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julietsf1 · 1 month ago

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The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest.

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild.

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did.

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of.

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug.

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

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orangeblossomsintheair · 2 months ago

Text

LIONHEART (1/3) – LN4

summary : lando’s anxious journey as a dad-to-be

wc : 11k

an : this fic is kind of the antithesis of my whole “casual blog” thing but we close our eyes!! not beta read and quite a mess. it’s also longer so i hope that’s okay :>

Lando had always been confident.

On the track, in the spotlight, with a helmet on his head and a steering wheel in his hands. But when you told him you were pregnant, all of that certainty evaporated in an instant.

He just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, staring at you as if you’d just announced you were moving to Mars.

“You’re joking,” he said after a beat, his voice higher than usual, almost squeaky.

“Why would I joke about this?” you replied, holding up the positive test, your own emotions a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He blinked, his aquamarine eyes wide with disbelief, before breaking into a grin so wide it could’ve lit up the whole room. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes, Lando,” you said, trying not to laugh at how genuinely dumbfounded he looked.

“A dad?” he repeated, as though saying it louder would make it sink in faster.

“Yes, Lando,” you said again, this time laughing outright.

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet.

He spun you around with an uncontainable excitement, his hoodie brushing against your cheek as he held you tight.

“This is insane,” he mumbled into your hair. “We’re going to be parents!”

“Careful,” you said, swatting at him lightly as he set you down. “You don’t want to shake the baby loose already.”

“Oh, right,” he said, letting go and stepping back. His head jerked up as he processed your words, looking alarmed. “Wait, is that a thing? Can I- are you okay? Are we okay? Is the baby okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lando, I found out like an hour ago. I��m pretty sure we’re fine.”

He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his curls as his grin came and went in waves. “A baby. We’re having a baby. Oh my God. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet, Lando,” you said, sitting down on the couch to watch him spiral. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if it’s twins?” he gasped, spinning around to face you. “Oh, I should call my mum. No, wait, too soon. We need to come up with a plan first. Have you eaten today? You need to eat. Should we go to a doctor? Ooh, they need to be a really good doctor if they’re handling my wife and baby. Should I buy baby books? Do people still read books, or do we just Google everything now?”

“Lando,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Sorry, I’m just… this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”

You smiled, brushing a curl out of his face. “It is. But we’ve got this, Lando.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your belly, even though it wasn’t showing yet. “Hi in there,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. I can’t promise I’ll always know what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in the world.”

—-

Lando had always been a man of routine– wake up, train, meetings, practice, race, repeat.

But preparing to be a dad? That was a whole different kind of race.

“I need a list,” he muttered one evening, pacing the living room while you sat on the couch, trying not to laugh. “No, like, several lists. One for baby stuff, one for the hospital bag, one for- what else do we need? Is there a book about this? Should I read a book?”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, “you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling! I’m… planning,” he countered, though the way he was raking his hand through his curls said otherwise. “We have to be ready, love. What if the baby comes early? What if I’m away for a race?”

You set aside the baby name book you were half-heartedly skimming and grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re doing great.”

He groaned, slumping against the couch. “Am I, though? I can barely keep my plants alive. How am I supposed to keep a tiny human alive?”

“First of all, I’m the one who keeps your plants alive,” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him. “And second, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You care so much already. It’s sweet.”

“But what if I miss something important?” he said, turning to you with wide, anxious eyes. “Like the first kick, or the first cry, or- or- what if you need me and I’m halfway across the world?”

You reached up to smooth his curls, trying to ease his tension. “Lando, you’ve already done so much. The private suite, rearranging your travel schedule to be here for every appointment… You’re balancing everything perfectly.”

—-

The next weekend, Lando was halfway across the world for a race.

He had tried to keep his focus on the track, but his mind kept drifting back to you, sitting at home with your feet propped up, texting him updates about every little thing- what you were craving, how you were feeling, and whether the baby had started kicking.

During a rare free afternoon between practice sessions, he found himself wandering into a bookstore. He had no real plan, he just knew he wanted to learn everything there was to know about being a dad.

The parenting section was tucked in a quiet corner of the shop, and as he stood there surrounded by shelves filled with brightly colored covers promising to teach him how to raise a baby, the weight of it all started to settle in.

At first, Lando was focused, scanning the titles with a determined expression. “The New Dad’s Guide to Baby Basics,” “How to Survive Your Baby’s First Year,” “Sleep Training 101.”

He picked up a few books, flipping through them as if the answers to all his worries might jump out at him.

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing you.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “Quick question- do you think the baby’s gonna like white noise machines? Because this one book says they’re a lifesaver, but another one says they’re not necessary. And then there’s this other chapter about swaddling- do you know how to swaddle? Because I don’t.”

You laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Lando, you’re overthinking again. We’ve got months to figure this all out.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I just… I want to be good at this. I want to be ready.”

And then, as he stood there in the middle of the bookstore, holding a stack of baby books, it hit him.

He was going to be a dad.

The thought wasn’t new. It had been there since the day you told him you were pregnant. But standing there, picturing your little family and the tiny person who was going to look up to him, rely on him, need him… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Lando?” you said gently, pulling him back to the moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, his free hand gripping the book tightly.

“I just-” He laughed nervously. “It’s a lot, you know? I mean, I’m going to be someone’s dad. That’s huge. What if I mess up? I’m practically a child!”

You smiled, wishing you could hug him through the phone. “You won’t mess up. You’re already doing amazing, and the baby’s not even here yet. You care so much, Lando. That’s what matters.”

He took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. “Thanks, love. I just… I want to do this right. For you. For them.”

“You will,” you reassured him. “And for the record, I think the baby’s going to love white noise machines and your ridiculous dad jokes.”

Lando chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You think? Because I’ve already got a few saved up. Want to hear one?”

“No,” you teased, laughing. “Save them for when the baby’s old enough to groan at them.”

He grinned, his confidence slowly returning as he balanced the books in his arms. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But just so you know, they’re gold.”

After that call, Lando left the store with an armful of books and a heart that was a little fuller, a little steadier.

He still had moments of doubt, of wondering if he was truly ready for this massive change in his life.

But one thing he knew for sure- he couldn’t wait to meet the little person who was already changing his world.

—-

Even as Lando threw himself into preparation mode with the same energy he brought to a race weekend, scouring books and online articles about parenting, he still often got hilariously sidetracked by baby-related gadgets and gear.

“Did you know they make mini race suits for babies?” he asked one night, sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, his eyes wide with excitement.

You glanced up from your own book, raising an eyebrow. “Lando, the baby’s not even born yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early for racing gear?”

“But imagine the photos!” he argued, sitting up and holding his phone out toward you like it was the discovery of the century.

On the screen was a tiny race suit in McLaren orange. “Our kid’s first photo: full McLaren merch. It’ll be iconic!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Iconic or not, I think diapers are going to be a bigger priority than race suits.”

“Why not both?” he shot back with a grin, already scrolling to find more baby-sized racing gear.

“Oh my god, look at this! miniature headphones for the paddock! Our baby could be sitting in the garage, looking like a proper little team member.”

“Lando,” you said, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile tugged at your lips, “our baby isn’t going to be born straight into a Formula 1 garage.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Blasphemy! Of course they are. It’s practically tradition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help feeling touched by his enthusiasm. He wasn’t just excited; he was genuinely looking forward to every part of being a dad, even the ridiculous ones.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t more.. unwise moments even with non-racing related baby items.

Like the time he came home from a race weekend with three identical diaper bags.

“Lando,” you said, holding one up. “Why do we need three of these?”

“They’re different brands,” he explained, looking genuinely confused as to why you were asking. “What if one of them is better? Or has more pockets?”

“Pockets?”

“Yeah! Babies need a lot of stuff, right? I saw a mom at the airport with one of these, and she looked like she had her life together. I want you to have your life together too.”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stop laughing! I’m trying to be prepared!”

“You’re overprepared,” you said, setting the bags down and walking over to wrap your arms around him. “But that’s why I love you.”

But it also wasn’t all fun and games.

Lando was determined to be as supportive as possible, especially when it came to your comfort. He took “protective husband” to a whole new level during your first trimester, hovering like an overzealous pit crew.

“Lando, I can still carry my own bag,” you told him one morning as he practically wrestled your tote out of your hands.

“Nope,” he said firmly, slinging it over his shoulder like it was his new personal mission. “You’re carrying our future world champion. I’ve got this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a tote bag, not a tire. I think I can manage.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “What kind of dad would I be if I let you strain yourself this early?”

“A sane one?” you teased.

He huffed, clutching the bag like it was a trophy. “I’ll ignore that slander. Now, where’s your water bottle? And your snacks? Have you eaten? Do you need to sit down?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Lando, I’m fine. You don’t need to act like I’m about to collapse any second.”

“Not on my watch,” he declared, marching ahead of you with your bag.

“Do you even know how many articles I’ve read about pregnancy? You’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting, stay hydrated, and-”

“-and avoid stress,” you interrupted, smirking. “Which you’re causing right now with all this hovering.”

“I’m helping,” he corrected, spinning around to face you with a determined look. “And besides, you’d thank me if you saw the kind of stuff I’ve been reading. Did you know some women crave chalk during pregnancy? Chalk! What if that happens to you? I need to be prepared!”

“Lando, I’m not craving chalk,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Not yet,” he countered, narrowing his eyes like it was only a matter of time. “But when you do, I’ll be ready with… I don’t know, chalk alternatives or something.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing on your phone? Researching chalk alternatives?”

“Among other things,” he said with a shrug, completely serious.

“Did you know we might need a whole new mattress? Pregnant people need optimal support. And I saw this thing about belly bands. Do you want one? I can order it right now. Oh! And don’t even get me started on prenatal yoga-”

You reached out to grab his arm, laughing. “Okay, slow down, Mr. Norris. You’re going to give yourself a stress rash before we even get to the second trimester.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his determination softening into a shy smile. “I just… I want to do this right, you know? I’ve never done this before.”

You softened, cupping his cheek. “I know, love. And you’re doing amazing. But you don’t have to do everything perfectly. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned into your touch. “Okay,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat: “But I’m still carrying the bag.”

“Of course you are,” you said, shaking your head as he flashed you that trademark cheeky grin.

From then on, Lando took his role as your personal assistant very seriously. He stocked the fridge with all your favorite snacks, some of which you hadn’t even asked for.

“I saw this article about pickles and peanut butter,” he said one day, holding up a jar. “Do you think you’ll want to try it? Should I get bread?”

“You’re the one who’s going to end up eating it,” you teased.

And when it came to appointments, he was like a man on a mission. He set reminders, packed snacks for the waiting room, and even insisted on bringing a notebook to jot down questions.

“I don’t want to forget anything important,” he said, scribbling furiously while the doctor explained prenatal vitamins.

“You’re going to end up with a full-on pregnancy thesis,” you joked.

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

“Because I need to know everything.”

He was equal parts adorable and exhausting, but one thing was clear: Lando was already the most devoted dad-to-be you could have asked for.

—-

Lando insisted on attending every single doctor’s appointment, even if it meant rearranging his training schedule or skipping a media event.

He didn’t care what he had to move around, he was going to be there.

Your husband had always been incredibly aware of his public image, and he knew his absence in a lot of McLaren PR videos was beginning to be noticed.

The whispers started subtly at first, just a few fans commenting on his social media posts, wondering why he wasn’t posting as frequently, why he wasn’t sharing his usual behind-the-scenes content.

But over time, it started to get louder. On Twitter, the rumors spread like wildfire.

Fans questioning his commitment to racing, accusing him of not showing up enough for the sport.

He couldn’t give a damn, to be honest.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he told you one day as you both waited in the ultrasound room.

He was fidgeting with the strap of his McLaren cap, spinning it around in his hands like it was the only thing grounding him.

“What if they show us something important, like the baby’s heartbeat, and I’m not here? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ll see everything,” you assured him, lacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a squeeze. “I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

He exhaled deeply but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Do you think they’re okay? Like, really okay? What if the baby’s too small? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, giving him a pointed look. “Breathe. Everything’s fine. You’re panicking for nothing.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just... I’ve never been this nervous before. Not even before my first race.”

When the ultrasound tech finally entered the room and began the scan, Lando nearly jumped out of his seat.

He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his hand clutching yours like it was a lifeline.

“Alright,” the tech said with a kind smile, turning the screen toward you both. “Here’s your baby.”

Lando froze, his eyes wide as the faint image of your baby appeared on the monitor. “That’s… them?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s them,” the tech confirmed, moving the wand slightly. “And if you look right here, you’ll see their heartbeat.”

She pointed to a tiny flicker on the screen, and Lando’s breath caught. “Is that… Is that their heart?”

“Yes,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

Lando’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to keep them from falling, but one slipped down his cheek anyway.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “That’s them. That’s our baby.”

You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your own eyes misty. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice full of awe.

Then he turned to you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “They’ve already got your heart, don’t they?”

“And yours,” you added softly, squeezing his hand.

Lando laughed quietly, his free hand running through his hair. “This is insane. Like, actually insane. That’s a real human. Our human. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, smiling at him. “Just feel it.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the screen. “They’re so small,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I hope they get your patience. And your smarts. And maybe your taste in music too, because mine’s questionable at best.”

“They’ll be a little bit of both of us,” you said. “The good and the bad.”

“And hopefully less of the bad,” he joked, his smile growing wider. “Although if they’re anything like me, they’ll probably be a little naughty regardless.”

He spent a few moments just staring in silent awe of the ultrasound before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “More than okay, Lando. We’re going to be great.”

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

He asked the tech at least three times if he could get extra printouts of the ultrasound, and as soon as you left the room, he was texting the photo to his parents.

“You won’t believe this,” he said excitedly as he hit send. “They’re already perfect. I mean, look at them!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, slipping the ultrasound photo into his wallet like it was his most prized possession.

—-

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

He wiped his brow for what felt like the tenth time, clearly worked up.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Lando asked again, his voice laced with nerves, as he fiddled with the tiny blue and pink ribbons on top of the cake.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with a grin. “Lando, it’s just cake. I don’t need a fireworks show or a parade. Just let me eat it. We’re finding out if we’re having a mini-me or mini-you today, not the cure for world hunger.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock concern. “I know! But this is important, okay? This cake isn’t just cake. It’s the cake that’s gonna reveal if our baby’s gonna have my style or your... I don’t know, your taste in TV shows.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so my TV shows are the problem now? I seem to remember you binge-watching those ridiculous reality shows last week.”

Lando chuckled, adjusting the cake for the third time. “Fine. But I will not apologize for the occasional guilty pleasure, okay?”

Before you could fire back, there was a knock at the door, and Lando’s parents stormed in, as excited as ever, clearly eager to be part of the big reveal.

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

“Alright, alright, we ready for this?!” she practically shouted, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lando, you didn’t mess up the cake, did you?”

Lando puffed out his chest, trying to seem cool, but you could tell he was as jittery as a kid before Christmas. “What do you think? I’m a pro. I’ve got this under control.”

His dad leaned in and clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “Sure, sure. It’s just cake, son. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lando replied, rolling his eyes but clearly taking comfort in his dad’s easy confidence.

“Do I need to set up a tent or something for you? I can go grab the calm-down snacks,” his mom teased, already rifling through the bags of baby gifts she had brought with her.

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stifle your laughter at the drama of it all. “You know, you’re acting like you’re about to drive the final lap of a Grand Prix, not slice a cake, right?”

Lando shot you a look, half guilty, half defensive. “What do you mean? This is important, okay?”

“Yeah, because the world is watching,” you quipped, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“Absolutely! What if the cake doesn’t come out perfectly? What if it’s not the right color? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay if it’s not perfect. It’s just a cake.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t get it. This is a moment. A huge one! I can’t mess this up.”

(Lando’s parents exchanged amused glances. “He’s got it bad, huh?” his dad whispered to his mom.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” she replied with a wink.)

“You’re really sure you’re not panicking?” you teased, nudging him, raising an eyebrow.

Lando flashed you a grin. “Nope. I’ve totally got it handled. This is the most important moment of our lives, and I’m... handling it.”

The room filled up with laughter and chatter as family and friends settled into their spots, everyone eager to be a part of the big moment.

The cake, a simple vanilla sponge with soft pastel decorations, sat in front of you all like a ticking clock. Lando’s hands hovered above it, shaking slightly as he gripped the knife.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Lando, it’s going to be fine.”

He gave you a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just- just a little excited.”

He cut the first slice carefully, holding his breath. His eyes darted between the cake and you, trying to gauge the moment, the color, the reaction.

“Is it-” Lando’s mom leaned forward, eager and almost bouncing in her seat. “Is it blue or pink?”

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

His hands trembled for a moment, and then, without warning, his lips curled into a grin so wide it could have lit up the whole room.

He threw his arms up in the air, as if he’d just crossed the finish line, his chest puffing out like he’d just clinched a Grand Prix victory.

“YES!” he yelled, his voice carrying the excitement and relief of a race win. He even did a little fist pump, completely caught up in the moment, forgetting the cake still had to be served.

His family burst into laughter, but Lando didn't care. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the moment, his face flushed with joy. He turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling, as if the world had just handed him the greatest trophy imaginable.

“I’ve got a son! A SON! I’m gonna be a dad to a little boy!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in a playful tone, as if he was addressing a crowd at a podium.

“Lando, you’re not actually racing a Grand Prix right now,” you said, your laughter shaking your voice. “You don’t need to act like you just won Monaco!”

Lando paused for a split second, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, but I am! This is my Monaco moment!”

—-

Before your son arrived, the two of you spent countless hours brainstorming names, debating, and laughing at your ideas, the excitement of becoming parents finally hitting both of you.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

“You know what would be funny?” Lando said, his eyes lighting up. “If we named him after a race track. Like, Monaco or Spa.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “Monaco? Really? We’re naming our kid after a place?”

Lando shrugged with a playful grin. “It’s iconic. Imagine saying, ‘This is my son, Spa Norris.’ Sounds like he’s destined to be a Formula 1 champion, right?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s not going to fly. I’m not going to name our son after a race track, Lando.”

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d be into it.”

You shot him a playful look. “Well, if you’re going to go that route, we might as well name him something like 'Aston' or 'Ferrari'.”

Lando dramatically gasped. “Ferrari Norris?” he echoed, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” He immediately began typing it into his phone. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Little Ferrari Norris shows up at the karting track, stealing the show already.’”

You chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge. “Okay, okay. Let’s put a pin in that one, but seriously, we need something that isn’t a car or a race track. We need to think long-term. He’s not going to be five years old forever.”

Lando sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his laptop, deep in thought. “How about Maximus? It sounds strong, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “You realize that would just end up as Max, and then we’d have to deal with every comparison to Verstappen and Max, right?”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly as you pointed out the potential issue. He paused, tapping his fingers on the laptop as he processed your words.

“Oh, right,” he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maximus could be a disaster. Imagine our kid being called Max every time. He’ll spend his whole life being compared to Verstappen, and Max.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not ideal. We’re already in the spotlight enough with you and everything, we don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”

Lando groaned, slouching slightly in his chair. “Okay, so no Maximus. What about... Thor? Sounds strong, right? A god or something.”

You blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Lando, we're naming our kid, not preparing him for a Marvel movie.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Thor Norris. Sounds pretty cool, right? Imagine him on the playground.”

“Yeah, until he gets bullied for being named after a thunder god,” you replied with a teasing smile. “We want a name that’s strong, but also, you know, normal.”

Lando sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Why is this so hard? This is supposed to be the fun part!”

“Because you're overthinking it,” you said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “We don't need to make him sound like a superhero. We need something that suits him, something that feels right.”

Lando scrolled through a few more names on his phone. “What about Leo? You know, like the lion?”

You looked over at him, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Leo.. huh, I kind of like that.”

Lando met your gaze, his smile softening. “I do too. It feels strong. But it’s also… warm. I can imagine him growing up with that name.”

You smiled, already picturing your son, little Leo, chasing after you both in a go-kart, or laughing as he wore his tiny McLaren onesie.

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

A mix of excitement and nervous energy filled the air. But above it all, you both felt the quiet, comforting certainty that you’d chosen the right name.

“Leo Norris,” Lando repeated, his grin returning. “You’re going to be so cool, little guy.”

—-

By the time the baby’s due date was right around the corner, Lando had practically perfected the art of juggling his high-pressure career with impending fatherhood.

He FaceTimed you every chance he got during race weekends, even if it was just for a few minutes, to check in and ask how you and the baby were doing.

Every call was an opportunity for him to make silly faces at your growing belly, as if your unborn child could already understand what he was doing.

“How’s my little team doing today?” Lando asked, his face beaming from the screen, grinning like a kid with a secret.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘little team’? It’s still just one person, you know.”

He paused, holding his hands up as though giving you a game plan. “It’s all about the future, babe. Right now, it’s just me and you, but soon, we’re gonna have our first real team member. And I’m gonna be the best team principal there ever was.” He winked, clearly enjoying the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. First, you have to figure out how to change a diaper before you’re giving out performance reviews.”

Lando's grin faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. “I can change a tire under pressure, but... a diaper? You’re sure I’m gonna be okay with that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ve changed car tires with a stopwatch ticking down. A diaper is like... one percent of the stress.”

Lando scratched his head, clearly still not totally convinced. “Yeah, but there’s a lot more wiggle with a baby than with a tire.”

You chuckled, hearing the nerves in his voice despite his usual cocky demeanor. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re gonna be a great dad. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst-case scenario, we just put him in a McLaren onesie and call it a day.”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Wait, does McLaren make baby clothes?” he asked, suddenly distracted, pulling out his phone.

You sighed, trying not to laugh. “Focus, Lando, the baby comes first, not McLaren merch.”

But he didn’t hear you.

He was too busy scrolling through his phone, searching for baby-sized McLaren gear. “Just imagine! Tiny little race suits! Our kid’s first proper race suit! It’ll be legendary*”

You smirked. “Right, because that’s all a baby needs, to be decked out in McLaren gear. A future world champion and fashion icon.”

Lando nodded seriously, still scrolling. “Exactly. The sooner they start looking the part, the sooner they’ll feel the pressure to deliver.”

You shook your head, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re definitely going to spoil this kid rotten.”

“I’m just preparing them for greatness!” Lando declared, his voice mock-serious. “Besides, they’re going to have someone to look up to.”

You laughed, a soft teasing tone in your voice. “You mean you? The guy who keeps asking me if he’ll be cool enough for a toddler?”

Lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowing with mock panic. “I just want them to think I’m cool, okay? What if they’re disappointed? What if they grow up to think I’m just some guy who drives a car really fast and wears too many McLaren hats?”

You snorted, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Lando, you drive a Formula 1 car for a living. I think you’ll manage to impress a toddler.”

“Yeah, well, toddlers are tough critics,” he muttered, flopping back onto his bed. “What if they want a cooler dad? Like, what if they see some famous soccer player or something and think he’s way cooler than their dad?”

“Lando, the kid isn’t even born yet, and you’re already stressing about being the coolest parent?” You shook your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Relax. You’re gonna be the coolest dad, hands down.”

“You really think so?” Lando asked, his tone suddenly turning sincere, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice full of confidence. “You’re gonna be amazing. And anyway, when they get older, they'll think you're the coolest just because you drive an F1 car. That’s literally a dream job for kids.”

Lando smiled at you through the screen, clearly reassured. “Alright, alright. I can live with that.” He paused for a moment, his

“I’m gonna train them up. Baby steps, right? First, it’s McLaren onesies. Then, they’ll be driving go-karts by five.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I think you’ve got a few years before that happens, buddy.”

—-

Lando had been pacing the living room for what felt like hours, his hands in his hair and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

Finally, unable to take his fidgeting any longer, you set your book down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, crossing your arms.

He stopped pacing, turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Okay, don’t get mad, but… can I tell Carlos?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Tell Carlos what?”

“The baby!” Lando blurted, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t say anything to anyone else, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. And Carlos, he’s my best mate in the paddock, you know? and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. He’s good at keeping secrets! Remember when I told him about… well, you know…”

You smirked. “The time you accidentally spilled coffee all over Zak’s favorite race notes and blamed the wind?”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yes, that! He didn’t tell anyone!”

He leaned in closer, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours. “Please, love. I need someone to talk to about this in the paddock. I promise it’ll stay between me and him. And you, of course. You’re the boss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“But adorable?” he pressed, grinning mischievously.

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright, alright. You can tell Carlos. But only Carlos. If I see headlines about ‘Baby Norris’ next week, I’m blaming you.”

Lando let out a victorious whoop, throwing his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll handle it perfectly.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “Just don’t come crying to me if he accidentally tells the entire grid.”

“He won’t!” Lando assured you, already pulling out his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Spaniard to swear into secrecy.”

—-

Lando, despite his enthusiasm around friends and family, had always been the type to keep his personal life as far away from the media as possible, especially when it came to you and your pregnancy.

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

“I just want to protect you from all that stress, love,” he’d said softly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “The media’s only gonna make everything harder. Let’s keep it to ourselves and family and friends until we’re ready.”

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

At first, you’d manage to sneak in a few appearances, sitting in the background, away from the cameras. But soon, you started pulling back even more, skipping races altogether. The tabloids, however, didn’t miss a beat.

Lando was pacing back and forth in your living room, muttering to himself as he read through the latest batch of articles about him and your supposed divorce.

You could practically see the frustration building in him. He was giving off full-on whiny vibes, and you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

“I swear, they’ve completely lost their minds!” Lando groaned, throwing his phone down onto the couch with a dramatic flair. “What do they mean we’re getting divorced? Have they seen you? Why would I ever, ever, let you go?”

You leaned back on the couch, trying to keep your composure as he began pacing again. “Lando, calm down. It’s just the media. They love making stuff up.”

“No, it’s not just the media!” he whined, stopping mid-pacing to stare at you. “This is serious! They think I’m out here with a divorce like that’s even a thing. I’m happily married! You’re at home growing our kid, not plotting some dramatic breakup!”

You tried to hold back your laugh, but Lando’s whining was getting funnier by the second. “Babe, seriously, it’s not the end of the world. You’re acting like the tabloids are going to come for us with pitchforks.”

“I’m just-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

“I’m just trying to figure out how they got this idea. I’m not... like, I’m not perfect, but come on! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and we’re over here living our best life, why would I ever let you go?”

You grinned, giving him a teasing side-eye. “Aww, are you saying I’m too good for you?”

Lando froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “No! I mean, yes, but no!” He huffed dramatically, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “You’re perfect! You’re the perfect wife! And you’re the one who makes everything better, and now they’re out here saying I’m getting divorced? No! That’s not how this works!”

You reached over, resting your hand on his, trying to hold back your own laughter. “Lando, babe, it’s just rumors. People are bored. They don’t know anything, and they’re making stuff up. Just ignore it.”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

“Ignore it? How am I supposed to ignore this? They’re making me look like the worst husband in the world! Divorce? I’ve been married for, like, what, five minutes? And now I’m already getting a bad rep? This is ridiculous!”

You snorted, finally giving in to the humor of the situation. “Okay, okay, so how are you planning to fix it? Go out there and shout from the rooftops?”

Lando sighed heavily, clearly still upset. “I don’t know! Maybe I should just do an entire press conference. ‘Hello, everyone, just in case there was any doubt, I’m not divorced! I’m happily married! And I’m going home to my gorgeous wife and our baby, who will totally not grow up to be a Formula 1 driver, I promise.’”

You couldn’t stop laughing now. “Babe, just post a picture of us and say ‘Still happily married’ that’ll do the trick.”

Lando groaned in frustration. “But why do I have to do that? Why can’t people just know? It’s like they’ve forgotten what happiness looks like. They’re just out here making up stories!”

You patted his leg, smiling fondly at him. “You’re cute when you get worked up, you know that?”

He shot you a look. “I’m serious! This is outrageous. I swear, if I see one more headline about our ‘divorce,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Calm down. It’s just noise. We know what’s real.”

Lando pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a fan of this noise. It’s too much, and I just want to be left alone to focus on being an amazing husband and father. Is that too much to ask?”

You smiled, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, love. It’s not too much to ask. But maybe, just maybe, try to ignore the headlines for once?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try. But if they start talking about me again... I’m calling a press conference.”

—-

Lando had just finished a grueling race, his face flushed with exertion but still carrying that unmistakable grin.

He was on cloud nine, but he could already sense the usual flood of media around him. It was never just about the race with him, it was always about something else, something personal.

As he was making his way to the interview zone, one journalist, eager to get the scoop, stepped in front of him with a grin.

“Lando, congratulations on the win! How’s everything going with your wife? We’ve heard a lot of speculation recently, some rumors flying around about your relationship. Can you clear that up for us?”

Lando froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. The questions about his relationship with you had been relentless recently, but this, this was the last straw.

The media had taken their guesses and spun them into wild stories. He had kept quiet for as long as possible, but today, something inside him snapped.

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

He glanced over at his PR team, who were silently freaking out in the background, and then he turned back to the reporter, a small, sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah, here’s the thing.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the race, but his eyes were laser-focused on the reporter.

“Here’s the thing,” Lando said again, this time louder, looking directly into the camera, “I’m going to give a shout-out to my beautiful wife right now, and to hell with everyone else. To all the tabloids, the rumors, and the people making things up… fuck you. I love my wife. She’s amazing. We’re happy. Now, can we get back to the racing?”

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice steadier now, but still tinged with that raw intensity, “I’ve kept quiet for as long as I can. I get it, you want the drama, you want the headlines.”

He glanced around at the sea of microphones pointed at him, his gaze intense. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hum of distant chatter.

“But I’m here to race,” he added, his jaw clenched. “So, let me make it clear. My wife and I are doing great. I’m not hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that I just finished on a podium position, and that's what matters.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of the race and the adrenaline of the moment.

The reporter, still holding the microphone, looked almost shocked by Lando’s outburst, but before they could get another word in, Lando raised his hand, cutting them off.

“I’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “So here’s the deal. To everyone who wants to keep spreading rumors or digging into our lives. Don’t. And to my wife, if you’re watching this, I love you. You’re incredible.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, with a final glance at the camera, Lando broke into a grin.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebration to get to. See you at the next race.”

With that, he turned, walking away from the reporters, leaving them dumbfounded and speechless. His PR team scrambled behind him, clearly trying to catch up and figure out how to spin this into something less... explosive, but Lando wasn’t having it.

He was done with the noise, done with the rumors. And if the media wanted a story, they could have that one because he wasn’t hiding his love for you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell a different story.

Back in the paddock, as he made his way toward the celebration, he pulled out his phone, sending you a quick text: “Hey, I may have just lost my cool on live TV but don’t worry, it was for you. Love you always 🧡”

As soon as the text sent, Lando couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

—-

When you saw the text pop up on your phone, you blinked at it for a moment, reading it over a few times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting things.

You didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

Of course, Lando had always been passionate, always been the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what mattered to him. But this?

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

You immediately hit the video call button, your heart racing.

When his face appeared on the screen, he was still beaming with that grin he wore after a good race, sweaty, glowing, and impossibly handsome.

But then, his eyes widened when he saw the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked, still out of breath from the race, his grin fading a little. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Lando Norris,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “did you just… tell everyone to fuck off on live TV?!”

His eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?!” you interrupted, laughing uncontrollably, clutching your stomach from how hard you were giggling. “Lando, that was literally a full-on ‘fuck you’ to the media! And you said it was for me?!”

He flushed, sheepish but still trying to hide his growing smile. “Look, okay, I was just- uh- tired of the rumors, alright? And when they asked about you- about us- I just kind of... lost it. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make sure they all knew how much I love you. How happy we are.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, still laughing, wiping a tear from your eye. “You’re really doing a great job of showing that. It was the most Lando Norris thing you could’ve done!”

Lando leaned back against the wall, clearly embarrassed but still that familiar, playful Lando you knew and loved. “I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he muttered, but then his grin returned. “But you know what? Fuck it. They can say what they want.”

You let out a breath, finally calming down, though you were still grinning. “You are such a dork,” you said, shaking your head with affection. “But I love you for it. Seriously. I never thought I’d be watching you on TV yelling at the media like that.”

He puffed out his chest, doing a little dramatic bow. “What can I say? I’m just a man in love.”

“I’m starting to think you’re also a man who has no filter,” you teased, leaning in closer to the screen. “But I can’t deny, it’s kind of… hot.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed at that, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh, now you’re really making me blush. I can’t believe I just did that...”

“You definitely made a statement,” you said, the smile still playing on your lips. “The whole world now knows you’re not just a great driver- you're a very passionate husband, apparently. Also, good luck with your PR team after that one.”

“Oh, they’re probably freaking out right now,” Lando said with a knowing grin. “But hey, at least I got to make things clear.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words settle. “You know what, Lando? I really appreciate it. I know the media can be overwhelming, and I’m glad you’re doing what you can to protect us, even if it means embarrassing yourself a little. But just... maybe next time? You could, I don’t know, use a little less profanity?”

“Right,” he said, nodding seriously. “Next time, I’ll scream it in sign language. Less dramatic, more subtle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m your impossible.”

—-

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

The grueling months of races, travel, and endless media commitments were finally over, and he was about to have a few weeks of uninterrupted time with you and the baby.

The weight of the season had been heavy, and now that it was over, he felt like he could breathe again, and it felt amazing.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

The moment he heard the announcement that the season was officially over, his excitement bubbled over. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, his usual calm and collected persona giving way to a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

It was as if the pressure of racing and all the responsibilities had just melted away, and he was ready to dive straight into a new kind of excitement, one that involved a lot more time at home with you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxing after your own busy day, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the familiar sound of

Lando’s boots hitting the floor. He was almost running, and his footsteps were light and fast, as if he couldn’t wait to see you.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

Without a second thought, he rushed over to where you were sitting, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all. He spun you around once, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his excitement flooded the room, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Well, I can tell you’re happy about the season being over," you teased, giving him a playful look as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I’m more than happy,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ecstatic. Finally, a break. No planes, no races, no media, just me, you, and... well, you know, our little one,” he added, glancing down at your belly with a soft smile.

“Sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the love in his words. “I think we both deserve a break.”

Lando nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to just be home with you. I’ve missed so much of this year, and now I get to make up for it. I’ve got so many plans. We can do all the things we’ve been talking about, prepare the nursery, take walks together, have breakfast in bed, watch terrible movies... you know, all the usual relaxing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his enthusiasm. “Breakfast in bed every day, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” he grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m making the most of this time. No more rushing around, no more stress. Just time with you, our little one, and whatever chaos we manage to create together.”

He flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling you in closer. His hand found its way to your growing belly, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he gently placed his hand there. “I’m so ready for this next chapter, you know? I know the last few months have been crazy, but this... this is going to be perfect.”

—-

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

Soft, neutral tones, sleek furniture that didn’t scream “baby” but still felt warm and inviting, and subtle touches of personality like a tiny McLaren-themed mobile hanging above the crib.

“You know,” he said, turning to you with a grin, “I think I’ve outdone myself. Custom everything. No IKEA in sight. You’re welcome.”

You raised an eyebrow from where you were sitting on the plush nursery chair he’d insisted be upholstered with "only the softest fabric money can buy."

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

He scoffed, gesturing at the solid oak crib. “This bad boy? Handmade by some guy in Sweden who’s apparently a genius with wood. And the changing table? Designed by an actual ergonomist! No sore backs for us.”

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. “Lando, it’s a baby. They’re not going to care if their crib is custom-made or from IKEA. They’ll drool on it all the same.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! Our baby deserves the best! The absolute best. I’m not about to put our kid in some flimsy crib where one tantrum could bring it down.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one throwing tantrums right now,” you teased.

He ignored you, walking over to the rocking chair and giving it an experimental sway. “This chair, by the way? Perfect for late-night story time. I tested at least twenty before I found the one.”

“You sat in twenty rocking chairs?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if I’d chosen one that squeaked or wasn’t comfy enough for cuddles? I’m thinking ahead, love.”

“Thinking ahead is spending three months’ salary on a nursery?”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

“And it’s not just the furniture. Look at the details. That mobile? Custom order. The wallpaper? Hand-painted by some artist in Italy. Even the shelves are organized by height so the books will be easier to grab when the baby’s older. I’m not messing around.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Of course I have,” he said smugly, leaning back. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I just… I want everything to be perfect, you know? For them. For you. I want this room to feel safe and special and like… like a little haven.”

Your heart melted as you reached out to take his hand. “It already does, babe. It’s perfect because you made it with love.”

“Also with a ridiculous amount of money,” he added, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You laughed. “That, too.”

Lando leaned down to kiss your forehead, his voice full of affection. “Anything for you two. Now, all that’s left is to teach the baby to say ‘McLaren’ before anything else.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine,” he said with a wink. “Second word, then.”

—-

When the day finally came, Lando was fresh off a meeting with his team, when your water broke in the middle of your living room.

“Now?” he yelped, nearly dropping the cup of tea he’d just handed you. His wide, panicked eyes darted between you and the puddle forming at your feet. “It’s happening now?”

“Yes, Lando, now!” you snapped, clutching your belly as another contraction hit.

He spun in circles for a moment, muttering to himself, “Keys, keys, where did I- oh, my God, this is happening.”

“Lando!” you barked, cutting through his panic.

“Yes, yes! Okay! Keys! Bag! You!” He grabbed the hospital bag you’d packed weeks ago, slung it over one shoulder, then hesitated. “Wait, do you need me to carry you? Should I-”

“Just get me to the car!”

In record time, he managed to get you into the passenger seat, though not without fumbling with your seatbelt for what felt like an eternity.

“I race cars for a living,” he muttered to himself, hands trembling as he buckled you in. “Why is this harder than a pit stop?”

“Because a pit stop doesn’t scream at you every five minutes,” you shot back, gripping the door handle as another contraction rippled through your body.

---

At the hospital, Lando was a walking ball of nerves. He practically burst into the maternity ward, announcing to the nurses, “My wife’s having a baby! Right now! Like, right now!”

One of the nurses calmly guided you to a room, giving Lando a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First-time dad?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbled, following behind like a lost puppy.

Inside the delivery room, Lando couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “Are they supposed to take this long? Shouldn’t someone check on her again? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lando,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “But if you don’t stop pacing, I might strangle you before this baby gets here.”

He froze mid-step, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right. No pacing. Got it. I’ll just... stand here.”

Once he could actually think past his panic, Lando immediately whipped out his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he dialed his parents. The phone barely rang once before his mom answered.

“Lando? Everything okay?” her voice was calm but laced with concern, likely from the sheer urgency of his call.

“Mum! She’s in labor!” Lando practically shouted into the phone, his words tumbling out at record speed. “Like, actual labor. Right now. We’re at the hospital. It’s happening!”

“Oh, Lando, that’s wonderful!” his mom exclaimed, her tone immediately switching to excitement. “How is she? How are you?”

“She’s... well, she’s in labor!” Lando replied, running a hand through his already tousled curls. “I think she’s fine, but I don’t know! She might be mad at me for pacing too much. I stopped though. Well, sort of. Anyway, can you and Dad get here? Like, now?”

“We’re on our way, love,” she reassured him with a laugh.

By the time his parents arrived, just minutes later, Lando’s initial excitement had given way to full-blown panic. He was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at his hands, muttering under his breath.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Oh my God, I forgot to pack snacks! What kind of dad forgets snacks?”

His parents stepped into the room, his mom taking one look at him and immediately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, breathe,” she said gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He jumped up at their arrival, waving his hands around. “I can’t breathe, Mum! Do you know how much responsibility this is? I’m going to be someone’s dad! What if I drop the baby? What if I don’t hold them right? Or they cry every time they see me? I-”

His dad cut him off with a firm but comforting hand on his back. “You’re going to be fine, son. You’ve got this.”

Lando looked over at you, lying on the hospital bed, still managing to roll your eyes at his dramatics despite the situation. “Does she think I’ve got this?” he asked, gesturing to you.

You groaned, partly from the contraction and partly from his antics. “Lando, if you don’t stop spiraling, I’ll personally make sure you get kicked out of this delivery room.”

His mom laughed, stepping closer to you. “She’s got it under control, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Lando muttered, his wide eyes darting between you and the monitors. “But what if I’m not ready, Mum?” he whispered, leaning closer to his mother as if it were a secret.

His mom reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ll be ready when you see your baby for the first time, Lando. Trust me. You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to be a great dad. Now stop worrying and be there for your wife.”

Lando nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. Then he turned to you with newfound determination. “Okay. What do you need, love? Water? Ice chips? A—”

“A calm husband,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, nodding rapidly. “Calm husband. Got it.”

And for the next two minutes, he actually managed to stay calm. Until the nurse walked in and said, “Alright, it’s time to push.”

Then all bets were off.

---

When your son (your son!) finally arrived after hours of labor, the world seemed to pause. Lando stood frozen as one of the nurses handed him the tiny, swaddled baby. His hands shook as he cradled Leo against his chest, staring down at him in awe.

His aquamarine eyes were wide as he stared down at the newborn. “Wow,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “He’s... so small. Like, really small. Are we sure he’s okay?”

“Lando, he’s a baby,” you said, exasperated but smiling, the exhaustion hitting you in waves. “They’re supposed to be small.”

“Yeah, but this small?” he asked, carefully holding Leo as if he were made of glass. He glanced at the nurse for reassurance. “Is this normal? What if I break him?”

The nurse chuckled. “You won’t, Mr. Norris. Just make sure to support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

“Support his head,” Lando repeated, adjusting his grip like he was handling the most fragile trophy in the world. Then he looked down at your son again, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “It’s, uh... it’s me. Your dad. I’m new at this, so, uh, go easy on me, yeah?”

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your body. “He’s not going to grade you, Lando.”

“Good, because I’m already giving myself a D+,” he muttered, carefully sitting beside you on the hospital bed.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “You did so good,” he said softly. “So, so good. Thank you for... for him.”

As the tiny bundle in his arm let out a tiny whimper, Lando instinctively rocked him, whispering, “Shh, mate, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

“You’re a natural,” the nurse commented, smiling as she adjusted your blankets.

“Really?” Lando glanced up, his grin sheepish but full of pride. “Because I feel like I’m one wrong move away from dropping him.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re already amazing.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the amazing one. I mean, you just made a person. How insane is that?”

As he sat beside you, still holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

You rested your head against his shoulder, watching as he studied every tiny feature of Leo’s face. “He’s got my eyes,” he murmured, awed.

“And your gap-toothed smile too, probably,” you teased.

He chuckled, brushing a fingertip gently over Leo’s tiny hand. “That’s not a bad thing. He’ll be unstoppable. Just wait until he sees his first go-kart.”

2K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 6 months ago

Text

Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

“Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?”

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

1K notes · View notes

saucingitup · 8 months ago

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Kraken broadcaster JT Brown shares why Pride is so important to him and why he’ll be celebrating the LGBTQ+ community all month long

June is an exciting month. There’s Stanley Cup final hockey on the TV, the sun is shining down on Seattle, I hit the links on Father’s Day, and it's Pride month—a month dedicated to celebrating the LGBTQ+ community and commemorating the 1969 Stonewall Uprising in Manhattan. In our house, June is a busy month, but nothing gets celebrated harder than Pride.

Earlier this month, I had the honor of playing in the Seattle Pride Classic at the Kraken Community Iceplex. The invitation to share the ice with LGBTQ+ players from all over is an honor I don’t take lightly. Striking up a conversation on the bench between shifts, I turned to the player next to me. “Nice tape job. Canucks fan?” I said, noting the different colors of tape spiraling down the blade. “No, these colors represent one of the queer flags,” they said.

The bad news is I felt like an idiot. The good news is, I’ll always recognize that flag. Trying means stumbling, losing the puck, shooting wide (pick your analogy), but I’ve never been too proud to admit I caused the turnover and apologize. And we both laughed because sometimes falling on your ass is funny.

From ice to asphalt, the Pride celebration continues as my family and I will be at the 50th annual Seattle Pride Parade on June 30. As someone who is known for their flair for flashy game-day suits, it should not come as a surprise that I love an excuse to get dressed up. Throw in good music and free swag and you’ll understand why I don’t miss a pride parade.

And no one does pride quite like Seattle. It’s no wonder the Kraken pull up to the parade every year with a crew so deep I momentarily worry we’re going to hold up the parade. We’re out there flinging Kraken giveaways like someone is keeping score of how many each employee can hand out—I always aim for the high score.

Of course, being an ally isn't just flinging Kraken patches into a crowd or embarrassingly mistaking flag colors for rival team branding. A lot of it is just showing up.

I show up for my queer wife so she knows I support her even if I still don’t understand what “Brat summer” means. I show up for my kids so they know I love their authentic selves no matter what. I show up for my friends so they know they’re safe with me. I show up because there are LGBTQ+ people out there who are being stood up by the ones they love, by policies, by corporations, by strangers.

People always praise me for being an ally, but having been on the receiving end of bigotry, I know how much easier it is to stand on this side. When I fight for BIPOC equality, I am always lifted by the voices and support of the LGBTQ+ community. Every single time, they have supported me in my fight to help end racism in hockey.

They have been incredible teammates to me and so being one to them was never a choice I made, it was just something I did—and will continue to do with whatever platform I’m given. Everyone deserves the safety and support to live their authentic lives. When we lift up those who need us most, we all reap the benefits of a safer and more inclusive space.

This Pride month, I’d like to encourage others to show up—unabashedly loud and proud—for yourself and for others. Have a happy, safe, and fun Pride!

#jt brown #seattle kraken #hockey #nhl #pride #happy pride 🌈#pride month #lgbt #lgbtq

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caffeinewitchcraft · 9 months ago

Text

The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

----------------

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.

Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.

You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.

---------------------.

You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.

Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.

You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.

“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”

Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”

“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”

Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.

These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?

You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.

Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.

“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child – one we can call our own.”

“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”

Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.

You can tell Sarah likes them.

“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”

You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.

“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”

“You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.

“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”

Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”

They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.

Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”

“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”

You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.

-----------.

Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing’s different.

You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.

“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”

Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.

It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.

“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.

His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.

“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”

Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”

You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”

“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”

A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”

To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”

For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”

“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”

You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.

It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.

“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”

Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.

He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?

You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.

----------------.

The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.

“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”

Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”

“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”

“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”

You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.

You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.

You can only do what you can do.

---------------.

Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.

No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.

“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”

The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.

“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”

Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”

Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”

You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”

Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”

“Hey!”

Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”

“Present?” Josiah asks.

“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”

It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?

Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.

Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Read?”

“Only a little.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”

She turns before she can see you flush.

---------.

Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.

“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”

Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.

There haven’t been any yet.

The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.

“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”

Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”

You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.

You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”

“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”

“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.

Annie nods and races to follow her friends.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”

“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’

“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”

“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”

Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”

“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”

It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”

She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”

“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”

“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”

The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”

You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”

“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”

You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?

“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”

“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.

Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”

“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”

“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”

“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”

“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”

“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”

“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”

“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”

“It will be enough.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”

“The store we have will be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”

There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”

“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.

((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))

“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”

She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.

Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

You shove past her and run to your room.

-------------.

Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.

A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.

“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.

“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”

You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—

A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”

That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.

You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”

“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.

“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”

You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not really.”

Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”

There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”

Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.

Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”

You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”

“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”

You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”

“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.

You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.

You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”

“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”

“Known what?”

“About what you’ve been through.”

The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”

You start. “You did?”

“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”

Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”

“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”

You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”

“He was there?”

Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”

“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.

“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”

You shake your head.

“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”

You stare at her, not understanding.

“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”

You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”

Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”

“What does she do?”

“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”

Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”

“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”

“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”

Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”

“And?”

And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”

“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.

You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”

“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”

“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.

Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.

“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”

You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”

Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”

Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”

“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”

All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”

“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”

For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”

“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”

But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?

Knights help save the day too.

You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.

“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.

Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”

You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…

You believe her.

--------

(Part 2) (part 3)

--------

Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!

If you'd like to read the whole story now, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)

Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.

#my writing #second person #the hero and hope #long post #this part is 6k words and the entire story is almost 19k

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

More spencer x hotch's sister? I love her relationship with hotch so much btw! Maybe spencer learns some of what she went through in her past?

“What did you get Haley for your six months?” you ask.

Aaron shakes his basket of fries. You can smell them from your side of the table, salt and grease from the fryer. He doesn’t need to see you looking, maybe he doesn’t care that you want one or not, he tips half of the basket onto your plate and shrugs. “It was a long time ago, I’m not sure I remember. For our first year together I gave her a promise ring, I think.”

“I don’t think I can get him a promise ring…” You swirl your drink with your straw. Fizzy bubbles rush to the surface. “A ring might be nice, though. Can he wear jewellery in the field?”

“One nondescript ring would be fine.”

“Maybe a necklace.” You stab a few of his given fries on your fork and smile. “I’m very stressed, but he’s been so kind the whole time. He never makes me worry about anything.”

“Spencer is kind.” Aaron glances to the side as a couple sits in the booth opposite. “Admittedly, I was worried. But you’re happy, so I’m happy.”

“Six months is a long time for no fights.”

“Honey, some people don’t fight.”

You toy with a stray piece of lettuce. “I’m really glad that we don’t, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It won’t drop. You think I’d let you date Spencer if I suspected he was secretly evil?”

“There are a few things wrong with that question…” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Okay, it won’t drop. Can we get, um, dessert? Rocky road sundaes?” They’re Aaron’s favourite, so they’re yours, too.

Despite his assurances, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think about your conversation with Aaron for the days leading up to your six month anniversary with Spencer, which he aptly names your ‘half anniversary’. He doesn’t plan any surprises —he sends you a PDF with different options for everything. Five different restaurants with different options for courses, moods, and settings. There are notes for each place and why you might like them, and there are activities for each one afterwards based on the location. It’s so thoughtful it makes you feel sick. The other shoe looms, and looms.

You choose a smaller restaurant just outside of the busy city, with a beautiful outdoor eating area on a stone veranda. It’s lively but not crowded, secluded but not completely private.

Spencer tucks your seat in, and he kisses your cheek before he takes his own. When he does, he looks across the table at you, and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty.”

“You think so?”

“You’re beautiful.” He gives you one of his not so shy, almost cheesy smiles, like he wants to laugh. “Do you want your gift now or later?”

“Is it rude to say I want it now?”

“No, it’s not rude. I’ll feel better once I know you like it.”

He presents you with a box wrapped in dark blue crepe paper and rounded silver star stickers. There’s twine wrapped around it and bowed, too beautiful to want to open. You look between him and the present in awe. “This is real pretty,” you say softly.

“It’s nicer inside,” he says.

You unravel the twin carefully, and you take off the paper to reveal a large, flat box. You put the paper in your jacket pocket, folded primly to keep. Spencer waits patiently.

You press your thumbnail into the box’s seam and push.

It’s four pieces of jewellery. What catches your eye first is the sapphires, blue crystal with deep dark hearts pressed into the pendant of a necklace, the heart of a bracelet, and the main bodies of their matching earrings. All simple, elegant pieces, and compiled, their impressiveness is amplified. Your breath catches. You don’t need to be an expert in jewellery to immediately assign a ballpark price tag, and it’s a lot. It’s sort of startling.

But the price doesn’t matter half as much as the sentiment.

“Do you remember them?” he asks softly.

Fourth date. Hand in hand, you and Spencer walked through a shopping centre with iced drinks and churros, and you’d paused for a few seconds to ogle the jewellery display. You’d pointed straight at the sapphire bracelet and said, “That’s gorgeous. I think if I save, I can get it for Christmas.”

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry, I cheated. But I hope you like them.”

“Spencer, I love them, I love them,” —you reach your hand across the table— “I love you. Thank you.”

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

You can’t stop yourself from getting up to hug him. He bends under your weight and holds your arms, doesn’t wince when you press the entirety of your face to his hair and breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, kissing his forehead twice, “thank you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He takes your face into his hand before you can leave. “You like them?” he asks.

“I love them.”

His smile is everything. “I really did cheat, I wrote it down when we got home and you know I can’t forget the things I read,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss.

Six months later and your heart still skips a beat. Doesn’t matter that he has an eidetic memory, what’s important is that he wrote it down.

You take another hug, to his delight, and return to your seat. Your presents wait in a bag under the table. Two books, one jewellery box. He goes for the smaller box first.

“It’s a ring,” you say, too nervous to let him discover it by himself. “I know you don’t often wear them, but I thought maybe it’s because it’s not something you’d get for yourself, and I think it would look good on you.”

He opens the box with a smile. So pretty, and exuberantly bright. “Oh, wow.”

“I don’t know if brands mean anything to you, but it’s Vivienne–”

“It’s beautiful,” he interrupts, “I love it. What finger do I wear it on?”

“Most wear it on their marriage finger, I think, but you obviously don’t have to do that.”

He slips it onto his ring finger, turns his hand one way and another, and there’s this joy that echoes all the way across the table from his very core. “Thank you. I love it, and now every time I look down I'll remember why you gave it to me.”

You spend a lot of time apart, what with both of you working. “I thought that, too.”

He takes the books next. His laugh is soft. “I’m not surprised.”

“They’re… they’re my personal copies.”

He startles at that. “They are?”

“Yeah. Uh,” —you point at the first— “that’s my favourite, and I think it could be your favourite too.”

“And this one?” he asks gently, slipping the first underneath the second.

“Aaron gave that one to me. I know what you’re thinking, okay, that I’m giving something to you I should really keep. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t know, but I love you.” You lick your lips. “It’s nice to fall in love. And you’ve made it so easy.”

He stares at you, lips parted.

You panic. “It was hard, growing up, and I know everyone struggles but it was hard. If it weren’t for my brother… I feel like it sticks to me and you’ve never made me feel that way. You love me for me. I was convinced nobody would ever do that.”

“I know it was hard,” he says.

“Really hard, sometimes, but you aren’t. I’m never scared of you.”

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. “You aren’t supposed to be scared of anyone, angel.”

Warmth blossoms under his touch. You shake off the fog. “It’s not just about all of that, I swear, I really do think you’ll like them. But if I got it all wrong just lie to me, okay?”

“You didn’t get anything wrong, shut up,” he says. Spencer stands, his turn to hug you, but he goes about it differently. He tips your head back and he kisses you, and his nose is a pressed line in your cheek as he squeezes you to him. “I’d be surprised if anybody who’s ever met you didn’t love you. Okay? Thank you for trusting me with it.”

It, and not them, not the books.

He peels away. You beam at one another.

“Should we eat?” you ask, feeling pleased and shy at once.

He kisses you again, one quick peck. “Yes, we can eat.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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piastrixpole · 2 months ago

Text

spinning into love - oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

genre: smau, written

faceclaim: buseksc

spinningaroundrecords just posted!

our new stock is here just in time for the holidays ft. our employee's recommendation wall curated by yn

liked by user3, user45, user27 and 3,419 others

user1: damnn yn's got taste

user2: do you guys have the chappel roan record in?

->spinningaroundrecords: we do!! in coke bottle clear and the coral anniversary addition

Yn had always wanted to work somewhere in the music industry. She lived, breathed and sleeped the euphoria of discovering a new favourite artist or record. From the moment she could remember, the thrill of discovering a new song, a new band, or a hidden gem in the deep corners of an album was enough to make her feel alive. It wasn’t just the act of listening; it was the feeling of music that consumed her. The electric pulse of a bassline, the bittersweet strum of a guitar, the raw, vulnerable emotion in a singer's voice—it all gave her a sense of connection to the world that she couldn’t find anywhere else. Since she wasn't the most musically inclined herself it she was extra passionate as a listener to compensate for it.

So, instead of focusing on creating music, she threw herself into the art of curating it. She spent hours browsing record shops, digging through stacks of vinyl, and chasing after obscure releases from up-and-coming artists. She was a listener, a connoisseur, someone who appreciated the artistry and emotion that went into every note.

It wasn’t long before Yn’s obsession became more than a hobby; it became her life. After years of working in different parts of the music industry—interning, managing small acts, or just helping set up gigs—she finally landed her dream job at Spinning Around Records. The record store wasn’t just a place to work for her—it was a sanctuary, a place where she could live and breathe music every day. And now, she was a permanent fixture there. She helped curate the store’s staff picks, hosted events, and even started her own little side hustle recommending records to people who had no idea where to start.

Today, Yn was standing by the store’s employee recs wall, carefully adjusting the placement of a few albums. It was a busy December afternoon, just days before Christmas. The store was filled with people rushing in for last-minute presents, some browsing, some frantically trying to find the perfect gift for that one person who seemed impossible to shop for. Yn loved the holiday chaos. There was something magical about the way music could pull people in, especially when the world was a little colder and people needed a soundtrack to their lives.

As she was straightening out the stack of vinyl, the door chimed, and Yn looked up, expecting to see the usual rush of people coming in from the cold. Instead, her gaze landed on a man—tall, with messy brown hair, wearing a jacket and jeans that somehow looked effortlessly stylish if it weren't for the drawstring style to the jeans. He was scanning the shelves, clearly out of his depth, a look of slight panic in his eyes as he searched for something among the rows of records.

Yn smirked to herself, watching him for a second. She knew that look. He was the kind of person who was very last-minute with his Christmas shopping.

“Can I help you find something?” she called over, her voice friendly and easygoing.

The man’s eyes shot over to her, and for a second, he looked a little startled, as though he hadn’t expected someone to speak up. He quickly recovered, flashing a smile that was just shy of sheepish.

“I hope so,” he said with a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m looking for a gift... for a friend. Not really sure where to start.”

Yn raised an eyebrow, noticing the slight hesitation in his voice. “Are they into music?”

He chuckled, looking almost embarrassed. “Well, yeah, but I don’t know what kind of music they’re into. He's picky...and plays a lot of piano ”

Ah, so he was one of those shoppers, Yn thought. The kind who had no idea what their friend liked, but was determined to get it right. She could work with that.

“Well, I’ve got a few ideas,” she said, pushing away from the shelf and walking toward him. “Do you have any idea what kind of vibe you’re going for? Do they listen to anything specific, or are you just looking for something cool?”

“Uh... cool is good,” the man replied, clearly relieved that she wasn’t judging him for his lack of knowledge. “Maybe something a little indie, or a bit retro? I’m just trying to find something that’ll stand out, you know?”

Yn's smile widened. “I’ve got exactly what you need.”

She led him over to a nearby display of albums, her fingers dancing over the spines of the records as she pulled a few out. “This one’s a personal favourite of mine," she hands him a copy of Dogrel by Fontaines DC "if you want something indie that might surprise him, this would be a good choice or if you want more of a classic album then I'm always going to recommend Grace by Jeff Buckley if he doesn't already have it. No collection is complete without it! .”

As she handed him a few records, she couldn’t help but glance at his face, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the artwork. There was something oddly familiar about him—like she had seen him somewhere before.

“Do you... work here?” he asked, finally taking a breath after looking over her selections.

Yn blinked, then laughed. “No I just give recommendations for fun and know where everything is...Yeah, I do. I’m Yn,” she said, holding out a hand. “I basically live and breathe music. If you’re really stuck, I’m your go-to.”

He shook her hand, his grip warm and firm. “Oscar,” he replied. “And... I think I might need more than just a go-to. I need expert advice.”

Yn grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I’m exactly that.”

Oscar hesitated, looking a little sheepish again. “I’m actually getting this for my friend. He invited me over to his family dinner, and... I need something that shows I’m not just a complete disaster at picking presents.”

Yn’s brow furrowed slightly, intrigued. “A friend? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Charles,” Oscar said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s... I guess you could say we’re not exactly from the same world, but he’s been super kind. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t look like a total fool showing up empty-handed.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully, looking down at the records she’d picked out. “I think these might actually do the trick.”

“Glad I could help. Just don’t show up without one of these,” she teased, before adding with a wink, “and maybe don’t tell Charles I’m the one who saved your Christmas dinner reputation.”

oscarpiastri just posted!

family dinner

tagged: charlesleclerc, arthurleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, leo

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, arthurleclerc and 691,203 others

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charlesleclerc: Always room for you at the table, mate. You’re family now. 🍷🎄

alexandrasaintmleux: So happy to have you with us! Next time, I’m picking the wine, though🫣

arthurleclerc: My nephew👨‍🍼

messages!

yourusername just posted!

life lately🎼🎧

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbsf, user45 and 2,134 others

loading comments

yourbsf: Bestie, you’re just casually glowing in every single pic?? Teach me your ways immediately. 😭✨ ->yourusername: It’s all the good vibes and late-night playlists 😌

user45: Not me zooming in to see what books and records are in the background 👀

user89: Can we talk about how Oscar Piastri is casually in the likes?? 🧐

->user34: Right?? What’s he doing here lol. ->user77: Someone’s a fan of more than just F1, it seems. 👀

user777: This is such a vibe—are you starting a Pinterest board for us, or what?

user90: “Life lately” but make it the main character of a coming-of-age film. 💿✨

oscarpiastri just posted a story!

[pic 1:🎶 ] [pic 2: Bake Off Ready?]

twitter

discogs!

profile: oscar81

recently added....

pools to bathe in ~ the japanese house

salad days ~ mac demarco

midas ~ wunderhorse

f1gossip just posted!

rumoured new wag yn ln was spotted at dinner with oscar piastri. could this be the mysterious record girlie behind his soft-launch posts?

liked by landonorris, arthurleclerc, yourbsf and 32,407 others

loading comments

user4: lando in the likes? he's so messy i love him

->user3: and arthur, they defo know something

user15: so when’s the hard launch? paddock debut in Aus or a Valentine’s post? place your bets, people

user11: i give it two weeks before he posts her blurry silhouette holding a coffee cup

yourbsf: @yourusername no way haha

->yourusername: 👀

oscarpiastri just posted!

now i'm lost in your melody

liked by landonorris, mclaren, charlesleclerc and 765,091 others

loading comments

yourusername: JEFF BUCKLEY?? i've taught you well☺️

->oscarpiastri: saving my music taste since we first met🧡

charlesleclerc: so this is who i have to thank for my present 😉 bring her to the next family dinner son i approve

->oscarpiastri: will do dad 🙂⬆️

landonorris: ok lover boy

mclaren: we can't wait to meet yn🧡

->yourusername: me too admin!!🧡

user7: sleeping on the motorway tonight

user29: love IS real

#f1 #f1 fic #abby's writing #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 smau #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smau

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written-in-flowers · 5 days ago

Text

Model Behavior: YunHwaGi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Seonghwa x Yunho x Mingi x fem!Reader | side pairing: ot8 x fem!reader

Word Count: 10k

Genre: Smut, smut, and more smut with a sprinkle of fluff on top | AU: sugar baby, idolverse

Summary: The newest episode of YNteez features you, the boys and a photoshoot. With all the risque outfits they've selected themselves, just how wholesome is this shoot going to be?

Tags: polycule, polyamorous, established relationship, sugar baby, blowjobs, sloppy blowjobs, deep throat, face fucking, face sitting, 69-position, male masturbation, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, light role play, oral sex, sex toys, squirting, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), slight free use, nipple play, peeping through windows, and group sex (foursome).

Previously on YNteez

****

Eight costumes. Eight sets. Eight times you'll have to change your outfit, hair and makeup over the course of three days. The exhaustion already started weighing on you, and nothing started yet. Standing in your private dressing room, you gazed at the rack of clothes in front of you. The producers told you the members picked the costumes themselves, so naturally the outfits are tailored to their taste. You looked at each of them while you waited on hair and makeup, and saw the different costumes the staff managed to procure. They certainly did not look cheap. You’d expected clearance rack outfits with flimsy fabric and lots of velcro and zippers. The current costume you held, an Animal Crossing character, was made of good material, your proper size, and could pass off as a real cosplay outfit. You put the costume on the rack, and turned to the large mirror behind you.

You’d come to the set in a simple t-shirt and jeans, since you’d be changing three different times today. The stylists recommended you come as plain faced as possible, since any makeup you wore will be removed. The prospect of a photoshoot excited and worried you. The last time someone took photos of you, it’d been for your Companion portfolio. A photographer took a bunch of boudoir pictures with a few headshots thrown in to attract potential clients. You didn’t mind dressing down for a camera, since the outfits and makeup helped you hide behind them, but the photographer won’t be the only one present. A staff of at least twenty people will be filming, monitoring, adjusting, lighting, and observing your every move. The classroom episode was through hidden cameras, so there’d been only you and the boys. Now, there’d be people, which was different.

“There you are,” a voice said when the door opened. Seonghwa came walking into your dressing room, pecking your lips and looking over your face. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“The producers and stylists told me to wait here for them to show up with the cameras,” you replied. They mentioned interview moments during the episode to capture your thoughts and emotions. “Does it always take this long?”

He laughed, “Yeah, it does. It’s even worse for whoever is last in line to get their makeup and hair done. But, our stylists are fantastic, and I think you’ll love what they do with your looks. Minsu already showed me the look they’ll be giving you for my shoot.”

“What?” you said, disappointed. “Why did they show you and not me? It’s going on my face.”

“It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?” he said. He looked over to the clothing rack, then back at you with suspicion in his eyes, “Have you been looking in the clothing bags?”

“No,” you said innocently. “I would never spoil a surprise.”

“Mhm,” he remained unconvinced. He took a seat on a makeup chair next to yours, “I think I should stay here and, you know, supervise you. We don’t want you spoiling everything for yourself.”

You pouted, taking the seat in front of the vanity, “What about you? Don’t you have to get ready too?”

“I’m third in line,” he said. “They’re still working on Yunho.” He stared at you for a moment, then said, “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” you admitted. “I haven’t had my picture taken in a long time, and these aren’t like ‘normal’ photos either.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh come on. Me in skimpy outfits you guys personally picked out? On sets of your design and you control what sort of pictures we take? They’re not going to be exactly PG are they?”

“No, not at all,” he said with a laugh. “What I picked is pretty wholesome and simple,” he then smiled, “But I know a few members whose outfits are way more revealing than mine.”

“Like who?” you asked, wanting to suck a spoiler out of him.

“Nope,” he shook his head, amused by your eagerness, “Not telling you. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“You won’t give me a little hint? A tiny one?”

“You already know mine, since you looked in the clothing bag,” he accused with a grin.

“I did not,” you lied. “I haven’t even touched those bags.”

“Liar,” he nudged your foot with his, “That zipper was all the way up when I left here. Now it’s like an inch or two down.”

“Is not. You’re remembering it wrong.”

Your insistence made him chuckle. “At least your shoot is going to be the course of three days,” he said, “Our shoots usually run all day.”

“Three of you today, three tomorrow, and the two after that,” you said, “I wonder why they did it that way?” you looked at him expectantly.

“Have no idea,” he shrugged, pretending you didn’t notice him.

“Not one?”

“Nope.”

You moved over to him, and took a seat in his lap. “Could it possibly be because certain members of this relationship won’t be able to contain themselves and might get a bit naughty with me?” you rested against him, fingers dancing on the collar of his shirt. “They might not be able to control themselves,” You heard him audibly inhale as you drew closer, “And let their natural instincts take over?”

“Maybe,” he put his hand on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze before bringing his lips an inch from yours, “But can you blame them? You know exactly what to do to tempt them, and you do it well.”

“I've had a lot of practice.”

The both of you kissed right as someone else entered the room. The stylists came in with their bags full of supplies, and the producer followed with a camera crew. Your hands suddenly felt clammy, and you wiped them on your jeans. Seonghwa noticed this and squeezed you again, but more affectionately than before. His reassuring grin relaxed you somewhat, yet seeing everyone setting up for the episode distracted you again.

“Seonghwa,” the producer called to him, “We’re going to start filming now. The stylists next door wanted me to tell you they’re ready for you.”

“Alright,” he nodded. He pecked your cheek, then said, “See you out there.”

“See you.”

You’d know the KQ film production team for a long time, so they felt more like friends than colleagues. The clothing stylist, Juwon, came right over to you. Slender and narrow, Juwon never failed to make you drop-dead gorgeous with his outfit designs. He hugged and kissed both your cheeks when he spoke:

“Ready for today?”

“As ready as I can be, honestly,” you said.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, “Minsu and I are going to make you look absolutely divine. Those boys will be regretting their choices when they see you. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He took the bag with Seonghwa’s name tag on it, and opened it up. Inside, you saw the green plaid vest, white shirt, and a mini skirt.

“Who is it?” you asked him, hoping he’d answer you.

“It’s this character in that game he likes,” he answered you. “I have the lingerie that goes with it too.”

Behind the costume was the white mesh and lace lingerie set they’d sent you a month ago. The mesh parts went over your breasts, sex, and ass, but were bordered by lace designed strings. The matching stockings and garter belts were no doubt Seonghwa’s idea. Right away, you took the bag and went behind a curtain to change. You’ll have to do this two more times. How did models do it every day? You pulled on the lingerie, the belts, the stockings, and the costume itself. The outfit was snug on your skin, and you noticed the shirt and vest revealed way more cleavage than the original character. The skirt also goes high up your thighs so that any bending of your thighs or legs will lift it up further. Yes, very wholesome indeed.

Seonghwa always liked leaving something to the imagination.

“You look so cute!” Juwon cheered when he saw you. “Give us a twirl…Yes, excellent. It fits you perfectly, and isn’t too showy. Seonghwa said he wanted it to be sexy, but not so much that it ruined the illusion of the character.”

“He would say that,” you agreed. “He’s never liked me in lingerie that shows too much of my body. Mostly babydoll dresses or open front ones are good enough for him.”

“Ugh, you’re going to knock him dead,” Juwon awed, unable to look away from you. “That photobook is going to be priceless.”

Yes, you’d forgotten the photobook idea. You’d suggested it during a YNTEEZ meeting. Since they’re going to be doing it anyways, you thought about perhaps using the photos to make a photobook. Atinys can purchase them online and get special bonus gifts. You did give a small spoiler on your personal Instagram account where you’d promoted the group’s newest album; you mentioned their photobook and soon having one of your own, which intrigued a lot of people.

“Yeah, I forgot the photobook. I hope people like the pictures though,” you said, knowing not everyone will be thrilled for you to be in the photos. They wanted shirtless Seonghwa, not a half-nude YN.

“Oh come on, not all of them hate you,” the director assured you. “They’ll be into it.”

You went over to Minsu next, who turned your chair around and pumped it to the right height. She smiled when your eyes met hers in the mirror.

“You’re going to look fabulous today,” was her catchphrase whenever she worked on your face and hair. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you responded with a deep breath. “When was the last time I got this glammed up? KCon?”

“I think it was Global Dream Awards,” she answered, putting her makeup essentials on the counter, “When you wore that gorgeous purple gown. Ugh, I was so jealous of you. It looked amazing.”

“But it’s been a while since then,” you said, eyeing the materials on her counter. You then noticed an assistant taking out wig boxes from a container they’d wheeled into the room. “And plus there’s going to be loads of people in the room with us.”

“So?”

“One of the biggest points of these types of shows is the sex, and knowing my boys, it’s going to get steamy,” you felt knots already forming in your stomach. “I don’t think I can do that with so many people watching.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she said, “You know that. Plus, you’ll have your boyfriends there, so you’ll be comfortable the entire time. You’ll get so wrapped up in each other, you won’t even notice the rest of us there.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Besides, today is only Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mingi. The sweeties,” she added a smile.

“They're all sweeties.”

“Sweeties with a horny streak,” said Juwon from the clothing rack, searching for shoes in a box.

Minsu then turned around to face you, moisturizer in hand. “Okay, let’s get you ready for your modeling debut.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. She began prepping your face for makeup when the producer got the camera ready to film. Your nerves shivered inside you once you realized it was on by the red light in the camera.

“YN, are you excited about today’s shoot?” he asked first.

“I’m excited, but also a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I modeled for anyone before…”

His questions remained fairly innocuous. He asked you about your modeling experiences, which were very few and far in between, and if you’d made any guesses as to what the members have planned. You told him you guessed it’ll have to do with concepts they like or things they enjoy. Since the members will be part of the shoot, they will wear costumes similar to yours.

When Minsu finished with your base makeup, she took out a face-paint palette and dipped a brush into the black section. Looking in the mirror, you noticed her covering the tip of your nose; then she dipped it into the white to start painting around your nose and mouth.

Isabelle. You’re Isabelle from Animal Crossing, Seonghwa’s favorite comfort game. You only knew who she was because Seonghwa told you when you saw him playing. Your eldest boyfriend knew it so well, he could perfectly mimic their funny little language. When Minsu finished your makeup, she put your hair into a bald cap to prepare you for the wig. Short and blond, the bangs hung above at your eyebrows, and the rest of the hair fanned outwards in the back. Minsu attached a fake hair bun to the very top, tied there with a red ribbon with bells on it. You giggled as you moved your head, the little bells clinking in the process. They then attached yellow dog ears that drooped from the sides of your head. You trusted Minsu’s abilities enough that you knew they wouldn’t fall off.

“Ah, you look so cute!” Minsu beamed.

“Adorable!” Juwon agreed with a grin. “He’s going to love it.”

“It’s exactly as I pictured it in my head.”

“Thanks,” you grinned shyly.

You hoped Seonghwa liked it most of all. You’d hate it if you went out there and the outfit isn’t what he envisioned for you. The camera then looked at you again.

“How do you feel about this concept?” the producer asked you.

“It’s very Seonghwa,” you laughed, admiring yourself in the mirror. “I knew he’d pick something he liked, but I’d guessed Star Wars since he likes that a lot. This is much cuter though.”

“Do you play Animal Crossing too?”

“Not that much,” you said. “I played it for a while when it first came out, but then I fell out of it. Seonghwa always tells me to play with him so we can visit each other’s islands,” you chuckled remembering the times he’d asked you so cutely to play with him, “And send gifts and stuff. I’m not as into it as he is, though.”

He turned when someone came into the dressing room to tell him they finished the members’ introduction to the episode. Funny. It’s your show, but they’re doing the intro. This didn’t bother you that much, and you followed them out onto the set. Minsu and Juwon kept you back from the rest of the group, putting you behind a curtain. Ahead of you, you saw staff members wheeling in a small stage. On it, you saw the familiar villager house from the game, a red triangle roof, cream colored walls and a red door. They’d done quite a good job with the set. It came with a bed of fake flowers, a mailbox, an apple tree beside the house, and the house was big enough for you to fit inside of. You spotted Seonghwa standing nearby while they finished putting things together.

He'd never looked cuter. Seonghwa stood wearing an aqua and white floral shirt with khaki shorts with his nose painted and wearing pointed ears. You guessed he must be Tom Nook, a racoon character in the game. He looked sweet and adorable in his costume, but you know that can turn sexual at the flip of a coin.

“Alright, YN, come on out,” the director called to you.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened when you walked onto the set. They scanned you from top to bottom, and you smiled sweetly at him. He stood in awe of you, turning to the camera crew in disbelief, before looking back at you. You gave him a wide smile and said:

“Aw, you're the little bear guy!”

Seonghwa held back a smile, “He's not a bear. He's a raccoon.”

“But isn't there already a raccoon? Raccoons are black and white, right?”

“There is, but Tom is a brown one.”

“Eh, I still think he's a bear.” You hugged him around the middle, and he still embraced you, laughing with you. “A big bear with a cute nose.”

“He's a raccoon,” he squeezed you until you let out a small whine, then released you. He gave you a once over, then said, “You look so cute. It’s exactly how I imagined.”

“I’m happy you like it.” You glanced at the set, “Shall we go be the bear and the puppy?”

“He is a raccoon!”

You giggled as you stepped onto the small set, and turned to the photographer nearby, “Hi, I'm YN.”

“I'm Nami, nice to meet you,” the photographer said, wearing a plain shirt and jeans.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied. “Where do the bear and I start?-”

“-Tom is a raccoon!-”

“-We can start with some poses,” Nami laughed, “And we can do a few scene photos.”

“Okay, sounds good! What do you think, Tom?”

Seonghwa held back his laugh through a strained smile, hands on his hips, “That's fine.”

Nami directed you both into the middle of the stage and the shoot began. It started with simple couple shots with lots of smiles, giggles and playful poses. You didn't know much about modeling, but years of doing promotional shoots made Seonghwa a natural.

“Just be cute,” he said in one picture, where you both stood facing one another and pretending to rub your noses together. “Do cute faces and stuff like that, and you'll be fine.”

“Should I talk like they do too?” You teased when Nami finished taking photos of it. “How does it go? Meemeemoopmoop?”

“It does not sound like that at all,” he chortled.

“Then how does it sound?” you giggled seeing his shy expression, and him turning away to the tiny house nearby. “Come on, do it,” you urged him, pouting and tugging his sleeve. “It’s cute when you do it.”

He let out a small stream of high-pitched squeaks that had you grinning widely. When he stopped due to his own laughter, he handed you a net. Small fake butterflies were stuck to the insides as if being caught, while his fishing pole had a multi-colored fish hanging from the hook. Nami directed him to take a seat on a bench by the house while you swish the net in the air pretending to catch butterflies.

Having researched pin-up girl poses the previous night, you lifted one leg to your knee to show off the garter belts in Seonghwa’s direction. You could feel his eyes on you every time that skirt lifted up your thighs. Since you first met him, you knew Seonghwa preferred the more subtle suggestiveness. Flashes of cleavage or thighs grabbed his attention immediately, and he liked the baby doll dresses and bodysuit lingerie pieces you wore. Something skimpy, but not too showy. While you pretended to catch butterflies in various ways, Seonghwa sat there observing quietly.

“Let’s have you both garden,” Nami said next after snapping close up and wide shots of the scene. “Just do whatever comes natural.”

You knelt beside a bed of fake colorful flowers, and Seonghwa took the space in front of you. He was standing with a pail and a small hand rake, while you pretended to be digging holes in the earth. This left you kneeling at his feet, looking up at him innocently while he stood over you. You kept your cleavage in full view for him, pulling and pushing down on the flowers in front of you. Nami’s camera clicked numerous times in a row as she captured the suggestive moment. Seeing him above you, his groin right above your head, you had the urge to grope him. He wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the innuendos going on at this shoot. You knew he picked this up when he knelt behind you, and bent down to your ear.

“You must be getting pretty warm in that vest,” he said, hand going up your side to your chest. “Maybe you should take it off so you’re more comfortable?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you asked, pretending as if you brushed into him by accident.

“I’m only thinking about you,” he insisted, fingers getting closer to the buttons of your vest. “It’s supposed to be a sunny day on an island. Gardening can be hard work and Isabelle might get warm wearing a little vest like this one.”

“But Isabelle is so innocent and sweet,” you said, putting his hand closer to your breast. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nami stood a few feet away, taking photos of this intimate moment. “I don’t think she’d just shed off her clothes like that.”

“She would if she had a bit of help. Kneel up for me.”

You dropped the hand rake, and pressed your back to his chest. His lips left small kisses on your neck as he unbuttoned the vest. The moment he pulled it off you, you turned to Nami.

“Is this good or do you want us to do something else?”

“The apple tree,” she said, picking up on what you were really asking. “YN, you can be getting some apples from high up, and Seonghwa can be giving you a little boost.”

“Makes sense for his bear character-” you said, forcing yourself to leave Seonghwa’s arms for the fake apple tree nearby.

“-He’s a raccoon!-”

“-He looks like the kind of guy that would make his islanders do all the work while he just sits there in his little shop taking their money,” you continued, grabbing a wicker basket of fake red apples. “The little charlatan,” you gruffed.

This made the crew laugh with you and Seonghwa. “How’s he a ‘charlatan’?”

He stood holding the small ladder, his face closer to your lower back. “First off, you pay to go on this big island getaway, which in the name implies you’re going for a short time and not the rest of your life-”

“-It’s meant to be an experience-”

“-An experience in what it feels like to be hoodwinked!” another statement that made everyone laugh. “He never tells you what exactly is going to happen on the island until you arrive,” you said, reaching up into the branches and letting Nami take a few shots.

“He shows you a video of island life!” Seonghwa reasoned.

“On the plane ride! When you have no choice to turn back or not.”

“Guys, it’s a video game,” chuckled Nami. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“She only does this to tease me,” Seonghwa said, pinching your ass lightly. “Little brat…”

“You know I’m right,” you arched your back so your bottom sat closer to his face, “Anyway, the video makes you think all that stuff is already available on the island, but when you get there, you only see a bunch of empty houses and a campsite. I know I’d feel duped if it was me.” You then whispered to one of the cameras, “I think the bear is a cult leader.”

“He’s not a cult leader, stop it,” Seonghwa smacked your ass over the skirt, which only made you laugh more.

“Seonghwa doesn’t play when it comes to AC,” you joked with the crew, and earned yourself another smack.

You suddenly gasped when Seonghwa cupped both your buttocks for a gentle squeeze through your underwear. Cold hands and warm lips briefly pushed out any more taunts you’d have about Seonghwa’s game. But, you wouldn’t let him win. You pretended to reach for one of the lower hanging apples, which gave him the opportunity to feel underneath briefly. You gave another fake gasp, though it brought more warmth to your underwear.

“Then, he makes YOU build his island and make it cool,” you said, “And if you want to upgrade your island, you gotta pay him construction fees and stuff. Like, dude, it is supposed to be a getaway, not a construction job!” You dropped the apple into your basket. “That’s my hard earned money, so I don’t think I should be paying the guy who dropped me on a deserted island. I mean, what happens if I don’t make enough money to upgrade my shabby tent or house because I got tricked into staying there, hm?”

“I’m sure Tom would take other forms of payment too,” said Seonghwa, placing kisses on your lower back while he kneaded your cheeks. Your sex stirred when he started feeling underneath your pantyline, “Any kind you can think of.”

You let out a fake gasp, “So that’s his plan! Trick innocent, pure souls onto his island, takes all their money which causes them to have to do favors to get what they need. Disgusting bear.”

“That’s not why he’s doing it, and he’s a raccoon,” Seonghwa’s laugh was muffled by your shirt. “He wants to give you a nice experience,” he slid both sides of your underwear between your cheeks, “He is a good businessman who wants to build a nice island.”

“Where he can start his own weird, depraved sex cult,” you said, despite the warmth between your thighs. You knew Nami continued taking photos of Seonghwa groping and kissing your backside. You pretended to be shy, hand over your mouth and shock in your eyes. “Psh, jerk. Taking advantage of people looking to get away from their stressful, boring lives.”

“Speaking of tiny island homes,” interrupted Nami, “I think we should get some shots of you inside the house, YN.”

“And what does Seonghwa do?” you asked her, climbing down back into Seonghwa’s arms. You felt him yearning to touch and kiss you again, but fiercely restraining himself.

“Tom is going to be…safeguarding her house,” she suggested with a knowing smile.

You knew immediately what that meant, and walked into the house with the basket. The roof sat about a foot above your head, made of wood with cut out flowers in a box at the window. It was very well made. You opened the door to find nothing inside except a bedroom backdrop against the opposite wall. The window itself was wide and tall enough that Nami’s camera captured your top half at the right angle. You looked over Seonghwa standing outside the window, and couldn’t help noticing the slight bulge in his pants.

“Safeguarding her house, huh?” you asked, eyes on your boyfriend.

“Tom cares about the safety of his islanders,” said Seonghwa, leaning against the window. “You are an assistant to the Island Representative, and it’s important you’re safe from bugs on the island.”

“Oh, of course,” you said sarcastically, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with him being a greedy, corporate pervert.”

You started unbuttoning the few buttons left on your shirt, pretending as if Seonghwa wasn’t there. Soft clicks of the camera told you that Nami was capturing every second frame by frame as you undressed. You let the shirt slide off you bit by bit until you tossed it aside, your bra fully exposed now. Seonghwa stared down at your chest, acting as if he was hiding behind a curtain outside your window. No doubt the real scene is Tom Nook spying on an unsuspecting Isabelle. You then pulled your bra straps down your shoulders, and tugged the bra down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. Seonghwa bit his bottom lip as you gently massaged your chest in front of him; the lace fabric brushed on your nipples, which only made them harder.

Since Atinys over nineteen can purchase a NSFW version of the photobook, Seonghwa was free to unzip his shorts. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him slide his hand into his pants. His soft groan told you he’d grabbed hold of himself and started stroking. The image of his long, thick shaft in his hand made you bite the inside of your lower lip. You kept massaging your breasts over your bra for him, not glancing his way. When you pulled your bra down to right against your nipples, both of them just barely visible, Seonghwa groaned. You thought of his cock already throbbing and leaking in his hand, and wished you could suck him dry.

The scene continued until you wore nothing but the lingerie set. Seonghwa was already pumping himself faster, his back arching and eyes half-open and gazing at you, turning into an erotic sight. He finally came when you removed your bra and played with your nipples. You couldn’t help the deep, throbbing inside your panties. It begged you to go over to him, tug down his shorts and let him fuck you through the window. You listened to Seonghwa groaning, then huffing as his orgasm subsided and he slumped against the window frame. Nami asked for a few shots of him having a post-orgasm, which required him to tug down his shorts to show his wet cock.

“Hwa…” you whimpered. God, you needed him right then. Simply doing it yourself wouldn’t work, not with his big cock so close by and needing to be cleaned with your tongue.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, smirking as he stroked his softening length to make it glisten. “Are you horny too?” He laughed when you nodded, pleading with him. When Nami had enough shots, you expected him to bring you closer, but he didn’t. “I think we can wait until later, no?”

“But Seonghwa,” you pouted, finally pushing yourself as close as your little window allowed, “I’m so wet.” You reached for his hand and he pulled away.

“You’ve been quite bratty today,” he smiled wickedly, smugness in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve it right now. Plus, you have two more sets to do too. I don’t think it’s fair to keep Juwan and Minsu waiting on you.”

A punishment for dissing his favorite game. You huffed, pulling up your bra, “It’s not as if Yunho or Mingi will say no to me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he planted a quick kiss on your lips, and moved to walk away, “Have fun, angel. See you soon.”

His response left dread in your stomach. You pulled on a robe Nami gave you, then went back to the dressing room as per the director’s instructions.

****

Yunho’s set was a small bedroom of green and black. A full bed sat beside a wide computer desk with a two monitor setup, and a comfortable computer chair. Valorant and other various game posters were plastered on the walls, as well as figurines sitting around the computer. You quite liked it. Being the biggest gamer of the group, you weren’t surprised by the oversized Valorant t-shirt and tight, green briefs that Juwon presented you with in the dressing room. Yunho dressed casually, in a long shirt and shorts with socks, but you still liked the plain, simple look. You couldn’t help staring at his long, lean figure from afar.

“Look at you,” he smiled, seeing your hair up in a bun with cat-ear headphones around your neck. “Aren’t you cute?”

“You think so?”

You walked into his arms, hands on his shoulders as he pecked your lips. Your arousal from the previous shoot died down significantly, but it didn’t go away. Seonghwa likely told Yunho about his photoshoot, and the two will conspire together to make it worse. If anything, he’ll convince Mingi to join him in the torture. You considered the three men to be your angels, your “white swans”. They’re usually the most gentle and sweetest when it comes to sex, and even more so outside of the bedroom. Not that the other five couldn’t be sweet, but their harder sides tended to come out in bed, while your white swans remained gentle throughout. Though, they can be equally mean.

“Very cute,” he said, his large hands resting on your hips. “I like this simple style on you. You look so cozy and cute,” he nuzzled your nose softly. He then said in a whisper, “And there’s less for me to take off you.”

“Yuyu,” you laughed, cheeks burning. That was his special talent: making a simple phrase dirty. “Let’s get the shoot done.”

Nami directed you both towards the desk, and it went how you expected it to go. You sat on Yunho’s lap, both of you given controllers to act as a gamer couple. When you realized the game on the screen was a Youtube video and the controllers weren’t connected, you let out a soft giggle. Yunho looked over at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny, huh?” he poked your stomach, which made you laugh more.

“This reminds me of that porno we watched the other night,” you said.

You didn’t watch porn videos with your boyfriends often, but when you did, it was mainly Yunho with a toy nearby. The other night after dancing and drinking, you’d put on one you thought he might like. It featured three women “playing” a video game before the boyfriend of one of them appeared, and started fondling and teasing them. Yunho didn’t mind it until he noticed one minor detail.

“The controllers weren’t on,” Yunho blurted out incredulously, and you laughed again. “They’re there moving the sticks and pressing buttons but the controllers weren’t even turned on.”

“Baby, considering it was an adult film, I don’t think it matters,” you replied.

“They could have made an effort, is what I’m saying,” he defended. “The game was going on in the video even after they stopped playing.”

“Only you would make a fuss about that,” you chuckled, kissing him softly. “So, you’re telling me that if you ever fuck me during a game, you want me to be actually playing instead of pretending?”

“It’d be hot,” he shrugged, smirking at the suggestion.

“Hm, good to know.”

You straddled his lap with your back to him, and put the headphones on your ears. Nami took this cue to start taking photos again. Yunho brought you to his chest, his head on your shoulder as he also matched your pose. You shifted around on his lap every so often to feel his cock through your shorts. The sensation of his bulge growing against your ass brought back all the arousal from before.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, you know,” you said in his ear, kissing the spot underneath it. “I’m surprised we haven’t done it yet.”

“Done what?” he asked, but he knew what you meant.

“Give you a blowjob while you were gaming,” you answered, grinding onto his lap until he let out a low growl. “But you’re always so focused, I doubt you’d notice I’m there.”

“Trust me,” he said, “I’d notice if I had your pretty lips wrapped around my dick. I wouldn’t be able to focus on the game.”

“But you’re such a pro at it that you’d win anyways,” you smiled. “I bet you can do it with your eyes closed,” you whirled your hips around, “While you’re fucking my throat until you cum.”

“Seonghwa left you very horny, didn’t he?” he chuckled.

“And you do too,” you added, almost forgetting the camera clicking beside you. Reluctantly, you stood up from Yunho’s lap to see his bulge starting to poke a tent in his pants. “Clearly, I have the same effect on you”

“Always,” he admitted.

Walking over to the bed, you both laid against the pillows. Yunho took up a Nintendo Switch that you recognized to be his, and started playing a real game on it. A bit of realism, you supposed. You also realized he gave you the exact opportunity you just described.

“You can’t ride me,” Yunho said, pressing the ‘start’ button. Mario Kart. The man’s playing Mario Kart in the middle of a photoshoot with you nearly naked beside him. “You can only use your mouth or hands.”

“But what about-”

“-Mouth or hands, YN,” he glanced at you to repeat the order, then went back to choosing his character. “Should I play Mario or Bowser? Bowser has a cooler car though…”

You lifted his shirt as high as his position allowed, showing the camera Yunho’s stomach. While he did work out, he didn’t have the sculpted abdomen of San or Mingi. Sliding your hand further up, you rubbed your thumb over one of his nipples, which you knew excited him just as much.

“I like Peach the most,” you said, pinching his nipple softly and knowing what it’s doing to him.

“That’s just because you like her car and she’s a princess,” he gave a snort as the game started.

“I think she’s a relatable character,” you lied, lifting his shirt to kiss at his sternum. Straddling his thighs, you started playing with both nipples while kissing up and down his stomach. “She’s a young lady with a lot of responsibilities who is constantly sought after by various men in power.”

“You have a very strange take on video games,” Yunho laughed, “Like with Valorant.”

“I don’t get it,” you grunted, going further down his body to his shorts. Cupping the outline of his cock, you realized he didn’t wear boxers underneath. The heat radiated against your hand, and you felt it grow harder under your touch. “Is it there a storyline of some kind?”

“Not really,” he answered, the sound of the buttons being the only sound between you. “You make matches with different characters and gain XP to get more.” He glanced at you for a brief second, “You’d hate it.”

“I like games with a story,” you shrugged. You slowly felt up his thighs with soft kisses and squeezes, the muscles flexing when you hit a sensitive spot. The thought of his length inches away made your mouth water. You started rocking your hips for any form of friction, your clit pulsating much like the cock so close to you. “It gives me an objective,” you lowered your voice as you hovered over his groin, “Something to focus on and work through.”

Only one layer separates you and his dick. No doubt he’d done this strategically after Seonghwa told him about the Animal Crossing shoot. You traced your hand over the outline poking through the thin fabric, his stomach tensing when you felt his tip. His length growing, you grabbed it through his shorts once it started rising. Yunho clearly had trouble concentrating as you stroked him to a full erection with his own clothes; he bit his lip when you kissed back up his stomach to his sternum. Teasing your boyfriend dragged out your own arousal, which made you grind into the flat mattress underneath. Your entrance clenched for something to grab onto, but fluttered when nothing came. Simply toying with Yunho while he ignored you for a game had your clit throbbing for his attention. You sat up and removed the shirt to reveal a dark green bra underneath. Everything inside you screamed to reach for his hand after you took off the bra, but he needed them to hold his console. Instead, you laid back on top of him and made sure his clothed hardon nestled between your thighs.

“I don’t get the appeal of it though,” you said, sliding his shirt further up to take a nipple in your mouth. The soft flesh hardened once more and you heard Yunho intake a breath sharply. “You’re just shooting other people. It gets boring,” You made sure he felt your own nipples dragging up his stomach as you took the other nipple in your mouth. If only you had clamps to put on them; Yunho enjoyed that more than the others. “Can’t be that hard.”

He chuckled through a moan, shifting when you nipped at one with your teeth. “It is,” he replied. “You have to concentrate a lot, and be good at aiming. It’s not the game’s fault you suck at aiming.”

“I suck a lot of things,” you said, swirling your tongue around a nipple, “But aiming isn’t one of them.”

Were there not a whole staff of people and a photographer nearby, Yunho would’ve put the switch aside and rolled you onto your back.

“I beat you in every match when you’ve attempted to play,” he said, playing another round of Mario Kart.

“Because you have more experience than me,” you pouted, starting to kiss back down his body once more. Yunho paused the game to remove his shirt, since his cheeks and neck started to flush. Atinys would love this just as much as you. “So, it’s not fair.”

“Maybe when we get home, I can teach you how to play properly,” he suggested, “Since your approach to video games is ‘figure it out as I play’. Tutorials be damned.”

“Tutorials take the fun out of it,” you giggled.

Yunho moaned once you pulled off his shorts, and took his cock in your hand. You realized he’d stopped playing, watching you as you started licking up his shaft to his tip. A part of you knew that this photobook is really for Atinys who’d want to see the members naked, so your naked body won’t be the focus of the photos. Even then, you saw Nami hovering to take photos of Yunho’s lust filled eyes and parted lips. You knew you’d love these photos as much as the fans. Stroking him lightly, you went back up his body to the base of his neck. Yunho’s long neck always looked pretty with hickies against the peachy skin. You sucked on the tender flesh as he started grinding into your hand. He clawed at the sheets underneath you both, eager to touch you but forcing himself to stay still. Good.

“Don’t you want to touch me, Yuyu?” you whined, “I love it when you touch me with those big hands of yours.” You kissed up his neck to his ear, giving it a soft nibble before saying, “When you grab my breasts while you’re pounding me into your bed…When you finger me…When you slide them into my mouth like this…” you took one hand and put two long digits in your mouth, humming softly.

“Tease,” he chuckled through gritted teeth, removing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. “You know I do. But, I think I’m pretty okay with you touching me.”

You went back down to his crotch where his cock started bumping against his lower stomach. Giving it a long, flat lick from bottom to top, you brought the reddening tip into your mouth. His dick throbbing on your tongue, pre-cum starting to slowly leak out, you imagined his tongue languidly rolling around your clit. Moving your hand in time with your mouth, giving soft squeezes right to the tip to make him groan, you thought of his mouth latched to your pussy. Lips would be wrapped around your clit as he suckled it gently, every groan vibrating against your clitoris. You pictured his hands grasping your buttocks, squeezing and spanking them lightly as his tongue lashes at your sex. When you felt yourself grinding against the mattress, you started riding the sensation as you pushed him to the back of your throat. Your moans rumbled in your throat, cut off and gagged by his thick tip.

"Fuck, baby," Yunho moaned, hands sliding into your hair just to touch a part of you, "Fuck, yes, just like that." His encouragement made you let out a pitiful moan. When he looked down to see you humping the bed, he chuckled. "I bet you're absolutely aching down there, huh?"

“Mmm-hmm,” you gave a muffled reply that you made sure he felt.

“Let me see.”

You knelt up from your position and pulled down both shorts and panties. Yunho’s eyes, half-open and driven by lust, zeroed in between your thighs. He reached down to the pool of wetness nestled in your folds, spreading it around your lips and clit as you squirmed in place. Shifting positions so his head rested at the side of the bed, you knew this new position gave Nami a glimpse of your aching center inches from Yunho’s mouth. Gentle hands smoothed up and down your back as you continued sucking him again.

“I can’t stand to see my kitten like this,” he purred, kissing your inner thigh. “I hate leaving you wanting more.”

“Yunho, please…” you whimpered, knowing better than to rest your hips right on his face even if you wanted to.

You clutched his thigh the moment you felt his tongue on you. In this angle, Atinys will see Yunho’s expert mouth skills while also seeing his tongue glistening from spit and your juices. You were still aware enough to pull off him, jerk his wet cock a few times for the light and camera to capture it. Yunho kept his licking light and teasing, but that was enough to drive you wild. After a few more licks, you started shuddering and quaking on top of him. Sensing your orgasm approaching, Yunho pulled your lips apart and focused directly on your clit. Sparks of sensitivity joined the tightness threatening to explode any moment. After a few deep grunts and groans, Yunho forced himself deep into your throat as thick, hot cum shot from the tip. Taking it slow, you breathed through your nose to avoid suffocation and quickly swallowed the oozing substance. You made sure to eventually pull away for shots of cum leaking from the head and in between the slit to his shaft. Yunho always came a lot when you had sex. Mostly because he didn’t pursue you as much as other members, preferring to save sex for special moments instead. Not that you minded. You swallowed every drop regardless of how much it was.

Yet, he pulled you off once he finished. The phantom sensation of his tongue lingered, but quickly disappeared. A frustrated whine escaped you once again. “Yuyu!” you pouted, shaking on the bed to try tempting him, “I didn’t finish.”

“I didn’t say you would,” he breathed, smirking at your desperation. He leaned over to you, kissing you deeply, “Don’t worry. Mingi’s next,” he muttered to you, giving you the shirt to throw on over your naked body, “And he never refuses,you anything.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s been watching this whole time,” he shifted his eyes to the corner where you’d entered through. In the darkness, you could almost make out a shape hiding behind the curtain. Seeing a glimpse of an arm, you guessed it might be him. “And I know he’s rock hard by now.”

“I would imagine so,” you replied, spreading your legs slightly in his direction. “Is it slutty of me to say that I can’t wait for it?”

The figure shifted around when you said it within earshot.

“Very slutty,” Yunho answered, kissing your cheek, “But we like that.”

“What’s his theme?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“A hint then?”

“Nope. Now, get back to the dressing room,” he said, nuzzling your neck until you giggled. “Before I get tempted and start teasing you again. Mingi’s waiting.”

The both of you laughed, but you still forced yourself off the bed and out of his embrace. Anyone else might feel embarrassed by what just happened, but you only worried about the taste still in your mouth. Nothing a lemonade cup doesn’t fix.

***

You smiled widely at the pastel pink crop top and white shorts waiting in the dressing room. Juwon said Mingi chose a pastel kawaii appearance for you, since he always likes your ‘cute’ outfits. Juwon dressed you in the outfit, complete with white tennis shoes and rainbow knee-high socks while Minsu added heavy blush on your cheeks and faded lip gloss. She made your eyes appear larger, made your nose smaller, adding freckles shaped like stars and a little heart jewel to your makeup. Hair clipped back, they added pink and purple with Pusheen hair clips.

It was utterly and sickeningly adorable. You never felt cuter, and the set amplified your appearance somehow. Walls painted bright yellow, the fluffy carpet matched the purple and yellow bed dotted with strawberries and strawberry milk cartons. Several squishmallow plushies covered the headboard, and you didn’t stop yourself from diving into them.

“Can I keep these?!” you asked, hugging a birthday-themed Pusheen plushie, “Ah, I want them all.”

“We’ll see,” said the director.

You already started deciding which ones you’d be stuffing in your duffle bag when you noticed something tucked underneath the stuffed toys. Pulling it out, you saw it was a basic porn magazine. A half-naked woman knelt in front of white backdrop, giving you a seductive expression. You flipped through it to see more naked women in various poses, and wondered what it could be for until you saw the rabbit vibrator sitting underneath a boba-tea shaped plush toy. You laughed, turning on the pink and translucent toy to feel it vibrate in your hand. Mingi will want to use it, and that makes you hornier.

“I’m guessing you like it then?” Nami asked, approaching the stage.

“I do,” you grinned, picking up a Pusheen sushi plush, “I knew Mingi’s would be something cute. He always says he likes my ‘cute side’.” Yes, you’re taking sushi Pusheen.

“He was very descriptive in what he wanted,” she told you. “He even picked out the plushies on the bed. He said he wanted it to be ‘realistic’ to your tastes.”

“Does that include the toy and porn mag?” The two of you laughed.

You wondered how long this innocence will last before his boner takes over. “Do you consider Mingi a cute person?” asked a producer.

“Very,” you smiled, nodding as you held a Hello-Kitty angel plush. “I know on stage he’s all sexy and intimidating, doing all his hip thrusts and expressions, but in real life, he’s an angel. He always cares about others, sometimes more than himself, and he’s so loving.” It brought on a bout of sadness, knowing the internal struggles Mingi feels on occasion. The time he’d taken a hiatus for his mental health scared you the most, since you’d seen it bring him to his lowest point. It made your heart ache. “Ever since I met him, he’s told me he wants to be someone I can lean on when I’m sad. He heard from other idols that Companions can have it rough because of their idols’ schedules or that they have to manage multiple members, and he worried about me. So, yes, he’s a very sweet person.”

Though, you didn’t mention that your sweetheart had a dirty side. Yes, he could be submissive at times, but not always. Seeing your outfit and the set, Mingi wanted to corrupt his cute kitten. The thought alone made your clit pulse again. When Mingi came out, you weren’t surprised. In a sleeveless black shirt, baggy black pants, with several chains and rings, Mingi dressed up as the bad boy to your innocent character. Seeing his muscled arms and sides made you shudder; the sight of his rings had your thighs clenching. He came right over to you, unable to focus on anything but you on the bed.

“You look so pretty,” he said between kisses, “Much prettier than I thought.”

“Thanks,” you beamed, giving a sweet smile. “Why this?”

“Because,” he kissed you again, sitting down and bringing you into his arms, “Ever since that classroom shoot I haven’t stopped thinking about you like this.” He cupped your chin, looking over your blush and freckles, “A sweet, innocent girl who's secretly a total slut.” You shuddered when he kissed your neck, starting at the top by your ear and going down, “Who watches porn and plays with herself all the time.”

“And you’ll be the tough guy who catches me?” You guessed, knowing it was a fantasy of his.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Who else would I be, hm?”

“I think we should get started now,” said Nami, setting up her camera again. “Mingi, you could go by the door and pretend you’re peeking in her room. YN, you can pull out the mag and just do what comes natural to you.”

Your arousal reigniting, you didn’t hesitate to open the magazine to a random page and spread your legs apart. Nami got full shots of the scene, capturing Mingi poking his head in the door to watch you. You grabbed the vibrator to slide up and down your clothed sex, only just feeling the head cast over your slit over and over. You whined at the tight sensations coming back to you. The woman in the photo was in a bathtub, rose petals clinging to her wet, soapy skin, as she delicately touched herself. It reminded you of the times Mingi caught you in a bathtub or a shower. You learned quickly he liked the “catching-you-in-the-act” scenario, and you sometimes did it just to tease him.

Nami then instructed Mingi to open the door and look at you in shock, and you did the same thing. A few shots later, Mingi is on the side of the bed and holding the toy. The magazine opened to a new page beside you, neither of you paid attention to it as he slid off the shorts to reveal your soaked panties. Pure white, the cotton fabric did nothing to hide your wetness and Mingi licked his lips.

“Naughty,” he said, kissing from your chest to your neck, “Did Seonghwa and Yunho get you that worked up?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin. You looked down to see him lazily slide the toy up and down between your legs. “God, I wanna cum so badly.”

“I know, baby,” he stopped the teasing to lift your shirt over your breasts, “And we’ll get there soon. Don’t worry.”

You kept an innocent face as he pulled down your bra to reveal your tits. Nami took shots of him sucking the hard nubs; Mingi made sure she saw his tongue flicking and swirling around them after every suckle. You couldn’t stop yourself from wriggling underneath him. Everything leading up to the point inflated the balloon waiting to burst inside you. Their touches. Their kisses. It all sent you spiraling, and you didn’t care about the crew watching nearby. You didn’t care if this turned into softcore porn for Atinys to enjoy. You only cared about Mingi using his lips and his toy on you before fucking you himself.

“Mingi,” you cried, “Put it in me, please.”

“Soon,” he promised, “You’ll get it soon. Here…”

He turned on the vibrator and pressed it to one of your nipples. The tip tickled the supple skin and sent sparks through the center. He gently swished it over each one until you were writhing on the bed. You thought you might finish right there before he suddenly stopped. He chuckled at your pathetic mewling, then removed his shirt. His body, well defined, was mouthwatering. Reaching forward, you brought him close to kiss him deeply. It gave you an excuse to feel his soft muscles and smooth skin.

“Stroke me,” he murmured as he unzipped his pants.

He didn’t need to say it twice. He knelt beside you so you could easily withdraw him from his boxers. Already rock hard, it sprung out once you pulled them down and you instantly took hold of him. A low groan escaped him as you began lightly stroking him. Atinys said they loved his size, and so did you. After stroking him for a short while, envisioning it buried hilt-deep inside, you blinked up at him innocently.

“Oppa,” you said innocently, “Can I put it in my mouth like in class? I really like doing it now, and Mr. Jeong says I’ve gotten better.”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes full of lust and focused on you. “Go ahead.”

Slowly, you slipped his tip into your mouth. Nami took photos of his euphoric expression, catching closeups of your lips around his length and his muscles tensing from the pleasure. You’d almost forgotten her and the crew in the heat of the moment. Something in you wanted to be more impressive than usual. Sliding him further into your mouth, you stayed flushed to him to keep his cock near your throat. Mingi groaned deeply at this, unable to stop his hips from pushing forward. The toy in his hand went back to your pussy, the distance only putting the tip against you. He only broke away from you to pull down your panties, exposing your dripping sex to the camera. Once he was back, you continued working him with both your hand and mouth. Twisting your hand in every stroke drove him crazy, and he rapidly rubbed the toy over your pussy so you moaned around him.

“Just like that,” he huffed, “Just like in class. You’re doing such a good job.”

“I’ve been practicing,” you said, playing along as you licked his dripping tip.

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled, tapping it on your tongue before pushing back inside. “With the other guys?” You nodded, and he grinned. “Slutty girl,” he forced himself deep in your throat to gag you, “We’ve got you well trained, don’t we?”

“Yes,” you coughed, “I can’t stop touching myself now.” You slobbered over his tip, making sure the clicking camera caught it, “It’s all I think about. All I want is your cocks deep inside me,” you gave a whimper before putting him back in.

“I’ll remember that for our next class,” he said, putting the toy on your stomach, “So you can show everyone what you’ve learned. Like how you use toys. Put this in there for me, and show me how you use it.”

You didn’t hesitate to grab the rabbit toy and push the tip inside. Moaning around his width, you slid the vibrating toy in and out of your tightness. The light buzzing joined your muffled moans; the rabbit ears continuously pressed to your aching clit while the curved tip pushed on your g-spot. Mingi muttered occasional encouragement and praise as you let your pleasure fully take over. At one point, you held it inside, causing your legs to lift and quake from the sensations overpowering you. It moved to the pulsing of your walls, and you nearly came hands-free.

“No, no, no,” Mingi said, removing the toy and smiling when you whined, “You don’t get to cum before me. This is all for me,” he rubbed your throbbing clit with his hand, rapidly moving it side to side, “This is meant to pleasure me, not you.”

“Mingi!”

“Keep sucking my dick,” he ordered, shoving himself back inside, “And fucking your pussy.”

A bit more forceful this time, you relished in the change as you obeyed his command. The both of you watched the other come undone. The sweetness Mingi was known for shed entirely, turning into a hard dom who’d edge you as long as he liked. You still hadn’t gotten the complete hang of it, even after a few practice sessions with Hongjoong. You knew once that orgasm approached, you’d chase it down. With Mingi fully fucking your mouth, it was only a matter of time. The buzzing on your cunt and his length penetrating your throat, you started shaking and moaning louder.

“Stop,” he said, reaching around to take the toy from you. You kicked your feet and cried, though this was muffled by the dick in your mouth. “I don’t care,” he replied, hearing your protest, “I haven’t finished yet. Make me cum and I’ll think about letting you finish.”

You did what you knew he liked: working the tip with your tongue. Each time he slid in or out, you made sure your tongue grazed the wrinkled underside of the head. It had been when he leaned forward for a different angle that the bed dipped on either side of you.

“Look how pretty our little dongsaeng is,” cooed Seonghwa, pushing stray hairs from your temples. “She takes it so well, doesn’t she?”

“Every time,” Yunho answered, grabbing the rabbit toy. He turned it back on and put it close to your clit. “I give her private lessons, and she’s always so good for me.”

“I should join,” he replied. “I could use the practice and you know she loves more than one.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” Mingi panted, not showing you any mercy as he choked you with his cock in different intervals. “I’m so close. Keep sucking me like that, just like that.”

He kept your cries muffled as Yunho pushed the toy back inside you. Moving tortuously slow, you shook and twitched to the teasing sensation. Even at this speed, you felt yourself close to your orgasm.

“Make him cum, YN-ssi,” Yunho said, “Make him cum in your throat like you do with me. I know how much you love it.” He gradually picked up the pace, “Our sweet YN loves cum.”

You did and you hated that they knew that. Soon, Mingi gripped the headboard tightly as he hunched over. Muscles tight and hard in their constriction, he shuddered as he came. Thick, hot and slightly tangy, Mingi’s cum filled your mouth and throat. You swallowed what you could manage before he withdrew, strings of it coming out with him. Nami grabbed photos of those when the other two moved away to give her space.

When Mingi finally dismounted, the other two converged on you. Seonghwa licked and sucked on your breasts while Yunho kept your legs wide open for the toy.

“Go on, baby,” Seonghwa groaned, “You can cum now. You’ve been such a good slut; you deserve it.”

“Yo-you promise?”

“We promise,” Yunho said, not holding back with the toy, “We want to see you cum for us. You look so pretty when you do.”

Streams of curses escaped you as your orgasm finally hit. All the pressure inside you came out in small uncontrollable spurts. Their constant praises and light touches only helped you along. You thought it might go on forever, and you wanted it to, chasing it down by pushing into the toy. The vibrating ears suddenly spiked your sensitive clit, making you close your legs before Yunho forced them back open. He didn’t stop despite the little sparks radiating inside.

“Aw, look at the little mess you made,” Seonghwa grinned, nuzzling your cheek. “You’re leaking all over.”

“Someone should clean that up,” said Yunho, who didn’t hesitate to start licking the trails leaking out of you. Nami took the opportunity to get a few quick shots.

You let out soft cries as Mingi and Yunho took turns lapping and sucking up your juices. As Seonghwa gently soothed you, a part of you wished the crew would leave you with them. They’d gotten their pictures and shots. They could go now.

“How about we continue this at home, hm?” Seonghwa suggested as he kissed your cheek. “You’re more comfortable there and we’d be alone.”

“Please,” you said, finally taking in the people there. You didn’t think you’d feel this way afterwards. Heat filling your cheeks, you sort of hid in his shoulder which made the three men laugh softly.

“Now is when you’re shy?” he teased, kissing your temple. “Come on. We’re done here.”

They properly cleaned you with warm, damp towels given to them by the staff, giving you more praise and kisses as they went. Juwon brought over a robe and comfortable clothes for you. This felt different from the previous episode, since then there’d been no staff watching you together. It almost killed the bliss currently coming over you. Even if they weren’t, you imagined some seeing you differently now that they’d seen what you’re like in bed. A part of you wondered, as you got into the van an hour later, if you’d end up regretting this decision. It hit you that people would be seeing most of the photos, and watching the episode. You liked to think the staff would make it tasteful and not so graphic, since they’d done that with the classroom episode. But, the point of Companion shows was the sex; it was the main focus that drew people 19 and over in.

“Come here,” Yunho brought you into his arms once you arrived home, kissing your neck and lifting your shirt.

Clothes ended up on the floor leading to his bedroom, where the three of them cornered you on the bed. Soon, the four of you were whimpering, moaning and groaning as you tangled in each other. You couldn’t get enough of each man. You rarely felt so desperate for their touches before. By the time it was over, you became a pile of sweaty, panting puddles on Yunho’s bed. Curling up close to him, his arm around your waist and nose buried in your hair, you slowly fell asleep.

You couldn’t think of a better place to be.

****

Y/N: heeeeey been a while since I did one of these! God, can anyone stop these folks from getting it on?? No, and nobody wants to either! I hope you guys liked this one, and reblog/like <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #song mingi #mingi ateez #seonghwa ateez #yunho ateez #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #idol companion series #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #ateez smut #pirateeznet

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astraeus-tree · 16 days ago

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Chapter 1

『For we're all that we need』

Disparities Between Our Souls

You were enjoying a peaceful lunch with your husband when you two were transported into your home-universe that you hadn't been in since 5 years ago

Disclaimer: This chapter focuses on Miguel and Reader, Batfam is only implied/mentioned. They will appear next chapter

Prologue <- Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

The halls of the Spider HQ were big, never failing to amaze you. The abundant amount of spidermen had surprised you when you first woke up here and to find out you were one yourself was even more of a shock.

Never in your life would you have expected to be transported into another world and become some sort of mutant, but you definitely wouldn’t change it. Especially now as you swing to your dear husband’s office.

Miguel O’hara, the leader and founder of the Spider HQ and also the one who chased after a 16 year-old boy. Yep, that was (un)fortunately your man. Thankfully that whole fiasco was over before you even arrived. From what you heard, he eventually ended up realising and coming to terms that canon events weren’t so canon and they could be altered, depending on the universe.

But enough of that. You were here today, swinging around the HQ to deliver your husband some food because you knew he would be busy taking care of the spiderverse—or as he likes to call it, ‘The Arachno-Humanoid Poly Multiverse’— to take care of himself.

With a plate of food in your hands, you swung up to the platform he was on.

“Darling, I have some food for you. Take a break and eat with me?” You asked him.

“Mi corazón, I’m busy, you know this.” He stated, almost groaning but in a teasing way.

“Miguel.” You stood your ground and watched him as he sighed, moving closer to you and pulling the screens closer. Fine, you could compromise with this, as long as he ate. “How have you been, dear? Need any help dealing with the anomalies?”

“No, not now at least. For now, they’ve mostly been in low numbers and the new recruits are usually able to deal with them themselves.”

“Alright then. Any leads as to why they’re still appearing though?”

“Still none. I would’ve hoped that they’d had disappeared when Morales was finally dealt with but they’re still ongoing. Lyla’s theorising something else it at play here and I fear she could be right.”

You stayed quiet, deep in thought. These anomalies were off, something about them had given you the wrong feeling, especially when you were on-field fighting them. You had mentioned it before to Miguel, but you both chalked it up to the fact that in technicality, you were also an anomaly, a similar but also vastly different case to Miles Morales.

“Do you think I’m related to the anomalies in some way?” You blurt out.

“As much as I hate to admit it, it’s most likely.” Your brows furrowed in concern. This further complicated the matter at hand. Being an anomaly yourself meant you were already connected to the others in some way, but if there was any chance that this relationship between you and the anomalies was any deeper, danger was most certainly waiting just around the corner. You two spent the next few moment in silence, slowly processing that possibility.

“Well enough of that. I came here so that you would finally eat, so take some.” You nudged a roll of pandesal towards him, alongside a cup of coffee. You had your own right pair next to you, standing on a makeshift table made of webs.

He sighed before muttering a small thank you under his breath and the smallest smile on his face. Well, you’d take what you could get. You both enjoyed your food and drink in silence as you sat on the ledge of the platform and Miguel continued working. It was a comfortable quiet, unspoken words of love were understood and picked up by the both of you. A small respite in both of your usually chaotic lives.

But as luck would have it, this peace did not last long. You didn’t even have time to finish your food when a portal opened up in front of the platform. You stood up quickly, stance in a fighting position, Miguel also suddenly on alert, his arm in front of you in a protective manner.

Portals were a normal thing for the both of you, an everyday use even. Yet, this was weird. No portal had ever opened up in this room. Most respected the privacy of their leader and always opened the portals outside of his office. That wasn’t even the most off-putting thing. This portal was different, the shapes and colours were all wrong, all different from the ones spawned from the gizmos on your wrists. Yet, it seemed familiar to you. Like you saw it once and then stored it at the back of your mind to forget about it. That couldn’t have been right though, any portals you’ve seen are the ones made by the watch.

You didn’t have time to worry about this though. Danger could be come out of that opening at any moment and you needed to be ready. But danger would not come to you. No. It would pull you into it instead. Quite literally when both you and your husband were tugged into the portal.

The journey through the portal was short, but most certainly not smooth. With being pulled in unexpectedly and the inside itself feeling like it was tossing you around, the landing was rough. It felt like you were picked up and were thrown away carelessly with indifference.

Miguel regained to his feet before you and held out a hand for you to help you stand up. As you oriented to your surroundings, you could feel your blood go cold. The sky was dark, vastly different from the midday sky that you were previously in. Even though it was night, stars didn’t light up the night sky, instead smog filled the skylines. Buildings stood tall, reaching for the sky but always too short. The streets were quiet, like a the silence of a forest when a predator is near. The rain dripping onto your head was the final confirmation.

You were in Gotham.

You were back in the city you grew up in. The city that raised you to be the person you are now. The city you had so many conflicting emotions about. You were not ready for this confrontation. In fact, you might never be.

So, like the coward you were, you quickly pulled your mask back to cover your face and turned to Miguel. He quickly takes the hint and puts his on as well.

“We have to get home. We can’t stay here.” You fiddle with your gizmo, attempting to open a portal back up to the HQ, but nothing. Miguel looked at your struggle and tried to get his own to work as well but it was a futile attempt. Nothing seemed wrong with the gizmos, except for the fact the no portal was opening up. You hoped that everything else was working fine.

Miguel had no knowledge of this strange world. All he knew was that you didn’t want either of you to stay here, and who was he to doubt your words? The situation was alright at first. Yes, it was suspicious that you two were dropped off here by some unknown entity, but there seemed to be no immediate danger and you two could easily open a portal back to the HQ.

At least he thought so.

But when both of your gizmos failed, he could feel worry start seeping in. No, this is fine, he could fix the gizmo. He didn’t have any tools though. What was even wrong with it? It had been working perfectly fine before you were dropped into this foreign universe.

He could see you pacing back and forth on the rooftop you two were on. Although he couldn’t see your face, he knew there was a frown etched onto our face.

“Mi corazón.” He called for you, but you were still in your trance. “Corazón.” He called out a little louder, and still nothing. He quickly gave up on words and walked over to you, softly grabbing your hand to pull you out.

“What?” You snap at him before regretting it almost instantly. You take a big breath and try to calm yourself down. “I’m sorry, I’m just stressed.”

“It’s alright mi vida. Can you tell me what’s got you so worried and where we are?” He spoke to you softly. You take another breath, mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you were about to have.

“We’re in my home universe.”

“Ah.” That was all he needed to know. He had heard enough of your ramblings about your old life to know why you were reacting this way.

“Why isn’t the gizmo working?” You ask, point-blank.

“I’m not sure. Maybe there’s something about this universe that’s stopping us from being able to communicate with the others. I attempted to get in contact with other spidermen but no response.” The Spider HQ must be a mess right now, with the sudden disappearance of their leader. He hoped you two could quickly make it back home or else you two would be coming back to chaos.

You opened your mouth to say something but were interrupted when you felt your spider senses tingling. You could see Miguel’s signature scowl form on his face, it seemed he could hear the danger you were sensing.

You both take a look around at your surroundings, and not too far off into the distance you see a Doc Ock terrorising the poor citizens of Gotham.

No, that wasn’t right. Your universe shouldn’t have a Doc Ock, hell you didn’t have any of the standard spidey villains. There was only one reason for this

An anomaly was in your universe.

Farther into the distance, you could see the bat sign light up the night sky. Shit. You needed to hurry before your family could get to this. You and Miguel looked at each other and nodded. A silent agreement to continue the conversation later and also take this anomaly down as soon as possible.

Taglist

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato

Another chapter done, yippee! I'm sorry this is focusing more on Reader and Miguel, but I needed to introduce some plot points and it ended up being too long for the batfam to make an appearance

As said in a previous post, I don't speak Spanish, so if those nicknames are cringe or something then please do tell me how to improve it and I will gladly change it

Anyways this has been another busy week. I finished my prepL, took my license photo, started watching the bayverse transformers movies and prepared for the start of the school year on Tues

Speaking of school, I have no idea if that will affect my upload schedule but it most likely won't until a few weeks in.

As per usual, you are free to point out any mistakes. I don't edit my work cuz my ADHD won't allow me to and I don't have a beta reader so I am bound to have some mistakes here and there

Fun fact, my titles (except for the story title) come from songs. The Prologue came from Never Love An Anchor by The Crane Wives and this chapter's came from Abandon Ship by Fin. I recommend you listen to them, they're so good!

Have a great day everyone <3

462 notes · View notes

greg-montgomery · 9 months ago

Note

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

#writing hotch fluff to deal with life!!#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #ask #hotch 🪐

1K notes · View notes

hotteokyu · 14 days ago

Text

wooyoung's sister

Synopsis ~ Your brother's career would be over if not for his pretty substitute. You can sing, dance, and make a perfect impression of Wooyoung, so you accept his plea. You have your own reasons, of course. It's about time you meet the man thirsting for your innocent brother and put him in his place. You hate people like him. Choi San.

So you become Wooyoung for a while.

Pairing ~ san x reader (wooyoung's twin sister)

Word count ~ 14.8k

Genre / warnings ~ romance, enemies to lovers, smut, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MDNI, gender-swap, reader has anger issues (plot point), mention of cult, binder, reader is protective of brother, hates skinship, hates affection, hates everything, san is made fun of a lot, pls dont take it to heart i love him, many thoughts of violence, cursing, trust issues, passing out, some angst, clingy san, lego live ft. Hwa, Hwa is done with their cat fights, slumber party, strawberry cake drama, description of period cramps, drunk confession, angry tension, hongjoong forces them to make up, angry sex, frustrated sex, dom!reader, sub-ish San, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, biting, marking, edging, rough sex

a/n ~ I had a lot of fun writing this :p plz tell me what you think!

It’s not like you didn’t expect it to happen. You knew there’d be a day your brother would come knocking on your door, begging for your help. And you would do anything for your baby brother.

But this is crazy.

There’s an entire team of staff in your bedroom. One is cutting your precious, nurtured hair. One is wrapping a binder around your chest. One is measuring your feet. Another is wiping the pretty glitter from your eyes. Two ladies are packing your bags. And the final one is giving you small sips of water to calm your nerves.

Three bodyguards are shivering outside in the cold rain, refusing to come in to keep dry. A personal driver is waiting in the car out in the parking lot.

In the living room, your brother, his manager, and the CEO of KQ Entertainment are sitting comfortably on your couch.

There must be a weight limit for the apartment.

And there must be a capacity for the absolute rage that can fill your body. Your hair is gone, your features masculinized. You have no tits. They’re gone.

But you take a deep breath. There’s an audience. A big one. You can act like a crazy bitch once you’re alone. Act sane. Calm… down…

Wooyoung’s jaw drops when he sees you, and there’s a single twitch in your left eye.

Calm.

With a huff, you sit on the floor facing the couch everyone else is occupying. Wooyoung is looking away, puckering his lips guiltily.

“I heard you can dance,” the man beside your brother says.

“Yeah, I can dance. I was a trainee at Big Hit for, like, four years,” you scoff, receiving a snicker from your brother.

“I heard you know almost every ATEEZ choreography,” he says, leaning back with a satisfactory smile as you nod.

“He comes home after every comeback and teaches me his parts.” You point at Wooyoung with a deep frown. “He makes us perform it for our grandma for cookies.”

“I heard you can sing, too,” he says eagerly grinning as you nod again. “You don’t sound much like your brother, though. I heard you can do a good impression of him, though.”

Yup. You can sing too. Sing like Wooyoung, dance like Wooyoung, laugh like Wooyoung. For years you’d pretended to be him in different situations. Who knew it would be so helpful in the long run?

But that’s how your night starts. A long boring conversation. Basically… Wooyoung was in Paris for fashion week and befriended a kind lady. He gave her an autograph, as one of her friends was a huge fan. Turns out she was a sex worker and actually signed him up for her cult. It’s a group for worshiping some sex god. KQ needs to get your brother out of trouble in a Paris court. And, obviously, his career is basically over, if not for you, his beautiful stand-in. As long as no one finds out about it, Wooyoung should be fine. It’s an opportunity no one else could have. It’s perfect.

You aren’t even mad.

Which is a first.

You’re just so confused as to how your brother can be so stupid.

A sex cult? That’s crazy??

But you’re already dressed and ready to go. You’d already agreed. So, sure, whatever.

Of course, you have your own reasons.

You were a trainee at BigHit with Wooyoung and Yeosang, but the only reason you trained there was to keep an eye on your brother. He has this thing about him. People find him cute, small, intimidating, sure, but they like a challenge. Everyone falls in love with him. Everyone wants to touch him and love him forever. Absolutely not.

When he and Yeosang moved to KQ, you tried to follow them, but the company wasn’t looking for girls. You got angry and lashed out in the practice room. Got kicked out. Never danced again.

Anyway, you like this idea of being Wooyoung for a few weeks. Because now you can see just how his members act. And you can set them straight.

“Ah, there’s one thing I forgot to mention,” Wooyoung mumbles, eyeing the CEO warily. “She has, like, crazy anger issues.”

Your brother keeps his room plain, black and gray, with zero posters, and zero personality. That’s weird for a guy with a sparkling, outgoing persona. You expected him to have a little bit of something showing in here. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time to decorate. Maybe he’s busy playing games when he does have the time.

You sit down on his bed and pucker your lips as you test its cushion. It’s stiff, your booty sinking just slightly into the memory foam. This will be nice to snuggle up on once you clean all of the sheets.

You take out your phone and go through the notes Wooyoung sent you. Routines, outfits, locations of items and places, dishes, info about the members, dances to le- Your eyes backtrack and a sinister grin grows on your pretty little face.

There’s a lot of useless information, like birthdays and representative animals. But he also wrote exactly what you needed to know to get started on your affection purge.

Your temporary roommates, Choi Jongho and Kim Hongjoong, are both reserved to their areas apparently. You like that. They know their places. They won’t be much of a problem. Yeosang, you know. He won’t be a problem. Song Mingi, you read, is big and awkward. He doesn’t initiate much affection, but he can be a bit freaky at times. Park Seonghwa is silly and affectionate but in a motherly way. How cute. Jeong Yunho is just a big puppy. He’ll come play with you on his own or whenever you want. He’ll like what you like, but he doesn’t pester at all.

Now… you don’t know this Choi San, but you know you hate him and his kind. Affectionate, kisses, skinship, clingy, likes Wooyoung very much. You were expecting to find someone like him here, but seeing it now in front of you, you’re fuming.

How unprofessional. How ignorant.

You’ll fix it, though. You gotta brush off your dusty skills, but you can fix it.

For two days, you have private singing, dance, and performance lessons. You don’t meet any of the members except for Jongho eating breakfast while playing a game on his phone. He hardly says hi as you walk out the door.

For those days, you’re content. You’re a natural, and you’ve already been trained and taught everything throughout your life. Each night, you run everything anyway. Wooyoung keeps his room cold as hell, so dancing doesn’t even make you hot.

The first day at dance practice with the rest of the members, however… You don’t think you’ve gone from completely fine to fucking steaming with anger in such a short amount of time before.

A man dares to put his grimy hands on you?? AND he thinks you’re Wooyoung?!

You memorized Choi San’s face because you were gonna steer clear, but this bitch pulls you into a hug as soon as you walk through the door. You step away immediately, staring in disbelief at the man.

So this is Choi San. He’s taller than you but not by too much. He’s big, wide, and strong. He’s got dimples as he cracks a cheeky grin, raising his groomed brow. His black hair is brushed nicely, clean, and soft on his head. He looks fluffy and innocent, much like a kitten. Cats are brutal and disloyal. How could Wooyoung let this man with obvious ulterior motives get anywhere near him?

He grabs your arm, and you let out a noise of confusion as he pulls you to his chest. “I missed you, Youngie~” he mumbles, squishing his cheek against your head as he holds you tight to him.

You squirm ‘cause, fuck, it’s awful, but it doesn’t seem like he even notices your struggle. He just holds you there effortlessly until he’s content. Then, with a gentle kiss to the side of your head, he walks away as if he hadn’t just fucking assaulted you.

You shook your head, wiping away the kiss he’d left against your hair. Ew. Ewewewew. A hug? A KISS?!?!?! Fuck, you’re going to throw up. Your cheeks are so hot, you literally are going to end it all right here. This is it. You’ve had enough, and it’s been, like, twenty seconds.

You take a deep, mind-cleansing breath. “Ya-!”

“Wooyoung~!” There’s Yeosang blocking your raging view of Choi San in an instant, and you shut your mouth.

“Yeosang!” you exclaim, reaching out and grabbing his hands excitedly. You bring them up to your chest and grin, gazing at his beautiful features. He’s grown so much. He’s still so handsome.

Yeosang is like a little brother to you despite being older. He’s a sweet angel who could do no wrong. You trust this boy with your life, and if anything happens to him, you’ll literally kill the man who hurt him. Is it wrong that you imagine it to be Choi San in your recent scenarios?

“Yeosang~ Yeosang~” you sing, wiggling your hands back and forth as he just stares at you with a happy smile. “Did you eat today? Did you eat yesterday?” You reach up and poke his cheek, your eyes shining happily as your finger sinks nicely into his soft skin. He shies away, scrunching his cheek to his shoulder, blushing lightly. What a cutie.

“What about you,” he mumbles, eying your interlocked fingers. “Your fingers are so thin.” He squeezes your hand gently, and you grin.

“Of course,” you say, though you in fact did not eat this morning or last night. You’ll probably be hungry by lunchtime, so you’ll eat then.

“That’s enough, Yeosangie…” Yeosang is pulled away by the waist, two thick arms wrapping around him and taking him from you. You drop your hands to your sides, feeling agitation build as you already know who it is. You glance up to see a pouting Choi San resting his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder, holding him hostage a few feet away.

“Hey, Choi San,” you say through gritted teeth. “We were talking.”

He shakes his head. “No. You were flirting with each other. I know it.” Why does this man talk in pout? Open your fucking lips and speak. “Yeosang is mine. You can’t have him.”

You feel a thick vein on your neck bulge as you restrain your lips from opening in a round of profanities. So he wants Wooyoung and Yeosang? He wants them both?

“San-ah,” Yeosang giggles shyly, trying to pry open San’s arms without any success. “We have to go practice.”

San sighs, slowly letting a fleeing Yeosang slip from his grip. As everyone gathers by the mirror, San offers you a soft, cat-like smile, but you turn away. He will get zero engagement from you. For your own sake, honestly. He makes you want to rip your shirt open and reveal your secret and shove this fucking binder in his mouth until he talks like a normal fucking human.

You take a deep breath. That was uncalled for. Violence is not okay… Violence is not the answer…

“Young-ah~” You’ve gotten used to his voice by the end of practice. He always has something to say, whether it’s a useless compliment or hyping up the room like you’re all some crazy fangirls and not the performers. He’s always gotta do something so fucking extra.

He leans his arm around your shoulder, and you shrug it off, walking just a bit faster to Wooyoung’s car.

“Youngie, I went to the plushie shop down the street from that one ramen place with the nice old lady, and they had one of those…” You had to master the art of giving so few fucks to the point of being deaf as you grew up alongside Wooyoung. His voice was fading into the abyss within seconds.

By the time you reach your car, you try to go inside quickly, but he tugs on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and holds you just a foot away from your exit. “What’s wrong, Wooyoung?” he asks softly. You turn around, liking how he’s finally noticing your attitude. Maybe he’ll be a quick learner. “Are you hungry?” As he’s met with your bratty glare, he pokes your stomach but pulls away before you can push him. “Do you want me to buy you mint choco ice cream?” He smirks as if the offer would be enticing in the slightest. Fuck, does Wooyoung like that toothpaste shit?

Before he pries any further, you get in the car and lock the door. He steps away pretty easily with a defeated sigh. You drive off with a small huff as you feel your cheeks simmer down from their red, heated boil. Choi San. Choi San. Fuck, you’re going insane.

“You can’t be mean to him,” Wooyoung says plainly. “He’s a soft, delicate romantic. You’ll break his heart.”

“I could not care less,” you say, collapsing on the depression-colored bed, with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Trust meeee,” he whines. “You’re gonna love him. He’s my best friend.”

“Yeosang is your best friend,” you correct. “There’s no way you’re friends with that.”

“That?” he scoffs. “He’s my second best friend, and so what? He’s sexy and kind!”

“He’s lewd, Wooyoung. He’s out to exploit you, I’m telling you!” You’re taking slow breaths before you lose your shit on your pathetic brother. He already has too much going on. You should save his ears for now.

Wooyoung’s quiet on the other end for a long moment. “Good luck at the performance tomorrow,” he says with a huff. “I heard you’re better at dancing than me.”

“Who said that?” you chuckle.

“Sannie.”

You know the poor maknae is trying to sleep next door, but as soon as you jam your finger into your phone to end the call, you throw it across the room and slam your head into your pillow, and you let out a fuming, long, guttural, muffled scream.

You’ve never performed for an actual audience before. Sure you did your evaluations back in your trainee days, but this is so different. You’ve never dolled up so much in your life. You’ll have to dance and sing like a professional for, like, almost an hour under the watch of thousands of crazy fans.

You’re standing completely still on the second step of the stairs leading to the stage. Your heart is beating like crazy, and you don’t know how to calm it down. You’re Wooyoung. You’re cool and awesome and everyone loves you. It doesn’t help much.

Fuck, when are you going out? You’ve been standing here forever. You don’t want to go out. I mean, you do, obviously. You’re kind of curious why your brother is so addicted to this life. You want to feel the thrill he always talks about.

Two thick hands are gently placed on your hips, but you push them away immediately, swerving around to come face-to-face with Choi. San.

“Don’t be nervous, Young-ah,” he says with a wide smile. “You’re so sexy.”

Your face contorts in disgust. “Don’t say that,” you scoff, eyeing his arrogant dimples as they crease further.

“You like it, though,” he says slyly, his eyes squinting as his lips pucker into a small, scrunched smile. “It’s your favorite compliment.”

“I don’t like compliments,” you deny, popping your brows as he gives a satisfying, confused little expression.

“You’re blushing, though,” he says, reaching slowly to poke your pink cheek. You smack his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” you say strictly, your eyes boring into his as he holds his hand to his chest, clearly offended.

“Why?” he says, turning away as he huffs. “Are you too hot? Will I get burnt?”

“Yes!” you nearly shout, sticking your face closer to his as you scowl. “So don’t touch me. Don’t even think about it!”

He blows you a sweet kiss as you turn around with deeply furrowed brows.

“Ya…” Seonghwa whispers from above you. You look up slowly, your ears ringing in the sudden silence. “They’ll hear you, Wooyoung,” he mumbles, placing a finger to his lips. “Be quiet.”

“Yeah, be quiet, Wooyoung,” San whispers, and you nearly sock him in the face.

Violence is the answer after the performance. Deep breaths. Calm… down…

Performing is oddly comforting. A place where you can jump and run and dance and sing and shout and everyone fucking loves it. Fuck, it feels so nice. You get it within the first few songs – why Wooyoung is addicted to this life. It’s fucking awesome.

Standing there, dancing with a grin from ear to ear, an arm drapes over your shoulders and pulls you close. You don’t even care. The fans eat it up. They scream and squeal and call out your names.

Your eyes meet Choi San’s, the two of you swaying and vibing with the music. He grins, his brows softly scrunched as he shouts out the lyrics of someone else’s part. No one can hear him, but he shouts it anyway, and he’s banging his head, messing up the beautiful work the stylists had done to his black hair. He’s so stupid, is all you can think at all. How can someone be so fucking stupid?

He brings the mic to his lips, and his head stills, his eyes locked in yours. You can hear him now, and, wow, his voice is really pretty. Of course, someone stupid can have a pretty voice. It’s not unheard of. Whatever.

You shrug his arm off and hop to the other side of the stage.

“Fuck yeahhh!!!!!” you exclaim as you leap down the stairs backstage. Your fists are jumping the air as you squeal, punching and swinging until you’re panting by yourself against the wall, leaning back against it with a wide grin.

You’re breathing so fast, your heart racing, and your chest hurts like crazy, but you’re still so fired up, too happy and excited to care. That was so fun. You miss it already. You want to go back up on stage. You want to sing more songs. You want…

Fuck, it’s really hard to breathe when you do so much without any breaks. Your smile is slowly fading as you try to concentrate on your breath. You bring your hands to your chest in confusion, feeling the tight binder under your grasp. It hasn’t caused problems before. It shouldn’t fucking start causing problems now.

But you feel your face turning red, and you aren’t angry at all. You can’t fucking breathe.

You choke on your next inhale, bending over as you break out in breathless coughs and gasps. Fuck, fuck! Your eyes are gonna pop the fuck out. You’re grabbing at your shirt, inhaling desperately, but nothing fucking comes in! The ground is getting too close…

Your forehead slams against the ground before the rest of your body follows. You can’t even shout or cry, your body curling in on itself as your vision turns to static, your hearing gone, your sense tingling.

You’re lifted delicately and slowly from the ground, your eyes closed with hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You wish that hit was enough to knock you out, but here you are in agonizing pain.

“Young-ah!” San must be here. You’re sitting now… on the floor. You can hardly open your eyes, but you feel his hands rushing to carefully remove your stage top. You’re wearing several layers on top of the binder, but alarm shoots through you when you see him taking them off one by one. Your eyes open wide, and you push him away with a gasp. He falls back, his brows furrowed in confusion. You clutch what’s left of your top, breathing heavily as you grit your teeth, your jaw trembling.

“Get out,” you say, hardly able to say it loud enough for his stupid fucking ears to hear. “Get out!” He doesn’t want to go. It’s clear, but you don’t need his help. “I’m fine,” you mutter. “I just need some time alone. I got dizzy.”

He slowly gets up, feeling a little speechless, a little betrayed. But he leaves finally, and you rush into a stall, lock the door, and tear the binder from your chest. You can breathe, and you collapse onto the toilet, gulping the air down as you lean your head against the wall beside you. Your heart can finally calm down, your breaths steadying nicely. But your chest pulls tight quickly as you start to regain some sense in your spinning mind.

This is so humiliating.

How could you almost let yourself get caught like that? How could you let yourself succumb to the weak efforts of the traitor wrapped around your chest? You grip the binder with a newfound hatred, glaring at it as your ears turn a deep shade of red.

No, it isn’t even your fault. It’s this fucking thing’s fault! And once everything’s over, you’re gonna make Choi San wear it for twice the time you will. He needs it more than you anyway with his massive… You glance away from your hands when you witness your fingers scrunch like a pervert in your lap.

Whatever. It’s not a big deal anyway.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, entering the code to your room with tired, hooded eyes. San is wearing pajamas, and he’s showered and squeaky clean, but his presence alone stinks like a possessive stalker cat. That’s a real thing. “It’s been a long day. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” Don’t cats sleep more than this? Why is he suddenly acting like he could be human?

“You owe me,” he mumbles, and you eye him, pausing as you open the door. He’s pouting, looking away stubbornly. “For making me worry.”

“Are you serious?”

He turns defensively, pointing at your chest but not daring to touch you. “How am I supposed to sleep if I don’t see you’re okay, first?” he argues, his brows raised as he looks at you expectantly. You say nothing.

So he just goes inside. You don’t stop him. You’re too tired to stop him. You just want to shower and go to sleep. The stage was fun, but you’ve never been more exhausted in your entire life. You’ve never been tired enough to not get angry. It’s a first.

But when you’re done showering, changing, skincaring, and refreshing, and you finally have a soft, natural smile on your face, you’re met with a cat lying on your bed, fast asleep. He’s curled up in your blankets, his face buried in your pillow, his chest enveloping YOUR plushie.

Absolutely not.

He groans at the disturbance as you grab his hair. He isn’t in pain as you pull his head up, glaring at his half-asleep features, and you know because he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to wake up.

“Get out of my bed,” you say. He smiles a small little devilish smile.

“But it’s a sleepover,” he grumbles, and you drop his head to the pillow with an exasperated scoff.

“Are you a child?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes, now, go to sleep,” he mumbles, drifting away again.

“No,” you say sternly. “I want to sleep alone. Leave.”

He looks up at you then, a shimmer in his pleading eyes, but you don’t let up. You keep your glare sharp and persistent until he sighs and starts to drag himself up, his body rolling to sitting dramatically. He gets up with a loud huff and stares at you as if giving you a final chance to change your mind.

“Get out,” you say, pushing him lightly. He hardly budges. “Get out, get out, get out… I’m so tiiired.” You push him again and again with each huff until he’s at the door, and you close it in his stupid face. And, finally, you’re alone.

You throw the covers back and shove your legs under them, ignoring how warm he made the bed as you roughly snuggle into your favorite spot. Your phone vibrates just as you let out a content, sleepy sigh. You open your eyes with an irritated stare at the bright light on your bedside table. Your face is shown on the screen, an old photo from your trainee days. You know the photo. Yeosang is on your right and Wooyoung is on your left, but he cropped both of them out. He said it’s the only picture he has of you where you’re genuinely smiling and really, truly happy. For that, he loves it. Sometimes your brother can be sweet.

You put the phone next to your ear so no one can hear him from another room.

“Ya, are you being mean to him?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your brain, trembling and hurting before you let them back down. “No,” you answer.

“You’re a liar,” he scoffs. “There’s a clip going viral of you and San, you know.”

You raise a brow. “A clip?”

“Atiny love Woosan interactions,” he sighs. “They eat it up.”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, more interested in the shadows on the ceiling than this fucking lecture.

“You two were giving the audience what they really wanted to see,” he sighs, “but then you rolled your eyes at him and scurried away like a cat!” He’s laughing at you, wheezing like an idiot as you feel your face grow hot.

“Cats are evil,” you mutter. “I’m not a fucking cat.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he laughs. “You’re the definition of a cattitude.”

“What the fuck is that?” you huff, two seconds away from hanging up the phone. Why did he even call you anyway? To nag you about playing with this manipulative evil Choi San? He can talk your ear off all he wants, but no one gets to act in such a way around you or your brother, and he’ll learn that soon.

“Listen, listen…” He’s trying to calm his breath as he settles his laughter. “I know you hate that kind of fanservice, but you really should put in some effort, Y/n,” he sighs. “If you, or, me and San are visibly separated like that, people are gonna ask questions. Including the members.”

“Maybe it’s about time you change things up anyway,” you huff.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m tired. Good night.”

You don’t let him finish before you hang up the phone and turn over to shut your eyes. You start to calm down a little as you let the warmth of the bed sink into your skin. It’s never been this warm this quick before, and it’s making you so drowsy, even after a rise in your heart rate. You fall asleep in no time.

And good sleep brings good attitude, so the morning is bright and nice for your mind. You wake up feeling refreshed and leave bed not dreading the day. Until you open your door, and all of that disappears quickly when you take a step out and find your foot squishing into a giant man’s chest.

You scurry away, almost screaming, cause what the fuck?

Choi San has set up camp outside your bedroom door, snoozing away with pillows and blankets lining the hall in a fluffy makeshift bed. His hair is a mess as he lifts his head in confusion, and his sleepy eyes meet yours in thin, happy slits.

“Good morning, Youngie,” he mumbles. You immediately scratch the little skip your heart did at the sound of his morning voice.

You’re starting to grow hot with anger as you look at the mess, think about everything, and think about everything once more. How could he sleep there?! You told him to go away! How could he just ignore that boundary and sleep outside your room?! Your cheeks are growing pink, but you shake your thoughts away. You must not engage. You should just go. Then, you won't see him anymore, and you can't possibly be mad anymore.

You step with huffing breaths past his limbs under the blankets and stomp away to the kitchen. Maybe some food will make you happy again.

You’ve found that Wooyoung has made a lot of promises before leaving them for you to go through with.

You’ve had to make Jongho dinner at least three times so far, always being met with puppy eyes and pouty lips saying, “You promised.” Fuck that! You can’t even fucking cook. You’re ruining your brother’s reputation, and, you know what, you can’t even find yourself to care with how hard he’s making you work.

Yunho was promised a whole night of gaming. You haven’t played a video game since you were a trainee. You can hear his disappointment each time you die immediately, but he’s too nice to yell at you.

You have to go out to eat with Yeosang, but you don’t mind that actually.

San claims to be promised many things, but you break those without a second thought.

And Seonghwa was promised a lego live and slumber party in his room.

You’ve gotten to know Seonghwa well over the past few weeks, and you like him. He’s cute and takes good care of the members, but he has this elegance to him that makes interacting with him so pleasant. So you agree to do the live, and you agree to sleep over, even if he’s Choi San’s roommate.

Immediately this seems like something you won’t be good at. The lights are dim, the camera is pointed at your face, and the pieces are so tiny, scrambled in little bags over the table. The space is small. His room is small, to begin with, but he invited you here because you would be working on the same set, so it’s okay if the pieces get scrambled a bit.

Seonghwa is the cleanest person you’ve ever met, which comforts you to some extent. Everything about this room is calming. It’s all neat and organized, and your eyes have no reason to find anything about it annoying. You love it. But you know this little craft will make you go insane. You already know, and you haven’t touched a single piece.

“Hi, everyone,” he says softly to the camera. His voice is so gentle, much like his movement as he waves. “Wooyoung finally is joining me to build legos with Atiny.”

“Hi, hi,” you say with a wide smile to showcase Wooyoung’s playful dimples.

“I’m excited for today, maybe more than Tiny is,” he mumbles, smiling to himself as he plays with his computer to make sure everything’s looking nice. “Wooyoung promised a slumber party today.” He covers his mouth as he huffs a shy laugh. “So he has to spend a lot of time with his hyung.”

You huff a laugh too, nodding. “Honestly, this week’s been a little stressful for me, but I think I’ll be able to relax well thanks to him.”

Honestly, you’re so fucking nervous. So many things could go wrong. So many things could set you off. There are so many things to be worried about, and… You won’t be able to take off the binder until you go back home… and who knows if you’ll be able to until tomorrow night…

You swallow your thoughts to the pit of your fluttering stomach as you try to bring your focus back to the soft aroma around you.

Seonghwa’s telling the fans about his day and the set as he starts to open the first bag. You take a subtly deep breath.

The live goes relatively well. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom only once from frustration, running cold water over your flushed cheeks to drain out the color a little. Other than that, assembling legos is nice, and Seonghwa is a relaxing yet engaging person to interact with. It… makes you forget… everything. It’s like you’re truly meant to be there. It feels natural. It makes your mind fade gently into this little life, even if just for an hour or so. It makes you forget your anger.

Until you’re alone again, and this feeling is even more familiar. This is how it usually is. You’ve grown accustomed to being delighted by some peoples’ presence or angered by others, but your roots are truly engraved in you. It’s a bit empty… staring at yourself in the mirror on Seonghwa’s wall and realizing you don’t actually belong here. The illusion that you’re meant here or suddenly not lonely… is being written into your head too deep. It should stop before you get attached.

The binder wrapped around your chest is so uncomfortable, especially since you’ve been wearing it for the entire day. You should take it off, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It feels wrong taking it off in a stranger’s room, but-!

Your head whips around as the door opens, and Choi San walks inside. You cover your chest with the shirt in your hand immediately, your eyes bulging and heart stopped, but he doesn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling by and collapsing on Seonghwa’s bed. His eyes are closed, his body limp and tired. You throw the shirt over your head and take a deep breath.

“I was changing,” you mutter, your body practically shaking as you try not to scream at him. “You couldn’t knock?”

“Hm…?” he grumbles, lifting his head sleepily. “Hi, Young-ah.”

“Choi San!” you shout, covering your mouth quickly to pinch your fucking lips shut. You’re turning red. This is so humiliating. He obviously doesn’t care. Wooyoung probably wouldn’t care. But you fucking care, and you can’t even tell him why. “Knock next time,” you force out quietly. He hums in acknowledgment, but you hardly hear it as you leave the room.

You can’t do this. You’ll tell Seonghwa you don’t feel good, and he’ll let you go. He’ll be sad, but whatever. You can’t deal with that bastard. You can’t fucking do it.

But Seonghwa looks so excited when you come out in the matching pajamas he got for the slumber party. He’s gasping and fangirling over you as you stomp over to him. Each step seems to become just a little softer as his smile numbs your tantrum.

“Ya~!” He takes you in as you stand a few feet away. “Jung Wooyoung? Who are you? You’re too pretty to be Wooyoung,” he compliments. You might’ve frozen up at something like that, but, for some reason, you take it without a second thought, smiling proudly like a cute kitten, folding your arms at your sides as you pose for him.

No. You can’t stay. You need to leave.

“H..yung,” you mumble, the word a little unfamiliar to your lips. “Actually, I…”

“Seriously,” he huffs, coming closer, and you shut your mouth. He leans down and stares intently at your features. You can’t help but look away, your cheeks growing red as he examines you. “Your face has been so cute lately,” he mumbles. “Are you in love?”

“No,” you scoff.

“Are you lying?”

“I’m not!” you mumble, backing away slightly. He looks at you in disbelief. “I’m really not!”

“You’ve gotten a little shorter too.. ya… Do you wear high platforms to seem taller?”

Three centimeters isn’t even that much shorter… How could he notice something like that..? You nod, rolling your eyes. “So what?”

“It’s not good to wear them too much,” he sighs as he walks by.

“Whatever,” you huff, patting your cheeks as you let your quiet panic settle down. He doesn’t actually suspect anything. He’s just calling Wooyoung cute, which is a very valid observation.

“No,” Seonghwa says sternly when he walks into his room to see a snoozing cat on his bed. “No, get out.”

He grabs San’s ankles and pulls him up the bed. San just groans and lets himself get dragged, his shirt riding up his torso until he’s at the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor, his toned stomach on full display, and you… You look away, letting Seonghwa take care of the hindrance.

“Hyung,” San whines. “No one will play with me!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “San, what’s with you these days? Everyone hangs out with you all the time, but you keep complaining 'cause you don’t want to.”

“I want to play with Wooyoungie,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet yours for less than a second. “He’s so cute lately, but he won’t play with me anymore.” He frowns, looking frustratingly at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I should like it or hate it.”

“You should hate it,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “And you should get out. The room isn’t big enough for your broad shoulders.”

He glares at you, but you don’t care. That’s what you want. But when Seonghwa tries to drag him out again, he refuses.

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to play with you. Please let me stay. I’m so bored. Please?”

There is NOT enough room for you, Hyung, and Choi San’s huge ass shoulders, and you’re so fucking close to chopping them off and shoving them through his pouty lips as he eats YOUR cake. The movie isn’t entertaining, despite your attempts to understand it for Seonghwa’s sake, so you're left with your mind focused on every little hindrance he brings to this otherwise nice night.

“You know, Choi San, there’s a lot of room on the floor for people with wide shoulders,” you huff.

He gives you a wide smile, shoving his dimples into your hooded eyes. “There’s room on my lap for little brats.”

You scoff, glaring at his brows as they raise. He pats his lap expectedly, but you look away with a huff.

“You could at least let us eat the cake we bought for us,” you grumble. “Instead of gobbling it up yourself.”

“No,” he says. “Seonghwa stole and ate my cake, so he doesn’t deserve any of his.” You eye him in disbelief. Is he a child? “But Wooyoungie can have as much as he wants.” He holds up a big bite, smiling big as he waits for you to chomp it off the fork.

“No thanks,” you decline. “You ate from that fo-”

He pinches your puffed-out cheeks together and opens your mouth, the cake pushed inside and smooshed against your teeth as he feeds you the bite. Your brows knit together as he pulls his hand away.

“Isn’t it tasty?” he asks, and you shake your head out of spite. “You’re so cute,” he laughs, his thumb wiping away some cream from your bottom lip. He brings it to his own and licks it off without a second thought.

Your eye twitches as you force your head to turn back to the TV. You should calm down. If your tight fists happened to collide with his face, Seonghwa wouldn’t like it very much. For Seonghwa’s sake, you should just ignore him.

But San’s shoulders are just so wide. Every time he tries to move, he bumps into you, and you can’t stop yourself from bumping back. He glares at you, and you glare back, shoulder to shoulder. It’s a war. You use your hands this time, moving his arm further from your body, but he moves it back.

“Are you serious?” you whisper harshly.

“Shh, I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes go wide. “Language!” he whispers, and you bump his shoulder in annoyance.

He doesn’t just do it back, though, he leans over and grabs your waist, and you jump. His fingers jab into your flesh, and the most uncomfortable sensation fills you. You’re helpless to his attack, pressed against the wall as he evades every defensive grab of your hands.

“Choi San,” you scold, but the jabs turn to tickles quickly, and an involuntary grin spreads across your gasping lips. “San, stop!” you laugh, pushing against his hands but failing as he keeps moving them to new places. You push against his chest hard, and he falls back a little, freezing when he bumps into the other man in the bed.

He turns his head around slowly, met with a blank expression from Seonghwa, simply trying to watch the movie.

“We’re sorry, Hyung,” San mumbles, his head low. The floor is hard against your knees, but you honestly deserve it after ruining the night Seonghwa planned. “We got carried away.”

“What’s up with you two?” he sighs, standing in disappointment above the both of you. “Why are you at each other’s throats every two seconds these days?”

“He started it,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, Hyung,” San says, trying not to laugh, and you glare at him. “He’s just so cute when he’s mad.”

“Seriously, San?” Seonghwa sighs.

“It’s not my fault he looks extra… adorable lately! Like-!” He turns to you with great determination, motioning toward your features one by one. “His eyes are bigger, his lashes are longer, his nose is prettier, his lips are plumper, his mole…” He squints his eyes, but you cover your cheek quickly.

“I’m wearing makeup,” you mumble.

He moves your hand without much effort. “No, you’re not… Where’s your mole…” he mumbles.

“I…” Your eyes shoot from San to Seonghwa. “It..”

“You see what I mean?” he huffs, resting his case. “How do I put it… He’s so… different these days. I feel my heart flutter when he looks at me.”

“Please,” you scoff.

“Really!” he defends, backing away a little as you feel your anger rise. He can probably sense the shift in the atmosphere by now. “I don’t know what to do with myself, Hyung.” He turns back to Seonghwa. “So… it’s not really my fault.”

So San is kicked out to his own room to sleep. You argued his shoulders are far too wide for the room. Seonghwa agreed, and now it’s finally just the two of you in your matching pajamas.

“We’re so cute.” He smiles, happily biting into the strawberry cream cake sitting between you two. “We should have slumber parties more often.”

You nod, melting as you take another bite. “And I understand why you love building legos now,” you mumble. “It was very comforting.”

There’s a nice, long moment of silent cake-eating as you both delight in its taste without a greedy cat eating it all.

“Wooyoung,” he says. “You know… if you keep acting so obvious about it, people will realize…”

You shoot your eyes up from the cake, your heart stopping for a moment. “What?”

He reaches out and taps just below your eye. “That you removed your mole.”

Your brows lift as relief fills you. “Oh! My mole!” you laugh, and he laughs too, nodding.

“I know you don’t really want to bring attention to it, but you’re so bad at keeping secrets.”

You nod, taking another stressful bite. “Thank you, Hyung. I’ll work on it.”

You both finish the cake and giggle and talk all night until you glance at the clock and gasp because it’s almost two in the morning. You rush to wash up and get into bed, still giggling over stupid things. But as soon as the light is off and the room goes silent, you feel yourself dying down and drifting off quickly, like some teenagers after a long day.

Seonghwa’s bed is small, but there’s enough room for the two of you to drift off in your own areas. Seonghwa falls asleep first, making small sighs and mumbles as he snoozes away. It’s so cute. You listen to him for a while before you finally let your mind rest.

Wooyoung messages you every morning, telling you to eat and to be kind and shit, but this morning is different. It’s been a few days since your slumber party with Seonghwa, and everything has fallen into place. It all really feels like routine by now, like this is natural for you. Until you’re hit with a fucking brick, remembering the reality of the situation once again.

Y/n-nie: you got a notification..what does two days left mean??

Y/n-nie: ??

Y/n-nie: are you going to kill someone? are you counting down… IS IT CHOI SAN?!?

Y/n-nie: DONT FUCKING TOUCH HIM!

You put the phone down and stare at the wall. Your period. You’d completely forgotten about the monthly punishment for being female.

You have no pads… You have no comfort items. Do they keep pain medicine in the dorms? How the fuck will you gather supplies without anyone knowing? Especially considering that leech, Choi San.

Fuck, now that you’re awake, there’s definitely an ache forming. That useless app never guesses right. It always comes a day or so early. You groan as you force yourself out of bed.

The convenience store down the street has everything you need. You’re biting your lip to wait until you have some water to ease the pain with a pill, so you rush back to the dorm.

Jongho is eating breakfast when you trudge back inside. He looks over curiously at the sound of the plastic bag.

“What did you buy so early in the morning?” he asks. “Did you sneak out so you could get a sweet treat for yourself?” he accuses.

“No,” you grumble, pulling the bag a little behind your back so he can’t see. “It’s nothing.”

He immediately gets up, and you back away. “Why are you hiding it then?” he asks, raising a brow. He reaches behind you, but you pull it away.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, your cramps worsening as you stand still. “Go eat your breakfast. I have to go get ready.”

“Hyung, you’re the worst liar,” he chuckles, and his hand snags the bag. You grab it back, pulling and keeping it closed as he tries to peek inside. You rip the bag in half as you try to get it back, but you snatch the pads midair and run to your room.

You really can’t do this right now. You’re bent over, leaned against the locked door as you try to ground yourself. It takes slow steps to make it to the bathroom. There are just a few small drops of blood on your panties, so you ignore them and stick a pad over. But you can’t get up. The pain has tripled since you walked through your bedroom door. There’s a growing buzz vibrating in your head as you lean it against the cold tile of the wall. Fuck, you hope you don’t pass out here. You’re sweating, hot and limp yet tense in your core, or else you think your guts might fall out. You feel like you might throw up, but that should pass quickly if you wait patiently. You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain only gets worse. And the binder around your chest… fuck, you can’t breathe. You take it off and leave it on the floor as you stumble to wash your hands and make it to the bed.

You search for the medicine you bought, but it’s not on the counter or floor or anything. You take a deep breath to hold in your frustration and just make it your goal to curl up in bed.

It feels a little better, no binder, soft surface, fluffy blankets draped over you, your legs pulled loosely to your chest as you lay limply on your side. You have a schedule today, but it’s not too important. You should tell your manager you’re sick, but you don’t have your phone near you. You can’t even begin to think of where that might be.

There’s a soft knock at your door, and it takes a second for you to call out for them to just come in.

“Sorry, Young-ah,” San says softly as he peeks inside. “You must’ve been sleeping.”

“No, it's okay,” you mumble, honestly just a little relieved to have something for your mind to be focused on that isn’t the knives stabbing into you.

He steps inside and closes the door. “Are you okay?” he asks as he takes in the view of you. You’re sweating and breathing heavily, curled into yourself. “Do you have a fever?”

“I…It hurts all over,” you mumble, and his expression changes from worry to pain as he watches you shift and whimper softly.

He leans down, his face just inches from yours as he gazes at your features, gently tucking away the hair in front of your eyes. “Close your eyes, baby, I’ll make you feel better.”

If you could move at all, you’d punch yourself at the way your heart flutters just slightly. Instead, you listen and close your eyes, gazing just a second longer at his gentle features.

“Youngie~” It’s such a gentle voice, a sweet hum to your pounding ears. A soft hand is placed against your cheek, your head lifted slowly, as if not to disturb your sleep, as if you’re the most delicate thing to ever touch his skin. As if it’s actually carefilled, loving.

San’s face is clear even before his features straighten in your hazy gaze. His eyes are trained on your lips, careful fingers softly pushing two pills between them. A glass taps them then, and warm tea meets your tongue at a slow, patient pace. You swallow, a shiver gliding down your chest to your aching stomach as the delightful warmth of the tea touches your swollen insides.

“Did you eat yet today, Youngie?” he asks, placing your head back on the fluffy pillow.

“No,” you mumble. “I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something,” he says, and he starts to get up, but your eyes widen a little. If he leaves, your mind will focus on the pain, and it hurts so much. You reach out before you can even think and grab his sleeve. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gently clasping your hand as he tries to leave. “It’ll make you feel-”

“Please stay,” you mumble. “Just for a little… It still hurts so much.” You pull a little, and he steps closer. “L-lay with me for a bit?” What are you even saying? You just… know he can make you feel better. You don’t care about anything except making the cramps disappear quickly.

The bed sinks softly as he lays behind you. Under the covers, a new warmth meets your back, a soft breath against your neck. You relax against him, feeling the subconscious tension in your limbs fall into his calming aroma. His body curls into yours, matching your form, bigger and warmer, keeping you perfectly content aside from the dulling ache.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” he mumbles, his warm breath puffing gently across your skin. “Did you overwork yourself again?”

You lower your gaze to the movement of the blanket as he wraps his arm around your waist, his hand meeting your stomach. His fingers dip under your shirt, spreading across the width of your body, and you shudder at the feeling. You should probably move away. He could find out your secret. You wouldn’t mind. He could make you forget all about the pain and make you drift asleep with his touch.

“We love you, Wooyoung.” His thumb caresses your skin in slow rubs. “You can take your time, and we’ll always be here to listen to your troubles. You don’t have to keep them all to yourself.”

You don’t say anything. It’s not really your place to say anything anyway. Even if… some people should know their place, it’s good to know Wooyoung has a family he can count on.

You’ve mastered the art of Wooyoung. It’s been five weeks since you took your brother’s place, and you feel very immersed in the role. You’ve learned all of the inside jokes by now, figured out each of the members, and perfected almost all of their choreographies. You could become Wooyoung at this point, and no one would ever know. You survived your period without anyone knowing. Sure, everyone knew there was something wrong, pitying you the whole week while you wobbled around, but no one suspected a thing. You’re just too good at this.

“Sangie,” you mumble, chewing happily on the freshly grilled meat. “Should we visit my sister next time we have a break?”

Yeosang smiles at the sudden suggestion. “Sure. I haven’t seen her in years.” Oh, he’s so cute.

If Yeosang comes to visit you once you’re back in your old life, you’ll be able to get a glimpse of the little chapter in your boring life you actually enjoyed. So you’ll set up lots of dates and promises before you leave. Serves Wooyoung right anyway.

“Another bottle of soju, please!” Seonghwa calls out, sitting across from you at the table. He smiles when he catches your eye. “You’ve worked so hard, Wooyoung. Let it out tonight.”

“Kay,” you mumble happily through your food.

The company dinner is a nice reward after your endless effort to keep up with the schedule that comes with Wooyoung’s life. The food is delicious, the atmosphere is bustling and joyful, and you get to drink for the first time in fucking forever.

Every shot makes you melt into your seat, a content, relaxing sigh leaving your lips. Except…

“Youngie, plea~se!” There’s been a child whining in your ear the whole night. “Please do it with me?”

San’s face is bright red, his eyes glazed over as he rocks back and forth with a strong pout. You’re ignoring him, enjoying your food without even listening to his request.

“I’ll do anything,” he mumbles, feeling a little defeated. Your brow quirks at that.

“Anything?” His posture fixes itself as soon as your eyes land on him, and he nods eagerly.

He’s so fucking drunk. He said he was a good drinker but got quiet after two shots. Then he started begging to have a competition. You might indulge… if it means you can get something from him. Amusement at watching him humiliate himself. You giggle to yourself before turning to him with a newfound encouragement.

“Pour the shots.”

His hand is trembling as he clanks the bottle against your glass, nearly spilling the whole thing as he pulls away. You bring the glass to your lips when he does, and you catch his eye, a determined look in him.

One shot, and he’s breathing heavily, but he won’t give in. You’re a pretty good drinker, but you’ve already had a lot, and you’re getting pretty hazy yourself.

Two shots. Three shots. Seven shots. You’ve finished two bottles, one each, and you can hardly keep your vision straight. He’s swaying back and forth, arms limp in his lap as he stares blankly at you. You both lost, but you probably won’t remember the whole event by morning, so you forget it, slamming your head to the table with a huff.

San mumbles something, as he gets up. Maybe he’s going to the bathroom. It would be so funny if he drops outside the toilet and everyone would see him. You snort to yourself. You wanna see it happen.

You stumble to your feet, following him through the tables to the bathrooms. It’s empty inside, quiet and dim. He goes in and stands by the mirror. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning against his cool hands.

“Wooyoung… what are you doing to me…” His voice is so low and slurred, but you make out every word, and it fills you with rage. This again?! You thought by now he’d have learned his lesson and kept away, but he’s still going after you? No, after your brother?! You guess he’s so fucking slow, he needs it shoved in his face.

“Choi San!” you shout, and he looks up, shocked. “Shut the fuck up!” He frowns as you stomp over to him, looking guilty but not sure why. You grab his wrist and unhook that fucking binder. As it falls to the floor, you shove his hand under your shirt and onto your chest. His eyes widen like crazy as you scowl at him, his hand trembling. “I’m not fucking Wooyoung! And you need to learn your fucking place!” you shout, panting. “You don’t get to-!”

“So that’s why…” he mumbles, his fingers twitching around your flesh. “I’ve wanted to fuck you lately…”

Your face drops, your brows knitting together. “What?”

“Fuck…” he groans, squeezing your breast as he takes in your flushed form against his. “That’s why your face is so pretty. I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad. Every time you yell at me, I’ve wanted to push you so far, so you just shove me to the ground and have your way with me.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “Because you’re not Wooyoung. I probably knew the whole time… you just can’t guess something like that.”

“Yeah?” you scoff, and he nods, bringing his hands to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. “You’re a fucking liar. I know you just want to take advantage of Wooyoung.”

“I’ve never thought of him like that until recently. Until it wasn’t him.”

Fuck. Fuck! He’d practically known the whole time?! If he knew the differences right away, who knows if you even got away with any of it at all? You bite your lip, trembling with frustration and anger.

“You weren’t very good at hiding it… now that I think about it.”

You shove him against the wall, a deep scowl on your features. His grin as you shove your finger into his chest just fuels you even more. “Bastard,” you bite. “I worked day and night for fucking weeks, and you aren’t even surprised?! It wasn’t worth it at all?!”

“Don’t be mad,” he coos, leaning forward again.

Your restraints are snapping one by one as you glare from his cat-like smile to his squinted eyes. He’s having the time of his life. You don’t even try to stop your hand from wrapping around his throat as he leans closer and closer. You close your fingers, tightening just as his lips meet yours with a low groan.

The movement is intense as soon as the flame is lit. His lips don’t fight for the dominance you place over his, your hand around his neck bringing him lower, closer to your dangerous taste. Your breaths are tangled, vocal, and quick as you kiss over and over in a maddening dance.

“Don’t fuck with me,” you growl, but his only response is to cup your face and bring you closer, biting your bottom lip gently before kissing it better.

You glare at him as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling lightly and fuming at the way he groans against your lips. What does this fucker not like? You really want to test his boundaries, make him regret playing with you. You want to push him to the ground and fucking destroy him just to watch him finally understand the authority you have over him. You-

The door opens, and you’re both immediately separated, facing away from each other, pretending like nothing was happening. Jongho walks in, pausing when he sees the view. San’s messy hair, sticking up like it was clearly grabbed, your flushed faces, the piece of clothing at San’s feet. San kicks it behind him quickly.

Jongho gives a blank look. “Did you two fight again?” he asks, used to the cat fights by now. “Anyway, we’re going home. Come on, Hyung.” He motions for you to come, and you almost hesitate. If not for the much-needed clarity Jongho’s interruption brought, you would’ve done so much more damage. You would have ruined everything. You rush out of the room behind him.

“You can’t yet. We’re almost done here. Hold out for a little longer.”

“No. Fuck this! I can’t do this, Wooyoung! I’m going crazy!” you shout into your phone. “I…” You can’t fucking tell him. You’re being swayed by the members. Changed and warped into something you’re not. You’re starting to like it here, and you need to go back to your life… where no one else will ever bother you, and you can live alone again. Forever. “I need to get out of here,” you say.

“Just one more week,” he says. “Please…”

One more week. “Fine.”

But you’re not going to be nice about it.

San doesn’t talk to you, and you don’t talk to him, but you feel his eyes on you while you’re all practicing for an upcoming festival performance. He’s looking blankly. Maybe he doesn’t even remember what happened. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll never see him again after this performance. And you’re so fucking glad.

“Hyung, come on! Get into it!” Jongho shouts, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

You give him an annoyed look, your head hurting too much to care much for the dance. The music is pounding in your ears, but you move anyway. They’re lucky they get that from you after a late night of drinking.

“Hyung,” Jongho chuckles. “Why are you so down?” He leans in, giving you a suddenly serious expression. You lean away. “Is it ‘cause you and Sannie are fighting again?”

You eye him. “Yeah,” you mumble. “He’s a fucking jerk.”

He laughs, smacking your chest, and you flinch. He keeps his hand there, though, raising a brow. You step away. “Hyung, are you working out more? Is Sannie forcing you to go to the gym with him? Is that why you’re always mad at him?” He goes to feel your chest again, but a veiny, furious hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t touch people like that, Jongho,” a tight-voiced San spits bitterly. Jongho’s eyes grow a little wide as he tries to retract his hand.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, finally snatching his arms back, rubbing his wrist. “Sorry.” You’ve never seen the maknae so quick to listen, giving an annoyed look before walking away.

You don’t even bother with San, just walk away. Your head is fucking throbbing.

“Get it together,” is all Hongjoong has to say to you and San when he pulls you aside the night before the performance in Japan. It’s obvious the chemistry and friendship Woosan have that the fans love is missing. It’s obvious to everyone that something is going on, and you’re just being petty, but you don’t fucking care.

After ignoring him for a week, though, you think you can get away with it. Until those bastards fucking lock you into a closet. They lure you in, and, suddenly, it’s just you, San, and a room hardly big enough for one person.

Your chest to his, feet staggered, breath against breath, and the need to fucking kill someone are all resting in this dimly lit closet.

“You two can come out when you’ve made up,” Hongjoong sighs. “If you miss the performance, so be it. You have thirty minutes.”

“This is your fucking fault,” you scoff as soon as you hear him walk away.

“My fault? As if you didn’t lie to everybody and then make everything complicated by kissing me,” he argues.

“Me? You literally said you’d been thinking about fucking me!” you whisper aggressively.

“I was drunk!”

“So was I!”

Your faces are hardly separated at all, your words and breaths mixing as the closet grows hotter and hotter.

“You! You lust after my brother! You’re a bastard!”

His brows twist in confusion. “I do not. He’s my best friend… I don’t like him like that!”

“Liar! We look exactly the same!”

He shakes his head quickly. “You have prettier eyes! They’re bigger, and the color is different!” He points to each feature, gazing at them with determination. “You have a cuter nose than him! Your lips are softer than his! Your hair is softer than his! Your jawline isn’t so defined! You have the cutest features that obviously aren’t his! Your body is smaller and the perfect shape! Your expressions are cuter! You get mad all the time, but you make the cutest face! You don’t even understand how unlike him you are! You’re so obviously Y/n! So maybe I did fall for you a bit when I thought you were your brother, but it’s because of those changes that make you so different from him! Because you’re fucking adorable!”

He’s panting, scowling even, as you just stare at him. Honestly, you blanked out. You didn’t even hear the end. Your name rolled from his lips without a second thought. You can’t decide if it hurts your heart or fumes it with rage, or even if it makes you happy. You’re so conflicted, just staring in silence.

When the door opens again twenty minutes later, you’re both still staring in silence. Despite the threat, you both have to perform without giving evidence of reconciliation.

And, being on stage again, you’ve decided that you’re fucking pissed. Your mind goes a little blank as you perform the choreo you’ve recited for hours on end, day after day, just for your brother. You’re fuming, glaring at the crowd, the fans of your brother. The members who laugh and dance with your brother. Each move that adds to that fucking reputation you’re here to protect. For your brother. And the man who you came here to put in his place so that your brother is never hurt. The man who you refuse to accept you want just because he’s your brother’s best friend, and you need to protect your brother’s image and do every fucking thing for HIM.

You’re standing here at the edge of the stage, the instruments ringing in your ears. You’re red. You’re dancing in circles as you let the energy of the music take hold of your mind. You need to release everything, or you might just fall into the crowd. Your chest is so tight. You need something to get rid of this feeling. You’re so fucking sick of it. You want it gone.

The music? The fans? The dance? The members? The performance? Choi San? His hooded eyes meet yours as he leans closer. The cameras are on you, yet he moves closer and closer. You’re in a heated daze, meeting him closer. Your foreheads collide, your breaths dancing as he whispers to you.

“Use me.”

“Get this off right now,” you demand, gripping his shirt as you stumble into your hotel room. You strip off your pants, backing him to the bed just as his shirt gets over his head. His breath hitches as he watches you toss your panties off to the side, gazing at your bare legs. You quickly throw your shirt over your head, and his eyes follow your fingers as they unzip the binder. Within a minute, your entire body is bare to him, and he’s so fucking hard.

You admire his chest, biting your lip as you run your fingertips over his beautiful features. It’s not like you aren’t used to it by now. The man lives without his shirt, but seeing it here, just for your eyes, makes you so excited.

You push him to the bed, climbing on top of him. As soon as his head hits the mattress, two hands are grabbing his hair and shoving his mouth against your leaking cunt. You watch his eyes roll as he licks against your sweet core, his tongue grinding against your clit before he kisses it prettily. You sigh, grinding down against his tongue and pulling him closer by his messy locks.

“That’s it, Sannie,” you groan. “Use your lips for something good for once.”

His hands grab your thighs to pull you lower, putting your weight on his face until all he can feel or breathe is your pussy. His tongue is messy and quick, diving into your hole as he groans against you.

“You like that?” you scoff, biting your lip as he hums. “You liked being choked in the bathroom too, didn’t you? You wanna drown in my pussy?” You feel the bed shift as his hips buck slightly into the air. You know he’s rock hard, but he’s being good and not touching himself like you know he so desperately wants to. “Fuck,” you whimper as he sucks on your throbbing clit. “Only you can make me this wet anyway. You deserve it.”

The sight is making you dizzy, his brows furrowed, eyes hazy as they gaze at your figure above him. His lips are pressing and pleasuring just the right spots, his tongue fucking your tight hole and drinking your arousal over and over again. You can’t help but let your voice escape in your breaths as you roll your hips along with his movements.

If you’d known he could do this, you might’ve told him earlier. No, that’s not true. Because you can’t have Choi San. You’ll fucking take him anyway.

You push his face away, scowling as his warm breath fans your dripping folds. You move to sit on his lap, and he jolts when you grind your hips down on his erection. His mouth is messy with your arousal, his lips plump from their desperate work.

He wants you so fucking bad, but you can’t have him?!

You press your lips to his neck, noticing the way he bares the skin for you to taste. Your teeth graze his soft, unmarked skin, and you want to sink into him so fucking bad. You want to mark him and show everyone he belongs to you, even if you’re not allowed to have him.

You press your teeth into his throat lightly, and his breath hitches, his hips pressing up against you. His breath against your ear is heavy as his fingers entwine with your hair, pulling you closer to his neck, teeth deeper into his skin. That’s right. He wants to be used. He wants to be owned.

You bite his neck, a moan escaping his lips as he trembles beneath you. You lick at the indents, nibbling and sucking all over his neck to leave your trace. Every part of him should be marked. You’re fuming, latching onto his collarbone, his chest, nibbling on his nipple just to watch him get more and more worked up beneath you.

“Y/n,” he whimpers. It must have been ten minutes of this. He’s enjoying every little mark, every little sensation, panting and whimpering as you have your way with him.

“What’s wrong, Sannie?” you ask, sitting between his legs, cheek resting on his inner thigh as he begs you with his gaze for more. “Does it hurt?” You gently poke his erection, straining painfully against his pants.

He nods. “You’re so mean,” he whines.

“Don’t you know that’s what you signed up for?” you chuckle. “Don’t you know how fucking furious I am right now?!” He nods, biting his lip as he watches you eye the twitch in his bulge. “Playing with you is helping me, Sannie. I’m sorry if I’m being mean,” you coo. You tilt your head as an idea meets your mind. “Do you want to show me? How should I make it up to you?”

“C-can I touch you?” he asks, his expression falling when you shake your head.

“No, Sannie. How do you want me to touch you?” His eyes go a little wide in embarrassment. “Show me.”

“I… I don’t know,” he mumbles, looking away as his face flushes a deep pink.

“Come on, Sannie,” you mumble, stretching the waistband teasingly. “Don’t be shy. Show me how you want me to touch you.”

His hands tremble as they hesitate with each motion toward his erection. He palms himself over his sweats first, gazing at your features as you watch his hand. He’s so embarrassed, but the eager, aroused expression on your face is spurring him on. He wants to give you everything you want.

His hand slides into his pants, and he takes his cock out, groaning at the way you lick your lips. He strokes himself slowly, tightly. He doesn’t want to cum. Not by himself. But the sight of you on top of him has him so fucking sensitive. Each slow stroke has an airy moan leaving his lips. He tries to keep them in because he’s so embarrassed to be feeling this good all on his own, but it’s useless.

His thumb swipes across the tip every few strokes, his body jolting each time. Precum is leaking more and more, and the sounds are getting so lewd, so wet.

“Do you like it there?” you ask, running the palm of your hand over the head. He moans, grabbing your wrist without even thinking.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, it feels g-good there.”

You sigh, sitting back and watching his thick fingers slide against himself. He’s big and thick, just like the rest of him. It’s veiny too, feeling far too explicit for the cute man Choi San is. Watching this innocent man stroke himself just the way he likes it just makes you so fucking desperate to get your hands back on him.

You bite your lip as you move off of him.

“Come here, Sannie.”

He’s quick to shove his pants off and move to between your legs, his hands finding your waist without a second thought, rubbing your soft skin as he catches his breath.

“I’m so frustrated,” you sigh. “But if we feel good together, I might feel better. Hmm?” You reach down and spread your slicked folds for him to see, inviting him inside, but he doesn’t move, his eyes trained on the sight. “Come on, San, fuck me.”

He groans, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your hole. Just as he’s about to push inside, you can’t help but crack a knowing smile.

“Since the head feels so good for you, only put that in,” you say, and his head shoots up so fast, his brows twisted in confusion.

“Y/n,” he mumbles. “I wanna feel you, though.”

“You showed me how you wanted to be touched, Sannie. I’ll make you feel good. With just the tip.”

He looks devastated, and you almost laugh at how adorable it is. But he pushes inside anyway, jaw-dropping at how warm you are inside.

“Fuck,” you groan, your back arching as your mind goes blank for a moment, the pleasure of being stretched on his cock better than anything else. But he keeps going. “Sannie,” you warn, and he stops quickly, looking away guiltily. “Does it feel good?” You press yourself just a bit deeper, and he nods quickly, biting his lip as he glares at the connection between you two.

He doesn’t start moving until it becomes unbearable just sitting in your warmth. There’s hardly any way to move, but he grinds the tip in and out of your pussy, frustration and pleasure pulling at his mind. It’s so tight and wet, but he can hardly feel it. He wants to feel it all. He wants to fuck you hard and deep. This isn’t enough at all.

But you look like you could cum any second, his tip pressing against your g-spot, stretching you enough to grind just softly against your clit. It feels fucking amazing. And better yet, you know he’s getting pent up with every second he’s left with just an inch of your pussy to enjoy.

“Y/n,” he huffs, gazing at you desperately, feeling dizzy with how you’re grinding against him, moaning and whimpering softly. “C-can I go deeper please?” he mumbles.

You shake your head. “I’m so close. Keep going,” you say breathlessly.

He gazes at how you’re dripping, soaking his length and the sheets. He watches you clench around what little your desperate pussy can find. He can’t help but want to feel you convulse around him. He needs something. Anything. So he rubs his fingers over your clit, watching your eyes roll back as you grind faster and harder, going just a bit deeper. Maybe you’d suck him in. He could go deeper without you even realizing it. He could feel your cream on his cock. He rubs faster, hearing the growing squelch of your overflowing slick as the length grinding inside becomes longer and longer. He holds his moans at the overwhelming pleasure slowly being revealed to him. Until you drop your hips, his cock pulling out completely. He glances at you in confusion.

“Are you being bad, Sannie?” you ask, panting and fuming at your orgasm being delayed simply because he couldn’t do what he was fucking told. “Were you being greedy? Gonna fuck me even though I said no?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No!” he insists. “I was just trying to help you cum,” he mumbles.

“And you lie to me?” you scoff. “Bad boys don’t get rewards, Sannie. Sit there and be good for once, fuck.” You bring your fingers to your clit, and he stays still between your legs, cock hanging uselessly. You rub hard and fast, biting your lip as you rebuild the tension you’ve lost.

“You- You’re gonna cum on your own?” he mumbles, distressed as your soft moans get louder, and your movements get faster. “I- I can help,” he panics, but you push him away with your free hand with a grunt. He falls back onto the bed, eyes frantically switching from your throbbing pussy to your blissed-out expression as you get closer and closer. His chest is so tight. He wants to feel you cum around him so fucking bad, but you’re being so mean. Why the fuck are you messing with him so much?! He feels like a spoiled brat, but he’s so angry, so frustrated. He just wants to make you feel good, pound into your pussy, but you’re making everything so difficult!

“F-Fuck me,” you moan out as you’re right on the edge. Your eyes meet his in a hazy glare, but he’s frozen. Did he hear you right? Your jaw is clenched as you hold in your orgasm for him. “Fuck. Me.”

His cock slams into you, and you rub your clit fast and hard, your walls clenching around him as he thrusts quick and deep into you. Your eyes roll back as you let out your pent-up moans, your climax taking over your entire being, your limbs trembling as you cream around his cock.

His head falls to your shoulder as he whimpers with each hard, desperate thrust. His hips slam against yours, the slick between you making a mess on your skin. It’s loud and sloppy, no one caring much for decency anymore as you chase the pleasure you’d been building up for. His hands are on your hips, pulling you to meet each thrust impatiently. And his cock is so fucking thick, running along your walls and hitting every desperate spot within you.

“San! Ngh~! San!” you moan, your voice being knocked out of you with each thrust. He’s panting against your skin as he bites and kisses your shoulder and neck. “K-kiss me,” you breathe, hardly able to get out a word that isn’t his name as his relentless pace drowns your thoughts.

His lips smash against yours, his hips rolling as he focuses on your tongue against his, the taste of you clouding his frustration for a long moment.

“Y/n,” he groans as your fingers run through his hair. “S-So pretty,” he mumbles, kissing you again and again. “So tight, just for me.” His hips pick up their pace again, and your lips can’t keep up with his, pleasure with each slam hitting your entire body.

He rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your teary eyes as your puffy lips fall apart into unsuppressable moans. He wraps his arms under your thighs and raises them higher, pressing deeper into you with each thrust.

“S-San,” you whimper, watching his hungry eyes move from your pussy to the tears dripping down your cheeks. “C-can you say my name?”

He pecks your lips, panting as he chokes out, “Y/n.” You nod, your pussy fluttering around him as his low voice meets your ears.

“San, fuck~” you shout as his fingers find your clit and rub fast. “Again, baby, please say it again.” Tears are streaming down your face as your clit and your hole are pleasured thoroughly, mind going blank as he growls your name again and again.

“San,” you pant. “S-San~ Ah.. ngh I’m so close,” you cry, grabbing onto his shoulders as the pleasure moves faster and harder through your body. Your eyes are rolled back, your head dipped into the pillow as you thrust your pussy against his sloppy movements, his voice getting higher and more desperate with yours.

“Y/n, Y/n, fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, slamming your hips against his cock as he buries himself deeper and deeper, losing his rhythm. “Cum with me, baby- ngh~” he moans, and you pull him as close as possible, your arms wrapped around his head as your body convulses with immense pleasure, his thrusts riding your high and fingers keeping it going for so fucking long, your lips trembling and voice breaking as you let go. He buries himself deep, his cock twitching as he meets you there, his voice high and unsuppressed right beside your ear. You’re filled with his warmth, spasming as you feel him fill you. You’re so full, so warm, so satisfied, panting as you hold him close.

Your legs slowly slide to the bed as he lets himself lean his weight on you, just slightly. You don’t mind. It’s warm and comforting, being so close, being so vulnerable. His head slowly rises, and you let him, your arms falling to the bed. His eyes are still hazy, meeting yours with soft trembles. He gives you a soft, lazy kiss before slowly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

You don’t say a word as you curl into his chest, letting him hold you there, breath against breath, no worries nor thoughts, just comfort.

“A sex cult?” His jaw drops, and you nod, cracking up. “How do you even…” He sighs. “He’s so odd.”

“But we used to do this all the time as kids. You know, I trained with Yeosang and Wooyoung at BigHit.”

San raises a brow. “Sangie didn’t recognize you?”

“Well, it’s been a while, and… you know,” you giggle. “He never really knows what’s going on.”

He laughs, nodding as he holds you close to his chest. “You’d think he’d remember such a feisty personality.”

You pucker your lips. “I’d say it’s more passionate than feisty,” you mumble. “I can’t help but get angry… I’m sorry for being so rude.”

He pauses for a second, then pushes you away so he can really look at your face. “No, I don’t accept your apology. Why did you tease me so much?”

You blush, looking away shyly. “I didn’t really…”

“I was dying, Y/n,” he says, completely serious. “You enjoyed my struggle.”

“Well,” you huff. “I was so angry at everything. I just needed you to fuck it out of me, you know?” He raises his brows. “You wouldn’t have if I asked. You’d be too careful about it,” you argue. “So I just worked you up to it. I’m sorry, Sannie.”

He grins, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling your head back to his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Wooyoung, when will you be here?” you whine into the phone, lying lazily on your couch.

Wooyoung promised to bring Yeosang and San to your hometown during their next break. It’s been a month since you returned home. Your hair has grown to your shoulders, and you’re so excited to see them again. Wooyoung was hesitant when you mentioned bringing San. He thought you might try to kill him since you didn’t succeed in your time as Wooyoung.

But you just want to see him again.

You’ve been texting and calling every day since you left, but a long-distance relationship is so frustrating. And you’re hiding it from Wooyoung nonetheless. Maybe one day you’ll tell him, but you don’t want him to freak out about it.

When the front door opens, you shoot to your feet. Wooyoung strides inside and gives you a big hug, but you don’t even bother with him, moving past him to greet the important guests. Yeosang is smiling brightly, handing you a little gift, and San… San is as dangerously perfect as you remember.

You bow politely. As your head lowers, you let a blush spread across your cheeks. Is it wrong… in front of everyone… that you want to take him away and feel him again? You’ve been talking for a month, but you haven’t been able to have a deep connection. The temptation to take him away right now is so strong.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” he says.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll… show you around.” You turn to Wooyoung and Yeosang quickly. “‘Cause you guys have been here.”

You start walking before anyone can even say anything. San follows, and, as soon as you enter your bathroom, you pin him against the wall and melt against him as his arms wrap around your waist. Your lips meet hard and fast.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper, hardly any sound at all as your lips are too busy memorizing the feel of his. You cup his face in your hands as you pull him closer to your movement. “San…” you sigh.

You both freeze when a figure walks into view and stops beside you. You both glance over, eyes wide in shock as Yeosang’s horrified expression meets you.

“You- We- S-” He’s looking from you to him, covering his mouth, speechless.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung calls out. “Are they fighting?!” Wooyoung runs down the hall, but you push away from San immediately, standing beside the sink with a composed expression masking your panic.

Yeosang is still looking from you to San, unsure of what to do, but a single twitch of your head tells him not to say a word.

“Young-ah, that’s not nice,” San jokes. “Why would we be fighting?”

He eyes you skeptically.

“Did she threaten you?”

“Ya,” you grumble. “I was just showing him the rooms. I wouldn’t pick a fight with someone I just met.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles before turning to go back to the living room.

“Since when are you guys…” Yeosang mumbles. “I mean, you’ve never met.”

“We’ll tell you everything,” you sigh. “But later. We don’t want Wooyoung to know. He’d go crazy.”

Yeosang looks conflicted. You know he can’t lie. You know he can’t keep a secret. Especially from Wooyoung, who presters him until he tells him everything he knows. But you’re really counting on him. Wooyoung definitely can not know.

“I’ll buy you chicken,” you offer, and he’s immediately made up his mind.

You return to your brother, the other two going to the kitchen to prepare the food they brought for lunch. Wooyoung looks lost in thought when you sit next to him on the couch.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” you ask, looking toward the kitchen cautiously.

He sighs. “Actually, Y/n, I didn’t just come here to visit.” He bites his lip. “I sort of got into some trouble… again…”

You look at him in disbelief. “Again? What happened this time?”

“Well… that lady from Paris… the one that got me into this mess. I didn’t want to tell the company. Like, we won the case. I’m not in that cult anymore.” He lowers his voice. “But I really wanted to settle it quickly, so I went to visit her personally.” Your jaw drops just a bit. “And she gave me a contract that would settle everything. I didn’t…”

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” you laugh in disbelief.

“She tricked me!” he argues. “She’s a master manipulator!”

“So what now? Did you sell your soul to the devil? Did you… I don’t know… become her slave or something?”

“Marriage.”

“No fucking way,” you scoff. “What didn’t you read to sign a fucking marriage contract? Are you actually slow?”

“I know, I fucked up,” he whispers. “But please help me out one more time. I… I’ll figure it out.”

“Does-”

“Young-ah, I thought we got two orders of the spicy chicken,” San mumbles as he walks into the living room. Your conversation stops with a long sigh from your lips.

“I’ll do it,” you tell your brother, reaching for the chicken box in San’s hands. “It’s fine. We can share.”

It’s not like you don’t have your own reasons anyway.

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