#But in the end it wasn't looking like i pictured it

[mrsfancyferrari]

Marriage of Convenience

Summary: Lewis has to get married to you for a year for his engagement in Ferrari. Who knew how much he would get sucked into your life…. pt 1

Song: Heartless · The Weeknd

Author’s note: Hey guys! I saw some tiktok that was about tropes with F1 drivers and Lewis's one was marriage of convenience. It has stuck with me ever since! I'll be using some real results from the races so it will not always be updated every week! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 18.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

Lewis Hamilton, the illustrious Formula One champion, stood in the opulent office of his PR manager, the walls adorned with gleaming trophies and framed newspaper articles detailing his meteoric rise in the racing world.

The sun cast a warm glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in a hue of gold that matched the luxury that surrounded him.

Yet, the warmth did little to dispel the chill that had settled in his stomach at the mention of the words "marriage of convenience."

"But why now?" he pressed, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I've been single for years, and it's never been an issue."

His PR manager, a sharp-witted woman named Elena, leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled under her chin.

She wore a smile that was both empathetic and firm, as if she knew this was a battle she'd already won.

"Lewis, my dear," she began, her British accent crisp and professional, "the rumors have been swirling like a tornado around a trailer park. Your personal life is becoming a distraction, and your competitors are using it to their advantage. A whirlwind romance, a quick 'I do,' and voilà, you're the settled, mature, and dedicated racer that everyone adores."

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Fine," he conceded with a begrudging nod. "But you're finding someone who understands this is all for show, right? No strings attached, no messy feelings."

Elena's smile grew wider, a knowing glint in her eye. "Leave that to me," she said. "I have the perfect candidate in mind."

"Her name is Y/N," Elena began, sliding a sleek manila folder across her desk. "She's a model and an influencer with a taste for fast cars and an even faster lifestyle."

She opened the folder to reveal a photograph of a breathtaking black woman with goddess braids that cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall.

Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, her full lips curving into a smile that could make the sternest of hearts flutter. "Y/N understands the business, and she's more than capable of playing her part. She's signed an NDA that would make Fort Knox look like a suggestion box."

Lewis studied the photo, his heart racing slightly at the thought of being married, even if it was just for show. He wasn't a stranger to beautiful women, but this was different—this was a strategic move, a chess piece in the grand game of his career.

He cleared his throat, trying to push aside the butterflies. "Alright, let's get this over with. When do I meet her?"

Elena's smile remained unwavering. "Tomorrow night, I've set up a dinner meeting at Le Château de Lumières. It's the most romantic spot in the city, perfect for a first date that'll look like it was plucked from a fairytale."

Lewis nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "Fine," he murmured, his eyes still lingering on the picture. "But what happens after the season ends?"

Elena leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Then, my dear Lewis, we orchestrate a spectacularly tragic fallout. Something dramatic, but not scandalous—perhaps you're both too busy with your careers, or you realized you were better off as friends. The public will eat it up, and you'll be free to pursue whatever—or whoever—you wish afterward."

He nodded, trying to calm down the tornado of emotions swirling inside him. Marriage, even a fake one, was a concept he'd never truly considered.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he knew he had to trust Elena.

She had a knack for spinning his life into gold, and if this was what she deemed necessary for his career to continue shining, then he'd have to go along with it.

Elena slid the folder back to him with a knowing smirk. "You can have the file if you want to admire her more," she teased, her fingertips brushing against the glossy surface of the photo. "Her numbers are in it, of course."

Lewis grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before snatching it and walking out of the office, his mind racing with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

The folder felt heavier than it should have, as if it contained the weight of his future rather than just a few pieces of paper and a photo.

He knew the drill—fake relationships had been part of his public persona before, but marriage was a whole new level of commitment, even if it was just for show.

"Remember to study her likes and hobbies, you might find something in common," Elena yelled from the office. He couldn't help but smirk at her enthusiasm—it was infectious. He knew she had his back, and that was all that mattered.

Back in his penthouse, Lewis found himself staring at the folder on his coffee table, Y/N's mesmerizing eyes peeking out from the photograph.

He decided to take Elena's advice, eager to find common ground with his soon-to-be fake wife. As he scanned through the pages detailing her life, he found himself genuinely intrigued.

Her love for fast cars, her charity work, and her penchant for extreme sports mirrored his own passions.

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

With a sigh of resignation, he pulled out his phone and searched for her social media profiles. He told himself he was only interested in her fashion sense, but as he scrolled through her feed, he couldn't help but admire her beauty.

Each picture was a masterpiece of angles and lighting, showcasing not only her impeccable style but also the way she carried herself with an air of confidence and grace.

Her figure was a symphony of curves, each one highlighted by the designer garments she modeled. But he was a man of integrity, so he focused solely on her outfits, nodding in approval at her exquisite taste in luxury brands.

He noticed her love for racing reflected in some of her captions, with shots at various Formula One tracks around the globe. It was clear that she had an appreciation for the sport that went beyond the glamour.

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"Fans would definitely believe this," he murmured to himself, his thumb hovering over the screen.

They both shared a love for speed and the thrill of the chase—both on and off the track.

With a sigh, he set his phone aside and rolled onto his back, his thoughts racing faster than his cars ever could. The reality of the situation was setting in: he was about to embark on a season-long charade with a woman he had never even met. His stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

As he lay there, the sound of a bark pierced the silence, jolting him out of his contemplative haze. Quick footsteps approached, and before he could react, Roscoe's furry face poked into the doorway. The bulldog's eyes sparkled with curiosity, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

"Did you have a good nap, Roscoe?" Lewis asked, his voice thick with affection. The dog's response was a series of eager growls and sniffs as he trotted over to his dad, his paws thumping rhythmically against the hardwood floor.

Lewis chuckled and sat up, his six-pack abs rippling as he did so. He reached out and scratched behind Roscoe's ear, the dog's eyes closing in bliss. The simple act of bonding with his pet helped to ease the tension that had been building in his chest.

"Alright, buddy," he said, standing and stretching. The fabric of his sweatpants outlined the firm muscles of his thighs and the curve of his ass, evidence of countless hours spent in the gym and behind the wheel. "Tomorrow is a special day, so you better be on your best behavior. You're about to meet the woman who's going to be my fake wife and your fake mom for the season."

Roscoe cocked his head to the side, as if he understood the gravity of the situation. Lewis couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all—his burly bulldog playing step-son to a supermodel for the sake of his image. He stood up and padded over to the windows, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the day outside.

He looked out over the bustling city, the setting sun casting a fiery glow across the horizon. It was a stark reminder of the race he'd run in the morning, the thrill of the wind in his face and the roar of the engine still echoing in his ears.

Tomorrow would be a different kind of race altogether—a race to win over the hearts of his fans, to keep the sponsors happy, and to maintain the facade of a perfect life. But as he felt the comforting weight of Roscoe's head on his leg, he realized that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to have a partner in this charade.

"Come on, let's get you a treat," Lewis said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. He walked to the kitchen, the dog's nails clicking against the floor as he followed. The sleek chrome and marble surfaces gleamed under the pendant lights, a stark contrast to the warm, lived-in feel of the living room.

Lewis grabbed a treat from the jar on the counter and tossed it to Roscoe, who caught it with surprising grace for his bulk. "You're going to need to charm her, buddy. Maybe even more than you charm the judges at those dog shows."

The bulldog's eyes lit up, and he trotted over to his bed, the treat forgotten as he began to perform a series of clumsy, yet earnest tricks.

Lewis couldn't help but laugh as he watched Roscoe's antics. "I think she'll love you," he said, his voice filled with affection. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're both just actors in this little play."

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"Y/N, repeat what you just said," your mother repeated, looking utterly perplexed, her perfectly manicured hand hovering over the delicate china teacup as if it were a lifeline to sanity.

"I signed a contract to 'marry' Lewis Hamilton for a year," you announced with the casual air of someone discussing a weekend getaway, a smug smile playing on your lips as you watched the shock ripple through her impeccably made-up visage.

"The Lewis Hamilton?" she queried, her eyes narrowing to slits as she tried to process the ludicrous information you'd just served up like a hot slice of gossip at a high society luncheon.

"Yes, Mother," you drawled, not bothering to look up from your phone as you swiped through the latest collection of designer shoes. "The very one who races cars and breaks hearts for a living. But don't worry, this is strictly business."

Her silence was palpable, thick enough to slice with a knife. You could almost see the cogs whirring in her head, trying to piece together this unexpected jigsaw puzzle of your life.

Finally, she found her voice, "Why on earth would you agree to such a… such a… frivolous arrangement?"

"To boost our engagement," you said, enunciating each word with the precision of a seasoned politician, raising your gaze to meet hers. "It's a win-win, really. His fanbase goes through the roof, and I get to live like a queen for a year. Plus, think of the networking opportunities!"

"But your reputation," she gasped, setting the teacup down with a clink that sounded like a death knell for your social standing.

You rolled your eyes, "Mother, it's all just for show. And it's not like we're actually going to be doing the whole marriage thing. We're just going to pretend."

Her sigh was one of resignation, tinged with a hint of disappointment. "I just hope you know what you're getting into," she murmured, her eyes searching yours for a glimmer of doubt.

"Trust me, I've got it all figured out," you assured her, your voice a blend of confidence and nonchalance that would make any business mogul proud. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to go pick out a wedding dress. The press will be all over this, and I can't disappoint them with a lackluster wardrobe."

Your mother's expression was a masterclass in poise under pressure. "Very well," she conceded. "Send me the pictures. I'll handle the social media side of things."

You leaned in to kiss her cheek, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering as you pulled away. "Thanks, Mother," you said with a wink. "I knew you'd understand."

As you sailed out of the room, her voice followed you like a soft breeze. "Just remember, darling," she called after you, "keep your emotions out of it. You're playing a role, nothing more."

Your heart thudded in your chest, a delicious mix of excitement and trepidation. You had signed up for a year of make-believe with the world's most desired man, and you had no intention of letting reality spoil the fantasy.

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The velvet leash grew taut as Lewis tugged it gently, urging the bulldog, Roscoe, to follow him through the dimly-lit corridor. The dog's jowls swayed with each reluctant step, a silent protest to the indignity of being tethered like a mere accessory.

Despite his displeasure, Roscoe's curiosity about the evening's events remained piqued. The whisper of fabric against fabric grew louder as they approached the private dining room, where the scent of fine cuisine wafted through the air.

"Come on, Roscoe, you have to meet her too," Lewis murmured, his voice a blend of excitement and nerves.

The restaurant's peculiar policy of leashing dogs seemed almost comical in the grand scheme of the evening, yet it was a small price to pay for the exclusivity of the venue.

The walls of the corridor were adorned with paintings of pastoral scenes, a stark contrast to the urban jungle outside.

Upon entering the room, a soft glow from the candles on the table cast a warm embrace around the figure of a woman who was more than just beautiful—she was an embodiment of elegance.

Her eyes sparkled like the diamond necklace that hung delicately around her neck, and her smile was as radiant as the polished silverware that lay before her.

As they drew closer, the air grew thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of new beginnings and the thrill of the unknown.

Y/N's gaze fell upon the unusual duo—Lewis, the charming billionaire, and Roscoe, the leashed bulldog. Her eyes narrowed playfully as she took in the scene.

She knew that this was not a typical dinner date, and that was precisely what made it so alluring.

"Well, hello, Mr. Hamilton," she purred, her voice a velvet caress that seemed to resonate through the very air. "I'm surprised you didn't bring your entire zoo."

Lewis chuckled, his grip on the leash loosening as he felt the tension in the room dissipate.

"Ms. Y/N, I assure you, this is a very special occasion. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the company of my best man here."

Her smile grew, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Best man, huh?" she said, standing up with the grace of a gazelle. "I see you've got a sense of humor, Mr. Hamilton."

Roscoe, feeling the shift in the room, allowed his tail to wag slightly, his earlier annoyance forgotten as he caught the scent of her perfume.

It was a sweet, intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that seemed to speak of exotic lands and passionate nights.

"And who's this handsome boy?" she cooed, leaning down to address Roscoe. The bulldog, ever eager for affection, leaned into her touch, his eyes closing in pleasure.

"Ah, this is Roscoe," Lewis said with a touch of pride. "He's a bit of a diva, but I assure you, he's quite well-behaved when properly motivated."

Y/N reached out to stroke the dog's head, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the softness of his fur and the warmth of his body.

"Well, it seems I've got quite the welcoming committee," she said, straightening up to her full height and extending a hand to Lewis.

Their fingers met in a firm, yet delicate handshake, sending a thrill up his spine. Her touch was cool and smooth, like the finest silk, and it sent a jolt through his body that he hadn't felt in years.

"Lewis, please," he said, his voice a whisper. "I think we can dispense with the formalities."

Her hand remained in his, the warmth from their palms mingling, creating a current that seemed to pulse through the very air that surrounded them.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of what was to come, a promise of the evening's delights.

"Very well, Y/N," he murmured, the sound of his voice a caress that seemed to stroke her very soul. "Shall we sit?"

The three of them moved to the table, the leather chairs creaking softly as they settled into them. The table was set with fine china, the crystal glasses casting rainbows of light across the crisp, white linen.

A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, the promise of a celebration yet to unfold.

As they sat, Y/N couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she had been here before, with another man, under very different circumstances.

But this was no ordinary man, and this was certainly no ordinary dinner. The weight of the necklace grew heavier, a silent reminder of the deal she had struck.

The waiter, a young man with impeccable manners, approached with a silver tray laden with hors d'oeuvres. His eyes flickered briefly to the leash in Lewis's hand before he focused on the couple, his expression unchanged.

"Your usual, Mr. Hamilton?" he inquired.

"Yes, thank you, Freddie," Lewis replied, his gaze never leaving hers. "And for the lady?"

Y/N's eyes roved over the selection, her stomach fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. "Surprise me," she said with a smile.

The waiter nodded and deftly selected a few items before retreating, leaving them in the warm cocoon of the candlelit room.

The silence that followed was filled with the soft crackle of the candles and the distant clink of silverware on porcelain.

Lewis reached for the champagne bottle, his fingers sure and steady as he popped the cork with a flourish that sent a spray of bubbles into the air.

The sound was like a declaration of intent, a promise of the passion that was to come. He filled her glass, his eyes never leaving hers, and then his own.

"To new beginnings," he toasted, the crystal flutes clinking together like the ringing of wedding bells.

The bubbles danced in the golden liquid, a fizzy symphony of anticipation. Y/N took a sip, the cool liquid sliding down her throat with a tantalizing tickle that made her shiver.

She watched as Lewis did the same, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, a gesture she found inexplicably erotic.

"So, do you know more about this… arrangement," he asked, the word 'arrangement' rolling off his tongue like a secret shared between lovers.

"Yes, I do," she spoke politely, setting her glass down with a soft click. "We're supposed to take our wedding photos next week Thursday, but it can be changed if you like."

Her words hung in the air, a silent invitation for him to take the reins, to assert his dominance in this game of pretense they were playing.

He leaned back in his chair, stroking Roscoe's head as he contemplated her words. "I trust you have everything under control, then?"

Y/N's smile grew, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of her lips. "I always do."

"Excellent," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her very core. "But there's something I need to discuss with you before we proceed."

Y/N's eyebrow arched slightly, a question lingering in her eyes. "And what might that be?"

Lewis took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to the dog for a brief moment before returning to her. "Do you mind if my dad comes with me?" he said, his voice a soft rumble. "He said this was the 'only' time he was going to see his son get married."

Surprise flitted across Y/N's features, but she quickly schooled her expression back to neutral. "Of course," she said, her tone even. "I would be happy to include your father in our…arrangement."

Lewis's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of hesitation or mockery. Finding none, he nodded slowly.

"Thank you," he murmured, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. "He's quite the character, but he means well."

Y/N's smile grew warmer, her eyes gleaming with understanding. "I'm sure he does," she said. "And I'm quite fond of characters myself."

"As long as my mother can come too," she said, her voice teasing.

Lewis's eyes widened, his grip on the champagne flute tightening for a brief second before he managed to compose himself.

"Your mother?" he repeated, his voice a mix of incredulity and amusement.

Y/N nodded, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Yes, my mother. She's quite the socialite, you know. She'll make sure the photos are absolutely perfect for the society pages."

Lewis's eyes searched hers, trying to discern if she was joking or if this was a genuine request. The thought of his stern, business-like father being a part of their staged nuptials was one thing, but the addition of her mother, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper wit, was another matter entirely.

"Your mother, you say?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension. Y/N nodded, her smile unwavering, and took another sip of her champagne, her eyes never leaving his.

The bubbles danced on her tongue, a fizzy counterpart to the dance of emotions playing out before her.

Lewis's mind raced, trying to imagine the woman who had raised the enigmatic Y/N, who had agreed to this unorthodox union for the sake of his own ambition.

He could almost hear the whispers of her reputation, the tales of her social triumphs and the occasional scandal that had graced the pages of high society magazines.

"I see," he said finally, his tone measured. "And what does your mother think of… our arrangement?"

Y/N's laughter was like a chime of fine crystal, delicate and alluring. "Mother is quite thrilled," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She's always had a soft spot for a man who knows his worth and isn't afraid to show it."

Lewis couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Her mother's presence would add an unexpected dynamic to the already complex situation. But he knew better than to argue with a woman who could navigate the treacherous waters of high society with such ease.

"Very well," he conceded, his smile forced but genuine. "The more the merrier, I suppose."

The tension between them eased as they delved into their meals, the succulent flavors of their dishes a delightful distraction from the unspoken tension.

Roscoe, seemingly aware of the shift, settled at Lewis's feet, his snoring a gentle bass line to their conversation.

"Your mother is quite…known," Lewis said, choosing his words carefully. "What should I expect?"

Y/N's gaze grew distant as she thought of her mother. "Expect the unexpected," she replied with a knowing smile. "But she has a heart of gold beneath that tough exterior."

They ate in silence for a few moments, the weight of the unspoken contract hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Y/N cleared her throat. “We should probably talk about…appearances. What’s the plan for things like…races?”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, pushing his plate away. "Right. Races. Well, the team and my management have a schedule in mind. They want us to be seen together at as many events as possible. It’s all about maximizing…visibility."

Y/N frowned slightly. “Visibility. Right. Well, my work is quite demanding, but I'll be able to attend at least 3 races at the start before my work starts again.”

Lewis seemed surprised. “Three? That’s…more than I expected, actually. Which races?”

“China, Japan, and Australia,” she replied. “I managed to clear my schedule for them. After that, it will be more difficult, but I can try to make a few here and there when I have more time.”

“Australia is a long way,” Lewis commented, more to himself than to her. “It’s a demanding circuit, and the jet lag is brutal.”

"I'm aware," Y/N said dryly. "I've traveled before."

He gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. Sorry. It's just…it's a lot to ask you to be a part of this, especially knowing you have your own life and career.”

Y/N shrugged. "It is what it is. I agreed to it, didn't I?" she replied trying to stay formal.

Lewis nodded slowly. "Yes, you did. And I appreciate it. More than you know." He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time that evening.

He saw a hint of apprehension in her eyes, but also a surprising strength. He wondered, fleetingly, what she really thought about all of this.

“So, Australia,” he continued, breaking the eye contact. “We’ll be traveling on different days, of course. Security and logistics are…complicated. But we’ll be staying at the same hotel. There will be a lot of press events, photo opportunities, things like that. My team will brief you on the details.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course. I wouldn't want to deviate from the pre-approved narrative."

Lewis smirked, a genuine smile reaching his eyes for the first time. “You catch on quick. Look, I know this is all…surreal. And probably incredibly annoying. But I promise, I’ll try to make it as…bearable as possible. And I’ll try to be as respectful of your time and your life as I can.”

“I appreciate that, Lewis,” Y/N said, her voice softening slightly. “I’m not expecting this to be a fairytale, but I do expect us to treat each other with respect. We’re both professionals, and we should act like it.”

“Agreed,” Lewis replied, extending his hand across the table. "To professionalism."

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. The contact was brief, but a faint spark seemed to pass between them.

It was nothing dramatic, just a subtle shift, a momentary acknowledgment of the strange and uncertain journey they were about to embark on together.

Lewis, observing Y/N stroking Roscoe, his bulldog, said, "So, what about dates?"

Y/N stopped mid-stroke, fixing him with a sharp glare. "Dates? Lewis, we're in a contractual agreement. This isn't real."

"What? I heard married couples still go on dates and we're going to be married soon," he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. What are your hobbies so we can link them to it without making it too obvious that we're reading from a script?"

"Well, I like golfing, surfing, playing the piano…" he started, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Boring," Y/N teased, more out of habit than malice. Lewis didn't seem offended, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Okay, okay. What about you then? Give me something good to work with."

"Easy. Archery, animal riding, shooting…" she said casually, continuing to pet Roscoe.

"Shooting?" he repeated, thinking it was a joke. "Like…guns?"

"Yeah, shooting. I am one of the best shooters in my family," Y/N said matter-of-factly. Lewis looked genuinely shocked. "Guns? Really? You don't seem like a…gun person."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Y/N replied with a cryptic smile. "It's a family tradition. We've been competing in shooting competitions for generations. It's quite exhilarating, actually."

Lewis shook his head, seemingly trying to reconcile the image of the elegant, equestrian beauty with a crack shot. "Well, that's…unexpected. Maybe we could arrange a 'date' at a shooting range. Show the world a different side of you. Spice things up a bit."

Y/N considered this, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes. “Perhaps. I haven’t been to the range in a while. I could certainly give you a lesson. Though I can’t promise you’ll be any good.”

Lewis laughed. "Challenge accepted. But you have to promise not to be too competitive. I'm a champion, you know."

"We'll see about that," Y/N said, a playful glint in her eyes.

The conversation drifted, covering details about their upcoming staged engagement party, the social media strategy, and the general rules of engagement (pun intended).

After an hour, they were both feeling the strain of the pretense. Roscoe, however, seemed to be thriving on the attention.

When they finally finished the catered lunch, Roscoe, true to form, woke up again, demanding belly rubs. It was time for Y/N to leave. Surprisingly, Lewis didn't want her to.

He found her sharp wit and unconventional hobbies intriguing.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asked, walking her to the grand entrance of the restaurant. The question felt surprisingly genuine, a departure from the carefully crafted facade.

"No, my friend is picking me up, thank you for the offer," she said.

They waited for a few minutes, a comfortable silence settling between them. The only sound was the gentle hum of the city in the distance. Then, a car pulled up and honked.

"That's her, I'll be going home now, bye Lewis," she said, her hand hovering for a moment before gently touching his arm.

The contact was brief, almost hesitant, but enough to send a strange flutter in his stomach. She then looked down, rubbing Roscoe's face, who was nestled in his arms. "Bye Roscoe, I'll see you soon,"

Then she walked down the opulent stairs, entered the waiting car, and with a final wave, she was gone, leaving Lewis standing alone in the doorway, Roscoe snoring softly in his arms.

That evening, Lewis found himself thinking about Y/N. He couldn’t deny she was interesting.

Far more interesting than the endless parade of socialites and models he usually surrounded himself with. . . .

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The roar of the Ferrari engine faded, replaced by a dull hum in Lewis' ears. He should have been focused on the intricacies of the new aerodynamic package the mechanics were painstakingly explaining.

Instead, his mind was a runaway train, careening toward a single, looming destination: Y/N.

He was getting 'married' to Y/N. For a year. The absurdity of it all still felt surreal, even after weeks of negotiations, contracts, and carefully crafted press releases. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple.

A calculated maneuver orchestrated by his management team to boost engagement, fan interaction, and ultimately, his brand. A fake marriage.

He hadn't even argued. His career was his everything. He'd poured his life, his soul, into racing. If this…stunt, this temporary charade, helped solidify his position, then he'd play the part.

But that didn’t stop the unsettling flutter in his stomach.

He only half-heard the mechanic's concluding remarks, a jumble of downforce percentages and drag coefficients. He mumbled a thank you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and practically bolted from Maranello.

The image of Y/N in a wedding dress swam in his mind, a mirage both enticing and terrifying.

He gripped the steering wheel, pushing the car to its legal limit as he sped towards the Bridal Boutique. His own suit, a classic black tailored piece, was already sorted.

It had been his father’s, a detail that had felt strangely poignant amidst the manufactured romance.

Pulling up outside the boutique, he took a deep breath, trying to regulate his racing pulse. He stepped out of the car and headed inside, the tinkling of a bell announcing his arrival.

"Y/N's here," he announced to the receptionist, a woman with bright, friendly eyes. He felt a ridiculous need to justify his presence. "I'm…ah…Lewis Hamilton."

The receptionist's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Ah, Mr. Hamilton! We've been expecting you. She's over there. You're a very lucky sir, she's very beautiful."

Lewis swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He murmured a thank you and navigated through the maze of tulle and lace.

His gaze scanned the room, passing over blushing brides-to-be and their entourages, until he found her.

Y/N was standing on a raised platform, surrounded by fabric and mirrors. She was facing away from him, but even from this distance, he could see the curve of her neck, the way the light caught in her hair.

She was wearing a simple, elegant gown, ivory silk that cascaded to the floor.

The satin felt heavy against your skin, a stark contrast to the lightness you usually embraced. You stared at your reflection, a stranger in a sea of white lace and tulle. This wasn't you.

This wasn't the free-spirited, motorcycle-riding, target-shooting version of yourself that you carefully cultivated. This was… bridal.

And you were about to be a bride. For a year. To Lewis Hamilton, the racing prodigy whose reputation was as fast as his cars.

You swirled again, the dress billowing around you like a cloud. It was beautiful, objectively. Expensive, undoubtedly. But it felt like a costume, a character you were trying to embody but couldn't quite grasp.

Father would have loved it. Traditional, elegant, perfectly… safe. A sigh escaped your lips. Since when did you care about safe?

You had been trying on dresses for hours, each one more elaborate than the last. Each one failing to capture the essence of you. You knew Lewis was going to be late.

His team meetings always ran long, especially with the season going to be in full swing soon. He’d apologized profusely over the phone, his voice laced with a nervousness that mirrored your own.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Still another hour to go. “Next!” you called out to the stylist, your voice echoing slightly in the opulent boutique.

You needed to get this over with before Lewis arrived. The thought of him seeing you in this parade of frills and lace sent a shiver down your spine.

Dress after dress, disappointment mounted. A mermaid gown that made you feel like you were suffocating. A ballgown that swallowed you whole. An A-line that was simply… boring. None of them felt right. None of them felt like you.

Standing before the mirror, you examined the latest contender – a strapless, heavily beaded monstrosity that sparkled under the chandelier light.

You looked like a disco ball. A very uncomfortable, very expensive disco ball.

“I can’t do this,” you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible. You had agreed to this arrangement – the fake marriage, the orchestrated photos, the carefully crafted narrative designed to boost Lewis’s public image.

You knew what you were signing up for. But seeing yourself in this getup, imagining walking down the aisle towards a man you barely knew, felt surreal.

He cleared his throat. "Y/N?"

You spun around, the heavy dress making the movement awkward. Lewis stood just inside the doorway, his shoulders filling the space.

The breath caught in his throat. The receptionist hadn't exaggerated. You were stunning. The dress, while beautiful, paled in comparison to your natural radiance. Your eyes, usually sparkling with playful mischief, were now tinged with a nervous apprehension that mirrored his own.

"Lewis," you said softly, your voice a low, melodic hum. "You made it."

He managed a weak smile. "Couldn't miss it. The… dress looks amazing on you."

"Thank you," you replied, your fingers nervously pleating the fabric. "Did… did you see your suit?"

"Yeah, it's… it's great. My father's. Which feels… I don't know, significant, somehow. Even though all of this..." He trailed off, gesturing awkwardly around the room.

"Is what it is," you finished for him, a hint of wry amusement in your voice. "A very public, very expensive, agreement."

The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken anxieties and uncertainties. You both knew this wasn’t a real marriage.

It was a business transaction, a carefully calculated move to improve Lewis’s image and, let’s be honest, give your fledgling art career a boost. But standing here, in a bridal boutique, surrounded by the symbols of love and commitment, it felt… complicated.

"So," he said, trying to inject some levity into the situation, "are you ready to become Mrs. Hamilton for the next year?"

A small smile touched your lips. "As ready as I'll ever be. Just try not to crash the car on our wedding day, okay? Think of the engagement rates."

He chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in his shoulders. "Wouldn’t dream of it. My driving is worth more than that." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you. "Is this the dress you're picking?"

You shook your head, the movement causing the beads to clatter softly. "I hate it. It doesn't represent me. It's… too much."

"Maybe your fiancé should pick one for you," one of your entourages said. You forgot they were even there. All this while they were sitting on the couch, probably bored out of their minds.

Lewis seemed surprised by the suggestion, but a playful glint appeared in his eyes. "Sure, I think I know your taste well." Before you could protest, he disappeared into the racks of dresses, a wide grin on his face.

"Don't pick something too girly!" you yelled after him, and you heard his laughter echo from behind a curtain.

You rolled your eyes and turned to your entourage, “I should have never let him do that.”

“But it’s too late now!”

Lewis emerged, holding a dress that was… surprisingly you. It was a sleek, ivory slip dress, with delicate lace detailing at the neckline and a subtle, almost imperceptible train. It was understated, elegant, and undeniably chic.

"Well?" he asked, holding it out. "Think this is more your style?"

You took the dress, running the silk through your fingers. "This is... perfect. How did you know?"

He shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I've been paying attention. Besides, anything would be better than that monstrosity."

The fitting room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. You met his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. This was going to be a strange year, a year filled with pretense and performance.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of something real amidst the artifice.

"When I go change into this, why don't you go try on your father's suit?" you suggested, trying to break the unexpected tension.

Lewis's smile widened. "Good idea. I'll see you in a bit." He winked, and with that, he left the fitting room, leaving you alone with the dress and your increasingly complicated thoughts.

The ivory silk felt cool against your skin as you slipped the dress over your head. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for you. You looked in the mirror, and for the first time since agreeing to this ridiculous scheme, you didn't feel like you were playing a part.

You felt… like yourself. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be a complete disaster.

"Lewis? Are you there?" you asked hesitantly from behind the curtain.

"Yep, just waiting for my future wife to be revealed," he joked.

"Okay," you said shyly, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

You could hear the rustle of fabric and a muttered, "Alright, here we go." Then, with a dramatic flourish, the curtains were drawn open, revealing Lewis in a impeccably tailored suit.

It was classic, understated, and undeniably him. In his hands, he held a bouquet of bright yellow and blue flowers.

He stood there, momentarily speechless, his eyes fixed on you. The air crackled with an unspoken energy, a palpable tension that both thrilled and terrified you.

"Wow," he finally breathed, his voice a low rumble. "You look… incredible."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He grinned, handing you the flowers. "Yellow and blue. They're your favorites, right?"

You took the bouquet, inhaling their sweet fragrance. "They are. Thank you."

"Right, we'll leave you alone to suck up the moment," the main entourage, Monica, announced, herding the rest of the entourage out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving you and Lewis alone in the opulent room. The weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders.

You walked towards the plush velvet sofa and sat down, the voluminous dress swallowing you whole.

"Where's Roscoe?" you asked, referring to Lewis’s beloved bulldog. "I miss him." You’d met Roscoe several times during the contract negotiations and found the wrinkly pup to be far more endearing than his owner, at least initially.

"So you miss my dog but not me, your future husband, your future love of your life, your…" Lewis teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you said, slapping his arm lightly. "I missed you too." It wasn't entirely a lie. During the days of rehearsals and media training leading up to this day, you'd found yourself strangely comfortable around him.

He was surprisingly down-to-earth, considering his fame and fortune.

He chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in his shoulders. "So… do you need help getting out of that dress? I'm sure you're dying to take it off."

You laughed, a genuine, bright sound that surprised him. "Actually, I was kind of enjoying it. Makes me feel like a real princess, even for a few hours."

"Well, you certainly look like one," he said, a genuine compliment escaping his lips.

"Alright, enough flirting," you said, trying to regain your composure. "We have a fake marriage to attend."

"Right," he said, suddenly remembering the logistics of the whole thing. "The venue, the vows, the… first dance."

"Don't worry," you said, your eyes twinkling. "I've taken care of most of it. The venue is a beautiful church outside of Florence. The vows are… well, let's just say they're carefully worded. And the first dance? I'm thinking something slow and romantic. What do you say?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Slow and romantic? You think you can handle it, Mrs. Hamilton?"

You grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Try me, Mr. Hamilton."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I think… I think I might just enjoy that."

The drive to the church felt surreal. You were seated next to Lewis in the back of a sleek, black car, the Tuscan countryside whizzing by in a blur of vineyards and olive groves. You expected awkward silence, maybe a stilted conversation about the weather. Instead, Lewis surprised you.

"So," he began, turning to you with a genuine smile, "tell me, what do you actually know about Formula 1? Besides the fact that I'm supposedly good at it?"

You chuckled. "More than you probably think. I've been following the sport since I was a kid. My dad's a huge fan, and he practically raised me on a diet of qualifying laps and race strategy."

His eyes lit up. "Really? Most of the 'celebrity' guests I meet at the races barely know the difference between a pit stop and a penalty. It's… refreshing to actually talk to someone who gets it."

He launched into a detailed explanation of the upcoming season, his passion evident in every word. He spoke about the new regulations, the aerodynamic changes, the challenges they were facing with the car's performance.

"We're struggling with the downforce," he explained, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The simulations are promising, but we're not seeing the same results on the track. We're working on adjusting the suspension and the rear wing design to try and find that extra bit of grip."

You listened intently, nodding occasionally, asking informed questions. "Have you considered tweaking the differential settings? Maybe a more aggressive locking strategy could help with traction out of the corners?"

Lewis stopped mid-sentence, staring at you in surprise. "That's… actually a really good point. I hadn't thought of that. I'll bring it up with the engineers. You have to come to the factory in Maranello so you can get to know the team before the season starts."

"I'd like that," you admitted, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

This wasn't the superficial celebrity encounter you'd anticipated. He was treating you like an equal, someone whose opinion he valued. It was… disarming.

As the car pulled up to the church, a mix of nervousness and anticipation fluttered in your stomach. You were about to 'marry' a Formula 1 legend, a man you had met, for the sake of boosting his public image. The absurdity of the situation hit you full force.

The church was even more breathtaking in person. Nestled amongst rolling hills, its ancient stone walls seemed to whisper stories of centuries past.

There were some photographers strategically positioned, discreetly snapping aesthetic pictures of the venue. They were there to sell the illusion, to capture the romance that wasn't truly there.

Lewis left the car first, extending a hand to help you out. "Ready?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through you. You smiled and walked towards the entrance of the church, the sound of hushed chatter growing louder with each step. Your palms were sweating, and your heart hammered against your ribs. You were anxious. Terribly anxious.

Lewis squeezed your hand reassuringly. "It's gonna be great, wifey," he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes.

You nodded, trying to force a smile. "Just…don't call me that in public, okay?"

He chuckled. "Deal. And relax. Everyone here is in on it. It's just us, our friends and family."

The heavy wooden doors swung open, revealing a small gathering of people. You saw a mixture of familiar faces – yours and Lewis's close friends, the ones trusted enough to keep the secret – and family. All their faces were directed to you.

You and Lewis were immediately engulfed in hugs and pats on the back. Some of your friends were teary-eyed, overcome with emotion, while others offered proud congratulations. The scene was chaotic, overwhelming, and strangely…supportive.

"You look beautiful, darling," one of your friends gushed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I'm so happy for you both!"

You managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Sarah. Don't cry, you'll ruin your makeup."

Finally, you spotted your mom across the room, engaged in conversation with Lewis's father. Your mother was already crying, naturally. She always cried at weddings, even the fake ones. Seeing her emotional state made your own eyes start to sting.

"Mom!" you called out, gently extricating yourself from the throng of well-wishers.

Your mother turned and rushed towards you, engulfing you in a tight hug. "My baby is getting married!" she sobbed, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart. He seems like such a wonderful man."

You glanced over at Lewis, who was smiling warmly at your mother. He could charm the birds out of the trees, you thought.

"He is, Mom," you said, deciding to play along. "He's wonderful."

She pulled back, holding you at arm's length, and examined your face. "Are you happy, darling? Really happy?"

You hesitated for a moment, the question hitting you with unexpected force. Were you happy? You were about to embark on a year-long sham marriage with a man you barely knew. Logically, the answer should be no. But as you looked at Lewis, standing there patiently, a curious feeling began to stir within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this arrangement than met the eye.

"Yes, Mom," you said, surprising yourself with the conviction in your voice. "I'm happy."

Your mother squeezed your hand. "That's all that matters. Now, go get married!" She beamed, wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand.

Just then, Anthony Hamilton approached, his face etched with a nervous concern that mirrored my own. He fidgeted with his tie, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Y/N, dear," he began, his voice a low rumble. "Are you… are you sure you want me to do this?" He gestured vaguely towards the makeshift altar. "It’s not too late to back out, you know. Lewis… he can be a handful."

My heart went out to him. He was a good man, Anthony, despite the pressures of his son's demanding career. He probably felt as uncomfortable with this whole charade as I did.

"Of course, Mr. Hamilton," I answered, offering him my most reassuring smile. "I feel like it would be the best option for everyone." For Lewis's career, for my future, for my mother's peace of mind.

His eyes welled up, and he nodded slowly, his voice thick with emotion. "Alright, alright. But promise me you'll look after him, eh? He needs someone solid in his corner."

"I promise," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was promising him or myself.

"Alright! Everyone go to your positions now!" the videographer yelled, his voice cutting through the emotional tension like a rusty knife. The sound of hushed conversations and shuffling feet filled the room as everyone scrambled to their assigned seats along the aisle.

Anthony, after taking a deep breath, offered me his elbow. I placed my hand there, the silk of my dress cool against his suit. We walked behind the large oak doors that led into the ballroom, hiding from the expectant gaze of the crowd. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears.

Suddenly, the opening bars of "Canon in D" filled the room, a classic choice for a deeply un-classic situation.

"Ready?" Anthony asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I took a deep breath, forcing a calmness I didn't feel. "Ready."

The doors swung open, and I started to walk. Slowly. Deliberately. Each step was calculated, designed to capture the perfect angle for the cameras. The faces of the guests blurred into a sea of expectant smiles and glittering jewels.

She could see her mother beaming in the front row, her eyes brimming with tears. Y/N hoped they were tears of joy, not disappointment that her daughter was entering into such a transactional union.

At the end of the aisle, Lewis stood waiting, looking impossibly handsome in his custom-tailored suit. He caught my eye, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I saw something flicker in his gaze – a vulnerability, perhaps, or just a raw, naked ambition.

We reached the altar, and Anthony squeezed my hand before stepping aside.

"You look lovely, Y/N," Lewis murmured, his voice low and smooth.

"Thank you, Lewis," she replied, keeping her voice equally neutral. "You don't look so bad yourself."

The officiant, a jovial man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, cleared his throat.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice echoing through the hall, "we are gathered here in the presence of God, family, and friends to witness a joyous occasion—the union of Lewis Hamilton and Y/N L/N in holy matrimony."

The ceremony was a blur of rehearsed lines and forced smiles. They exchanged vows that felt hollow and meaningless. They slipped rings onto each other's fingers, the cold metal a stark reminder of the contractual nature of their relationship.

Then came the moment she had been dreading.

"You may now kiss the bride," the officiant intoned.

Lewis turned to her, his eyes searching hers for a moment. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a chaste, professionally executed kiss, designed to elicit cheers from the crowd and likes on Instagram.

But even so, you felt a strange flutter in her stomach, a sensation she quickly dismissed as the product of nerves and exhaustion.

It was all a blur from then on. Walking down the aisle with Lewis in hand, waving at the guests, mostly family and friends, throwing confetti over our heads.

The whirlwind of congratulations, the endless photos, the forced smiles that were starting to ache my cheeks.

Then, suddenly, we were in a room by ourselves, apparently, it's tradition for newly weds to stay in the same room right after the ceremony to soak up the moment.

The honeymoon suite was extravagant, all plush velvet and panoramic views. It felt absurd to be here, pretending, with 24-hour security just outside the door to ensure the “integrity” of our little charade.

My friends, bless their hearts, had noticed my tense demeanor and, with a knowing wink, had slipped two glasses of wine into my hands. "Relax a little, Y/N," Maya had whispered, "You look like you're about to explode."

I took a tentative sip. The wine was crisp and refreshing, a welcome distraction from the buzzing in my head. I was a lightweight, a fact I had conveniently neglected to mention to Lewis. He stood awkwardly by the panoramic window, his perfectly tailored suit looking even more impeccable against the velvet drapes.

He turned, his expression hesitant. "That kiss was... nice," he said, almost as an afterthought.

I raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of my wine. "Well, I'm happy you enjoyed it because that's all you're getting from me today," I said, leaning back against a ridiculously ornate chaise lounge.

He frowned slightly. "We do have to kiss more during the first dance and the reception party."

The wine had officially loosened my inhibitions. A mischievous glint sparked in my eye. I found myself leaning forward, a dangerous smile playing on my lips. "Is that an order, Mr. Hamilton?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "It's…a suggestion. A highly recommended suggestion."

I burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings. He looked even more uncomfortable. "Alright, alright. A suggestion it is. But tell me, Lewis," I drawled, tilting my head, "how passionate are we talking? A quick peck for the cameras? A lingering lip-lock for the tabloids? Or perhaps a full-blown, movie-style makeout session to send your fans into a frenzy?"

He gaped at me, his usually composed facade cracking. "Y/N, are you…teasing me?"

"Maybe," I said, grinning. "Consider it a rehearsal. For the sake of public perception, of course. We have to be convincing, right? This isn't just about boosting your engagement numbers; it's about protecting your reputation."

He took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Fine. Let's…rehearse." He approached me cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal, his eyes locked on mine. "Just…remember it's all for show. This is purely professional."

"Of course," I whispered, the wine singing in my veins. "All for show. Completely professional." My heart, however, seemed to have missed the memo. It was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He placed his hands on my waist, his touch surprisingly gentle. He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek, and I suddenly found myself struggling to remember my lines. "Ready?"

My voice caught in my throat. I managed a shaky nod, my heart suddenly pounding a rhythm that had nothing to do with wine and pretense. As his lips met mine, a strange sensation washed over me. 

 He hesitated, giving you a moment to back out, but you didn't. Instead, you raised a hand and rested it on the back of his neck, your fingers threading slightly into his short, dark hair.

It started slowly. A tentative brush of lips, a polite greeting. He tasted of mint and something else, something subtly powerful and undeniably Lewis. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Is this… believable?"

"Believable enough to fool millions?" you countered, your voice a husky whisper. "Probably not. Try again. Think longing, think desperation, think… you're about to lose the most important thing in your life."

Lewis frowned. "That's a bit dramatic, even for this."

"Welcome to acting, darling," you said, your smile widening. "Now, try again."

This time, he didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his lips claiming yours with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. This wasn't the gentle, chaste kiss from before. This was raw, demanding, and surprisingly… good.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you found yourself responding without conscious thought. Your fingers tightened their grip on his neck, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, breath mingling. It was a whirlwind of sensation, a delicious chaos that blurred the line between rehearsal and reality.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot this was all a performance, that you were just pawns in a PR game. You were just two people, caught in the heat of a kiss that felt anything but fake.

He finally broke away, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and intense. "Okay," he said, his voice raspy. "That… that was better."

You were still trying to catch your breath. "Better indeed," you managed to say, your voice slightly breathless. "But was it believable? Or just…intense?"

Lewis looked away, running a hand through his braids. "It was…both. Maybe too intense."

"Too intense for a fake marriage?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could answer, I noticed the smear of red on his chin. "Oh, you've got my lipstick all over your mouth," I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Before Lewis could touch his face, I held his hand, preventing him. "Leave it there, at least that will convince people that we were kissing," I said, letting go of him.

He stared at me, a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn't quite decipher flickering in his eyes. "You're… surprisingly good at this," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"That's my job," I replied, a smile playing on my lips. "But you're a quick learner, Lewis. I'll give you that."

The large hall was bedecked in a symphony of white roses and crystal chandeliers that cast a soft glow across the polished floor. The moment you and Lewis stepped in, the buzz of conversation hushed and all eyes turned to you.

The crowd erupted in applause, a wave of congratulations that made you blush despite the artifice of it all.

You took Lewis's offered arm, his grip firm and surprisingly comforting, as you both glided towards your sweetheart table at the center of the room.

The scent of his cologne mingled with the floral bouquets scattered around, creating a heady aroma that was at odds with the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach.

Your hearts beat in sync with each step, echoing the rhythmic thump of the bass from the live band playing in the corner. The dress you wore was a vision of elegance, a stark contrast to the nervous energy thrumming through your body.

You felt like a moth drawn to a flame as you approached the table, the spotlights seemingly highlighting every imperfection, every lie. Yet, as you sat down, the plush chair enveloping you in a gentle embrace, the weight of the moment lifted slightly. You exhaled and offered him a tentative smile.

"Well, we've made it this far," you murmured under the guise of the applause.

"Barely," he quipped, a playful glint in his eye.

As the applause died down, a server appeared, filling your glasses with champagne. The cool liquid was a welcome relief against the dryness of your mouth.

You took a sip, feeling the bubbles tickle your nose. The room was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, a cacophony of happiness that seemed almost surreal.

"To us," Lewis said, raising his glass. His smile was perfect, a masterpiece of diplomacy. You mirrored the gesture.

You clinked glasses, the sound resonating in your ears like a toll of fate. "To the most convenient marriage of the year," you toasted, trying to keep your voice steady.

The liquid slid down your throat, a potent symbol of the agreement you'd made. You felt the warmth spread through your body, loosening the tension slightly.

The dress, a creation of satin and lace, whispered against your skin with every movement, a silent reminder of the part you had to play.

As the applause faded into the background, the first course of the meal was served. The table was an opulent display of gourmet delights, each dish more tempting than the last.

Lewis picked up a piece of hors d'oeuvre, a dollop of caviar perched atop a tiny cracker, and held it out to your lips.

"Open for me," he said, his voice low and playful.

You parted your lips and allowed him to feed you, the salty fish roe bursting on your tongue. The sensation was oddly intimate, and you watched his eyes darken as he observed your reaction.

The taste was decadent, a delightful assault on your senses that made you want to moan. You chewed slowly, savoring the richness.

You returned the favor, plucking a strawberry from the fruit platter with your fingers and bringing it to his mouth.

The fruit was ripe, the juice staining your fingertips and leaving a sweet trail across your skin. He took the berry with a smoldering look that sent a bolt of heat through your core.

You picked up a piece of chocolate-covered fruits, the dark chocolate shimmering with edible gold dust. You held it to his mouth, watching as he took it with a bite, the gold leaving a glittering trail on his bottom lip.

Leaning in, your heart racing, you couldn't help yourself. You licked the remnants of sweet chocolate from his lips, the taste a tantalizing mix of the rich confection and the salt of his mouth.

You blamed it on the alcohol, the way it loosened your inhibitions and made everything feel more daring, more alive. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and you realized with a start that he wasn't objecting.

The room spun slightly as you felt his hand come to rest on the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the bare skin exposed by your dress.

"You're doing great," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand spreading like a brand across your skin. The champagne had done its work, the tension giving way to a pleasant buzz that made everything feel a little less forced.

You turned to face him, your eyes locking for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice a soft purr that seemed to resonate through the room.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he might kiss you.

But instead, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

The band struck up a tune, the sound of instruments swirling around you like a warm embrace. You felt a sudden pressure to perform, to be the bride everyone expected you to be.

Maya bustled over to your table. "Can you guys cut the cake now, or do you need more time for yourselves?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The question was like a splash of cold water, reminding you of the façade you were maintaining. You laughed, a little too loudly, and nodded.

"We're ready," you said, standing up. Lewis's hand was at your elbow, guiding you through the crowd towards the grand, multi-tiered cake.

The cake was a masterpiece, a cascade of white fondant adorned with intricate lace detailing and delicate sugar roses.

You felt a strange sense of detachment as you both took the knife, your hands shaking slightly.

As you made the first slice, the sound of cameras clicking filled the air. The flashes were like stars in a night sky, blinding you to everything else.

But all you could see was Lewis's profile, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand held the knife with surprising tenderness.

He took a piece of cake and offered it to you, a silent question in his eyes. You took it, feeling the soft cake crumble against your teeth.

The sweetness was overwhelming, a metaphor for the situation you found yourself in.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to be the poised and elegant wife Ferrari required.

The spotlight was on you, but it was the pressure of his hand against your back that kept you from crumbling like the dessert in your mouth.

"Move closer," you whispered, holding out a dainty slice of the heavenly cake to him. The scent of vanilla and buttercream filled the air as you brought it closer to his lips.

The moment was charged with a current that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

With a gentle nudge, you coaxed him to open his mouth. His full lips parted slightly, and you placed the cake on his tongue.

His eyes never left yours as you traced the outline of his mouth with your fingertips, catching the crumbs that clung to his perfect smile. The warmth of his breath danced across your fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. His Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, and you felt a sudden urge to trace the path the cake took down his throat with your own mouth.

As the music grew louder and the flashes grew more insistent, Lewis leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Dance with me?" His voice was a velvety rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, and he took your hand, leading you to the dance floor.

The lights dimmed, casting the room in a romantic glow. A slow song began to play, a classic ballad about love and commitment. Ironic, you thought, given the circumstances.

Lewis placed his hand on your waist, and you reluctantly put yours on his shoulder. The fabric of his bespoke suit felt smooth beneath your fingers.

He pulled you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You avoided looking at him, focusing instead on the swirling patterns of the projected lights on the ceiling.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "It's just a dance."

But it wasn't just a dance. It was a performance, a charade, a carefully constructed illusion. Every step, every sway, every glance had to be perfect, believable.

You caught the eye of someone, notebook in hand, eagerly observing your every move. You forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine.

As the song continued, you found yourself slowly starting to relax. Lewis was a surprisingly graceful dancer, guiding you effortlessly across the floor.

The rhythm of the music, the warmth of his body, the soft lighting – it was all strangely seductive.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the music.

You finally met his gaze, and you were surprised to see genuine warmth in his eyes. Was it possible? Could there be something more to this arrangement than just business?

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face. "You know, this isn't so bad."

"What isn't?" you asked, confused.

"This. Us. Pretending to be in love," he said, his eyes twinkling. "We're pretty good at it, don't you think?"

You laughed. "We are, aren't we?"

As the song ended, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

"You know what would make this even more believable?" he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"If we kissed," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You looked up at him, your pulse racing. The idea was ludicrous, of course. This was a marriage of convenience, a contractual agreement to help him secure his engagement at Ferrari.

Yet, as his eyes searched yours, you found yourself leaning into the moment, curious about the sensation of his lips on yours.

The music swelled around you as his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

You felt the electricity crackle in the air between you, and without another word, he closed the gap, pressing his mouth to yours.

His kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, as if he too was surprised by his own actions.

But the alcohol was really hitting the both of you, and with it, your inhibitions began to melt away like candle wax in the heat of desire.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

Lewis's hand slipped down from your waist to the curve of your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your dress.

You held back, though, coming back to your senses. This wasn't what you had signed up for. You were supposed to be his beard, not his lover.

You stiffened in his arms, and he must have felt the shift in your demeanor because his hand stilled.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and thick with a hint of regret. "I didn't mean to cross a line."

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling against his firm embrace. "It's okay," you managed, even though your body was screaming for more. "We just need to remember what this is."

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "Right," he murmured, his grip loosening slightly. "A marriage of convenience."

The music had changed to something faster, a pounding bass that seemed to echo the beating of your heart. You stepped back, trying to compose yourself and smiled for the cameras.

"We should focus on the wedding," you said, your voice shakier than you would have liked.

Lewis's hand remained at your waist, his thumb continuing to stroke your skin in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched into his features.

You took another deep breath, willing your racing pulse to slow. "I'm fine," you lied, plastering a smile back onto your face. "We're just playing our parts, right?"

He nodded, his eyes lingering on your mouth. "Right."

The music changed again, the tempo quickening. The DJ announced that it was time for everyone to join in, and the floor flooded with guests eager to dance. The pressure of the moment was lifted as the spotlight shifted away from the two of you.

The crowd grew thick around you, a sea of bodies moving in a harmonious wave of color and sound. Lewis's hand remained at the small of your back, his fingers splayed possessively.

You felt a thrill of excitement as you realized that in this chaos, you could be anyone, do anything, and no one would question it.

And then, through the kaleidoscope of faces, you saw her. Your mother, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you with a knowing smile.

She had always had a knack for reading your expressions, and even from this distance, you could feel her approval. It was as if she knew the secret desires that had blossomed in the warmth of Lewis's embrace.

Her eyes sparkled with a mischief that told you she wasn't fooled by the pretense of your union.

You felt a sudden rush of heat, remembering the way Lewis's kiss had made your knees weak. You hoped she hadn't seen that.

"I'm going to talk to my mother," you murmured into Lewis's ear, your voice low and urgent.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before you slipped away from the dance floor and made your way through the throngs of partygoers.

Your mother's smile grew wider as you approached, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief that had always made you feel both cherished and exposed.

She knew you so well, and as you reached her side, you were acutely aware of the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth still lingering on your cheeks from Lewis's kiss.

"Having fun?" she asked, her voice a sweet symphony of teasing and concern.

"Mother, let's talk outside," you suggested, gesturing to the balcony, desperately needing a moment of respite from the pounding rhythms and probing gazes.

Her smile never wavered as she nodded in agreement, placing a hand on your forearm. "Lead the way, dear," she said, the warmth of her touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

The cool night air hit you like a breath of fresh oxygen as you stepped out onto the balcony, the sound of laughter and music muffled by the thick double doors.

The moon cast a silvery glow over the cityscape, painting the buildings in a soft, ethereal light. The distant sounds of traffic were a faint reminder of the world beyond the bubble of the penthouse suite where your lives had suddenly become a performance for the paparazzi.

Your mother looked stunning in a midnight-blue gown that accentuated her figure, her eyes dancing with curiosity. She took a sip of her champagne, her gaze never leaving you.

"What's on your mind, darling?" she asked, her voice a gentle coo that could melt the coldest of hearts.

You leaned against the balcony railing, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat still pulsing through your veins from Lewis's kiss.

"I just needed a break," you replied, hoping she wouldn't push further. The night air kissed your skin, sending goosebumps along your arms.

Your mother's eyes searched yours, a knowing glint shimmering in her gaze. "You seem…flustered," she said, her tone light but her words carrying the weight of a thousand unasked questions.

You took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs and calming your racing thoughts. "It's just…Lewis," you began, struggling to find the words.

"What about your fake husband?" your mother said, her voice dripping with playful accusation. She had always been perceptive, and she knew you better than anyone.

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, and you took a sip of the cool, bubbly champagne to buy yourself some time. "What do you mean?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, the gesture so familiar it was as if you were a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. "I saw the way he was looking at you during the first dance," she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "And the way you two were just…dancing."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pulsing heat between your legs, the phantom feeling of Lewis's hand on your hip. "It's all for the cameras," you protested, even though the words felt hollow.

Your mother's smile grew knowing, and she leaned closer, her perfume a faint whisper of gardenias in the night air. "Is that all it is?" she murmured, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief that had always made you squirm. "Or is there something more going on between you two?"

You took another deep breath, the coolness of the air doing little to ease the heat pooling in your belly. "Mother," you began, feeling the weight of her gaze on you, "I've only known him for less than a month."

Her smile softened, the playful glint in her eyes fading to a look of understanding. She leaned closer, her voice a warm, comforting whisper. "Sometimes, love doesn't care about time, darling. It just happens."

You stared out into the night, the city lights blurring as you replayed the last few minutes in your mind. The feel of his lips on yours, the gentle caress of his hands, the way your body had responded so instinctively.

Was it possible to develop feelings so quickly, so intensely, when the foundation of your relationship was nothing but a business deal?

The question lingered in the air as you watched Lewis mingle with the other guests, his charisma lighting up the room. His laugh was infectious, his smile captivating, and the way he moved through the space was like watching a panther – sleek, powerful, and utterly in control.

You took another sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you contemplated your mother's words. Love? In a marriage of convenience? The very notion seemed absurd, and yet, you couldn't deny the undeniable pull you felt towards him.

The way your body had responded to his touch, the way your heart had skipped a beat when he looked at you – it was all too real, too potent to dismiss as mere infatuation.

"Just remember what you said three weeks ago, that 'it's all just for show. And it's not like you're actually going to be doing the whole marriage thing, that you're just going to pretend.'"

Her voice, usually a soothing balm, was sharp with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. "Don't break your own promise, but I wouldn't mind it. Lewis will take good care of you."

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Was she…encouraging you? But before you could respond, she had already turned away, leaving you alone with the night's whispers and the tumultuous dance of your thoughts.

You took another sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzling down your throat, and tried to convince yourself that it was just the alcohol playing tricks on you.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Sighing, you set the champagne flute down on the railing and smoothed your hair back, trying to regain your composure. The chilly breeze whispered across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

With one last deep breath, you pushed away from the balcony and turned to face the warm embrace of the party once more.

As you stepped back into the penthouse suite, the heat and the music enveloped you like a lover's arms. The lights danced over the guests' faces, casting a spell of excitement and anticipation.

The DJ announced that it was time for the welcome toasts, and a hush fell over the room. You searched the crowd for Lewis, your heart skipping a beat when your eyes met his across the sea of bodies.

He offered you a smile, his own eyes a storm of emotions that mirrored your own.

Making your way to the makeshift stage, you took your place beside him. The spotlight was hot on your face, and you could feel the eyes of the guests on you, eagerly waiting for you to speak.

Lewis took your hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

You cleared your throat, the words of your toast already written but feeling so insignificant now. "Thank you all for joining us tonight," you began, your voice steady despite the tumult in your chest. "This is a very special occasion."

Lewis squeezed your hand, his thumb stroking the back of your palm in a silent message of support.

You glanced at him, his eyes locked onto yours, and felt a jolt of something primal, something that had nothing to do with the contract you'd signed.

"We're here to celebrate the beginning of a new chapter in our lives," you said, your eyes never leaving his. "One filled with adventure, success, and," you paused, feeling the weight of his gaze, "passion."

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and Lewis stepped up to the microphone, his hand still wrapped around yours. "Thank you," he said, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

"To my beautiful wife," he turned to you, a smoldering look in his eyes that sent a delicious shiver down your spine, "Thank you for agreeing to this crazy adventure."

You leaned into the microphone, the warmth of his body against yours a potent cocktail of desire and nerves. "And to my dashing husband," you said, your voice a purr, "Thank you for making this marriage of convenience feel like anything but."

The crowd gasped, and a smattering of laughter filled the room, but you didn't care. You knew you were playing with fire, but the heat was too tempting to resist.

As you finished your toast, Lewis leaned down and whispered, "You're going to pay for that later." The words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you couldn't help but smile.

You took your cue, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging inside you. "To our friends, our families, and Ferrari," you said, raising your glass, "Thank you for bringing us together."

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the success of your ruse.

But as you watched Lewis, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, you knew that this marriage of convenience was about to take a very inconvenient turn.

"Now, it's time for the parent dances," the DJ announced, breaking the spell of the moment. You felt a knot in your stomach. You had lost your father years ago, and having your mother dance with Lewis was the closest thing you'd ever get to a traditional wedding dance with a parent.

"Mrs. L/N," Lewis said, extending his hand towards your mother with a charming smile. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took his hand, the same hand that had sent shockwaves through your body just moments before. "Why, Mr. Hamilton, I'd be thrilled," she replied, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

You watched as they swayed to the music, the connection between them palpable. The sight was bittersweet – a reminder of what you had lost and what you never had.

But as you observed them, the tension in your chest began to ease. If Lewis had to dance with someone, you were happy it was your mother.

She deserved this moment of joy and glamour, even if it was all an act.

As the song came to a close, Lewis guided your mother back to her seat and returned to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your turn," he murmured, extending his hand.

You nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach. This was your job, to make this marriage look believable, and part of that meant playing the role of a loving wife to a tee.

As the music changed to a slower tempo, Lewis' father, Anthony, made his way over to you, his smile warm and welcoming. He took your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle, and led you onto the dance floor.

"Thank you for being here, my dear," he said, pulling you closer into his embrace. You could feel the strength in his arms, a stark contrast to the softness of his voice.

His cologne, a rich blend of leather and sandalwood, wrapped around you, a comforting scent that reminded you of the safety and protection a father's arms could offer.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hamilton," you replied, your voice a soft whisper against his chest. You felt a strange comfort in his arms, a sense of belonging that you hadn't felt since your own father had passed away.

The music washed over you, a gentle symphony that seemed to be composed just for the two of you. You moved in sync with him, his steps guiding yours with a grace that could only come from years of experience.

His hand rested at the small of your back, the heat from his palm seeping through the fabric of your dress and setting your skin alight.

You looked up at him, his eyes crinkling with kindness. "You know, you're quite the catch," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "My son is a very lucky man."

You blushed, your heart fluttering at the compliment. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. "Lewis is… quite the catch himself."

Anthony chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yes, he is," he agreed. "But I can see the way he looks at you. There's more to this than just a business deal."

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, you didn't know what was happening between you and Lewis. It was like you had stumbled into a fairy tale, except the prince was a billionaire race car driver, and the marriage was as fake as the smile you painted on every day.

"You don't have to tell me," he said, as if sensing your discomfort. "But just remember, love has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a sudden tightness in your chest. Was that what this was? Love? The very thought was terrifying, and yet, as you watched Lewis across the room, his eyes never leaving yours, you couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to it.

The dance ended all too soon, and you found yourself back in the swirl of the party, the music and laughter a cacophony around you. You searched the room for Lewis, needing to be near him, to feel the reassurance of his presence.

Then, you heard a mic being tapped, and the volume of the room dropped like a curtain. You looked at the stage to see Maya and Miles with grins on their faces that could only mean one thing – they were about to give their speeches.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew Maya all too well; she was the kind of friend who had a knack for speaking her mind, especially when it came to juicy secrets.

Miles took the mic first, his voice smooth and charming. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I'd like to start by saying how honored I am to be standing here today, witnessing the union of two of the most amazing people I know."

"Now," he continued, "I know we're all here to celebrate the love between Lewis and his beautiful bride," he said, pausing for effect. "But what I'd like to remind everyone is that this isn't just a marriage – it's a partnership that's going to be taking the racing world by storm. And speaking of storms, I've got a little something for you two,"

Maya strutted up to the podium, the mic in one hand and a glint in her eye that had you on the edge of your seat. She tapped it, the sound echoing through the room, and announced,

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to share a little story about how our dashing couple met. It's not your average love at first sight tale, oh no."

You felt your face heat up as the room grew quieter, all eyes on Maya. Lewis's hand tightened around yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles in a silent message of reassurance. You could see the curiosity in his eyes, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

Maya began, "Picture this: Two strangers, thrown together by fate, or should I say, by Ferrari. A billionaire playboy, and a girl with a heart of gold. They say opposites attract, but in this case, it was more like a collision of epic proportions!"

The audience chuckled, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and excitement. You knew Maya had a wild imagination, and she wasn't one to shy away from spicing things up.

"They say love is a wild ride," she continued, her voice taking on a dramatic tone. "But let me tell you, when these two hit the track, it was nothing short of explosive! The chemistry was palpable, the tension could have fueled a race car!"

Your heart raced as she painted a vivid picture of your whirlwind romance, embellishing every detail and adding a steamy twist here and there. You shot her a glare, but she only winked back, reveling in the moment.

Miles took over, his deep voice a stark contrast to Maya's. "But what you don't know," he said, leaning into the mic, "is that there was a secret deal made, a deal that would change the course of their lives forever. A marriage of convenience, you say? Pish-posh!"

The crowd leaned in, eager to hear the juicy details. You held your breath, waiting for the inevitable revelation of your arrangement with Lewis. But instead, Miles spun a tale of a daring bet between the two friends, one that had led to a year of adventure and discovery.

"They said they'd keep it professional," Miles said with a wink. "But when love enters the race, all bets are off!"

You felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. It wasn't the truth, but it was close enough to keep the secret intact. The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn't help but laugh along, the tension in the room dissipating like mist on a warm morning.

As the applause died down, you leaned into Lewis, whispering, "Your friend is something else."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "He does have a way of keeping things interesting," he murmured, pulling you closer.

The rest of the reception was a blur of laughter, dancing, and whispered secrets. The speeches had been a wild ride, but somehow, you found yourself enjoying the thrill of it all.

The way Lewis looked at you, the way his hand never left your side – it was as if you had stumbled into a love story after all.

As the night went on, you were able to relax, a glass of champagne in hand, chatting with your friends who had flown in for the occasion. They were all buzzing with excitement, eager to hear every detail of your whirlwind romance with the infamous Lewis Hamilton.

You felt a thrill run down your spine every time they talked about your "true love," knowing that it was all just a well-orchestrated facade. But the way he made you feel, the way he looked at you – it was easy to get lost in the fantasy.

You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, the coolness of it spreading through your body like a gentle caress. The alcohol did its work, loosening your inhibitions and making you feel light, like you were floating on air.

The room was warm, a cozy cocoon of friendship and goodwill that enveloped you, making the weight of your deception feel a little less heavy.

Your friend Laura leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, what's it really like being married to a superstar?" she asked, her voice low and conspiratorial. You giggled, feeling a little tipsy and more than a little bit naughty.

"Well, it's not all fast cars and glamour," you said, your voice a purr. "But the perks aren't too shabby." You shared a knowing look with her, and she squealed, her hand flying to her mouth. You had always had a flair for the dramatic, and tonight was no exception.

As you talked, the room grew hazier, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cologne mingling with the aroma of fine wine and rich food.

The music was a sensual backdrop, the rhythm pulsing through the floorboards, inviting you to move. You felt the warmth of Lewis's hand on the small of your back as he joined your circle of friends, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to drive the chill of doubt away.

"Let's dance," he whispered in your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded, placing your hand in his, and allowed him to lead you into the throng of bodies, each swaying to the seductive rhythm.

His hand slid to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the smooth fabric of your dress, and you felt a thrill at the possessive way he held you, his other hand cradling yours.

The music was a slow, sultry number that seemed to resonate within the very core of your being. His thigh brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

His touch was like a brand, leaving a trail of heat wherever it went. You looked into his eyes, and for a moment, you forgot about the cameras, the guests, the lie. It was just the two of you, lost in a dance that felt all too real.

The conversation with your friends was lively, their questions about married life to the legendary Lewis Hamilton met with your playful evasions and coy smiles. The champagne bubbled in your veins, making you feel more daring, more alive.

You caught Laura's eye, and she winked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The tension between you and Lewis was palpable, a secret only the two of you shared, and it was intoxicating.

Suddenly, the music shifted to something softer, a classic love song that seemed to beckon for a more intimate moment.

You felt Lewis's hand tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle you never knew you were meant to complete.

His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Let's take the family picture."

You nodded, allowing him to lead you off the dance floor and towards the small area designated for family photos. Your mother sat watching, her eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to say she knew more than she was letting on.

She patted the seat beside her, and you sat down, feeling a sudden vulnerability that the alcohol hadn't quite prepared you for.

Lewis's father, Anthony, took a seat. The sight was surreal, a makeshift family portrait that was as beautiful as it was unexpected. The photographer, a friend of the Hamiltons, approached with a professional smile. "Ready?" he asked, holding up the camera.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. Lewis sat beside you, his hand reaching for yours, and you felt a rush of affection that was as surprising as it was overwhelming.

The camera clicked, capturing the four of you in a moment of forced intimacy that somehow felt more genuine than you had anticipated.

The flash illuminated the room, freezing the scene in time – a snapshot of a life that wasn't quite real, but felt more right than anything you had ever known.

The picture was taken, and the moment passed, but the warmth lingered. You couldn't help but look at the image displayed on the camera's screen – the four of you, a small but significant representation of what could have been.

Your mother's smile was wide, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and you realized that maybe this wasn't just about the Ferrari deal. Maybe, just maybe, it was about creating a new kind of family, one born from necessity but blossoming into something more.

The photographer handed the camera to Lewis, who studied the picture with a thoughtful expression. "It's perfect," he murmured, his thumb brushing over the image of your joined hands.

"Yes," your mother agreed, her voice thick with emotion. "It's like looking at a real family."

The words hung in the air, and you felt a sudden tightness in your throat. This was supposed to be just a year of pretending, but the lines between reality and the role you were playing were beginning to blur.

As you looked into the camera lens, you realized that the love in your eyes for Lewis was no longer just an act.

It was a tangible thing, a living, breathing entity that had snuck into your heart without you even noticing. . . .

His eyes scanned the room, finally settling on her. Y/N. Even her name felt foreign on his tongue. She was surrounded by her friends, a vibrant group of women who punctuated her words with laughter. He watched her, a strange curiosity washing over him.

She seemed… lighter, more at ease than he’d ever seen her with him. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile that never quite reached him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. His father, Anthony, stood beside him, a proud smile plastered on his face. "Son, I've gotten you and your wife a present."

Lewis braced himself. He knew his father’s “presents” usually came with strings attached.

Anthony gestured towards a nearby table. On it sat a framed picture. Lewis's breath caught in his throat. It was a photo from the ceremony, taken just as the priest declared them husband and wife.

In the picture, he was kissing Y/N. The angle made it look passionate, intimate. A lie meticulously crafted for public consumption.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Anthony beamed. “A perfect memento of your special day. I’ve already had copies made for all the papers.”

Lewis forced a smile. “Right. Perfect.”

He took the frame, the cold glass a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand. The kiss in the photograph was nothing more than a well-rehearsed move, a performance for the cameras. Yet, looking at it now, with the love in her eyes captured in that split second, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something akin to regret.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with something he couldn’t quite identify.

Anthony clapped him on the back, his eyes gleaming. "Remember, son, this is just the beginning. You two are going to be the golden couple of the racing world. A powerhouse team that can't be beat."

Lewis nodded, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. He had agreed to this sham of a marriage for the sake of the Ferrari deal, for the sake of his career, but seeing the hope in his father's eyes made him feel like a fraud.

Anthony leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, I know this isn't the way you planned your wedding night," he began, "but I've got a little surprise for the two of you."

Lewis's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing with what his father could possibly mean.

"Dad," he began, his voice tight. "We've talked about this. It's just for show."

Anthony's smile never wavered. "Of course, of course," he said, patting Lewis's back. "But a little bit of authenticity goes a long way, doesn't it?" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Besides, I've got a feeling that there's more to this arrangement than meets the eye."

Lewis felt a sudden heat rise to his cheeks. His father had always had a knack for reading him like a book, and it was clear he wasn't fooled by the façade. But before he could protest, Y/N's mother called Anthony over, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Goodbye son," his father said, his grip firm on Lewis's shoulder. "I hope you can enjoy this new chapter in your life."

The words echoed in Lewis's ears as he watched his father walk away, leaving him standing next to the framed photograph.

He glanced back at Y/N, her laughter filling the air like music. Her eyes caught his, and she offered a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a smile for the cameras, a smile that said, “Everything is fine.”

But Lewis knew better. He could see the shadows that lurked beneath the surface, the doubt that she kept so well hidden.

He made his way over to her, the floor seeming to tilt beneath his feet. He had to admit, the champagne was hitting him harder than he'd expected.

The warmth of her hand in his was like a lifeline, grounding him in a reality that was quickly becoming more tangled than the vines that adorned the walls of the venue.

Their guests began to file out, their laughter and chatter fading like the last notes of a symphony. The grand ballroom grew quiet, the only sound the soft clink of crystal and the rustle of fabric as they moved together.

The first guest approached, an older woman with a cackle that could cut through glass. She leaned in, her breath hot with whiskey, and whispered in his ear, "A little something to keep you both warm on those cold nights, dear."

With a wink, she handed him a velvet box that was surprisingly heavy. He took it, feeling the weight of her assumption pressing down on his shoulders.

The next was a burly man, a sponsor for the racing team, who clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Here you go, champ," he said, his meaty hand palming Lewis a bottle of cognac.

"Keep her happy, yeah?" The bottle was cold, the condensation already forming on the glass a stark contrast to the heat of his cheeks.

A procession of well-wishers followed, each with a gift more extravagant than the last. A set of silver cufflinks that weighed down his wrists, a leather-bound book of love sonnets that smelled faintly of cigars, and a sculpture of a Ferrari that was so intricately detailed it looked as if it could drive off the table at any moment.

Each time, the guest would lean in and whisper something about the marriage bed, their eyes glinting with knowing amusement, as if they were all in on a secret that was anything but secret.

The weight of the gifts grew heavier with each addition, until Lewis felt like he was carrying the weight of a thousand expectations. The room spun around him, the lights playing tricks on his vision as he tried to keep his smile in place.

Finally, the last guest had gone, the caterers had cleared away the last of the dishes, and the music had faded to a dull throb.

The only people left were their closest friends, the ones who had known them before the racing world had claimed them, before the Ferrari deal had turned their lives into a performance.

Lewis placed the last gift on the pile, his heart racing. He could feel the eyes of their friends on him, the same friends who had seen them through the ups and downs of their careers, who knew that this marriage was a sham.

He approached Y/N, who was still sipping on her champagne, surrounded by her giggling friends. The way they leaned into her, whispering sweet nothings, made him feel like an outsider in his own wedding. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that surged within him.

As he drew closer, the scent of her perfume reached him, a delicate blend of jasmine and vanilla that had haunted his dreams for weeks. It was the same scent she'd worn on their first time meeting each other.

He wrapped his hand around her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of her dress give way to the warm, supple flesh beneath. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden touch sending a tremor through her body that made him tighten his grip, if only to steady her.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching, and for a moment, Lewis wondered if she could feel the storm of doubt and desire that raged within him.

He leaned closer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him like a seductive embrace.

Her breath hitched, the soft fabric of her dress whispering against his fingertips as he pulled her closer. He felt the warmth of her skin through the gossamer material, her body responding to his touch with a delicate shiver.

Their eyes locked, and in the silence of the emptying ballroom, the truth of their arrangement danced unspoken between them. The air grew thick with tension, the only sound the erratic beating of their hearts.

"Are you ready to go?" he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips.

The music had stopped, the laughter had faded, and the only sound left was the erratic thumping of their hearts. The question hung in the air, a silent plea for a connection that went beyond the script they'd been given.

Y/N's eyes searched his, a mix of confusion and something else, something he hadn't anticipated. Her cheeks were flushed, not from the heat of the room but from the potent cocktail of emotions that swirled within her.

The champagne had done its work, loosening her inhibitions and leaving her vulnerable to the storm that brewed in her chest.

"Tired?" she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. The word was a question and an invitation, a gentle challenge to his intentions.

Her pulse quickened, a silent rhythm that matched the tempo of his own heartbeat, echoing through the sensitive skin of his neck.

Lewis nodded, the simple gesture loaded with a world of meaning. His eyes never leaving hers, he felt a strange thrill at the thought of her submission, her willingness to follow him into the unknown.

He wasn't tired in the traditional sense; he was weary of the charade, the endless masquerade that had become their lives.

"Let me say bye to my friends," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to hang in the air, a declaration of intent that sent a shiver down his spine. The room swirled around them, the faces of the remaining guests a blur of pastel colors and forced smiles.

He nodded, his hand still clutching hers, the heat of their connection a stark contrast to the cool air conditioning. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that seemed to pulse in time with their racing pulses.

Y/N turned to her friends, her smile a practiced mask that didn't quite reach her eyes. She whispered her goodbyes, each word a silent promise that she'd return to them, unchanged by the whims of fate that had brought her to this moment.

The women hugged her tightly, a few whispering words of advice or congratulations that she barely heard over the roar of blood in her ears.

As she moved from one friend to the next, her mind swirled with the gravity of the situation. The warmth of their embraces was a stark contrast to the icy grip of doubt that had taken hold of her heart. Each goodbye felt like a final farewell, a symbolic cutting of ties to the life she knew.

When she finally turned back to him, her eyes searched his for reassurance. The intensity of his gaze made her knees wobble, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"I'm ready," she murmured, the words a soft caress against his skin.

Their friends had formed a corridor, cheering and showering them with the remaining confetti as they walked hand in hand towards the exit.

Each step felt like a leap into the abyss, the weight of their decision pressing down on their shoulders. Yet, with every footfall, the tension grew more electric, the anticipation more potent.

The confetti fluttered around them like a blizzard of colorful secrets, whispering sweet nothings of passion and promise.

Each piece that stuck to their skin was a silent testament to the excitement of the night to come. The cheers grew louder, the claps more insistent, as if the very air was urging them onward.

Y/N felt a strange mix of exhilaration and fear. The confetti stuck to her lashes, her hair, the fabric of her dress, a glittering reminder of the happiness they were expected to embody.

His grip on her hand was firm, grounding her in the present, as the cacophony of their friends' celebration grew dimmer with every step.

As they passed the threshold, the confetti cascading down like a glittering waterfall at their backs, the weight of their decision settled over them.

The cool evening air kissed their flushed faces, a stark contrast to the heated passion that awaited them. The world outside the ballroom felt alien, a place where their roles could be shed like the very confetti that clung to their clothes.

Their eyes met, a silent promise exchanged, and the cheers of their friends faded into the distance. The night was theirs, a canvas upon which they would paint their desires without the judgmental eyes of society watching over them.

He led her to the limo, the driver holding the door open with a knowing smile.

The cool leather of the seat was a stark contrast to the heat that emanated from their bodies, their hearts beating in unison like a primal drum.

As the car pulled away from the curb, the city lights danced across their faces, casting shadows that played upon their features like lovers' whispers.

The confetti that clung to them fluttered in the breeze from the open window, a gentle reminder of the world they'd left behind.

Y/N leaned back into the plush seat, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she allowed herself to be enveloped by the sensation of the cool leather against her skin. She was tired, but it wasn't the physical exhaustion of the wedding that weighed her down.

"Wake me up when we get there," she muttered, the words slipping out of her mouth like a soft sigh.

Lewis chuckled lowly, his eyes never leaving the road ahead.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue," he murmured, his voice a velvety rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

The idea of staying at his house had been a fleeting thought, a secret fantasy that had danced at the edge of their consciousness since the moment they'd met.

The car's smooth ride seemed to mimic the rhythm of his breath, deep and steady. The scent of her perfume filled the space around them, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Lewis hummed but discarded that thought immediately. He wasn't going to wake her up.

The gentle vibrations of the car's engine lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep, her head resting against his shoulder. Her soft, even breaths brushed against his neck, sending waves of warmth through his body.

He felt a primal need to protect her, to shield her from the world outside, even if just for this one night. His eyes remained on the road, but his mind was lost in the sweetness of her presence.

When the limo arrived at his house, he thanked the driver with a nod and a tip that conveyed the depth of his gratitude.

The engine's purr grew quieter as the car came to a stop, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The headlights cast an ethereal glow across the manicured lawn, illuminating a path that led to his front door.

He turned to her, the soft curve of her cheek still pressed against his shoulder, her lashes fluttering with the beginnings of a dream. Gently, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a precious treasure that had been entrusted to him.

Her eyes remained closed, but a faint smile played upon her lips as if she knew she was safe, protected in the cocoon of his embrace.

The cool night air kissed her skin as he carried her up the stone steps to the grand entrance of his house. The weight of her was comforting, grounding him in a way that his vast wealth and power never had.

The door swung open, revealing a warm, inviting foyer that was a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal hotel suite they had just left behind.

Inside, the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, a welcome greeting that seemed to have been orchestrated by some invisible hand.

He kicked off his shoes, the sound echoing through the hallway, and carried her to the living room. The crackling fireplace cast flickering shadows across the floor, dancing over the polished hardwood like a living tapestry.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in her surroundings with a sleepy smile. "This isn't the hotel," she murmured, her voice a soft purr that seemed to resonate with the warmth of the room.

He chuckled, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. "No, it's not. This is my home," he said, his voice thick with the promise of what the night would hold.

He lowered her onto his plush bed, her legs draped over his as he sat beside her, one hand never leaving her waist.

Her eyes searched his, the sleepiness replaced by a spark of excitement. She knew this was a pivotal moment, one that would change their dynamic forever. "What are we doing?" she whispered, her heart racing.

With a knowing smile, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. "Whatever you want," he replied, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to coil around her like a lover's embrace.

He kissed her again, more insistent this time, his hand sliding up her side to cradle her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him, her body responding instinctively to the heat of his touch. The weight of his hand on her neck sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel her skin prickling with anticipation.

His thumb traced the outline of her ear, sending a cascade of sensations through her, making her squirm with pleasure.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the soft recesses of her mouth, tasting the sweetness that was uniquely hers.

Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if to hold onto him, to never let go. . . .

[echobx]

Creep - loser!incel!Rafe × fem!reader

summary: you thought it would be a normal hookup but the guy you thought to meet wasn't who he presented himself to be

warnings: smut, p in v (protected), backshots, oral (male receiving), Rafe being disgusting (literally), incel behavior, (implied) virgin!Rafe, porn mention, showering, faking an orgasm, spanking (not hot), jerking off

word count: 1.9k

author's note: idk how this came to be. one moment I was yapping to my bestie about how disgusting and loser s1!Rafe is and suddenly I'm sitting there writing this and I didn't even intend the smut it just happened... anyway, I don't think this one will go well with the Rafe girlies, it's okay, bc idc all that much

   “You wanna watch something?” He wipes his greasy hair from his face, nodding towards the TV and not really waiting for an answer. You don't quite understand how you ended up in this situation- false. You know exactly how you ended up here, sitting on the expensive leather couch in this mansion that “will soon be his anyway.” 

   You just wanted to hook up, so you went on the apps and found, who you thought to be a nice and genuine guy, but turned out to be creepy and very fucking weird. So when you showed up at the address he sent you, which wasn't a hotel like you assumed, you first wanted to turn around and leave, but Rafe actually looked like his pictures and the house was huge and expensive, so you decided to give him a chance. 

   “Uhm… sure,” you shrug your shoulders, pulling on the skirt of your tight dress, trying to stop him from staring you down as if you were a sex doll or something. You really don't know what is going on in this guy's head, just that he is making you very uncomfortable. 

   “A’ight,” Rafe finally turns towards the TV and leans back, switching it on just for a porn to appear on-screen. It’s the same shit your ex liked to watch, two full-breasted, skinny women doing their best to please the guy with a dick bigger than you've ever seen in real life. And that is why you don't like it, because it simply doesn't look real, even if you manage to separate the fact that they are all just pretending to be enjoying it as much as they do, because to you, it doesn't look very enjoyable to be choking on a dick that size. 

   “I love this one,” Rafe breathes and shifts his hips, making your eyes jump to his bulging crotch. 

   You clear your throat, “do you have a bathroom I could use?”

   He doesn't look at you when he answers, eyes fixed on the screen, hand rubbing over his dick through his sweatpants. “Upstairs, third door to the right.” 

   You get up, walk around the couch and as you pass behind him, you hear him grunt a breathy “oh fuck” as if he's actually getting off right now. 

   The bathroom is modern and minimalistic; dark tiles on the floor and walls, a big glass shower, a long sink with an even longer mirror hanging above it and a toilet that has the seat up. He sent you to his own bathroom. Of course he did.

   After freshening yourself up you look at yourself through the mirror and exhale deeply. “Just leave. Just go, y/n. This is not worth it,” you tell yourself, silently repeating it in your mind as you make your way downstairs to tell him exactly that. 

   But when you stop in the doorway of the living room the words get stuck in your throat. Rafe is sitting there, his pants pulled down while stroking his dick. 

   You should run out without saying anything, but you also can't take your eyes off how big he is. He is definitely the biggest you've ever seen, even bigger than the one on TV just now. 

   “I-” you start, and he turns to look at you, continuing to fuck his fist. 

   “Wanna help me out?” he asks without any charm or intrigue in his voice. He sounds dull and almost bored, as if he didn't actually want you to be there anymore. 

   You close your eyes, taking one deep breath and another before speaking. “Why am I here?” 

   “You wanted to come over to fuck, I guess,” Rafe shrugs. He's right, you did want to do that, but you're getting more and more unsure about it. 

   “This isn't how this usually goes for me,” you sigh and go to sit down by his side again. 

   His tip is swollen and so red it looks angry, which wouldn't be too bad to look at if he didn't smell so… unclean and if he didn't have razor burn all over his balls and around his dick. 

   “Do you know how to suck dick?” Rafe is blunt, too blunt for a guy who doesn't know how to clean himself before letting a girl come over. 

   “Wh- What?” you stutter out. 

   “You wanna suck my dick, don't you? I know that look on your face. Every girl who looks at me like that wants to blow me, I just don't let them,” he tells you, and you've never been so sure about something being a lie in your whole life. 

   You smile at him, “maybe we should go upstairs. More private.” And more opportunity to get him clean before you even think about touching him. 

   “No one's home, we can do it here,” Rafe almost insists. 

   “Upstairs or nothing.” It's the only pride you have left in you, insisting on the location where you will lose all and every ounce of respect you have left for yourself. 

   “Fine,” Rafe groans, getting up and pulling his pants back up but not turning off the TV before he leaves for the stairs. “You can leave it on. I'll finish that later,” he tells you just as you want to switch it off. 

   He's sitting at the edge of his bed when you get there. Pants off and still fully erect. 

   “Can you join me in the bathroom in two minutes?” you ask him and don't wait for an answer, if he wants you, he needs to do as you say first.

   The shower is hot and steams up the whole bathroom when he steps in behind you. 

   “What's your name again?” Rafe asks as you grasp for the body wash. 

   “Y/n,” you answer and start lathering him up, trying to not raise his suspicion about your actions and just make it seem like foreplay to him. 

   “You always shower with your hookups?” he asks and you smile sweetly. 

   “Just the special ones.” Your hand is working on his cock, trying to clean it as best as you can now that it's no longer hard. Maybe it should've been the biggest warning sign to you that he wasn't hard, although you were naked in front of him, although you were touching him. 

   “I'll fuck you if you suck my dick,” he says, eyes closed as you cleaned him. 

   “That's nice of you.” You don't know where those words are coming from. You also don't know why you are even doing this because no matter how big his dick is, it surely isn't worth all that, and yet here you are.

   All dried up you take him to his bedroom, sitting him down on his bed as if he needs all the guidance you can give him. 

   “Can I fuck your face now?” he asks almost innocently, and you're inclined to say no. 

   “You wanna stand or sit?” you ask, and he stands up, taking his hand to your shoulder and pushing you down to kneel before him. His semi-hard cock right in your face.

   There's no teasing or fun or anything familiar about it. As soon as you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, he's rammed himself inside you, leaving you no air to breathe. He's forcing himself down your throat repeatedly, making you gag and cry and almost throw up. Rafe is brutal and self-centered, not that you expected much else after everything that happened before. And while you are choking on his dick, trying to breathe as much through your nose as your body lets you, you keep wondering who the sweet guy was you texted and what happened to him to be the Rafe you now have in front of you. 

   “You look like a slut,” he laughs breathlessly, and you can picture your mascara stained cheeks in your mind. It's just a hum you let out to tell him you agree, but he's not prepared for it. The soft vibrations make his dick spasm at the back of your throat, and he curses, pulling his dick out just in time to let his cum drip all over your face. No amount of showers would be able to remedy the disgusting taste of his seed, so you have no choice but to get up and wash yourself. 

   The look your face is giving you through the mirror isn't a pleasant one. The girl staring back at you is pissed and feels just a smidge violated by his obvious porn obsessed habits. You can be happy he didn't also give you a neck strain…

   “Come back, I'm hard again,” Rafe yells, and you force your body to move towards his demanding voice. 

   “You have condoms, right?” you ask, and he nods, a brush of white under his nose. Of course, he can't get hard unless it's drugs or porn shit. You should've known better. 

   “How do you want me?” you ask with a sultry voice, as you watch him roll the “extra large” condom over his dick. 

   “Face down, ass up,” he commands, and you climb on the bed. Better this way, at least then he won't know you faked it, if it comes to it. 

   “Go slow,” you tell him while turning your head to see him kneeling behind you. 

   “I know how to fuck, bitch,” Rafe scolds you, and you really doubt he does. 

   He tries to slam into you, but your cry of pain and the lack of wetness isn't helping him much with that. 

   “Be quiet and take it,” he tells you and slaps your ass, from the top down, only resulting in a dull pain that spreads from your cheek to your pussy. 

   He lines himself up again, pushing hard but slow, and if you hadn't started to play with your clit, he would still be playing with dry bones. After a while your body gives in and he manages to bottom out. You're stretched to your limits, tears welling in your eyes and hoping that your body will soon ease the pain. 

   “God, you're tight. You a virgin?” he asks with a laugh. 

   “No. Are you?” you bite back, and it lands you another slap. 

   “Shut the fuck up and take it,” Rafe growls, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, which works a bit smoother this time. Your cunt is slowly but surely giving into him; getting wetter with every thrust of his. 

   You moan in rhythm with his movements, and a bit louder at his degrading words. If this was a movie, you're giving him an Oscar worthy act, and he doesn't even know it. 

   “Tell me you're close,” Rafe pants behind you, his thrusts growing increasingly more sloppy. 

   “So close,” you moan, purposefully clenching around him, and he fucks you faster, destroying even just the tiny amount of built-up you had managed to gain from his fat cock. 

   “Fuck! I'm the best!” Rafe screams and groans even louder than before, so you scream a bit more and clench a bit harder, until he pulls out and leaves you empty and unsatisfied. 

   “That was amazing. We should do it again,” Rafe smiles at you while you turn around to look at him. He's already pulled his boxers back on and is grasping for his sweats. 

   “Sure,” you nod and smile. 

   When you walk past the living room downstairs he's already back on the couch and back to fisting his cock. You shake your head, just a silent “creep” leaving your lips, and leave without saying goodbye, blocking him on the apps as soon as you get in your car. And even though it was probably the worst sexual experience in your entire life, it still gives for the most unhinged story to share with your friends. 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @hoe4sunarin @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi @because-i-like-toxic-men @htlkira @rafescvntyclubgf

[renguro]

Now that S2 is almost over, I wanted to finally get out that post talking about all of the insights and things I did, learned, or other fun stuff about the countdown pieces I made. I still have something in mind for the S2 finale, so maybe if you read (or skip) to the end I'll have a preview for you?

Oh god here we go One day I was coming home from work and decided to check how many days there were until the new season released and I found it was 7 days. So I did all of these in 7 days. Literally everyone was worried about me because I did nothing but draw for those 7 days.

... Except for when I went back to work. I worked I came home and then drew until I literally couldn't anymore lmao. I remember being dazed and exhausted after the Clock Keepers and my dad came up to my room literally right as I finished and asked, "Have you gone to sleep?" And I said, "NOPE! :D" I was living on energy drinks

I'm also 90% sure this started the "ren you're doing too much you need to chill the hell out" thing with me and my friends now

When I was doing these, I had only read the first ten volumes of Hanako-kun at the time, so I was stopped right in the middle of Picture Perfect. I had the second box set, but I just hadn't gotten the time to read it since I got it for Christmas. That means I didn't know Shijima's full deal, and I didn't even know Hakubo's name, so I was winging it hard.

All of the full pieces are linked by clicking their names :)

NO.7 HANAKO

You can tell from the speedpaint I was struggling hard with the pose lmao. I honestly felt like the one I chose was a cop-out and didn't feel energetic enough, but the time crunch got me. At this point, I was also really unsure about how I wanted to treat the colors, because I'd only just started dipping into seriously studying how Aida does it. So many references. And him wearing basically all black didn't help I wanted to scream. I was TRYING to keep everything as solid colors without falling back on overlay and multiply layers, but I got desperate. Still looks pretty good I think.

My favorite part was probably the hakujoudai and the detailing on his collar/shoulders! If I were to edit anything, I think I'd put more on the bottom half of the background because it feels a touch empty. kinda killed it on this pant leg and his hat tho

NO.6 HAKUBO

Like I said, I had no idea who Hakubo was. For the first half of things, I couldn't even find his name, I was just calling him "Shinigami-sama..." I wasn't going to go trampling into spoilers just for references either, so I was freaking out on what to do for the background. All I knew was that there was something to do with lotuses or bugs, and already having an idea of where I'd take Tsuchigomori, I took the lotus route. I uh also hope I didn't make his face too feminine. I don't know why but when drawing male characters who are larger or more built (even if it didn't turn out obvious in this piece) I somehow keep making them look like butches.

Shading his hair was the most fun part out of all of this, I usually never draw characters with hair as short as his, so it was a fun challenge! I'm also just a sucker for kimonos and flowy clothes. He was probably one of the most fun ones for me, even if he was so early on. I LOVE the texture I got on the skull. (even if it's technically too small.)

NO.5 TSUCHIGOMORI

Tsuchigomori onwards ALL used this sticky note full of thumbnails I drew at work for reference. Yes that is a note next to him that says + cuntier. He was also drawn on the same day that I did Hakubo, so I managed to buy myself some extra time.

I was so excited for this one because I could see it so well in my mind's eye, until I realized how many hands I'd need to draw. And then I sucked it up and locked in because I love Tsuchigomori. I'm so pleased with how I worked in more of the blues into the shading and his hair. It was at this point that I think I was understanding how I wanted to take the colors for all of these pieces! I enjoyed doing the fun trick I learned with the weave on his sweater and the spiderwebs where I drew a thick like and then erased the middle. Nearly forgot the markings on his forehead too lmao.

I wonder whose black book he's reading?

NO.4 SHIJIMA

Oh Shijima. I truly had zero real clue about her, and I managed to dodge spoilers about Mei even when I was looking up references. That's why she's painting using her paintbrush clone haha. It's still cute though, so I'm keeping it. Her hair kept giving me trouble because it's the kind of hair you draw and don't really realize just how big you're drawing it until you have to fix it. Actually, I'm having that exact issue on what I'm working on right now, and I'll fix it after I take a break.

I dug up a comment I made while I was working on it and I still stand by this.

There's also something a little odd about the positioning of her chin that I was too exhausted to fix, and I SUPER fudged the coloring on her hair. Also I really didn't know what to put in the background OTHER than the atelier, but I can't really draw buildings! So uh! The exhaustion was beginning to set in after 3 days of this. (Since Hakubo and Tsuchigomori were done on the same day. I didn't keep that time advantage for long though.)

think i fudged it okay, though.

NO.3 MITSUBA

I was struggling on Mitsuba some because that thing where you see/read something and then forget about it only for it to arise as something you think you did happened. That pose I thumbnailed on the sticky note was WAY too close to the official Hell of Mirrors standee/art. Luckily I contain extreme Mitsuba bias (shocker) and I was able to figure it out. I had a ton of problems shading his coat just like I did with Hanako. It's so hard to keep things from melding together when you've mostly got them wearing black.

It's an odd thing to be proud about, but I feel I did the best on the.. Legs of his pants, the chains and lockets, and the eyes and teeth on his jacket. That and the ribcage scarf. I'm really disappointed in myself for the background and his hair, if I'm being honest. I wanna fix his eyes. I STILL haven't figured out his hair either too. Which makes me even more surprised that my friends said, ren, your bias is showing on this one because I was like IS IT??? ARE YOU CERTAIN?

his hand turned out nice too and did i mention i had fun on the ribcage

NO.2 YAKO

I sketched the first initial draft for Yako on the same day I drew Hakubo and Tsuchigomori, but when it finally came time to sit down and draw her? I realized there would be so much empty space where I couldn't have fun with colors and it'd just be the white back of her kimono, so I turned her around and scrapped the idea of her fox form curling around her. I couldn't fit fox Yako in, and I'm STILL kind of bummed about that.

The flow of her hair was so much fun to figure out, as well as the patterns on her kimono. I'm really happy with the background, combining the aspects of the Misaki Stairs' original version and the one after she's been removed from her seat with the spider lilies. The lilies themselves are a little fudged if you look too close, so... Don't look too close? :3

loved the kimono. every bit. can't believe i had her turned around.

NO.1 AKANE/MIRAI/KAKO

MY FAVORITE PART ABOUT THIS WAS THE COGS IN THE BACKGROUND SORRY AKANE'S FACE BOTHERS ME I NEED TO FIX IT ONE DAY HE LOOKS TOO OLD I WAS LOSING MY MIND AND THE EXHAUSTION WAS KILLING ME IT BEGAN MY HATE OF DRAWING AKANE'S HAIR BECAUSE *GESTURES VAGUELY*

Uh okay some good things to say about this one... The colors were a ton of fun to figure out how to place, and I think I at least did a good job on that part. Shading gold things is always really fun! And at least Akane's ponytail was fun to make flow, I was riding the high from Yako's hair here. I think I got a lot of that fun flowy movement in here, which I'm pleased about. This was another one that my friends say turned out the best, again that I'm ??? about.

these cogs are my everything

FINAL THOUGHTS + EXTRAS

All of the kanji's colorings for their numbers were taken directly from the anime! I don't really wanna get rid of that fun reference even if in like, Tsuchigomori's case the colors are REALLY different from the main piece.

Most of the first day was spent on, Hanako of course, and then setting up the frames for everyone else to go into. I spent money to get the patterns to go on the colored part, actually. Constraining everyone to the frames helped a LOT in terms of balancing myself and made it fun to choose what elements would stick outside of them. If I pushed for entire full backgrounds, then I would have been doing even worse.

I was on the ropes at the end. I was half dead and drawing like I was possessed. And the catharsis of it being done and it all looking acceptable just. Ough. I don't know if I'll ever have a high like that again. There's an evil, evil part of me that says, ren! redraw all of them for s3 under the exact same constraints! And shit I might but I'll complain about it. I think it's more likely though that I go back and doctor them up some so I can print them as standees. Probably just for myself, but I do want to build a stock for artist alleys.

I had so, so much fun overall even if it was so much it really could have put my already bad health in more danger. I learned so much about coloring, lineart, framing things, and I really attribute my gauntlet to the explosion in my art progress. That, and my sheer adoration for this series. Am I rambling? I just love TBHK. It's only been 5 months since I first discovered it and it's done so, so much for me.

Even if you went and scrolled through all of this nonsense, which I don't blame you for, here's a little preview of what I'm trying to finish by next week for the finale.

I can't believe we're on the final episode! It's so close now, and it keeps flooring me how little time has really passed. I'll try and push to get SOMETHING else done before then, but we'll see. I've got so much I want and have to get done.

[jtl07]

Hahaha, loved the start of this shenanigans-round! What a fun prompt and your answer to it 🤣 Okay, here is one for you: meet cute and lots of bad (funny?) pick up lines

lolol oh anon, this prompt made me giggle a bunch but also stressed me out bc being funny is *so* hard D: hopefully this works??? 

"Why don't I trust stairs? Because they're always up to something."

Beatrice shakes her head, half of her attention on the latte she's in the middle of preparing while the other half is on the bright voice at the table nearest the register, as it has been for the past hour now. 

A section of the cafe has been cordoned off for a "Donuts and Dates" event hosted by a queer speed dating group. Camila had befriended the owners a few months ago, had insisted that the business would be worth the work. Now several events in, Beatrice grudgingly agrees. Certainly isn't complaining today. 

Beatrice finishes her latest order and lets her eyes follow her attention. Ava's nametag is slightly askew on the shirt pocket, her energetic wiggling having dislodged it early on. The unbuttoned overshirt is overshadowed by the neon splotched crop top with an orange circled by the words "orange you glad to see me?" - it's as loud as Ava herself is and Beatrice can't help but find herself endeared. 

"Oh, you're a photographer? Can you picture us together?" 

Beatrice barely holds back a laugh, biting back her reaction as a customer steps up to the register. She has to give it to her: Ava has been the most enthusiastic and creative participants she's seen at these events by far. Part of her hopes Ava will be back but at the same time, she wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't - is surprised that Ava's here at all, that she doesn't already have a line of suitors at her beck and call. It helps that she's pretty, that she listens so intently, that her laugh seems to light up the whole room. 

For a moment, Beatrice wonders what would happen if she were to ask Camila to cover for her behind the counter, to take a turn at Ava's table. Almost considers it for real but by the time she actually thinks to call out to Camila, the organizers are announcing the end of the event. 

Beatrice sighs, pulls her customer service smile over her face as she tends to the last minute orders from the attendees. The cafe is finally quieting down when she looks up to greet the last person in line: Ava. 

"So which one did you like best?" 

Beatrice blinks at the mischievous grin, can only answer with a half-intelligent, "Pardon?" 

Ava's expression doesn't change as she leans forward on the counter. "Which joke? I know you were listening." 

Beatrice can feel a blush rising up her neck. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop -"

Ava shrugs and waves Beatrice's words away. "I'm loud - I get enough noise complaints from my neighbors to know."

Beatrice swallows down a sudden urge to choke. 

"It was the Fanta sea one, wasn't it?" Ava's shoulders wiggle, her grin as wide as it's ever been. "I saw you almost drop that drink." 

Beatrice straightens, ignoring the blush now creeping up her cheeks. "I was merely adjusting my hold," her tone bordering more on flustered than indignant. She hadn't realized that having a view of Ava had meant that she'd also have a view of her; that Ava had been looking at all. 

Ava hums, a teasing sound that Beatrice pretends not to file away along with the other sounds Ava's made that evening. When Beatrice hands Ava her drink, there's an intent look on Ava's face. She braces herself for whatever Ava's about to say next, tries not to get lost in the way Ava's mouth is already curling into a smirk. 

"Have you ever thought about working at a museum?" 

Beatrice groans softly. "Oh dear." 

Ava's grin is blinding as she continues. "Because you're a work of art." 

Beatrice shakes her head, about to dismiss the line for the joke that it is but makes the mistake of meeting Ava's gaze; finds herself caught in a softness she didn't expect. "Really, Bea. What you are is beautiful." 

Beatrice finds herself unable to laugh it off, feels herself wanting to respond in kind; wants to try. "You're one to talk," she says shyly. 

It's not much but it's enough to make Ava literally bounce on her toes. "Then it's a date then?" Beatrice is sure her confusion is on her face when Ava explains, "We'll go visit where we belong!"

Beatrice does laugh then, helpless in the face of Ava's enthusiasm. "Well, there is a new exhibit at the museum near here." She'd been planning to go by herself - none of her friends are much interested, but she's pleasantly surprised when Ava's eyes light up in recognition. 

"I know exactly what you're talking about! I saw a flyer last week, there's supposed to be -"

Someone loudly clears their throat next to them. 

Beatrice turns, sheepish, and finds Camila looking amusedly between the two of them. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we really need to start closing up." 

Ava sputters an apology and starts grabbing her things - drink in one hand, phone and cane in the other - and Beatrice knows she has to think fast. In her panic, she grabs a stray napkin and writes down her phone number. Then, seeing that Ava's hands are full, takes a breath and musters up all the courage she can: reaches out and tucks the napkin into Ava's shirt pocket. 

Pink flushes over Ava's cheeks, frozen for a moment before she laughs, delighted.  "I guess I'll see you later," she says as she backs up to the cafe's front door, Camila helpfully holding it open for her. 

Beatrice bites at her lip, decides to give her one last parting gift. "Hopefully not too much later - the tide can only wait for so long." 

Ava gapes at her, the door nearly crashing into her face as it closes. Camila gives her an impressed look, to which Beatrice can only shrug, though she can't fight the grin overtaking her face, her mind already looking forward to the next time they'll meet.

[bunni-v1]

Oh. Em. Gee! I read this post of yours https://www.tumblr.com/bunni-v1/771137137008640000/what-do-we-have-here?source=share and I'm going absolutely INSANE!!!!

Please please please, add Wise to this list too!!!

I need all 4 men in this!!!!

(If it wasn't obvious enough, I'm a hoe for all 4 of them)

P.S.: Absolutely in love with your work!!!!💖💖💖💖

What do we have here...? Pt. 2

🍓Lycaon was actually supposed to be in the original post, but I was so stumped on how to write him I just... didn't. Now I'm gonna actually do it though, because I'm lowkey obsessed with him. I was also gonna add Hugo, but I just... I don't wanna. Maybe if someone requests him specifically lol. Sorry, it took me so long to get to this.

Tw: Knotting, rut, marking (Lycaon); Mean dom! reader (Wise)

Info: NSFW; Lycaon, Wise x Reader (separate); fem!reader (sorry)

MDNI

Von Lycaon

The very idea of having your sexual encounters on his phone is nearly repulsive to Lycaon. There are far too many outside variables that could very well go wrong just by having them in his gallery. Imagine if he were to accidentally send one to a client, or Ellen finds them helping him with something. Goodness, the thought makes him shiver, he'd never hear the end of it. However, despite not liking the idea, he has allowed you several times to record on your own device.

He doesn't think much of it when you do, just happy to keep you satisfied. He'd never seen the videos himself, and he never cared to either, they were for your enjoyment after all. It wasn't his place to go through your phone to look for them, so he didn't. Until he stumbled upon them accidentally. He was just looking through old pictures you'd taken together when he found a folder (by some miracle) labeled 'special'. Curiosity got the better of him, and he discovered what felt like hundreds of videos and images of your intimate life. Most of them focused on him, but he could hear you in the background, and see how you shake with the camera. He understood the appeal now.

Videos like these would be especially helpful on nights he would be without you. It wasn't uncommon for him to be away from you for several nights in a row, and despite how much he tried, he was still a man. Relief was difficult without you, but maybe if he had... material... it wouldn't be so hard. So, to your pleasant surprise, he revisits the subject and asks for your permission to record the two of you. Several times. It comes in handy quickly, a cold lonely night in a hotel room on some assignment from a client and he can't quite get you out of his head. You were long asleep by now, so he wouldn't bother you, instead clicking through his phone to the private secured file (which you helped him set up) to what he was needing more than anything.

He looked through the selection thoughtfully, picky about what he wanted to watch. Finally, he lands on one, pressing play after ensuring his volume wasn't at max. It starts awkwardly pointed at the sheets, then quickly corrects itself to an angle between your legs. You are wearing a lacy black panty and garter belt set, plush thighs bulging out from the thigh highs connected to them. It's his favorite thing to see you in. Lycaon's free hand slides up your leg and into view, sinking his fingers into your skin with a gruff sigh from behind the camera. They flex against your thigh, the veins in them popping out.

He wastes no time in gliding them down to your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your already-soaked cunt. He dips his fingers in without fanfare, and you mewl, the sound reverberating in his skull. You can hardly take two of them before you're crying that it's too much, yet you don't push him away when his thumb circles your clit. He easily works you on his fingers, knowing all your sweet spots by heart to the point he doesn't have to think about it. The video is short because of that fact, you cum quickly under his touch, far sooner than he likes in the moment. Luckily, he has more videos to pick from.

This one looks a little more produced than the last, having the phone set up nearby to record the two of you from behind. It begins with you climbing back into the bed, having been the one to set up the camera, and straddling his lap. His fluffy white tail comes up to cover your rear from the chill of the room, and his hands slide over your hips to help you settle on his dick. The phone picks up your slight hiss, fading to a giggle when his fur tickles you. Candles are lit, and there are a few rose petals scattered on the floor, a scene of absolute romance.

It takes you a moment to adjust to him, leaning down to kiss him and muttering between yourselves words that the phone does not quite pick up. Then, finally, you begin to move your hips. Rolling them slowly against him, sighing out your delight at the friction. One of his hands comes up to your front, and you moan a bit as he does. While most of the action is blocked at this angle, the sounds you make are heavenly, and they only get better when you begin to bounce. The wet slapping mixes with your moans in a positively addicting way, making his chest feel tight. He misses you dearly, if only you were here now, where he could touch you like he was in the video.

Sighing, he closes the video, more sad than gratified now. He thinks that one more try would be worth the effort, so he slides down and presses on a video he only vaguely recalls making. It is not well made, and it's hard to make out what's going on. The camera shakes around wildly, unable to focus on anything, but he hears the sound of him pounding into you. You whimper and whine, clearly muffled by the pillows, and finally, the camera focuses on something.

That something is, of course, your dripping cunt stuffed full with his throbbing cock. It sucks him in with each thrust, practically trying to milk him with how hard he can see you clenching. Now this was... interesting. You'd clearly already cum more than once, obvious from the sticky white ring around the base of his cock. Deep red bite marks marr the soft skin of your thighs, also covered in slick, and it dawns on him just what exactly he was watching. His own rut in action, deep into it at that. From the way he was breathing behind the camera, it was clear just what he had intended to record, though he was surprised he'd had the brain power to do it in the first place.

His free hand readjusts your leg, spreading it wide to give the camera a better view of where you are connected. There is a visible swell forming at the base of Lycaon's cock, bullying its way into your already abused pussy. Your leg shakes in his hold, another orgasm coming over your body, but it doesn't deter him. His thrusts become more shallow, not wanting to pull out for anything, not even the friction. The knot only gets bigger and bigger by the second, and your shaking only gets worse and worse the longer he stays inside.

There is a sharp intake of air, and then he finally shoves himself inside until you are pressed flush into his stomach. His knot swells fully, locking the two of you together for the next few hours as he dumps his load into you. A cry of his name has the phone being set down, forgotten in favor of caring for you, loyal as the dog he is to your needs. It was alright, though. Lycaon had long since satisfied himself. Unfortunately, now he had a few other issues on his mind, specifically about how to finish this job with a very obvious oncoming rut.

Wise

Wise 100% without a doubt is the one who brings up recording your sexcapades. As a movie lover and a tech nerd, it's only natural that he finds the idea of having sex on camera hot. Besides, he's a really busy guy, sometimes the two of you don't have the time to have sex. So, naturally, he needs something to help him get through the more lonely nights.

Worry not, your videos are well protected, thanks to his knowledge. No one is getting to his stash, not even Belle in all her nosy picking and prodding. (Fairy, however, could easily do so. Luckily, the AI has the wherewithal to not help Belle figure out what's in her brother's "super top secret, triple password protected file".) Yes, it's a hassle to get into the file, but he would rather not risk anyone else seeing either of you in your pathetic state of pleasure. It would be far more embarrassing for him anyway.

Tonight was, like many others, a lonely one. Wise had been working since early in the morning and, unfortunately, hadn't thought to invite you to stay over while you were visiting earlier. Of course, he could very easily text you, and you'd happily come over and help him with his little problem, but that would likely wake Belle (if she was even asleep yet, knowing her), and he just didn't want to deal with her teasing. That was what the videos were for, though, so he goes through the process of getting into the file and is greeted with some of his favorite sights in the world.

By now, he knew which ones would work the best for him, so he didn't have to think before he clicked on the first video leaning back into his pillows with a tired sigh. The camera is pointed down between your legs, Wise's silvery hair peaking between them. You have a hand fisted between the locks, controlling his movements with harsh tugs. He eats you out vigorously, following your lead obediently like he was trained to do. His whole face is bright red, positively pussy drunk on you. The sloppy sucking and slurping is all he can hear, aside from the occasional sigh from you. They're not sighs of pleasure, though, more of boredom. Like you were warning him that he wasn't doing good enough.

A harsh tug of his hair is proof enough of that, forcing him away from you. He whines, positively torn apart at the loss of your taste, and he can see your juices dripping down his chin in the light of the camera. His gaze is unfocused, completely dazed, only wanting to keep doing his job. You coo at him, moving your hand to cup his face in a tight grip. His lips pout when you squeeze, shaking his face toward the camera with a cruel laugh. "Awww, look at how cute you are, you wanna make me cum?"

He nods vigorously, pleading up at the camera with big teary eyes. You don't give him a break, instead shoving your fingers in his mouth. He sucks on command, closing his eyes and focusing on the action. You let him get them nice and wet, then pull them out with a pop. "How cute... maybe I'll let you if you sit and watch like a good boy? You can do that, can't you?" Again he nods, sitting back on his feet and watching obediently as you begin to finger yourself. The video cuts off shortly after that, so he moves to the next one.

The camera is now pointed upward, facing your front. You're straddling him on the very bed he's lying in currently, leaning back casually as you watch him adjust the camera until he's satisfied with the angle. When he is, you start grinding yourself into him, hips moving in a hypnotizing roll. It's mesmerizing the way you move against him, heat flooding through his body at the reminder of how nice your weight feels atop him. The heat of your skin against his much warmer than his own hand.

He whimpers behind the camera like an idiot, trying and failing to thrust up into you. Legs pinned down by your own making it far too difficult for him to do, so he is stuck taking your slow and easy pace. You are enjoying it very obviously, wide smirk on your face as you take your time in torturing him. Each roll of your hips was practically designed to drive him mad, and you do so successfully based on the sounds he's making. The calm pace only lasts for so long, and you lean back a little to get a different angle. Quietly, before you begin your next phase of the plan, you remind him to keep the camera held straight or else. There is some noise of acknowledgment, and then you start bouncing on him. Fast and rough, much more than he anticipates in the video, making him whine like a whore. Your head rolls to the side, your back arching, and your tits bounce in time with your movements. You really look like a goddess like this, he thinks, and he cannot get enough of it. It's wholly distracting to see you in such a position, and it seems he forgets what he was supposed to be doing, and the camera gets shakier and shakier until it falls unceremoniously to the sheets.

The next video after is a result of his own fumbling from the previous video. You are holding the camera once more, starting the video off with a big grin, and you nearly look adorable if not for the context. The camera flips around, and the view is something sinful. Wise is tied down to the bed, ass up face down, with a vibrator shoved up his ass. You giggle almost sweetly at the sight, tracing your finger around the base of the toy. "Someone didn't listen~" You purr, drawing them down to fondle his balls. His member jumps in excitement as you do so, very desperate for your touch.

You hum, rubbing your fingers lightly down his shaft as you press against his balls. You don't touch him how he wants you to, though, and you won't until you decide he is deserving of it. "Are you sorry?" You ask, and there is desperate nodding that jostles his whole body. You hum again, "Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?" More nods, accompanied by desperate whimpering this time. You seem to debate it for a few moments longer, before humming your approval. "Alright, I forgive you now. Just be good in the future silly."

It is then that you finally wrap your hand around his shaft, and the pace you set is brutal. You tug along his sensitive member quickly, so fast that there is audible slapping when your hand meets his balls over and over. You do not relent your pace, even when he starts crying, reminding him that this is what he wants. You jerk him off while the toy vibrates intensely inside him, making his cries of pleasure all the more pathetic. His legs begin to shake as his orgasm draws near, and all at once he is spurting white creamy cum all over his sheets. You keep going, even after he's cum, laughing as he tries and fails to scramble away from you. Again, reminding him that this is what he wanted, and that he needs to be good and make up for his mistakes.

Wise huffs as he closes the video, looking at his cum covered hand with shame. He was far too weak for you... perhaps you would like a little surprise to wake up to. He quickly snaps a picture of his newly ruined pants, sending it with a cheeky caption. He doesn't expect you to respond with how late it is, but his phone dings with your familiar tone. Seems he wasn't the only one who was feeling needy tonight.

[cctinsleybaxter]

I think the tweet about the wedding dress being 'period-inaccurate' is misplaced amongst more valid annoyances/criticisms it's such a cinema sins ding. I don't care that the dress is 'the wrong color,' the problem is that its looking like a 90s/early 00s English wedding dress wasn't a decision made with any thought behind it- fennell (and her production team and costuming dept) read the phrase 'wedding dress' and pictured wedding dresses they'd seen in their own lives; end of train of thought for a shallow incurious group better off making ads than telling stories

[nanafan707]

Apple Cider (2)

part 2!! (here’s part 1)

pairings: loser!mizu x reader

warnings: very minor themes of anxiety, sfw

summary: After getting Mizu’s number your ecstatic you and her practically call everyday growing closer and closer each day. As the song progresses, the more your feelings grow the more you both realise there’s no going back now.

word count: 1,264

It’s been about 2 weeks since you and Mizu have been texting.

TWO weeks.

Saying that "things were going well" would sure be an understatement you two were practically texting every second; Mizu was the kind of person that would accidentally leave someone on read for a whole month so this, for her, was something completely different.

Although she wasn't used to texting people, it didn't feel like a chore to her though, whenever your notification popped up she'd practically dive to her phone replying in seconds not caring if it seemed extremely desperate.You'd always send her memes of shows and games that you both had in common and she'd always laugh at them out loud even in public..which was quite embarrassing but she was too content to care.

Mizu would always send you pictures of her dog, which always made you smile in fact any message from Mizu always had you beaming from ear to ear even before you've opened the message to see what she said.

Alas, it was the evening you were finishing up some coursework that was due and your phone buzzed.

It was mizu.

You gleefully picked up your phone and opened the message that read; "hey uhh do you wanna call? just for aa friendly chat? only if your free though haha uni work has everyone on a chokehold atm lol 😓"

You giggled aloud hearing her rambling rusty voice coming through the text message and you instantly replied, "sure!!! I can call now? ^^"

Mizu's phone begins buzzing and she immediately picks up and she sees you on face time.

"hey! sorry for calling so late oh uh its midnight i just realised haha wow um what are you up to?" She managed to sputter out in a incoherent state of mind to which you found amusing.

Laughing you responded "Call me at midnight everyday for all I care I love talking to you!!" easing Mizu's nervous outlook.

You both begin talking to each other for the next 4 hours neither one of you wanting to leave the call just wishing that you two could just stay in this oddly comforting moment forever making you both having the thought of "Lets give this thing a try".

After the call ended Mizu just ended up laying on her bed staring at her ceiling reviewing every single detail of the call from every pore on your face to your sultry voice that had Mizu in a chokehold.Even though Mizu looked like a mess, to herself not you, you had still complemented her a bunch which got her kicking her feet saying stuff like "you said you liked my hair" aloud knowing that she'll defintely style her hair like that whenever she goes out of her dorm incase she bumps into you.

You both made plans to sit together at lunch and in the next period as you both had a free which made you both extremely giddy.

You were getting ready and saw the sweater you wore at akemi’s sleepover remembering how mizu complemented it even asking where you got it from so you threw that on yourself today.

There by the tree in the middle of the uni stood Mizu, with the wind blowing through the cuticles of her hair exposing her sharp yet elegant facial features causing a slight redness to dust on your cheek.Your heart sped up..you've never felt this way before about anyone let alone someone you just met 2 weeks ago? you must be going crazy.

Frozen in time Mizu turned her head and her gaze landed on you.

It felt like you both were staring at each other for eternity until someone bumped into you spilling coffee on you before walking away unapologetically.This causes Mizu to quickly speed walk towards you immediately asking if you were okay.

"You said you liked my jumper so I always wore it aw man I can’t no more" you sighed out without thinking which earned a hearty laugh from mizu that caused you to laugh with her.

Mizu and you walked around campus together both joyfully chatting away at numerous different topics that you both had in common as well as learning more about each other. Every time you both bumped into one another you'd both say sorry at the same time causing you both to giggle in unison as if you were already a couple best friends of many years.

Lunch soon came to and end and so did that free period, much sooner than you both anticipated.As you were walking around campus, you had gone in a full circle ending up by the same tree that you agreed to meet up near causing Mizu to overthink every action that happened today.

"oh its almost second period..I need to get to my lecture.. sorry about your jumper it probably wouldn’t have gotten ruined if we didn’t meet up here" mizu hushly uttered out.

You immediately cupped both of her hands together interrupting her, "No, I had a wonderful time I don’t care about some stupid sweater, It's really nice to talk to you"

Mizu tensed up when you held her hand not used to physical contact causing you to let go in embarrassment adding "haha sorry".

"No its okay" Mizu answered with an unreadable facial expression, "its really nice to hold your hand" she softly muttered out unaware that you could hear her.

Your breath hitched, and adrenaline rushed to your cheeks as you froze, unsure whether to respond. The warmth of her hand in yours felt almost too real, too perfect. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with you. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

Finally, you looked up, meeting her gaze, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "I... I feel the same way," you whispered, hoping your voice wasn’t too shaky and that she could maybe read between the lines.

Her eyes became shakey, and you both stood there, the unspoken connection between you louder than anything either of you had said.

sorry for it being unreasonably late i couldn’t think of anything to write & i was busy with exams 💔

but i know that there will be 4 parts so 2 more parts!!

and the next part will be sometime next week!

@violettomanocu @lavenderlili

(banner from tgswiiwagaa)

[viesin]

𝘙𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘛𝘟𝘛'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧***𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘵

𓆈 genre: headcanon, nsfw, crack, fluff

𓆈 scene: you are getting pounded on the dining room couch in the shared apt and your roommate walks in

𓆈 wc: 1.2k

𓆈 tw: pet names - bunny, profanities, dirty jokes, my commentary - third person omniscient, cheating? ntr, they all wanna fuck reader except tyun, blackmail, soobin is sneaky, mention of double penetration and sexual innuendos but not explicit smut, not rlly a trigger but intentional misspellings

𓆈 note: didn't knaurr i had it in me but here we fkinh gaurr

ʏᴇᴏɴᴊᴜɴ

Yeonjun had a habit of surprising his roommate with small joys that breathed life into you such as this ice cream, he bought all so in a hurry and when he was about to tiptoe discreetly to not threaten you with his presence, he was met with a shadowy figure instead pumping His cream into you.

First came a bolt of shock, preferrably 200 bolts, then a glimpse, a sigh, a stare and all so mouth gagging excitement bubbled in his chest as he watched more and more. He made out the figure's fine abs in the dimly lit room and for a moment he wasn't sure whether to be jealous of you or him savouring every inch of you, one he was dying to do for let's say a solid 2 month pipeline. He would be torn between the thrill of a possible ntr (one he never realized he had it in him) and the sheer disappointment of his loneliness and jealousy like damn! A whole damn year and he couldn't get laid with you but a white guy did it in one week. It wasn't until 5 minutes into his presence had you realized someone was watching you.

So you did what any sane woman would do, and that is "the show must go on". The guy kept going at it, immersed in the sweet of your cookie, pulling onto your breast. It was sweaty, steamy and very convenient of a sight from the crook of the corner from the main door had his ice cream not melted at the heat of Yeonjun's palm. But he was well adjusted to it by now, hence the pretty scenery could go on about 20 minutes then you appeared half shock, ignored his determination to stand in silence and wore your outfit back. Yeonjun eased himself in the acting too, mumbled a breathy sorry for disturbing and highfive'd the guy as he went out of the picture.

You will think this was the end of a great night, to which now your surprise, Yeonjun shamelessly blurted "Do you think I can do better than him?" with his hands on his neck, mouth laced with a sly grin.

sᴏᴏʙɪɴ

Now you'd think he'd be the type to let out a monstrous scream at the nudity, a man much known to be disgusted by PDA. No, he found himself meditating before calmly closing the distance and checking out the position of you two.

He clicks his tongue a tch tch "This is not how it should be done" and begins watching with a side eye like the victorian noble lady he is, with imaginary handcrafted lacy fan coating upto his bangs. What's worse than some scolding is his bitter judgement and a full length lecture of how the man should eat you out. To this, yes the man abides. Who can turn down revelations from a tall wise man who seems way too serious and way too into this. "No no.. look, from this side" "Slowly, you're not a goblin" "Sigh lemme show you how it's done" were the sentences he said with a relaxed expression as if he were genuinely trying to help you out.

He did make it out to be a practical life lesson with Soobin sesh till the point of a double penetration where he lets loose, wild, hoarse voiced "fuck yes, slut" "tell me how you want it", you realized yeah this went down horribly wrong.

ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ

Oppurtunist, in one word. He just has to make everything a way to get under your nerves or on your clit, you decide. Will say he didn't mind at all, he doesn't even care but the moment he goes to his room, prawnhub intro will leak through the thin door. Say he doesn't mind at all but bring that up as an inside joke every single time. You're eating? He's giving dirty eyes. "Yeah eat well, bunny. You need energy after a good fuck" You're doing laundry? He's smirking. You're feeding your cat? Absolutely nothing sexual but he's eyefucking you. You want him to forget allat and strike a deal then he's the epitome to blatanly ask for it. "Yeah sure, if you sit on my lap. Maybe I won't bother you anymore" says in a half-joking manner, leaning on the doorframe. Few minutes later he's serious about it. Sitting on the couch, same place where you were fucking another guy, legs all spread and tapping on his thighs, eyeing you up. Honestly it's not such a losing deal so you would, sit on him. Both hands roaming all over your body and his pendrive poking your back, he'd have a cocky grin like he fucking earned it.

ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴ

Burnt out, limp and exhausted Taehyun comes home, waiting for that sweet moment his aching back will finally touch the feathery bed. The first scene he sees is this, this fuckery.

A frech kiss session on his freshly cleaned couch, the one, only he is in the charge of cleaning, actually like most things since he thinks you are a bum, he's too impatient and he definitely does it way better than you. His washed couch cover, steam vaccumed crooks and cranies and 3 puffs of antiseptic were being destroyed by two sweaty animals in heat. The sight! Oh the sight devastated Taehyun like a grocery bill at the very last few days of the month before getting his salary. He doesn't care what you do in your room, bathroom whatever but really a shared space? This is where he watches his low cardio, strengthening muscle build workout routine perfect for pros while eating 5 eggs 2 strips of bacon high protein breakfast.

"Filthy fuckers" will be the last scream you'll hear from him before he beats you both with a nearby dumbbell, hides your body and burns the couch on fire to germinate. That is unless you apologise 127 times and mortgage your kidneys till you buy him a new one.

ʜᴜᴇɴɪɴɢᴋᴀɪ

Supportive but cunt of a man Hueningkai is ready to leave the moment he sees you two. "Oops, sorry sorry. Enjoy" then he comes back to get his supposed charger. 2 minutes later he's cooking ramen in the kitchen telling you he's just hungry and not to mind him. Half an hour later he's watching you like a netflix series chowing down the ramen. He'll assure you it's okay, ignore his presence, think of him like a cockroach till he gets rock hard and you don't know when exactly he started stroking it. You don't argue the sight is simply impeccable, as for someone who likes pathetic men. The way he is trying hold his stifles and whimpers, raised intensity of his movement and the arousing sight of your innocent happy little roommate getting off to you stirs something so raw inside you that you'd let go of the man fucking you balls deep to run ride kai. Kai begged and asked for it as you give the man sorry eyes and ride that precum covered tip, one you were trying to fuck for decades but was too shy to. The lonely man would either have a breakdown or join from the back or you three have to evacuate the whole building, all depends on state of the gas stove kai forgot to turn off after making his late night snack.

[npookie0]

Heya love ur writing 😎

I’ve been wondering how ronin would react to a reader who has anxiety about him being caught! Its interesting imagining how he would deal with that

Fears of the Soul.

Ronin x reader, reader is anxious about Ronin possibly getting caught, comfort

Words: 743

Cws: Spoilers for Killer Chat (base game etc), anxiety

"It's almost six, where is he?!" You said to yourself while checking the time on your phone screen 5 : 43 AM and Ronin was still nowhere to be found.

You were feeling the growing lump in your throat as your mind was racing to all different places with its imaginary skills. You cursed yourself for being a writer, because now you had many different scenarios of you boyfriend getting arrested, killed, shot by the cops, just caught. The fact that Ronin still wasn't back didn't calm you down either, or the lack of trophy pictures in #killer_shit from him, pinging you and writing some cheesy line to piss of some of the server's members (his favourite Vigilante) or to just get on your nerves.

This time he really did get on your nerves, the ones that made you stressed. You could barely swallow anything, or hold your phone without squeezing it.

This growing uncertainty was towering over you, making it impossible to focus even for a second without immediately thinking back to the image of Ronin in a jailcell... if the police officers don't end up shooting him there and then... wherever that may be.

You chuckled bitterly and dig your nails into your thighs. "Fuck, Beaufort where the hell are you?!" You whispered, frustration caused by the lack of knowledge of your boyfriend's safety and fear for his safety made you feel like you were going insane. Like you could just fall to your knees and beg the gods that despise your devilish boyfriend so much to just show you any signs of his presence.

"Well, well, well," A voice came from the entrance to Ronin's living room, because of course you were at his house. "what a sight... Just my favourite lil writer darlin' bein' so distressed."

You felt all the weight of emotions leave your body, but your nerves were still intact. You turned around, looked at the man behind you, his shit-eating grin making you see red.

You took a few steps forward, walking up to him, he wanted to wrap his arms around you, pull you in, talk about the fresh kill, but you didn't let him do that.

"You fucking idiot!" You shouted, clutching your hands in fists and raising them up and hitting his chest repeatedly.

He was startled, just looking at you and standing there with his arms open for an embrace. He grabbed you by your wrists, holding them gently and keeping them in one place.

"Hey baby, what got you so worked up? Wanna talk 'bout it?" Ronin asked, some concern in these black-nothing eyes of his.

You gritted your teeth. "What got me so worked up?" You looked up at him, tears running down your cheeks, all the emotions finally finding their way out.

"I was waiting for you, for three fucking hours! No message, no call, no nothing!" You tried to shout, but it sounded more like broken sobs.

His eyes widened in surprise, that cocky grin faltering when he saw just how many pent of emotions you were dealing with.

"Daring, I'm fin-"

"Great! Now you are, but what if... what if they caught you? What if they caught you and killed you or put you to jail?!" You were looking down at the floor, sobbing quietly.

Then your head jolted up when you heard laughing... Ronin was laughing. You couldn't place if the laughter was mocking or genuine, it sounded like a mix of both.

"What's so funny?!" You asked with your eyebrow raised.

Ronin let go of your wrists and pulled you in by your waist. "Oh baby, your worries are just hilarious. Me getting caught? Oh please, these idiots are too busy trying to get on the politician's good sides to even seek the Butcher." He chuckled and wiped the tears from your cheek.

"But they could try to-"

"Even if they did, they'd die before I'll ever set my foot in jail unwillingly." He was looking into your eyes, affection and amusement filled his gaze, melting your anger immediately. "I'm sorry for not showing any signs of being alive, I should've texted you, you're right." He nuzzled his forehead against yours. "Will you forgive me?"

"Promise to update me during your next kills?"

"On the devil's name, sweetheart." He whispered and kissed you, sweet and passionate.

An apology for misbehaving and stressing you out.

Even the Devil cares for his lover's worries... in his own way.

Hey, hey!

I hope you liked it !!!

Have a good timezone folks!!

Bye bye, love ya, N!

[gazsluckyhat]

Sarah's House

Seventeen - Sea Breeze

Masterlist

We're almost done guys. Chapter twenty will be the end. I hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Also this chapter is more from Kyle's eyes then what i planned on but I love my boy.

Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.

or

Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.

Kyle sighed, the sun warm against his skin. He could hear Johnny and Sarah laughing somewhere behind him, and could smell the smoke from John’s cigar from his right. Knew without a doubt that Simon was somewhere close, eyes on them. 

“Johnny!” She squealed as splashing sounded in front of him. A hearty laugh before more squealing. The vacation had been her therapist’s idea. After a confession and very emotional dealings she’d said a getaway would do her good. He’d almost broke down when she’d told them. The things she saw. The figures that followed her around.

“It was them that lured me to the forest that day. I-i’d gone to get some air but they were there watching me.” She’d started crying, hot fat tears that she just let fall. 

“Who?” John had asked quietly. She’d looked past him, towards the wall then to the doorway. Her voice cracked as she answered. 

“Me.” Johnny had wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to console her. “It’s always been me.” 

“Sarah, you’ve been seeing yourself?” Kyle said, confused. She nodded.

“At first it was just one of me.” Her eyes met it. “It’s before. Before Russia. She’s always angry. Telling me how worthless I am, how I should have died.” Her eyes moved again and welled with more tears. “The other is me during. I didn’t know it until I saw the pictures you’d taken of me. But it’s the same. She’s naked and curled into herself and she just watches. Always staring with dead eyes. Just a reminder of how I failed.” 

They’d held her, told her how wrong the voices were and showed her just how much she meant to them. After a talk with her therapist John had sprung a last second getaway on them. There’d been no arguments. Johnny had almost jumped at the chance to take Sarah bikini shopping. 

“Okay, okay! You win!” Her squeals made his chest warm, the happiness that radiated from her. He opened his eyes to see Johnny carrying Sarah out of the water, her body thrown over his shoulder. She was laughing. 

“Always do, Bonnie.” He smacked the fat of her ass, her body jumping in his hold. He set her down in the sand, sneaking a kiss before grabbing a towel and handing it to her. 

“Havin’ fun, love?” Kyle asks, hand reaching for her. Her smile is bright as she nods. 

“Haven’t been to the water since before. Missed it.” She places herself beside him on the beach lounger, head cuddling into his neck. Kyle hummed against her wet hair. 

“Ready to go in, eat some lunch?” John asked. Sarah nodded, standing up and walking to Simon. His mask was off, shirt along with it. A sleek pair of swimming shorts hung lowly on his hips. Sarah had almost thrown herself at him instantly. They’d all looked delicious. She leans into Simon's chest, smiling up at him. 

“Oh, I could go for a bite.” She snaps her teeth at him, he growls and nips at her ear. Johnny joined, hands squeezing her waist. 

“Been wanting to strip ya’ since you put that on.” He whispered, licking the column of her throat. His lips attached to the back of her neck as his hands wandered the exposed skin, her hips bucking back into his hold. 

“That’s enough, you three. We’ve been out here long enough, we need food before any more physical activities.” But John nipped her ear as he passed, a smirk settling onto his lips. Kyle chuckled. He had to admit, the past three days had been good. Relaxing. Nothing to worry about but sun poisoning and the occasional lizard. Sarah had bounded straight to the water when they’d pulled up. Her clothes thrown behind her, Johnny was joining her seconds later, both of them giggling and playing like kids. After grabbing towels and sunscreen Kyle joined. The water was cool against his heated skin. 

“I want more of that pineapple. It was so good.” She latched her fingers through Kyles, smiling up at him. 

“Yeah? I’ll cut some more up.” Kyle kisses her head, the smell of salt water wafting off her. 

“I’ll make some sandwiches.” Simon pushed the door open, the breeze from the open windows blowing the curtains. Sarah unlatched herself and stood in the living room, eyes closed. Her hands fiddled with each other as she smiled.

“You good, love?” John whispered in her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Yeah. Just taking it all in.” Turning in his hold she smiled up at him, her hands tangling into the messy strands. None of the boys had gotten a haircut recently so it was much longer and messier than usual. Well, Kyle’s wasn’t. “For the first time in a long long time, I feel safe and content and oh so very happy.” She placed a kiss on John's chest and leaned into him. 

“Is that right, dove?” She nodded, one hand disappearing from view. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, so do we.” Placing a kiss to her head he jolted, a hand wrapping around her wrist, the rest of her hand pressed into his swimming shorts. “Sarah, I said after lunch.” Her hand wiggled in his hold, fingertips tickling his hardening dick. 

“Please? I’ve been good. Watching you all in those tiny ass shorts laying out in the sun. I can’t wait any longer.” John closed his eyes and sighed. “C’mon daddy.” You could see him breaking. The hand holding her wrist dropped it in an instant to wrap around her throat. 

“Then get on your knees.” The twinkle in her eyes made Kyle’s dick twitch. He watched as she lowered herself down, John’s hand resting on her head as he pushed the navy blue shorts to the floor, his fist wrapped around his dick. Sarah licked her lips, like she was about to feast. He could sense Johnny and Simon behind him, all eyes on their captain and lover. They all watched as John lowered himself to her level, taking her mouth and kissing it deeply. He shoved his tongue in her mouth, before pulling back slightly. 

“Open.” She did and he spit. A spark going up Kyle’s spine as Sarah swallowed. John stood back up before taking her air in his hands and groaned as she began to lick up his shaft, making sure it was wet before sucking as far as she could. Gagging she pulled back before repeating the motion, John’s hand guiding her. The sounds vulgar as she drooled around his length and tears rolled down her cheeks. Kyle was hard, the sight of her on her knees sucking John off almost enough to finish him there. Sarah moaned, head bobbing a bit faster. Out of the corner of his eyes, Kyle spotted Simon walking behind her. She clocked him out of the side of her eye and hummed causing John to throw his head back. Simon wrapped his hand around her throat, his other hand dipping between her thighs. Kyle watched as she spread her legs farther apart and how she began to tremble. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful, Flower.” He nuzzled her hair. “Lips stretched around the Cap’s cock.” He squeezed her throat, her eyes rolling back. 

“Mouth’s almost as good as her pussy.” John said as he let go of her hair and watched. Kyle turned towards Johnny to see him pressed against a chair, dick in his hands as he stroked it. 

“Flower loves to please, don’t ‘ya?” Sarah nodded, mouth still full. Simon bent down to kiss her cheek, licking up some of the spilt saliva. “You want him to cum in that pretty mouth?” Another nod, pretty eyes flicking up to John who cursed. Simon held her head so John began to thrust into her mouth furiously. Kyle took deep breaths every time she gagged, more tears rushing down her plump cheeks. Kyle let his hand rub across the bulge in his shorts, every small noise Sarah made causing it to twitch. He could hear Johnny fucking his fist. The noise only added to the fire in his belly. 

“Fuck-that’s it.” John’s hips stuttered before he stilled, his dick pulsing as it emptied in her mouth. As John pulled back, she smiled. Simon gripped her cheeks. 

“Swallow.” She did. “Open.” She obeyed. Her mouth must have been empty because Simon forced her up by her jaws and began to kiss her. Spit ran down her jaw. John walked behind her, a hand snaking to untie her bikini top, it fell to the floor easily. John’s fingers begin to roll her nipples between his fingers, Sarah groaning into her kiss with Simon. 

“So pretty for us, love.” John kissed down her neck, allowing his fingers to dip into her bottoms. “Want us to fuck you?” 

“Please.” It was breathy, whiny almost. Simon chuckled, kicking his shorts off before lifting her up easily. Her bottoms landed somewhere to Johnny’s left. Simon laid down on the couch, Sarah straddling his hips. She whimpered as she rubbed herself against his bare dick, Simon smiling at her. 

“Such a needy little pet.” He nipped her neck. “Johnny, wanna play?” Johnny was by his side in a second, Sarah leaning to kiss him. Simon lifted her up enough to slip inside her, Johnny using her gasp to stick his tongue in. Sarah groaned, hand tangling in Johnny’s overgrown hair. She used her hands to tug him behind her, bending over onto Simon to give him access. 

“You want me here? In your ass?” Sarah moaned as her answer. 

“Fuck.” Kyle slipped his hand into his shorts now, knowing he wasn’t gonna last. He joined John, both of them sitting in the chairs across from the couch. They watched as Johnny spit into his hand, and pushed a finger into her ass. They watched as she tightened up, Simon slowly raking his fingertips up and down her back to ease her. Johnny continued to thrust his finger into her before pushing in another. She gasped a bit before pushing back against his hand, moaning. Her eyes caught Kyle’s and she whimpered. 

“Jesus Christ.” He breathed before tightening his hand around his dick to keep from cumming too soon. Johnny soon stood, climbing behind her and pressing his cock into her, his eyes falling shut as he bottomed out. Simon wrapped his arm around Sarah’s neck and held her to his chest before giving Johnny time to adjust and pick up a rhythm. Simon matched him, pulling out when Johnny pushed in. Sarah trembled between them, sweat pooling in the small of her back.

“Look at ‘em.” John said from beside him. His voice wavering. Kyle couldn’t not look. He was stuck on her form, being fucked by two of his best friends. He felt almost possessed, like he wasn’t in his body. All he could feel was the extreme pressure from needing to cum and the heat of his cock in his hand. He shook from trying to keep himself still, hanging off the cliff in his mind. Sarah was moaning, fingernails clawing at both Simon and Johnny. Tears pricking her eyes. A sudden intake and she was mumbling. 

“Oh God. Can’t- fu-please, please-ahhh.” Johnny fisted her hair and pulled her back against him. Kyle and John both heard the Scot whispering in his native language. Sarah keened before Simon snuck his fingers between them and began rubbing her clit, the pleasure making her jump. Her hand flicked out to grip Simon arm but suddenly Kyle was there, left hand wrapped around her wrist as she stared at him wide eye’d. 

“Ky-” Her eyes screwed shut as Simon pressed harder, Kyle leaning up to suck on one of her nipples. The attention seemed to be overwhelming as she began to squirm, soft cries falling from her lips. “I’m-fuck-gonna-” Kyle felt Johnny slam into her, her body jolting forward into Kyle arms, he was careful not to knock into Simon. Sarah began shaking, her arms locking around his neck. 

“Fuck, bonnie.” Johnny finished next, hands tight against her hips. Kyle smiled into her breasts, lips making a line to her neck. He could feel Simon’s thrust become jerky, Sarah softly mewling in his hold. Three more thrusts and Simon was panting under her, his chest rising quickly. 

“That’s it. Time out.” He waved his hands limply as Kyle lifted Sarah into his arms, heading for the master suite and bathroom. 

“C’mon love. Let’s leave the old men to cool down.” Sarah chuckled in his neck.

“Ay! Who’re you calling old, Garrick?” John shouted after the pair. She giggled more. 

The bed was huge, Simon, Sarah and John could sleep in it comfortably. Even with Simon manspreading. Sarah sat down before crawling to her spot in the middle. 

“C’mere.” She made grabby hands at him, pouting her lip when he motioned to the bathroom. “No. Join me.” They all had a problem telling her ‘no.’ So Kyle crawled up to her.

“Yes, my queen.” She ran a hand down his side, around his hip and pinched his ass, giggling when he jolted. “Sarah, warn me next time, yeah?” 

“You four never warn me, so no.” Snaking her arms around his neck she pulled him on top of her. “You never got a turn Sergeant.” 

“We need to shower, love.” She shook her head no. 

“I want you to fuck me, Ky.” He gasped as she began to suck a mark on his neck, grinding his hips instinctively. Her legs pressed open wider as he bucked to meet him. Pulling back she kissed him. Kyle still had moments when he didn’t feel adequate enough for their little family but Sarah or one of the boys were always there to steer him correct. Sarah just so happened to be a hands-on teacher. Notching his head at her entrance he slowly pushed in, savoring the way she gripped him tighter. How her mouth opened to moan. 

“Oh God, Ky.” He shushed her, pulling back only to thrust a bit harder. She pulled his curls, licking a stripe up his jaw as he began a faster speed. “I love you.” 

“Yeah, well let me show you.” She cried out as he pulled her legs up, bending them at her knees and pushed her heels to her ass. The position was depper, she had no choice but to allow him to ruin her. And God did he love to. Loved the little tears that ran down her cheeks from the slam of his hips or the incoherent words that she mumbled as he pounded into her. “Can’t wait until we start that family you’ve been asking for.” She whimpered. “Keep you nice and fucked out. Give you my baby. Hm? You want that?” She nodded, but couldn’t answer. Her fingers clawed at his arms and he chuckled. He wasn’t gonna last much longer though, not with how she was gripping him or from the scene from before. Kyle pushed up, allowing her legs to lay flat before pressing his body on top of hers, forcing her to look at him while he fucked her, his fingers marking her hip. 

“I love you more than you’ll ever know Sarah Jakobs.” Tears began to stream. “Finding you was the good thing we needed after so many failures. You are my reason for breathing.” Touching their foreheads together he finished. Sarah shook slightly as Kyle kissed her face, fingers pushing sweat and ocean slick hair from her cheeks. Soon he’d get her a shower and then maybe a nap, but now he’d bask in the light she gave. In the love they found. 

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

requested by @skyraysstuff

request:

Hii I really like your work and was wondering if I could request a Dennis Finch fanfic? I’ve never really requested before so I hope this works. Maybe something about secretaries day ???

I hope this finds you and that you have a good day :)

warnings: swearing

AN: Sorry it took so long to get out but I appreciate your patience and hope you enjoy this fic!

"Hey." I said, knocking on Jack's office door. Dennis looked up from his spot on the couch and gave me a tight smile. "Mind if I come in? Everyone else has gone home for the day." Dennis shrugged.

"Everyone really go home?" He asked, lowering his legs from the couch. I nodded. "What are you still doing here then?"

"Nina wanted those pictures developed and Elliot wasn't going to stay to do it. Figured a little overtime would be nice." I shrugged as I sat down next to him. "You ok?" Dennis nodded.

"Yeah. I mean Jack told me it wasn't going to last." Dennis looked off at the ceiling. "Jack usually ends up right one way or another." I chuckled and nodded. "I just wish it didn't end with everyone calling me his secretary or gorilla boy."

"I mean he does treat you like a secretary. And for a long while that was your official title." I said, gripping the little bag in my hands tighter.

"What?" Dennis asked, eyes wide as he looked over at me. I nodded. I bit my lip as he let his head fall back against the couch.

"When Jack first hired you. He called you his secretary. But honestly over time, you're as much an executive as he is." I shrugged. Dennis continued to stare at me. "And with the title change to executive assistant, I mean really that won't change anything you do. Hell. You'll still do everything you do to make sure that Jack stays on top of things."

"Yeah, like his damn secretary." Dennis scoffed as he looked back up at the ceiling.

"What I'm trying to say Dennis is that Blush would shut down without you. Jack would get distracted, Nina would drink herself into a coma or overdose on something, and Elliot would miss all his deadlines because he's trying to fuck the models. Maya wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Jack and how long do you think she'd stick around if he wasn't doing his job?" I pointed out.

"She needs this job though." Dennis muttered. I nodded.

"True. But really think. How long do you think she would stick around if Jack didn't do his?" I pointed out. "We've all left shittier jobs than this for less." Dennis nodded. "Blush depends on you Dennis. I hope you know that." Dennis sat back up with a small smile.

"I do now." He said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. "What's that?" He looked at the bag in my hands.

"Uh just a small gift. For today." I shrugged before handing it to him. "Between...the day...and what you went through..." Dennis smiled softly at me before scooting over to hug me.

"Thank you (Y/N)." He whispered before pulling back to tear into the tissue paper. "I've been looking for one of these!" He cried as he pulled out a little glass black cat. "Where did you get one?"

"I know a guy who used to work at SeaWorld. He made those glass orcas." I said with a smile. "He owed me one so I figured this would be the better use of the favor." Dennis hugged me again before getting up to carefully put the cat on his desk.

"Thank you." He said, holding his hand out for me. "What do you say to dinner? As a thank you and maybe...something else?" I took his hand, my face heating up slightly.

"I know I'm not one of the models you and Elliot chase..." I trailed off as Dennis kissed my cheek.

"Not a single one of them would do what you just did for me. Not a damn one of them." He assured me. "So dinner?" We walked to the elevator, hand in hand. Dennis looked at me hopefully.

"Yeah." I said, smiles growing on both our faces. "Let's go to dinner." Dennis moved my hand to his arm as we got into the elevator, smiling happily at each other.

[bushelofmuses]

"I can't bring myself to lie to you, so openness will not be a problem." No secrets. She'd already told him that she considered running for it, why hide anything else from him?

Myrna trusted him to keep it and other things to himself. She didn't have to worry about him gossiping with the others or selling her secrets to the highest bidder that might use it against her. Even if it wasn't advisable, she wouldn't keep it from him. Leliana and Josephine would strangle her for it, but it was her life and her sanity.

"I can...appreciate the memories and knowledge to be found there—I'm too hungry to learn to pretend otherwise—but years of being warned away from such places and then that experience...I listened to wisdom after that." But it was unavoidable now; she knew that in the end there would be more ruins they would likely find themselves in and there would be no running allowed.

Myrna snorted at that and turned her head enough to look at him, catching him looking.

What trouble did he find as a boy? Did he also prank the elders or was his mischief more like games of pretend with emerald knights and child-like "demons" to save their friends from? "I will be honest again and say that I cannot picture you as a child but merely a shorter version of what's beside me. A mini-you, rather than a child with baby fat in the cheeks."

“We each have our moments. To assume a lack of feeling would be more harmful than to see first hand how deeply you care. If it helps, my skin is thicker than I let on.” Easing into a lighter tone, gentler as not to discourage her openness, Solas casts a soft smile.

“And I accept your apology, so long as you may consider continuing to be open with me.” He would take an honest answer over polite words hoping he does not grow upset over tone.

“They have their way about them. Both dangerous and a beautiful reminder of what was. So many memories…” Longing fills him and he bows his head, the drop below opening up just beyond the lazy curl of his folded hands. “Then, should the need arise again, we will quicken our pace to reduce what exposure is required of you.” It reminds him of how youth squeal at a rodent rushing underfoot. It is nothing to mention though. Her discomfort is reasonable and he will not tease her for it.

Laughter barks out of him, thinking of his ‘youth’. The question should not be a surprise but it is.

“I was perhaps more trouble than I should have been. There was very little to do and when I was not exploring the wonders of the fade, there were moments.” His eyes trace the sweeping lines on her cheeks, a faint flush over his own. So long as she did not seek details, the half truth would be enough.

[galactaknightyaoi]

🏳️‍⚧️ DOUBLE HEADCANON ATTACK!!! 🏳️‍⚧️

Family HCs are already fun on their own but with transness added on they're even better. It's actual comedy gold. Also I've always wanted to draw some kind of Meta Knight VS Galacta Knight type thing, but I can't take anything seriously like that. So you get This.

What This is, is a way too high effort shitpost. It took a combined 2 and a half? Days, though most of it was just sketching. I'm proud of it! Anything for the bit.

Textless version + unfinished doodle under the cut

[hibernating-stag]

One thing I'd like to mention about X Plus is I do like Dizzy joining The Jellyfish Pirates. I think the endings where she joins them really stood out, so I'm glad to see the developers kept it canon.

... However, it wasn't my personal favourite ending for Dizzy.

These two just had such a sweet dynamic and friendship going on! I wish we got to see more of it!!

[beef-brisket]

Stepping through the portal and into Lucifer's kitchen, Adam looked around confused: Uh... babe, we're still at home.

Lucifer laughed awkwardly and quickly walked past Adam: Uh- well. Yeah- in a way. I thought I'd cook you something!

Adam stared at Lucifer before laughing: S-Since when could you cook?! You burn everything! That's why I'm the cook, babe. I can roast a carrot without it shrivelling up.

The king stared back in shock. Shit, he's going to need to watch himself. If there were too many inconsistencies, Adam will catch on.

Of course, he's going to tell Adam everything. Eventually. Soon. One day.

Lucifer: O-Oh! Right-! Well... I've been... learning!

Adam: Yeah, I know about your night classes, but I thought you stopped those? Called them stupid? Belittling? Demeaning? A waste of time-?

Lucifer: Yes, yes-! I said and... meant those rhings- BUT I've changed! I decided... to give it another go! Yep! Definitely!

Adam sighed: Well... you can cook. But if it's shit, your taking me out, got it?

Lucifer: Of course! That's a deal!

Adam: You already have my soul, ass and dick. What more can you take from me~?

Lucifer: W-Well... uh... your... time?

Adam: Ha! You waste that, too. Right, you get onto that, and I'm going to the bathroom. Try not to burn the place down by the time I get back.

Lucifer smiled and nodded all the way until Adam walked out of the room.

Lucifer: Holy shit... this is going to be hard... but I can do it. Just... keep at it.

Of course, Lucifer started on the batter for his famous pancakes. He fluffed the batter and added a little extra vanilla essence.

He decided to make two batches, one without chocolate chips and the other a double chocolate. He was sure Adam would like them- but he wasn't sure. Who knows how different this Adam is to his Adam.

But, at the end of the day, he's alive. He's alive and talking to him like their friends. Lucifer knows this. Adam is in a relationship with his Lucifer, but it feels strange to just jump in and take his place, especially if Adam wants to- please father- have sex with him.

Lucifer jumped when he heard a bang. Maybe he was just like his Adam... not that he would know, but he was sure his Adam would throw things around.

Adam: What the FUCK is SHE doing on your fucking wall?!

Putting down his mixing bowl, he turned around, Lucifer swore he was seeing an angel- pardon the pun. Adam stormed in towards Lucifer, his horns had grown, and there was even an extra set coming out of his head. His eyes were fully gold, and his tail waved around furiously.

Lucifer: Tail- tail? Y-you have a tail...? Oh mama...

Adam: Did you hear a WORD that I fucking said, LUCIFER?! WHY IS SHE ON YOUR WALL?!

Before he could ask what Adam was talking about, an A4 size frame was shoved into his chest. Looking down- ah.

Lucifer: ...Lilith...

Adam: Yeah, "Lilith". You said you threw them all out! So why is there one in the FUCKING bathroom?!

That's when it clicked. Well, double licked. Adam's Lucifer had cleared his whole mansion out of anything that looked or was Lilith's. But... oh stars- he has that giant portrait in the entry way. In fact, he better keep Adam out of his office.

Lucifer laughed nervously: O-Oh! I've been looking for this! I thought it was lost! Thank you for that, Adam- darling, sweetness, babe, baby, sugar tits- uh... dove!

Adam: ...The fuck is with you today? You're... acting weird.

Lucifer: Me?! Weird?! Perish the thought! I'm just... invested... in your comfort!

Adam glares and fds his arms: Yeah, that's why you left a picture of your ex in the fucking bathroom... for what reason, exactly?

Lucifer: ...Uh... no reason!

Snapping his fingers, he got rid of the photo in his hands - and every other photo with Lilith in it.

"Got rid of" is a harsh word, really,y he just tepeorted them to his office.

Lucifer: There we go! All better!

Adam: ...Just... don't ever make me have to pull my pants off in front of her again, alright?

Lucifer: Alright! Understood! I'm... sorry, Adam.

Adam's eyes widened: Shit babe, it's not THAT much of a big deal. Fuck, that's... that's the first time I've ever heard you apologise... wait- you apologise about this, but not about Earth? The fuck?

Lucifer: ...Earth? What about Eden?

Adam: What happened in Eden?!

Lucifer: What happened on Earth?!

Adam: You and Lilith ran away together after she birthed Abel- what do you mean "what happened on earth"?!

Lucifer: ...oh... Oh? Wait- you and Lilith-?

Adam rolled his eyes: We were more like siblings- but Heaven wouldn't get off our ass-! Wait, I've told you this shit before!

Lucifer: Oh! Uh... yeah, you have... uh- don't worry about it- any of it! Look- I'm making pancakes!

✨The Other Adam✨

@beef-brisket

Lucifer didn't know what else to do, Adam was dead and no one comes back from an angelic blade to the back 28 times.

He couldn't believe that he was really gone but it's been so long that Adam hasn't moved. He kept his body in a safe place...... Letting cannibals eat him felt so wrong.

Charlie was worried about her dad, she didn't think Adam's death would bother him this much but it did. He seemed even more depressed than when her mom left.

They were best friends once..... Maybe that's what he was missing.

But that's not it, not completely. Lucifer had been hoping to one day fix things and work through his feelings for the first man with him.

There had to be something he could do.....

So he started going to the ancient library of Hell, deep in the archives in the Sloth Ring. He needed to find something, resurrection, time travel, anything!

And then he came across something about the multiverse.

Lucifer: That's it...... I can find another Adam.

[longagoitwastuesday]

On the one hand, I don't believe Megumi and Gojo were ever too close, even if their apparent closeness called my attention since their first scene together because of the way they behaved and talked to each other.

On the other hand, Megumi was a fifteen years old with a lot of problems, a pretty bad childhood and a bit of an attitude to say the least, and Gojo, besides Tsumiki, was the "paternal" figure he could turn against