs following on their leashes.

Harry parks in front of your building and turns off the engine.

“Too cliché if I thank you for the night?” he asks, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m not going to thank you for the orgasms, because yes, I think that’s cliché, but” you raise your index finger, watching the smug smile take over his face. “solid performance for a senior citizen. Forbes would love to know about the five orgasms.”

“Six,” he corrects, ignoring the comment about the ‘senior citizen.’ “Two this morning. One in bed and one in the shower.”

Oh, right.

“Six,” you agree. “High performance, Mr. Castillo.”

“Glad you approve,” he says. “I suppose I can’t kiss you here.”

You shake your head.

“Not here.” You exchange one last look, entirely charged. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Harry says, and you force yourself to open the passenger door. You place one foot out of the car, but before you can get out, Harry places his palm on the back of your neck and makes you look at him.

“Thank you for tonight and for accepting my proposal.”

You turn just enough to place a kiss on Harry’s wrist and get out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

When you turn toward your building’s entrance, you find another gaze on you.

That gaze runs over you from head to toe, taking in the clothes from the night before, the wet hair, the bare face, and then shifts to Harry’s Mercedes.

A freezing terror takes hold of your entire body, paralyzing you where you stand.

And then your boyfriend’s cold eyes meet yours.

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[feelingdozy]

POURING MY LOVE ONTO YOU - Robert Reynolds

pairing: Bob x assistant!Reader

Summary: Rainy days are when you and Bob find yourselves together the most. But what happens when one of those times is when Bob realizes he's madly in love with you?

Warnings: fluff, heavy yearning, friends to lovers, bob being oblivious to your feelings, makeout sesh, intimate moments, implied smut, bucky being bucky

w/c: 1,5k

The rain pittered gently on the windows of your dimmed room, echoing in the silence of peacefulness that was you sitting in bed, eyes focused on your phone before rubbing them with a slight urgency to stay awake. The calming tip-tap was lulling you ever so gently to a realm between unconsciousness and consciousness, only urged by the loud buzzing that came from the bright shining light in your hands.

Yelena: mission went fine, well, fine enough that we only left with maybe one knife wound

Walker: you sure that was one?

Giggling at the interaction, you found yourself questioning where your other half was- Bob. Only required to gather intel, you and Bob had been partners in not being on the field, but being left alone in the tower with just the two of you. It wasn't unlikely that you came across the days where everyone else had left, as missions called accordingly. You didn't mind it these days. The ones where you had found yourself crawling over to the living room where Bob had taken comfort on the beanbag chair in the corner, or the days he'd find himself stumbling into your room asking what you were up to.

Sometimes it'd be board games, sometimes weird youtube videos that'd have him asking "Why are they doing that though? How much stuff are they buying- my god!" that makes him walk out to the kitchen in a rage induced, snack craving mood. Every time you laugh at his silly antics. Other times organizing each others closets and finding an embarrassing pajama top that definitely doesn't fit anymore.

But sometimes you miss him. The loneliness will creep in when you realize how much he's away, and suddenly your footsteps are the only ones being heard through the huge tower.

When he's called out on a whim for a day of interviews with the crew, rather it be galas or simply sitting in a sad, boring room crowded by people behind the scenes and bombarded with questions about his personal life. Bob would rather be anywhere but there- having you curled up beside him when the tower gets too cold late at night, watching a silly romance or an overdone action movie with hot chocolate in your hand and feeding him whatever chips the two of you had picked out hours before. He wanted to be with you.

So on the calm days the two of you had, you always made the most of your time together.

Looking down at your phone again,

Bucky: would you two let us get through one day without arguing like elementary schoolers?

Walker: don't act like you didn't scream cucumber before yelena sneezed

Ava: didn't you say avocado or some shit?

Walker: I 100% said cucumber

Ava: sure.

Snorting, your head immediately snapped up at the sound of a knock at your door, yelling "Come in!" delightfully. Squinting your eyes to focus them through the shadow at your doorway, Bob closes the door behind him, approaching you on your bed. Snuggled into one of his regular crewnecks, a light blue that's stretched and frayed at the edges from so much use land in your vision, sporting him a smile at his entrance.

"Hey" you mutter softly, looking back up at his eyes to find his glued to yours, ears slightly peaked and red at the top.

"Hi- u-uh just wondering what you were up to y'know- got uh, got bored by myself.." fumbling with his hands, he stands in spot, waiting for your permission to invite him into your space.

"C'mon" patting the other side of your bed, welcoming him into your soft sheets that smell otherworldly- or otherwise like you. His skin tingles as he plops down to your side, almost touching you but not quite, for his sanity and for your comfortability. Not realizing, you move over without a problem, your touch lighting him ablaze as your skin to skin. All of a sudden Bob can sense everything- the way your heart races just a little, the warmth radiating off of you although he's running way hotter. The light, hardly-lasting scent of your shampoo still stuck to your hair after lying in bed all evening.

Bob can't distract himself anymore. You bother him in the best ways, and he can't even explain it to himself. His heart threatening to skip more beats than it can handle, overheating himself to the point he actually has to take off his crewneck- It's overwhelming.

He thinks of Yelena and how she'd nudge him with her elbow whenever you entered the kitchen with your hair lazily brushed, and clothes rushed on, opening the cabinets to find a bag of chocolate hiding deep in there. You wouldn't hide your cravings from the team, but Bob wanted to hide himself at times like these, scared his heart would combust if he eyed your cute, disheveled form down any longer. Yelena whispered in his ear, "you're staring" making him jump.

He thinks of the time he saw Bucky eyeing him in his peripherals as you knelt to retrieve bandages from the med kit you had beside you, pulling it gently over an open wound he had gotten from a mission. Only finding out about it when he first came back, you were furious. Ushering him to the couch, urging him to sit down. You couldn't see it, but Bucky sure could- the hairs on his arm were raised, hair clinging to his forehead yet no sweat was dripping down his face. His ears giving way to the rosy tint that stuck with him whenever you lingered. After you were done, you patted him down for anything else as he froze in place, awestruck from the way you had made him feel so safe, but more so from the way you had cared. Almost too much.

The most recent was Walker- training him on stamina and reflexes. But when you walked in the room, he felt himself light up from the inside. The question was, was that a good thing, or a bad thing?- and sentry had made it obvious. A surge of wanting to show off through quick moves had buzzed through his every muscle, only catching himself to be pinned down afterward by the blonde because he had been distracted for too long.

"Bob",

"Bob!"

"H-huh?" looking over to Walker, only a sly grin plastered across his face. With a little pressure, Walker had put his pointer figure to Bobs chest, making the man look down.

"You like her don't you? 'nd your feeling it righhhhht here." Tapping the spot repeatedly, almost like he was making sure Bob got the message like he didn't know it himself.

He quickly scurried back from Walker, replacing his finger with his own hands as he took deep breaths to distract himself from being found out.

"N-no?" instead of a statement, came out like a question, and Walker only snickered as he went to walk out of the training room.

"You should hear hers, man- gets pretty loud when pretty boy walks in the room"

Leaving Bob alone, absolutely stunned in place, he started to question what exactly had he been missing that Walker had been seeing.

His gaze was on you for too long- he knew that. But at some point he started to stop caring as you scrolled mindlessly through different apps, laughing at stupid cat videos, or pointing out an interest of yours. You had almost forgotten about Bob's presence because he was so comfortable and calming to be around. Yawning, you stretched yourself out, in the process splaying your hands over his waist, intertwining yourself with him. You turned to look up at him, making eye contact.

"Bob-"

"Can I kiss you?"

Only left wide eyed, you stared at him in disbelief, stunned but not unwelcomed.

"yes" fumbling out of your mouth immediately "of course"

Cupping your cheeks ever so lightly with his hands, he leaned in slowly. It wasn't hungry, nor was it filled with the weight of desire- it felt like worship. At first hesitant, it felt like his love was slowly pouring into your soul every time he deepened it, warm, tongue dipping slightly into your mouth as he held you tighter, grounding. Through a flurry of strong emotions and new sensations, you let out a gasp at the intrusion. He let go, looking at you with blown-out eyes that stared into yours like they were the stars hung in the sky.

"was that- you okay?" He muttered, unsure and awkward, a shy smile contrasting his tone of voice.

"More than okay. Amazing- fuck" pulling him in again unexpectedly, he leaned into your touch, hands rounding his neck and pulling him closer towards you. Grazing every open area of his skin with your fingertips, he let the two of you separate naturally from the kiss to lead careful nips down your jaw to your neck, little yelps eliciting from you without meaning to as he bit your earlobe. Staring back at you, Bob gripped your hips with weight, "S-shit- y'gotta do that- please you gotta make that sound again"

Before Bob was able to do anything about it, you feel a buzz from your phone grasping your attention. Pulling away from Bob for the slightest second, your hands still tangled in his hair while seeing if it was important, only to be found with a direct message from Bucky.

Bucky: you don't happen to know what caused the power to go out for a second, do you? Fucked up my toast, thanks

[inkandapex]

fan favourites

Summary : Fans compiled clips of their favourite moments between Lando and Aston Martin driver!reader.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing

Speculation continues to swirl around McLaren’s Lando Norris and you, Aston Martin’s young star, with many fans convinced there's more than just friendship between the two of you. Though neither you, nor Lando had confirmed anything, and no solid evidence had surfaced—your playful interactions and unmistakable chemistry have only added fuel to the fire.

these moments do not help your case.

The water bottle

It was post-race at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Lando, Max and you, sat slumped on the nearest sofa, drained after securing P1, P2, and P3 respectively. The heat still clung to the air, even off-track, and your race suit stuck uncomfortably to your skin. The podium made it all worth it—but right now, all you wanted was a cold drink and a second to breathe.

You reached for the bottle water baside you lazily, hand sluggish and aching, half-listening to Lando as he answered a journalist's question about race strategy. The exhaustion weighed on your limbs, making the simplest takst of uncapping the bottle feel like such a challenge.

“The team knew what was needed to stay ahead of Max and—ugh, sorry. Here, let me.”

Without skipping a beat, he set down his mic, reached over, and easily twisted the cap open before handing the bottle back to you. You blinked in surprise, lips parting, but all that came out was a quiet, breathless “Thanks” as you took a sip.

Max let out a snort of laughter beside you. “Sorry, let’s pause the whole interview for this sweet little moment,” he teased, shaking his head.

Lando just rolled his eyes and grabbed his mic again, continuing as if nothing had happened. But judging by the grins from the journalists, and the certainty that the clip would be everywhere within the hour—it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

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Champagne problems

Lando is known for his champagne celebrations on the podium. Sure, it looks glorious, basking in victory, champagne flying through the air—but no one ever talks about the reality: it burns your eyes, floods your nose, and leaves your skin and hair sticky.

You stood tall on the top step, your first-ever win still sinking in. The crowd roared as your national anthem played, and you could feel your heartbeat thundering in your chest, pride swelling with every note. On either side of you stood Lando and Lewis, but it was Lando’s cheeky grin that caught your attention just as the anthem reached its peak.

The second it ended, chaos began.

Corks popped. Champagne exploded. And Lando, of course, immediately slammed his bottle down and aimed it straight at you.

You barely had a second to react. The cold spray hit from both sides, soaking you instantly as you struggled to open your own bottle. It poured down your face, into your suit, burning your eyes and blurring your vision. Lando’s laugh, loud, carefree, unmistakable, rang out over the madness.

You blinked rapidly, trying to wipe your face, unable to see a thing. Your expression probably said it all: somewhere between shocked and helplessly amused.

Then, through the chaos, you felt his hands on your face, gentle and steady. Lando’s fireproof sleeves brushed against your skin as he carefully wiped away the champagne from around your eyes, his thumbs moving with a softness that contrasted sharply with the wildness around you.

“You good?” he asked, laughing quietly, his grin now more sincere than mischievous.

You nodded, finally able to meet his gaze again, still catching your breath. “I swear, I’m never letting you near me with champagne again.”

Lando’s smile widened as he gave you a pat on the back. “I had to make it memorable!”

And God, he really had.

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Dinner with the Sainz Family

This video clip sent your's and Lando's shippers into a full-on spiral. After the Mexico Grand Prix, where Carlos Sainz and Lando secured an electrifying 1-2 finish, the pair were spotted celebrating with Carlos’ friends and family over dinner. A few lighthearted posts even made their way onto social media.

But what really caught fans’ attention was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it detail in one of the photos. In the background, seated next to Lando, was someone who sharp-eyed fans quickly identified, you. Wearing the same distinctive sweater you were seen in earlier that day when leaving the paddock, and the unmistakable bracelets you frequently wore throughout the season.

There was no official mention or tag, but that didn’t stop the speculation. For many fans, it was another subtle breadcrumb confirming what they’d suspected all along. The internet lit up with theories, edits, and speculation, convinced that yet another quiet public appearance had just taken place this time, tucked into a cozy moment with the Sainz family.

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daniel.jpg

Lando and you have made several unexpected appearances on Daniel Ricciardo’s iconic JPG Instagram account. While it wasn’t unusual for the three of you to be seen together, given the tight-knit friendship between Daniel, Lando, and yourself—fans didn’t hesitate to dive deep into the posts, convinced they were subtle clues feeding the long-standing theory that there’s more between you and Lando than just friendship.

One photo showed the three of you in a mirror selfie inside an elevator. Daniel, played photographer, camera in hand, while you and Lando stood casually beside him. At first glance, it looked like a typical group pic, until fans zoomed in. Slung over Lando’s shoulder was your bag, resting there like it belonged, as if it had found its place without either of you thinking twice about it.

Another upload showed a moment at a karting track. You were standing beside your kart, preparing to head out, when fans noticed the figure next to you. Though his helmet covered most of his face, there was no mistaking it, Lando. He stood close, hands carefully adjusting your helmet strap, focused and steady. The gesture was small, but intimate, and the natural ease between you didn’t go unnoticed.

Within hours, the comment sections were flooded with theories and heart-eyed emojis. To the internet, these weren’t just photos, they were proof.

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Driver's Parade

The truck moved at a crawl, weaving past grandstands packed with fans shouting your names and waving flags like their lives depended on it. You kept your sunglasses on, smile practiced, waving just enough to look friendly, nothing more, nothing less.

Lando stood beside you, doing the exact same thing. Waving, smiling, keeping the conversation low between the two of you. Like you weren’t both trying not to laugh at the stupid inside joke he’d just whispered about a guy holding a "Marry Me, Lando" sign.

He’d helped you into the truck earlier, hand out like a reflex, fingers brushing yours a second longer than necessary. No one caught that. At least, you thought so.

And then came the moment. You were both waving, smiling, still laughing at something only you two found funny, when Lando’s hand casually dropped to the small of your back as the truck began to make a turn at a corner. Barely there. Light. Familiar.

Too familiar.

It lingered for just a second before he suddenly realized. His hand flew back like he’d touched something hot, and he looked ahead like nothing happened. But you could see the panic flash across his face for a split second.

You didn’t say anything, just smirked.

Unfortunately for both of you, Charles did notice, and so did your fans. From the truck behind, he leaned over dramatically and yelled, “Oooohhh! I saw that, penalty for Norris”

Lando groaned under his breath. You tried, and failed, not to laugh, biting your lip as your shoulders shook.

“Smooth,” you teased him, still smiling to the crowd.

“Tiny slip up, just a friendly hand” he whispered, eyes still forward like a guilty schoolboy.

He glanced over his shoulder, then muttered with a grin, “If this ends up on a fan cam—”

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “Please. They’ve already made ten TikToks about us just from this truck ride alone.”

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Rain

The rain had been relentless, hammering down onto the track, forcing a red flag that left drivers scattered around the paddock like bored students on a rainy field trip. Some retreated to their garages, napping, listening to music to stay focused, while others found creative ways to pass the time. A few were even caught playing football with balled-up tire warmers.

You, Lando, and Carlos had ended up in a quiet corner of the paddock, chatting while waiting out the weather. The broadcast cameras, desperate for content, eventually found their way to your little trio, panning slowly toward the three of you laughing at something Carlos had said.

Then the focus shifted—subtly, but noticeably—to just you and Lando.

Lando stood close, holding an umbrella tilted almost entirely your way, rain spattering off the edges while he stayed mostly outside the shelter himself. His hoodie was already damp, but he didn’t seem to care. You nudged him at one point, trying to shift it so he wasn’t fully out in the wet, but he just gave you a boyish grin and said something that made you laugh.

That’s when the Max Fewtrell, Lando's good friend, side eyes his running twitch stream, knowing full well the moment the camera just caught would send fans into a full blown spiral.

Max paused. Blinked. And then, slowly, looked straight into the camera with the most dramatic, expression he could manage.

“Right,” he said, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth twitching with a grin. “So it’s that kind of weather delay, huh?”

The chat exploded within seconds, fans already reading into the umbrella, the body language, the fact that Lando didn’t seem remotely interested in moving.

Max leaned in, voice dropping and thick with teasing. “Alright chat, calm down—cut our boy some slack and give him a fighting chance.”

Back on screen, Lando caught the camera out of the corner of his eye, shifted the umbrella just enough… and casually rested a hand on your back, if only for a moment.

Carlos caught it. You caught the smirk.

Max definitely caught it.

“Look at these two—already causing more buzz than the race itself.”

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Secret Santa

To this day, fans swear the annual driver Christmas gift exchange was the clearest sign that something more was going on between you and Lando Norris.

It was already suspicious enough that, out of all the names in the bucket, you and Lando somehow ended up picking each other. But what truly sent the internet into a frenzy were the gifts—thoughtful, personal, impossibly specific. The kind of presents only two people who knew each other too well would give.

Lando was mid-unwrapping, his usual excited grin slipping into a confused frown as he rotated the box in his hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Oh, sh—” His eyes widened. “—Sorry, cut that out,” he added quickly, glancing toward the crew with a sheepish grin.

Inside the box: a 1:1 LEGO replica of Lando’s first-ever karting helmet. Every detail was there—from the exact color scheme to the little decals only a handful of people would remember. Attached to the side of the box was a small envelope. He opened it and read aloud:

“From someone who knows how much this still means to you.”

Lando went quiet. Just for a second. The camera zoomed in slightly, catching the subtle shift in his expression.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa was?” someone asked off-camera.

“Oh, I know exactly who it was,” Lando said, chuckling softly. “Still kinda freaky how she managed to pull this off—I’m guessing my mum or dad helped her out.”

“Did they do a good job?”

“It’s perfect,” he said, smiling as he gently patted the box. “I love it. Definitely looking forward to building it and putting it on display.”

“And do you think the person you got will like their gift?”

Lando laughed under his breath. “I mean… I got her. And she’s already beaten me in the gift department—but yeah, I really hope she does.”

The video then cut to you, sitting just outside Aston Martin’s hospitality unit, carefully unwrapping a paper bag handed to you just before filming began.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa is?”

You glanced up, laughing as you peeled away the last bit of tissue paper. “Charles, maybe? He’s been asking me about my hobbies recently—like, weirdly specific questions.”

Your eyes dropped to the contents of the bag: a vintage film camera and a leather-bound journal. Your race number and initials were engraved on the cover in gold. You flipped it open slowly, revealing a message on the inside page:

For every moment you want to remember, and the ones you think you’ll forget.

You let out a breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “No way. This is so—” You shook your head, smiling. “This is so nice. You guys… best Secret Santa season ever, I think.”

Then you paused, adding with a laugh, “No offense to Alex—he got me that spa voucher last year and it was amazing.”

“Any idea who your Secret Santa was?”

You smiled, chuckling as you hugged the journal to your chest. “Yeah, I do.”

“Still think it was Charles?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he was just genuinely curious about my hobbies,” you laugh.

“Any other guesses?”

You shake your head with a grin. “Nope. I know exactly who it was—and I really hope he liked what I got him, too.”