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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

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It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

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kashverse · 23 days ago

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papatoji and mamaguro reader ?

sending your husband off to work like a loving, doting wife was a crucial part of your daily routine. it was important that he felt supported before he went out to, well—commit several felonies. sure, some women sent their husbands off with a homemade bento and a kiss on the cheek. you? you handed yours a small, carefully portioned bowl of soaked almonds while cradling your half-asleep, drooling son.

because good memory was important for his line of work.

"get safe," you murmur, rocking megumi slightly as he snuggles deeper into your chest. toji, who is currently double-checking the strap of his sword, nods absentmindedly. "mm."

"stay calm."

"mm."

"come home soon."

"mm."

"i love you."

"mm."

then, you hold out the almonds. toji freezes.

ah, there it is. the momentary hesitation. the slight flicker of fear in those sharp green eyes. because for some reason, this was the part of the routine that shook him the most. not the job. not the assassinations. not even the active gunfire. no, no. it was the damn almonds.

“babe,” he starts, voice edging toward a whine.

“toji.” your voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. he groans, rubbing the back of his head, “i told you, i don’t need these. my memory’s fine.”

“oh? is it?” you arch a brow. “where were you last night at exactly 1:45 a.m.?”

toji opens his mouth. closes it. narrows his eyes.

"...you put a tracker on me, didn’t you?"

you hum, bouncing megumi a little. "soaked almonds, toji."

he exhales, long and suffering, like he’s the one dealing with difficulties here. "why soaked ones?" he grumbles, but he still takes them from you, stuffing a couple into his mouth like a sullen child.

"because it helps with absorption," you say, watching to make sure he chews them properly. he sighs dramatically, munching through them with all the enthusiasm of a man eating paper. "whatever." he swallows. "happy now?"

you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling sweetly. "very."

toji, despite himself, grins. "good."

he makes it all the way to the door before you say, "oh, and—"

toji stops. turns. "what."

you tilt your head. "don't forget your protein intake today, okay? make sure to eat something healthy."

"...babe, who do you think i am, some dumbass who only eats meat and beer?"

you blink at him. slowly. his jaw clenches. "...fine."

he leaves, and you swear you hear him grumbling under his breath about how he's supposed to be the scary one in this house, damn it.

#@toji #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #toji x f!reader #toji x female reader

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

Text

Lost and Found

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: one minute Lando Norris is speeding through the streets of New York City — the world at his fingertips in the days leading up to the United States Grand Prix — and the next his world is spinning out of control, leaving him with nothing except for blank memories and the concerned attention of a stranger who takes him in when he has no one and nothing else

Warnings: descriptions of a car crash and memory loss

The night is cold, and the sharp October wind slips under your jacket as you tug it tighter around you. Your boots slap against the pavement, the rhythm a steady beat on the nearly deserted street. Columbia’s library closed an hour ago, but you stayed later than you should have. Deadlines don’t wait. Law school doesn't wait. Life doesn’t wait.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your eyes fixed on the glowing windows of the apartment building a few blocks ahead. Almost home. Almost there.

And then-

A car rips past, tires screeching loud enough to make you flinch. It’s moving too fast, way too fast, the engine growling like an animal barely kept on a leash. You freeze for a second as it flies down the street, headlights smearing into long streaks of white. Your breath catches-

It spins. A brutal, violent twist as the car skids into a corner it shouldn’t be taking. The rear fishtails wildly. For a heartbeat, it looks like it might recover. Then it slams straight into a lamp post with a sickening crunch. Metal screams. Glass explodes. The lamp shudders, flickers, and dies.

For a moment, everything is still. Silent, even.

“Shit,” you whisper, your pulse spiking hard and fast.

You stand there, frozen in the chilly air, your brain catching up to what you just saw. The street is deserted — of course it is. This isn’t exactly rush hour. There’s no one around. No witnesses. No help.

Without thinking, you yank your phone out of your pocket and dial. The ringing in your ear seems to go on forever.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A woman asks briskly.

“A car crash,” you say, already moving toward the wreck. Your feet hit the pavement harder now, the soles of your boots slapping in quick bursts. “Corner of … uh, 116th and Riverside. It’s bad — the car’s totaled. I think someone’s still inside.”

“Are you with the driver now?”

“Not yet. I’m — I’m crossing the street.” You dodge between two parked cars and jog to the other side. The car sits under the broken streetlamp, its front end wrapped around the post like it lost a fight it never stood a chance of winning. The glossy surface is crumpled and shattered, shards of glass glittering on the asphalt like broken stars.

“Ma’am, do not approach the vehicle if it’s unsafe.”

You ignore that. “I think the guy’s still in there,” you mutter, holding the phone tight between your ear and shoulder. You grip the door handle and pull hard, but it’s jammed. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your weight into it until it finally groans open.

The first thing you notice is the smell — leather, gasoline, and the acrid tang of burned rubber. Your heart pounds in your throat. You glance at the man slumped in the driver’s seat, and the breath catches in your chest.

“Hello?” You ask, bending down, peering closer. “Can you hear me?”

He groans, shifting a little, but his eyes remain half-closed. Blood trickles from a cut above his eyebrow, carving a red path down the side of his face.

“Hey! Are you okay?” You try again, louder this time. No answer — just a sluggish movement of his head, like he's fighting to stay conscious.

“What's your name?” You keep your voice firm but gentle, the way you imagine an EMT might sound.

The man mumbles something, his voice thick and slurred. You lean closer, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“What? I need your name.”

“Lando,” he whispers, and it’s barely audible, more breath than word.

You frown. The name sounds familiar, but that’s not important right now. “Okay, Lando. Do you know where you are?”

His eyelids flutter, and for a second, it looks like he might pass out entirely. Then he forces them open again, just barely.

“Crash,” he mutters. “Crashed the car.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than him. You glance around the street again, hoping for flashing lights in the distance. Nothing. Just you, him, and the wreckage.

“Can you tell me what hurts?” You ask, trying to keep him talking. Concussions are dangerous — keeping him conscious feels important.

Lando’s head lolls against the seat. “Feels like … everything.”

His voice is thick, heavy with exhaustion. He sounds like someone who’s been through the wringer, someone who desperately needs sleep but can’t afford to close their eyes.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” you say, scanning him for any other obvious injuries. Blood stains the collar of his jacket, but nothing looks life-threatening. Yet.

“Race car driver,” Lando slurs suddenly, like the thought just stumbled out of his brain without permission.

You blink. “What?”

“Race … car driver,” he repeats, slower this time. His accent drags on the vowels, a little British, a little something else.

You raise an eyebrow, convinced now that he’s concussed. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

He gives a small, incoherent laugh, like your joke made perfect sense in his scrambled mind.

“You're not supposed to be funny,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You glance back at the wreck, taking in the sleek lines and bright logo on the hood — McLaren. Expensive. Stupidly expensive. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Jesus, you’re one of those guys,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. Rich kid, fast car, bad decisions. You’ve seen this movie before, and it usually ends with someone like him getting bailed out by daddy’s lawyer.

Lando stirs again, his head rolling toward you. “Not … like that,” he mumbles. “I am a race car driver.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it. He’s barely coherent — humoring him feels kinder than arguing. “Sure you are, buddy. Sure you are.”

He squints at you, his expression dazed but oddly sincere, like he’s genuinely offended you don’t believe him. “I am,” he insists, as if that settles the matter.

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. It’s absurd — this whole situation is absurd. You crouch lower, resting your hand lightly on his arm. “Just stay awake, okay? Ambulance is on the way.”

Lando hums something that might be agreement, though it sounds more like a sigh. His eyes droop again, dangerously close to shutting.

“Hey.” You give his arm a small shake. “No sleeping. Talk to me.”

“‘Bout what?” He murmurs, his head lolling to the side.

“Anything. Tell me …“ You scramble for something. “What’s your favorite color?”

He blinks slowly, like it’s the most confusing question anyone’s ever asked him. “Blue. No, wait … orange.”

You snort. “Make up your mind, race car driver.”

Lando makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Can’t.”

“That concussion is doing wonders for your decision-making skills,” you say dryly, glancing toward the street again. Still no lights. You tap your foot anxiously.

Lando shifts in his seat, his hand twitching like he’s trying to move but can’t quite manage it. “You’re … bossy,” he mumbles, his accent thicker now.

“Yeah, well, you crashed your car, so you don’t get to complain.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he murmurs, “… Thanks for stopping.”

Something about the way he says it catches you off guard — soft, almost vulnerable. You swallow the lump in your throat and squeeze his arm gently.

“Don’t mention it, Lando.”

And then, finally, in the distance — a flash of red and blue lights.

***

The wail of sirens grows louder, slicing through the quiet night like a razor. Red and blue lights bounce off the buildings, streaking across shattered glass and twisted metal. Relief washes over you, making your knees feel a little shaky.

Finally.

Two ambulances come to a screeching halt. EMTs spill out, moving with practiced urgency. One of them, a tall woman with her hair yanked into a messy bun, jogs toward you.

“Are you hurt?” She asks, already looking you up and down for signs of injury.

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine — it’s the driver. He’s … he’s pretty out of it.” You glance back at Lando, slumped in his seat. “I think he hit his head. He’s not making much sense.”

The EMT follows your gaze, nodding sharply. “Okay, step back for me.” She waves another EMT over. “We’ve got one male, early twenties, possible head trauma.”

You move back as instructed, but not far — just enough to give them space to work while still close enough to watch. One of the EMTs wedges a tool into the doorframe to force it open wider, and the crunch of metal makes you wince.

“Hey, buddy,” the EMT says, leaning in toward Lando. “Can you hear me?”

Lando stirs slightly, his eyelids fluttering open. He mumbles something incomprehensible, and the EMT exchanges a look with his partner.

“Pupils look uneven,” the first EMT mutters, shining a small flashlight into Lando’s eyes. “Definitely concussed.”

The other EMT secures a neck brace around Lando’s head, locking it into place with quick, efficient movements. Lando groans at the pressure, his face twisted in confusion.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” The EMT says in a loud, clear voice. “Just stay still for me, mate. We’re gonna lift you.”

They maneuver him onto a backboard with a series of coordinated moves, careful to keep his neck stabilized. Lando lets out a soft groan but doesn’t resist — it’s like his body is on autopilot.

You cross your arms against the cold, biting your lower lip. They make it look so smooth, so clinical, but there’s something unsettling about watching someone get hauled out of a wreck like that, limp and helpless.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The EMT asks you, not looking up as they strap Lando to the board.

You blink, caught off guard. “What? No. I-I just saw the crash happen. I came over to help.”

The EMT nods once, focused on the task at hand. “All right. Appreciate you staying with him.”

They lift Lando, sliding the backboard onto a waiting gurney. He lets out a weak noise of discomfort, but his eyes remain half-lidded, barely clinging to consciousness.

As they wheel him toward the ambulance, you follow instinctively, your heart thrumming with worry. You can’t just leave now — not when he looks like that.

“Hey,” you call after them, your voice tight. “Can I … can I ride with him?”

One of the EMTs looks over his shoulder, frowning. “Are you family?”

“No. I just-“ You pause, unsure how to explain it. “I don’t feel right leaving him alone.”

The EMTs exchange glances. For a moment, it looks like they might refuse, but the woman in charge sighs and jerks her head toward the ambulance. “Fine. Get in. Just stay out of the way.”

“Thank you,” you say, relief flooding through you.

You climb into the back of the ambulance as they lift Lando’s gurney inside. The doors slam shut behind you, sealing you in with the hum of medical equipment and the faint smell of antiseptic.

The ambulance jerks into motion, the siren blaring overhead.

The EMT sitting across from you pulls on a pair of gloves, leaning over Lando. “Let’s see how we’re doing, champ.”

Lando’s eyes flicker, heavy and unfocused. The EMT checks his pulse, then takes a penlight and shines it directly into Lando’s pupils. He winces, groaning low in his throat.

“Sir, can you hear me?” The EMT asks loudly, as if trying to shake him awake with sound alone.

Lando blinks sluggishly, his brow furrowing. “… Yeah,” he mutters, barely audible. His accent makes the word sound more like yeh.

The EMT hums, jotting something down on a clipboard. “Good. Do you know where you are?”

Lando’s face twists in confusion. “Uh … car … crash?”

“That’s right. Do you know what day it is?”

Lando frowns, like the question is too complicated to process. “… Tuesday?” He guesses, though it sounds more like a question than an answer.

The EMT glances at you briefly, then back at Lando. “Close enough,” he mutters under his breath.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“Lando Norris,” Lando slurs, then huffs, like just saying his own name took monumental effort.

“All right, Lando. You're doing okay, but you’ve probably got a concussion,” the EMT says, his tone calm but firm. “I need you to stay awake for me, yeah?”

Lando's eyelids droop again, dangerously close to closing. “M’tired,” he mumbles, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know you are, but you’ve gotta fight it. Stay with me, Lando.”

You lean forward, suddenly anxious. “Hey. Lando.” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but it gets his attention. His eyes flutter open, just barely.

“Stay awake, okay? Keep talking.”

He shifts sluggishly, his head rolling to the side. “‘Bout what?”

“Anything,” you say quickly, glancing at the EMT as if looking for backup. “Uh … tell me more about racing.”

Lando’s lips twitch, almost like a smile. “Fast,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but huff a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, I figured,” you say. “But, like … how fast?”

“Really fast,” he whispers, his voice trailing off into nothing. His eyes close again, and this time, they don’t reopen.

“Lando?” You reach out instinctively, your hand hovering over his arm. “Hey. Lando.”

The EMT leans in, tapping Lando's cheek with two fingers. “Come on, buddy. Wake up.”

Nothing. Lando’s breathing is steady but shallow, his head slack against the neck brace.

The EMT mutters a curse under his breath. “He’s out. Heart rate’s steady, but we’re not taking any chances.”

You feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. “Is that bad?” You ask, your voice smaller than you'd like.

“It’s not good,” the EMT says bluntly. He grabs a stethoscope and checks Lando’s breathing again. “We’re almost there. Just gotta keep him stable.”

The ambulance sways as it takes a corner, and you clutch the edge of the bench to steady yourself. Your heart is pounding now, loud and fast in your ears.

You watch the EMT work, every movement precise and deliberate, but it still feels like time is dragging, like the ambulance isn’t moving fast enough.

The siren wails overhead, a sharp, urgent reminder of how serious this is.

You glance at Lando’s face — pale, slack, and too still — and something twists painfully in your chest. You don’t even know this guy, not really, but the thought of him not waking up feels … wrong.

“Hang in there, Lando,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

The ambulance jerks to a halt, and the EMT presses a button to radio the hospital. “ETA sixty seconds. Unconscious male, suspected head trauma. Prep trauma room two.”

Your stomach flips as the doors fly open, and two more EMTs appear, ready to unload.

The gurney jerks as they lift it, and you follow closely behind, stepping out into the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital bay. The cold air hits you again, but it barely registers.

The EMT glances over his shoulder at you as they wheel Lando inside. “This is where we leave you,” he says, not unkindly.

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. “Right.”

The gurney disappears through the sliding glass doors, and you stand there for a moment, unsure what to do next.

The night air feels heavier now, the adrenaline ebbing away, leaving behind a strange emptiness.

***

The waiting room is cold, with that sterile, over-sanitized smell that clings to every surface. You sit awkwardly in a plastic chair, arms crossed tightly over your chest. It’s eerily quiet, except for the occasional squeak of sneakers on tile and the low murmur of nurses passing through. A vending machine hums softly against the far wall.

You’ve lost track of how long it’s been since they wheeled Lando through those double doors. An hour? Two? Time feels slippery here, twisting and turning in on itself, every minute stretching out longer than the last. You try scrolling through your phone, but nothing holds your attention. The adrenaline has drained from your system, leaving you restless and uneasy.

It would’ve been easy to leave after they took him inside. After all, he’s a complete stranger. But the thought of him waking up alone, disoriented and confused in a hospital bed, doesn’t sit right with you. And so, you wait.

A nurse pokes her head out of a side door at one point, scanning the room. Your heart jumps, but she’s only calling for someone else — a patient’s relative who stands up with a relieved sigh. The room empties little by little, families reuniting with loved ones or filing out into the night.

You shift in your seat, rubbing your hands together to stave off the chill. You could leave right now, go home, crawl into bed. But somehow, you know you won’t — not until you know Lando is okay.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the door swings open again. This time, it’s a physician in pale blue scrubs, holding a clipboard. He looks around the room, squinting under the fluorescent lights.

“Is anyone here with the car crash patient?” He asks, voice low but carrying through the empty space.

You stand up before you even realize what you’re doing. “I … I’m here.”

The doctor’s eyes flick over to you, eyebrows raised. “You’re with him?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. I mean, sort of. I was there when it happened.”

The doctor approaches, glancing down at his clipboard. “He’s stable,” he says, and you feel some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “He has a pretty severe concussion, though. He lost consciousness on the way here, but we were able to wake him up a little while ago.”

You let out a slow breath. “That’s good, right?”

“Yes and no,” the doctor replies, shifting his weight. “It looks like he has post-traumatic amnesia. He doesn’t seem to know who he is — doesn’t even remember his own name.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. “Amnesia?”

The doctor nods. “It’s not uncommon with head injuries like his. In most cases, the memory loss is temporary. But it’s hard to say how long it will take for him to regain his memories — could be hours, days, or longer.”

You swallow, trying to process that. “He didn’t have any ID on him?”

“No wallet, no phone. Nothing to tell us who he is.” The doctor frowns. “Do you know his name?”

You feel a flicker of panic — you barely know anything about him. But you remember something from the ambulance, a faint, slurred sentence buried in the fog of the night. “His first name is Lando,” you say slowly. “He told the EMT that much. I-“ You press your fingers to your temples, frustrated with yourself. “He also said his last name, but I can’t remember it right now. It was … it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

The doctor gives you a sympathetic nod. “That’s all right. At least we have a starting point.” He flips a page on his clipboard. “Lando … okay.” He pauses, then looks at you with a curious expression. “Are you related to him?”

“No,” you say quickly. “I just … I saw the crash and rode with him in the ambulance.”

The doctor tilts his head, studying you for a moment. “It’s unusual,” he says slowly, “but since he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him … we could make an exception and let you visit him.”

You blink, surprised by the offer. “You would? Even though I’m not family?”

The doctor nods. “Under the circumstances, yes. He’s confused, disoriented. It might help him to see a familiar face — well, at least someone who’s been around since the accident.”

You hesitate for a beat, then nod. “Yeah. I’ll visit him.”

The doctor gives you a small smile, then gestures toward the door. “Follow me.”

Your heart beats a little faster as you trail behind him through the sterile hallways, passing closed doors and curtained-off spaces. The farther you go, the quieter it gets, until the only sounds are the soft squeak of your shoes on the linoleum and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

Finally, the doctor stops in front of a room and gestures for you to go inside. “He’s still a bit groggy, but you can sit with him for a while.”

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, and push the door open.

The room is small, dimly lit by a single lamp on the wall. Lando lies in the bed, looking pale and disoriented, his dark curls sticking to his forehead. A bandage is wrapped around his head, and an IV drips steadily from a bag hooked to a pole beside the bed.

You step inside, and his gaze shifts toward you, though it’s clear he’s struggling to stay focused.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling the chair closer to his bed. “How are you feeling?”

He blinks at you, his expression hazy with confusion. “I … I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice scratchy. “Where … where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital,” you explain gently. “You had a car accident.”

Lando frowns, his brow furrowing. “A car accident?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward slightly. “It was pretty bad, but you’re going to be okay.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unfocused. “Do I … do I know you?”

You shake your head. “No, we just met — well, kind of. I was there when you crashed. I called for help and rode with you in the ambulance.”

Lando’s lips press together, as if he’s trying to make sense of your words. “Why?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Why what?”

“Why did you … stay?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You hesitate, not entirely sure how to answer. “I don’t know,” you admit. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Lando gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes slipping shut for a moment. Then he opens them again, struggling to stay awake.

“You said my name is Lando?” He asks, his voice faint.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s what you told me. Do you … remember anything else?”

Lando shakes his head slowly, frustration flickering across his face. “No,” he whispers. “Nothing.”

You offer him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s okay. It’ll come back to you. You just need to rest.”

He nods weakly, his eyelids drooping.

For a moment, the room is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the IV drip and the distant sounds of the hospital outside.

“Thank you,” Lando murmurs suddenly, his voice barely audible.

You blink, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For staying,” he whispers. “For not leaving me alone.”

You feel a strange warmth spread through your chest at his words, unexpected but not unwelcome.

“Of course,” you say softly. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Lando’s eyes close again, his breathing evening out as he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

You sit back in the chair, watching him for a moment longer, feeling oddly connected to this stranger — this man whose life, for reasons you can’t quite explain, has suddenly become intertwined with yours.

***

You wake up to the soft click of a door opening. For a moment, you’re disoriented — the sharp smell of antiseptic in the air and the hum of machines aren’t what you expect. Then it all comes rushing back: the crash, the ambulance, Lando.

You straighten in the uncomfortable hospital chair, your neck aching from the awkward position you slept in. A nurse in pale scrubs moves around the room quietly, checking Lando’s IV and jotting notes on her chart. She glances at you and offers a small smile.

“Good morning,” she says softly, like someone used to tiptoeing around the sick and injured.

You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Morning. Is he …”

The nurse nods toward Lando. “Still sleeping. His vitals look stable, though.”

You glance at him. He’s shifted a little in his sleep, curled slightly on his side with the blanket pulled halfway up his chest. His face is peaceful, his breathing steady, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget the chaos of last night.

The nurse scribbles something else on her clipboard. “The doctor will be in soon to check on him. If he’s doing okay, we might start talking about discharge.”

You frown slightly. “Discharge? Already?”

The nurse gives a small shrug. “It’s common. Once someone is stable, there’s no reason to keep them here longer than necessary.”

Before you can respond, the door opens again, and the same physician from last night steps in, looking far more awake and put-together than you feel. He carries a folder tucked under one arm and offers a polite nod as he approaches Lando’s bed.

“Morning,” he says briskly, flipping through the papers. “Let’s see how our patient is doing.”

Lando stirs at the sound of voices, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes flutter open. He blinks at the ceiling, clearly disoriented, and then his gaze shifts toward you.

“Hey,” you say softly, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”

He squints at you, like he’s trying to place you in a dream that hasn’t fully faded. “I … I don’t know,” he mumbles. His voice is raspy, as if unused for too long. “Where …”

“The hospital,” you remind him gently. “You were in an accident. Do you remember?”

Lando’s expression crumples with frustration, and he shakes his head weakly. “No. I don’t remember anything.”

The doctor steps closer, setting the folder down on the bedside table. “It’s okay, Lando,” he says in a professional but kind tone. “You’ve had a serious concussion. Amnesia like this is not unusual. It may take some time for your memory to come back.”

Lando doesn’t respond. His hand rests on the blanket, fingers twitching slightly, as if he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.

The physician clears his throat and flips through the imaging results. “We’ve run more tests, and everything looks good. No fractures, no swelling that we need to be concerned about. Medically speaking, you’re ready to be discharged.”

Lando stares at the doctor, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Discharged? But … I don’t even know who I am.”

The doctor sighs sympathetically. “I know it’s overwhelming, but there’s no medical reason to keep you here. Usually, when patients have amnesia, we recommend that they go home, rest, and be with family until their memory returns.”

Lando lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Except I don’t even know if I have family.”

The doctor exchanges a glance with you, clearly uncomfortable. “We tried contacting local authorities, but without ID, there’s not much we can do to locate anyone for you right now. In the meantime …” He trails off, glancing at his watch. “You’ll need to find somewhere safe to rest. Hospitals aren’t designed for long stays in cases like this.”

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out at first. A knot twists in your stomach — Lando looks so lost, sitting there in the stiff hospital bed with no memory of who he is or where he belongs.

And then, without thinking, you blurt out, “He can come home with me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, heavy and unexpected.

Both Lando and the doctor turn to stare at you, identical looks of confusion written across their faces.

“What?” Lando asks, his voice thick with disbelief.

You blink, as if hearing yourself for the first time. “I mean … if he has nowhere else to go,” you say quickly, your heart racing. “It doesn’t feel right just … leaving him like this.”

The doctor looks at you like you’ve just volunteered to adopt a stray animal off the street. “Are you sure about that?” He asks cautiously. “Taking care of someone with memory loss can be challenging.”

You nod before you can second-guess yourself. “I’m sure. I can help him get settled until … until he remembers something.”

Lando’s brow furrows as he tries to process what’s happening. “You’re serious? I can’t even remember my own name, and you’re just … offering to let me stay with you?”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “It’s not like I’m going to just let you wander the streets of New York with a concussion.”

Lando huffs a soft laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “You have no idea who I am. I could be a serial killer or something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you feel like a serial killer?”

He pauses, blinking at the question. “No. I just feel … confused.”

“Then we’ll take our chances,” you say, standing a little straighter.

The doctor looks between the two of you, clearly torn. “All right,” he says finally, scribbling something on his clipboard. “We’ll need you to sign some forms for his release. And …” He glances at Lando. “You’ll need to take it easy for the next few days — no strenuous activities, no driving, and absolutely no drinking.”

Lando nods slowly, still looking stunned by the turn of events.

The doctor finishes writing and tears off a sheet of paper, handing it to you. “Here are his discharge instructions. Make sure he rests and drinks plenty of fluids. If there’s any change — headaches, confusion, anything — bring him back right away.”

You nod, taking the paper. “Got it.”

The doctor gives a final nod before stepping toward the door. “A nurse will be in soon to help with the paperwork. Good luck.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you alone with Lando in the quiet room.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Lando breaks the silence first. “You’re really doing this?”

You glance at him, and for the first time, you realize how scared he must be — lost in a city he doesn’t remember, with no memory of who he is or where he belongs.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m really doing this.”

Lando’s lips twitch, almost like he’s trying to smile but isn’t quite sure how. “You’re either very brave,” he mutters, “or very stupid.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you admit, and the corners of his mouth lift just slightly.

He looks down at the blanket covering his legs, running his fingers along the edge. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, standing up and smoothing out your wrinkled clothes. “Just … don’t make me regret it, okay?”

Lando glances up at you, his expression serious now. “I’ll try not to.”

There’s a knock at the door, and a nurse pokes her head in, holding a clipboard. “Ready to go?”

You nod, glancing at Lando. “Ready?”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for whatever comes next. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

And with that, the two of you step into the unknown together.

***

The subway car rattles along the tracks, a steady clunk-clunk that fills the silence between you and Lando. He’s seated beside you, his head tilted back against the cold metal pole, watching the city blur past through the dirty windows. His posture is relaxed — almost too relaxed — but you can tell it’s not comfort. It’s exhaustion, both physical and emotional. Every so often, he glances at the other passengers with the wide-eyed caution of someone dropped into an unfamiliar world.

“You okay?” You ask, nudging his arm gently with your elbow.

He turns toward you, slow and deliberate, like even small movements take effort. “I guess. Just feels … weird.” He rubs his temple, the faint crease of a headache forming between his brows. “Everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t tell if that’s the world or just my brain being scrambled.”

“Definitely the world.” You try to smile, hoping it’ll ease some of the weight he’s carrying. “New York doesn’t stop for anyone. You get used to it.”

Lando offers a weak chuckle, but the sound fades quickly. “You do this every day?”

You shrug. “Pretty much. You learn how to block out the noise after a while.”

He leans his head back again, eyes drifting shut as if the conversation itself takes more energy than he has to spare. You glance at him, wondering what’s going through his mind — if he’s terrified, disoriented, or just trying to keep it together for your sake. Maybe all three.

When the subway screeches to a stop at your station, you nudge him again. “This is us.”

Lando blinks awake, dragging himself upright as you both stand. He follows you off the train, into the chaotic swirl of the station. The noise, the movement, the fluorescent lights — none of it fazes you, but you can feel him stiffen beside you as if it’s too much all at once.

You make your way to the stairs, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, and Lando does his best to keep up. “This city is … a lot,” he mutters as you ascend to street level.

“Yeah.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “But it grows on you. Like a fungus.”

Lando snorts — an actual laugh this time, though it’s still edged with disbelief. “I think I’ll take your word for it.”

The two of you walk in silence for the few blocks to your apartment. It’s late morning by now, the streets bustling with people on errands or rushing to work. You pull your coat tighter against the breeze and glance at Lando, who’s walking beside you with his hands jammed deep into the pockets of the hospital-issued sweatpants.

When you finally reach your building, you unlock the front door and lead him up two flights of stairs. Your apartment isn’t much — a tiny one-bedroom with a narrow kitchen, mismatched furniture, and walls covered in posters and sticky notes. But it’s yours, and for now, it’ll be his too.

“Home sweet home,” you say, pushing the door open and stepping aside to let him in.

Lando hesitates in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the space. “This is where you live?” He asks, his tone curious rather than judgmental.

“Yep. Not exactly a palace, but it works.” You drop your keys on the counter and kick off your shoes, motioning for him to do the same. “Welcome to grad student life.”

He steps inside cautiously, as if the apartment might swallow him whole, and his eyes land on the piles of law books scattered across the coffee table, the kitchen counter, even the armrest of the couch. A legal pad covered in half-finished notes is open on the floor, surrounded by highlighters and empty coffee cups.

“It looks like a library threw up in here,” he says, eyebrows raised.

You let out a laugh, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah, sorry. It’s kind of … everywhere.”

He picks up one of the books from the table — Constitutional Law: Cases and Materials — and flips through the pages with an amused expression. “So … you’re a lawyer?”

“Not yet,” you correct, dropping your bag on the couch. “I’m still a student. Columbia Law.”

Lando sets the book down carefully, as if it might bite. “That sounds … intense.”

“It is.” You collapse onto the couch with a sigh, stretching your legs out. “It’s basically my whole life right now. Classes, studying, internships … sleep, if I’m lucky.”

Lando leans against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You like it?”

You tilt your head, considering the question. “Yeah. I mean, it’s hard as hell, but I do. There’s something … satisfying about figuring things out, solving problems.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to imagine what that kind of life feels like. “So, you’re one of those people. The smart ones.”

You laugh. “I guess that depends on the day.”

Lando’s gaze drifts back to the books, his expression thoughtful. “And you’re just … letting me crash here. Even though you’ve got all this going on?”

You shrug, feeling a little awkward under his scrutiny. “It’s not a big deal.”

He gives you a look — one that says he doesn’t believe you for a second. “It’s kind of a big deal. I mean, I don’t even know who I am, and you brought me home.”

“Well, you didn’t seem like a serial killer.” You grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I could take you if it came down to it.”

Lando chuckles, the sound low and genuine this time. “Right. Because you’ve been training in MMA on the side.”

“Exactly.” You gesture to the couch. “That’s where you’ll sleep, by the way. Sorry it’s not a king-sized bed or anything.”

He glances at the couch, then back at you with a wry smile. “I’ve slept in worse places, I think.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think?”

He shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Memory loss, remember?”

“Right.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Guess we’ll both find out what you’re used to.”

Lando walks over to the couch and sinks into it experimentally, testing the cushions. “It’s not bad,” he says after a moment. “I’ll survive.”

“Good. Because I’m fresh out of five-star hotels.”

He leans back, resting his head against the cushion, and closes his eyes for a moment. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “For … all of this. I know it’s weird.”

You wave a hand dismissively. “It’s not that weird.”

Lando opens one eye, giving you a skeptical look. “It’s definitely weird.”

“Okay, maybe a little.” You grin. “But life’s weird sometimes. You just roll with it.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes drifting shut again. “You make it sound easy.”

You watch him for a moment, the way his breathing slows, the tension easing from his shoulders bit by bit. There’s something oddly comforting about having someone else here, even if that someone is a total stranger who just happens to have lost his memory.

“You hungry?” You ask, standing up and stretching. “I’ve got … well, probably just instant noodles, but it’s food.”

Lando cracks a smile without opening his eyes. “Instant noodles sound like a feast right now.”

“High standards, I see,” you tease, heading to the kitchen.

As you fill a pot with water and set it on the stove, you can’t help but glance back at him. He’s still stretched out on the couch, looking more at peace than he has since you met him.

And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, it feels right.

***

Steam rises from the bowls of instant noodles, curling into the dim air of your apartment. The two of you sit side by side on the couch, knees almost touching, slurping quietly while some mindless local news plays in the background. It’s not much, but there’s something comforting about the simplicity of it. For the first time all day, things feel … normal.

Lando scoops a forkful of noodles, twirling them slowly, like even eating requires focus. “So, this is gourmet cuisine?” He teases, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, these are the premium kind,” you shoot back, nudging him with your elbow. “I even added an egg. That’s high-level cooking.”

He chuckles, the sound soft but genuine, and for a moment you think maybe — just maybe — he’s settling in. But then the newscaster’s voice shifts into something more urgent, drawing both of your attention.

“… the United States Grand Prix is set to take place this weekend in Austin, Texas, with the world’s top drivers arriving to compete in what promises to be a thrilling event …”

The screen cuts to footage of race cars whizzing by, sleek and impossibly fast, engines roaring like angry beasts. Drivers in fireproof suits pose for cameras, and somewhere in the background, a McLaren car gleams under stadium lights.

You glance at Lando. He’s sitting perfectly still, bowl of noodles forgotten in his lap. His eyes are glued to the screen, unblinking, as if the images are stirring something just out of reach — a half-buried memory fighting to resurface.

“Lando?” You say softly.

He doesn’t respond, just stares at the television like it’s showing him the key to his past. His fingers tighten around the bowl, knuckles going white.

“Does that … mean anything to you?” You ask cautiously, setting your own bowl aside. “The race?”

Lando’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His brow furrows deeply, frustration flickering across his features. He shakes his head slowly, like trying to sift through fog.

“I … I don’t know,” he mutters. “It feels … familiar. Like I should know something about it.”

You lean closer, watching his face carefully. “Do you think it’s connected to you? Maybe that’s-“

“I don’t know!” Lando snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. He winces immediately, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Sorry. I just … it’s right there, you know? Like I’m supposed to know why this matters, but I can’t grab it.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, hoping to calm him down. “It’s not your fault.”

Lando drags a hand down his face, breathing hard through his nose. “It’s just … frustrating,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember anything?”

The sheer helplessness in his voice makes your heart ache. You can see him trying so hard to stay composed, but it’s slipping. He blinks rapidly, his jaw tight, as if he’s on the verge of tears and doing everything in his power not to let them fall.

You set your hand on his arm gently. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to force it.”

Lando shakes his head again, a bitter laugh escaping him. “It’s not okay. I don’t even know who I am. What kind of person forgets their whole life?”

“You’re not broken,” you tell him firmly. “You just had a really bad accident. Your brain’s protecting you, probably — it’ll come back when it’s ready.”

He looks at you, his eyes glossy, and for a moment he seems like a kid lost in a supermarket, scared and trying not to cry. “But what if it doesn’t?” His voice is small, filled with uncertainty. “What if I never remember?”

The vulnerability in his words catches you off guard. It’s strange, seeing someone like him — someone who carries himself like the world should make sense — crumble under the weight of something he can’t control.

You don’t know what to say. What can you say? You’re just a law student who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. But you can’t leave him in this. You won’t.

“It’ll come back,” you say softly. “And until it does, you’re not alone, okay?”

Lando presses his lips together, nodding slightly even though he doesn’t look convinced. He tilts his head back, blinking hard, as if sheer willpower alone can force the tears away. You see the frustration etched in every movement, the way he clenches his jaw and digs his fingers into his palms.

“Why does this feel so familiar?” He whispers, more to himself than to you. “That car … the race … it’s like I know it, but it’s just out of reach. It’s right there, but I can’t …”

You squeeze his arm, grounding him. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

Lando exhales shakily, dragging his hands through his messy curls. “I feel … useless. Like I should be doing something, but I don’t even know what.”

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’re not useless. You survived a crash that should’ve been a lot worse. That’s already pretty impressive.”

He lets out a humorless laugh, wiping at his eyes. “Yeah. Real impressive. Can’t even remember my own name.”

“You remembered some of it,” you remind him. “That’s a start.”

Lando looks at you, his expression hovering between gratitude and exhaustion. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Take me in. Deal with … whatever this is.”

You shrug. “I wasn’t about to leave you on your own.”

He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s trying to memorize your face — or maybe trying to understand why a stranger would care enough to help him. Finally, he nods, a small but genuine gesture.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” you reply, offering him a small smile. “We’ll take it one day at a time, okay? No pressure to remember everything all at once.”

Lando breathes out slowly, as if the weight of the moment is starting to lift, even if just a little. “Okay,” he whispers. “One day at a time.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of the TV filling the space between you. On the screen, the sports segment wraps up, and the anchor shifts to another story — something about a mayoral race you couldn’t care less about. But Lando keeps glancing at the TV, his gaze flickering with something you can’t quite place.

You watch him carefully, wondering what’s going through his mind. Maybe there’s more he remembers, things he can’t quite articulate yet. Or maybe the images of the race just stirred something instinctual — a feeling rather than a memory.

“Do you think …” Lando starts, then stops himself, biting his lip. “Do you think I was supposed to be there? At the race?”

You consider his question carefully. “It’s possible. I mean … maybe. But it’s also possible that it just feels familiar because you love racing. Maybe you were a fan.”

Lando doesn’t look convinced. “It feels … bigger than that. Like it’s important.”

“Well,” you say gently, “if it’s really that important, I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

He nods, though his expression remains troubled. “Yeah. I hope so.”

You reach for the remote and turn the volume down, hoping it’ll give him some peace. “For now, just try to rest, okay? We can’t solve everything tonight.”

Lando leans back against the couch cushions, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Right. One day at a time.”

You nod, settling back beside him. “Exactly.”

And for a moment — just a moment — the world feels a little quieter. A little more manageable. Neither of you knows what tomorrow will bring, but for now, you’re here. Together. And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough.

***

In Woking, the McLaren Technology Centre buzzes with the usual energy, but today, there’s a frantic undercurrent no one can quite contain. Engineers huddle over laptops, scrolling through telemetry and GPS data. Phones ring at an alarming frequency. It’s as though the entire organization holds its breath, waiting for a disaster they can’t fully comprehend but know is happening.

Zak Brown slams his phone down on the desk in his office, his jaw tight with frustration. “No answer. Nothing. It just goes to voicemail,” he says, pacing. His voice carries out into the open office space, drawing glances from staff nearby.

“Same here,” a voice pipes up from the other side of the room. Andrea Stella looks exhausted, cradling his phone against his ear. “No response to texts. No one at the hotel he was supposed to check into has seen him. And his phone’s not pinging anymore — it’s like it just went dark.”

Zak rakes a hand through his short, cropped hair, then exhales sharply. “We’re five days away from Austin. Five. Freaking. Days. And we’ve lost our damn driver.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with anxiety. The silence is punctuated only by the soft hum of computers and the occasional tap of keyboards. No one dares say what they’re all thinking: If Lando doesn’t show, they’re down a driver for one of the most critical races of the season.

Andrea leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He was in New York,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “Why did he even go to New York? He was supposed to meet us in Austin straight away.”

Zak shrugs, his hands flying in frustration. “Lando said he wanted a couple of days to himself before the race. Some break or whatever. I figured — he works hard, let him have it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Apparently, the worst did happen.

Over by the giant wall of monitors tracking everything from car data to driver schedules, one of the comms coordinators speaks up. “We haven’t been able to track his car since yesterday. No activity. Not even location pings.”

Zak swears under his breath and turns toward Andrea. “We need to start contingency planning. This is serious. If he’s not in Austin in the next day or so, we’ve gotta be ready.”

Andrea doesn’t reply right away. His mind churns through endless scenarios, none of them promising. Do they scramble to find a reserve driver? Call Pato O’Ward or Ryo Hirakawa? That would be a media frenzy in itself. But that’s a worst-case option — first, they need to find Lando.

“Have we checked his family? Friends? Girlfriends?” Zak asks, rubbing his temples.

“We tried his parents,” Andrea replies with a sigh. “His mum thought he was already in Austin. She hasn’t heard from him in over 24 hours either.”

“Girlfriend?” Zak asks.

“He doesn’t have one.” Andrea’s tone is clipped, as if that fact only makes the situation more frustrating. “He’s not exactly the relationship type.”

Zak mutters another curse. “Christ. He’s alone, halfway across the world, and we have no idea where the hell he is.”

The weight of that statement sinks in. It’s not just that Lando isn’t answering his phone — it’s the growing realization that something might have gone terribly wrong.

***

In another corner of the office, the team’s director of communications, Sophie, types furiously into her laptop. Every time she hits send on an email, another response pings back: negative. Nothing. No one knows anything.

“Has anyone checked the airlines?” She calls out. “If he was flying through New York, maybe there’s a record of him checking in somewhere?”

“We’re working on it,” one of the logistics guys responds, flicking through tabs on his screen. “But it’s hard to get anything without specific flight details.”

Sophie sighs and looks over at Zak and Andrea, who are still pacing near the windows. “Do you want me to draft a public statement?” She asks tentatively. “Just in case?”

Zak freezes. “No. Absolutely not. The second the media gets wind of this, it’ll turn into a circus. We’ll have paparazzi crawling over every hotel and airport in New York. We can’t afford that distraction.”

“But if he doesn’t show soon,” Sophie presses, “we might not have a choice. People will notice if he’s missing from Austin.”

Andrea folds his arms, his expression grim. “We’ve got 48 hours, tops. After that, people will start asking questions.”

Zak rubs his face, exhaustion creeping into his every movement. “Goddamn it, Lando.”

There’s a collective silence as the weight of the situation settles over the room. No one says it out loud, but they’re all thinking the same thing: Something has gone terribly wrong.

Sophie speaks up again, her voice quieter now. “We could … call the local authorities in New York? Just to see if anything’s been reported. An accident or-”

“No.” Zak cuts her off sharply, though there’s no bite behind the word — just fear. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of Lando being hurt. Or worse.

But Andrea is already nodding. “Do it,” he says to Sophie. “Just discreetly. Don’t mention his name. See if they’ve had any reports matching his description.”

Sophie hesitates, then nods and picks up her phone, already pulling up contact numbers.

Zak looks over at Andrea, his jaw tight. “If something’s happened to him …”

“We’ll find him,” Andrea says firmly, though even he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

Zak turns to the logistics guy. “Book me the next flight to New York. I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Andrea grabs Zak’s arm. “Wait. If you go running to New York, it’ll raise questions. We don’t want anyone finding out about this before we know what’s going on.”

Zak exhales sharply but nods. “You’re right.” He looks around the room, addressing everyone. “We keep this quiet. No leaks. No media.”

Everyone nods in unison, the weight of the unspoken agreement heavy in the air.

“Sophie,” Andrea says, turning back to her. “If the police don’t have anything … try the hospitals.”

“Already on it,” she replies, tapping at her phone.

Zak mutters under his breath, pacing again. “He better be okay.”

Andrea glances at the clock on the wall. Every second that ticks by feels heavier, more oppressive. The race in Austin is looming, and with each passing hour, their chance of finding Lando before everything unravels gets slimmer.

They have no idea what’s happened, no idea where Lando is, and no one to call for answers. All they can do is wait, and hope.

***

The morning sun streams through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over your cluttered apartment. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint sound of toast popping from the toaster. Lando sits across from you at the small kitchen table, his face scrunched in exaggerated misery. He’s been pouting for at least ten minutes now, stirring his cereal like it’s personally offended him.

“You’re seriously leaving me here? Alone?” His voice drips with disbelief, spoon clinking against the bowl. “What am I supposed to do? Stare at the wall? Die of boredom?”

You sigh, lifting your mug to your lips. “You’ll be fine. It’s just a few hours. I need to go to class.”

Lando leans forward, his elbows on the table, making no effort to hide his sulking. “You’re abandoning me.” He looks at you with those big, green eyes — slightly glassy from frustration, or maybe just sleepiness. “I thought we were, you know … friends now.”

“We are friends,” you say, setting your mug down with a small clink. “But friends don’t have to be attached at the hip.”

Lando lets out an exaggerated groan, dragging his hands down his face dramatically. “But what if I forget everything again? What if I walk out the door and just — poof — vanish into thin air?”

You narrow your eyes at him, half-amused. “I think you’ll manage to avoid disappearing for three hours.”

Lando drops his head onto the table with a thud. “I might die.”

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.”

He peeks up from where his cheek is squished against the table. “Just let me come with you.”

You pause mid-sip, the words hanging in the air. “To … class?”

“Yes.” He sits up straight, suddenly full of life again. “Take me with you. I won’t make a sound. I’ll just sit in the corner and … blend in. Like a plant.”

You arch a brow, incredulous. “You? Blending in?”

He places a hand over his chest, feigning insult. “I can totally blend in.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’ve blended into anything a day in your life.”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” he declares with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

You tilt your head, considering it for a moment. The idea is absurd, but it’s not like you haven’t already made enough bad decisions in the past 24 hours. What’s one more?

“You have to promise to be quiet,” you warn, pointing your spoon at him. “No interrupting. No talking to anyone. And definitely no causing a scene.”

Lando raises his hand solemnly, like a kid swearing an oath. “I pinky promise.”

You roll your eyes but extend your pinky anyway. He links his with yours, sealing the deal. His face lights up with the same kind of joy you’d expect from a kid on Christmas morning, and you can’t help but laugh.

“This is the dumbest idea,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your backpack from the floor.

“You won’t regret it,” Lando says, practically bouncing in his seat.

But as you swing the backpack over your shoulder, something occurs to both of you at the same time.

Lando freezes mid-motion. “Uh … I don’t have any clothes.”

You blink, glancing down at the crumpled sweats he’s wearing — the same ones the hospital gave him. They’re wrinkled, a bit too big, and definitely not suitable for a law class at Columbia.

“Right,” you say slowly, realizing how ridiculous it would look if you showed up with him dressed like … well, that. “You need something better than hospital pajamas.”

Lando looks down at himself, then back at you. “This isn’t exactly suitable for blending in, huh?”

“Nope.” You chew the inside of your cheek, already running through the logistics. “There’s a department store a couple blocks away. If we leave now, we can stop there first.”

Lando grins, clearly pleased with how things are going. “See? Teamwork. This is why you keep me around.”

You scoff. “I didn’t exactly invite you to move in, remember?”

He shrugs, that boyish grin still plastered on his face. “Yet here we are.”

You shake your head, grabbing your keys. “Come on, plant boy. Let’s get you something halfway decent to wear.”

Lando hops up from his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

***

The lecture hall hums with the quiet shuffle of notebooks, laptops, and tired law students. You’ve managed to slip in just before class starts, dragging Lando along like a reluctant sibling. After the last-minute stop at the clothing store, he’s now wearing a basic hoodie and dark jeans — simple enough to not attract too much attention. Or so you thought.

Lando’s sitting beside you, fidgeting with the cap of a pen. His leg bounces restlessly, and it hasn’t even been five minutes since the professor started his lecture on tort law.

You whisper sharply, “Stop moving.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he mutters back, spinning the pen between his fingers.

“Yes, you are.”

Lando lets out an exaggerated sigh but tries to stay still — at least for a full thirty seconds — before turning his attention back to the professor. As the professor drones on about duty of care, Lando tilts his head, brow furrowing in confusion.

“This guy sounds like he’s making stuff up,” he whispers under his breath.

You shoot him a warning look. “Shh.”

“No, really. What the hell is a reasonable person? Do they just pick some random dude off the street and ask what he’d do?”

You grit your teeth. “That’s not … just be quiet.”

Lando leans closer, clearly ignoring your plea. “You’d be a terrible lawyer if you tried that argument. ‘Your Honor, my client is a reasonable person.’ What even is that?” His accent makes the sarcasm hit a little harder, like he’s personally offended by the entire concept.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This was a mistake. A huge, colossal mistake.

The professor is still speaking, explaining negligence, when Lando mumbles again, “So, wait — if someone slips on a wet floor, that’s someone else’s fault? Isn’t that just bad luck?”

“Lando-” you hiss through clenched teeth.

But he’s not done. “And what’s the point of signs if people still sue, anyway? I mean, if it says Wet Floor, what more do you want? A song and dance?”

Your face burns as a few students glance over, trying to suppress grins. You’re sinking lower in your seat, arms crossed tightly, praying to somehow blend into the furniture.

“Are you really paying for this?” Lando continues, oblivious to the daggers you’re glaring at him. “Because you should ask for a refund.”

A soft chuckle ripples from somewhere in the back of the room, and that’s the final straw.

The professor — an older man with wire-rimmed glasses and the tired patience of someone who’s been teaching far too long — pauses mid-sentence. He pushes his glasses up his nose and scans the room until his gaze lands squarely on you. And, unfortunately, Lando.

“Is there … something you’d like to share with the class, sir?”

You want to disappear. Melt into the floor. Be swallowed whole by the ground.

Lando, however, perks up like he’s just been invited to a dinner party. “Yeah, actually.” He leans back in his chair, throwing an arm over the back of it like he owns the place. “I just think it’s weird, this whole idea of liability for something that isn’t always in your control.”

A murmur of interest ripples through the class. Some students are amused, others just grateful for a break from the monotony of the lecture.

The professor narrows his eyes. “And you are?”

Lando flashes a charming grin. “Lando. Just visiting.”

The professor’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, Lando, this is a law class, not a debate club.”

“Isn’t law just debating with fancier words, though?” Lando shoots back, and a few students laugh outright.

You feel the blood drain from your face.

“Okay, that’s enough-” you start, but Lando is on a roll now.

“No, seriously. You’re saying someone can sue if they get hurt even if there was a warning? What’s next — someone sues a crack on the sidewalk because they tripped over it?”

More chuckles ripple through the room. The professor’s patience is clearly hanging by a thread. “That’s not exactly how the law works, young man.”

“Then explain it,” Lando challenges, leaning forward. “Because from where I’m sitting, this sounds like people just want excuses to blame someone else.”

The professor looks genuinely exasperated now. “If you’re not enrolled in this course, I’d advise you to refrain from further commentary.”

You shoot a hand out, slapping it firmly over Lando’s mouth before he can respond. His eyes go wide with surprise, muffled sounds of protest buzzing against your palm.

“I am so sorry, Professor,” you blurt, your face burning hotter by the second. “He’s — he’s not a student. I promise this won’t happen again.”

Lando tries to wriggle free, but you keep your hand firmly planted over his mouth as you yank him up by the arm. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and a few students snicker as you drag him toward the exit.

The professor clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You pull Lando through the door and into the hallway, your heart pounding with mortification.

“What the hell was that?” You whisper-yell, spinning around to face him the second you’re out of earshot. “I told you to be quiet!”

Lando’s eyes sparkle mischievously above the edge of your hand, and before you can react, he presses his tongue against your palm.

“Ugh!” You recoil in disgust, jerking your hand away. “Did you just-”

“Did you really think you could keep me quiet that easily?” He grins, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“That is disgusting!” You rub your hand furiously against your jeans.

Lando chuckles, completely unbothered. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

You glare at him, feeling a mix of anger, embarrassment, and the faintest hint of amusement — though you’d die before admitting it.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Lando shrugs, still grinning. “You knew what you were getting into when you brought me.”

“No, I absolutely did not.” You shake your head, exasperated. “Do you know how much trouble I could’ve gotten in?”

“But you didn’t,” he points out with a cheeky grin. “I saved the class from a really boring lecture. You should be thanking me.”

You let out a frustrated groan, turning on your heel to storm down the hallway. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Lando jogs to catch up with you, still laughing under his breath. “Don’t be mad. Admit it — you were kind of impressed.”

“I was not impressed,” you say flatly, pushing open the door to the stairwell.

“Maybe a little bit?” He teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on. I thought we made a great team in there.”

You give him a withering look. “I’m seriously reconsidering this whole arrangement.”

But Lando just grins wider, falling into step beside you. “Nah, you love having me around.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you descend the stairs, already dreading the next conversation you’ll have to endure because of this.

Lando hums, clearly pleased with himself. “So … What’s next? Lunch? Another class? Maybe we try philosophy next. I have so many thoughts.”

You shoot him a look that could kill. “Do not push your luck.”

Lando just laughs, utterly unapologetic. And despite yourself, you feel the tiniest tug of a smile at the corner of your mouth.

***

The halal cart on the corner smells like heaven — charred lamb, grilled onions, and the sharp tang of white sauce hanging in the air. There’s already a small line, but you don’t mind. The break from your chaotic morning with Lando is much needed. He’s standing beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, rocking on his heels like a restless kid waiting for candy.

“So … this is a New York classic?” Lando asks, glancing skeptically at the handwritten menu taped to the side of the cart.

“Yes,” you say with a little grin. “You’re about to experience lamb over rice with white sauce. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“Doesn’t sound fancy,” he muses, nose scrunching slightly.

“It’s not. That’s the whole point.”

When it’s your turn, you order two lamb over rices and a couple of sodas, stepping to the side so the next person can order. Lando watches, intrigued as the cart guy flips sizzling meat on the griddle with quick, practiced movements.

“You come here a lot?” Lando asks.

You shrug. “Often enough. Cheap, fast, and good — you can’t beat it.”

He hums thoughtfully, watching the cart guy with curiosity. “And you’re paying for me, huh? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, handing over cash when the food is ready. The warm, foil-wrapped containers radiate delicious heat against your fingers.

As you hand Lando his food and the two of you walk toward the steps of the Columbia library, he hesitates. “Seriously, I feel bad about it. I should’ve been the one paying.”

You scoff, finding a spot on the wide stone stairs and sitting down. “Yeah, well, you don’t have a wallet. Or, you know, memories. So I think it’s okay.”

He sits beside you, the smell of lamb and garlic wafting between you. “Still.”

You grin, poking your plastic fork into your food. “Tell you what — when your memories come back, you can pay me back. Since you’ve got a McLaren, I’m guessing you can afford it.”

Lando snorts, shaking his head as he unwraps his container. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you dig into your meals, the bustle of the city alive all around. Horns honk in the distance, pigeons coo at your feet, and students filter in and out of the library behind you. There’s something oddly peaceful about it. For the first time since this whole strange adventure started, things feel … easy.

Lando lets out a small noise of appreciation after a few bites. “Okay, this is actually good.”

“Told you.” You grin smugly, scooping more rice onto your fork. “Halal carts don’t miss.”

Lando points his fork at you. “I stand corrected. You New Yorkers know your street food.”

You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. “Damn right we do.”

For a while, the two of you eat in comfortable silence, watching the city move around you. Lando seems at ease, though every so often, you catch him staring into the distance like he’s trying to grab onto something just out of reach — memories that won’t quite click into place.

“How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

He shrugs, poking at his food with his fork. “I dunno. Fine, I guess. Just … frustrated.”

You nod. “It’ll come back. You just need time.”

Lando presses his lips together, looking down at the lamb and rice like it holds the answers to everything. “It’s weird, though. Like-“ He pauses, trying to find the words. “Like I know there’s something I should remember, but it’s just not there. You know?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I get it.”

He exhales, leaning back on his hands, his food momentarily forgotten. “It’s just hard not knowing. Who I am, what I do … where I fit.”

You glance at him, the vulnerability in his expression catching you off guard. For a guy who usually hides behind playful grins and cheeky remarks, it’s rare to see him this open, this honest.

“Hey,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours. “You’re fitting just fine right here. No pressure to remember anything right now.”

He gives you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

You finish the rest of your food in easy companionship, the city buzzing quietly around you. It feels surprisingly normal — two people sitting on the library steps, eating street food, and talking like old friends.

When the last bite of lamb is gone and the containers are crumpled into a nearby trash bin, you stretch your legs out with a sigh. “So, my classes are done for the day. What do you wanna do now?”

Lando perks up, a glimmer of excitement lighting his face. “Central Park. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

You arch a brow. “Always?”

He shrugs, grinning. “Well, maybe not always. But it sounds cool, right?”

You smile despite yourself. “It’s a big park, Lando. Hope you’ve got good walking shoes.”

Lando glances down at his new sneakers, wiggling his feet experimentally. “I’m ready.”

You laugh, standing and brushing crumbs off your lap. “Alright, let’s do it.”

With that, the two of you head toward the subway, blending into the rhythm of the city — just another pair of people wandering through the streets of New York, trying to figure things out one step at a time.

***

The two of you stand side by side, leaning over the railing at the penguin exhibit in the Central Park Zoo. A group of them waddles awkwardly around their little habitat, sliding on their bellies and plunging into the water with clumsy grace. Lando is completely captivated, his eyes wide and bright as if he’s seeing penguins for the first time.

“Look at that one,” he says, grinning as a particularly rotund penguin flops dramatically into the pool. “That’s me. That one right there.”

You laugh. “I can see the resemblance.”

Lando bumps his shoulder against yours, the cold October air carrying his playful energy. “If I don’t remember anything about myself, maybe I was secretly a penguin enthusiast.”

“Honestly, not the worst thing to be,” you say, smiling. “Could be worse.”

For a while, the two of you fall into an easy rhythm — watching the penguins dive and splash, swapping silly theories about what your hypothetical future careers as zoo employees might look like. The peace is nice, a soft pocket of calm in the buzz of New York.

And then it happens.

“OH MY GOD, it’s Lando Norris!”

The shout comes from somewhere behind you. At first, you don’t think it’s directed at either of you. But when you turn, a small group of teenage girls is staring directly at Lando with wide eyes, their phones already out and recording.

Lando looks at them, blinking in confusion. “Uh … hi?”

The girls rush over, bouncing with excitement. “We can’t believe it! You’re really here! In New York!”

Lando glances at you, bewildered, then back at the girls. “Uh … yeah?”

“Can we take a picture with you?” one of them asks breathlessly, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

Lando hesitates, clearly confused but not wanting to make a scene. “Sure?”

Before you can react, they surround him, taking selfies and giggling like it’s the best day of their lives. Lando flashes an awkward smile for each photo, looking like he’s trying to keep up but not fully understanding what’s happening.

You stand to the side, watching in stunned silence as this bizarre moment unfolds. Lando Norris. Why does that name sound so familiar?

“Thank you so much!” The girls squeal once the photo session ends. One of them waves as they walk away. “Good luck at the race!”

The girls disappear into the crowd, still giggling, leaving Lando standing next to you with a stunned expression. He blinks a couple of times, as if trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Well.” He turns to you, his confusion melting into a crooked grin. “I guess I’m famous.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your mind already working overtime. “Hold on.” Grabbing your phone, you quickly open the browser and type his name.

The results load instantly — articles, social media posts, fan pages. The screen fills with photos of Lando, all of them unmistakably him, usually grinning in front of race cars or holding trophies. There’s even a photo of him standing next to a sleek McLaren, looking impossibly proud.

You turn the screen toward him. “So … apparently, you’re a Formula 1 driver.”

Lando stares at the phone like it’s showing him a ghost. “Formula 1 …”

You scroll further down the page, reading headlines aloud. “‘Lando Norris: McLaren’s Rising Star.’ ‘Lando Norris on Racing, Pressure, and Fame.’ ‘The Young British Driver Taking Formula 1 by Storm.’” You glance at him. “Now the McLaren makes sense.”

Lando rubs the back of his neck, clearly overwhelmed. “I … I don’t remember any of this.”

You bite your lip, piecing things together. “Wait — right after the crash, when you were all out of it, you kept saying you were a race car driver. I thought you were just some rich kid talking nonsense.”

Lando blinks a few times, as if the memory is just out of reach. “I guess I wasn’t.”

The two of you fall into stunned silence, the realization hanging heavy in the air. It’s surreal. One minute, Lando was just some lost guy with no memory, and now — he’s apparently a professional race car driver with fans, fame, and a career you didn’t even know existed.

“This is insane,” you mutter, scrolling through the search results. “How does someone just … forget all of this?”

Lando is quiet beside you, staring at the screen like he’s trying to force the memories to come back through sheer willpower. Then, suddenly, his expression shifts — panic flashing in his eyes. “Wait. What did those girls say? Something about a race?”

You scroll back up to check the news alerts. “Yeah. The United States Grand Prix. It’s happening this weekend.”

Lando’s face pales. “This weekend?”

You nod, your heart starting to race along with his. “Yeah. In Austin.”

Panic settles over him like a weight. “I have a race. In a few days. And I still don’t remember anything.”

You place a hand on his arm, trying to steady him. “Hey, hey — breathe. We’ll figure this out, okay? You don’t have to remember everything right now.”

Lando lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “How am I supposed to race if I don’t even remember racing?”

You can see the fear in his eyes, the way he’s gripping the railing like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not just scared — he’s terrified.

“One thing at a time,” you say gently. “First, we need to contact someone from your team. They’ve probably been looking for you.”

Lando gives a small, panicked laugh. “Great. That’ll be fun to explain — ‘Hi, sorry, I forgot who I was and ended up in New York.’“

You squeeze his arm reassuringly. “They’ll just be glad you’re okay.”

He looks at you, his expression softening slightly. “Thanks. For … you know, everything.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

But as the two of you stand there, the enormity of the situation settling between you, you know things are only going to get more complicated from here. Because Lando Norris isn’t just some random guy who lost his memory — he’s a professional athlete with a career that’s still waiting for him.

And somehow, you’ve become a part of the chaos.

***

The McLaren garage in Austin is buzzing like a kicked anthill. Mechanics are running diagnostics on car components, engineers are gathered around laptops, and team managers are huddled over plans, but there’s a thick tension under it all. They’re missing something — or someone — and every minute that passes without word from Lando tightens the knot of stress across the paddock.

In the team’s motorhome, the director of trackside operations, Mark, leans over a table, muttering something about flight records to a colleague. Then his phone buzzes.

“It’s Liz from Woking,” the other man says, reading the caller ID. “Should I-”

“Put it through.” Mark gestures impatiently. “Maybe she’s heard something.”

The line clicks, and Liz’s voice comes through, brisk and professional but with an undertone of hesitation. “Hey, Mark, we just got a call from someone claiming to know where Lando is.”

Mark freezes. Every eye in the room turns toward him. “What do you mean ‘claiming’?”

“They’re saying Lando is with them in New York,” Liz continues. “Should I patch them through to you?”

Mark’s heart jumps. “Do it. Now.”

The seconds feel like hours until there’s a mechanical click, and then-

“Hello?” Your voice crackles over the speaker, sounding cautious but steady. “Is this the McLaren team?”

Mark exchanges a sharp glance with one of the engineers before answering. “Yes. This is Mark, McLaren’s director of trackside operations. Who is this?”

You take a breath, clearly trying to keep your nerves in check. “I, uh, my name’s Y/N. I’m with Lando.”

There’s an audible shift in the room. Mark presses his palm to the table, leaning forward as though proximity to the phone will help him make sense of this. “With Lando? As in — he’s there with you, right now?”

“Yeah,” you say, and then your voice turns muffled for a second, like you’re whispering. “Lando, say hi.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a familiar voice chimes in, unsure but undeniably Lando’s.

“Hi.”

The tension in the room cracks wide open, releasing a mix of shock, disbelief, and relief. One of the engineers mouths, thank God. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, a rush of adrenaline surging through him.

“Lando,” Mark says, his tone walking a tightrope between frustration and sheer relief, “what the hell is going on? Where have you been?”

“Uh …” Lando’s voice falters slightly. “I think I got into a bit of a … situation.”

“A situation?” Mark repeats, incredulous. “You’ve been missing for almost two days, mate. Do you know how close we were to filing a missing persons report?”

“Yeah, about that …” Lando trails off, and you jump in, clearly sensing he needs a lifeline.

“Look, we’re really sorry,” you say quickly. “He got into a car accident — he’s okay now,” you add hastily, “but it was bad enough that he, well … he doesn’t remember anything.”

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Mark’s brain stumbles over the words. “What do you mean, he doesn’t remember anything?”

“Like, nothing,” Lando mutters, his voice low and frustrated. “I woke up with no memory. Didn’t even know my own name until Y/N told me what it was.”

Mark scrubs a hand over his face, trying to piece it all together. This makes no sense. “And you’re in New York right now?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “He crashed his car here. I found him and brought him to the hospital, and now we’re … um … back at my apartment.”

A pause stretches long and thin. The room in Austin feels too small, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “Okay. Listen carefully. We need your address. Now.”

You hesitate. “Why do you need it?”

“Because we’re sending someone to get him,” Mark says, not bothering to mask the urgency in his voice. “Lando has a race in less than four days. We need to bring him to Austin yesterday.”

There’s a shuffling noise on your end, and when Lando speaks again, his voice carries an edge of panic. “Wait — hold on, Mark. I don’t remember anything. I can’t race if I don’t even know who I am!”

Mark exhales slowly, softening his tone but not his resolve. “We’ll figure that part out, Lando. But right now, you need to get to Austin. The longer you stay where you are, the worse this gets.”

You cut in, sounding skeptical. “What exactly is the plan here? Because right now, it sounds like you’re asking him to show up for a race with no memory of … well, anything. That doesn’t seem safe.”

Mark drums his fingers on the table, frustration simmering just below the surface. “Look, we’ll handle it once he’s here. This is a controlled situation — we’ll have doctors on standby. But we can’t do anything if he’s stuck in New York.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a stretch of silence thick with indecision.

“Lando?” Mark prompts, lowering his voice. “Are you okay with this? Do you trust us?”

Another shuffle on the line. “Yeah … I guess. But, Mark, seriously — what if I can’t do it? What if I screw everything up?”

“You won’t,” Mark says firmly, injecting confidence where Lando is clearly lacking. “We’ve got your back, mate. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just stay put, and we’ll sort the rest.”

Lando exhales audibly, like he’s trying to let go of some of the fear gripping him. “Okay.”

Mark straightens, sensing the conversation wrapping up. “Good. Now, give us the address, and sit tight.”

You’re quiet for a second, and then, after what sounds like a reluctant sigh, you rattle off your address. Mark scribbles it down, then repeats it to confirm.

“Got it,” he says. “Don’t move from that spot. Zak’s already on his way to pick you up.”

There’s an awkward shuffle, and then your voice returns, tinged with disbelief. “Wait — Zak? As in, the CEO? Your boss is coming here personally?”

“Yes,” Mark replies, dead serious. “And I strongly suggest you both be ready when he arrives.”

Lando groans, and you laugh softly, though there’s an undercurrent of nerves in it. “Well, this is officially the weirdest day of my life,” you mutter.

“Welcome to Formula 1,” Mark says dryly.

The call ends with a click, leaving Mark and the rest of the team in Austin scrambling to prepare. Meanwhile, back in New York, Lando leans back on your couch, his head in his hands, looking like a man who just agreed to something without fully understanding what.

You glance at him, arching an eyebrow. “So … Zak Brown is coming to my apartment?”

“Apparently.” Lando drops his hands and gives you a helpless look. “God, I feel like I’m in so much trouble.”

You snort, half-amused, half-terrified for him. “Yeah, you probably are.”

Lando groans again, flopping dramatically onto the cushions. “This is a disaster.”

You pat his knee in mock sympathy. “Better buckle up. Your life’s about to get a whole lot weirder.”

And with that, you both sit in the strange, buzzing silence — caught between the surreal chaos of what’s coming and the quiet, unexpected bond you’ve built in the middle of it.

***

It’s a little past noon when Zak Brown pulls up in a sleek black SUV outside your apartment building. You watch through the window as he steps out, all business — except for the concerned crease in his brow. Even from up here, you can tell he’s walking with purpose, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

Lando stands by the door, peeking through the curtains with you, looking nervous. “What if he hates me?” He mutters, running a hand through his unruly curls.

You glance at him, taken aback. “Why would he hate you?”

Lando shrugs, fidgeting. “I don’t know … maybe because I crashed a car, disappeared for three days, and now I can’t even remember who he is?”

You snort softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Well, when you put it like that …”

There’s a knock on the door. Lando jumps a little, and you exchange a glance before you open it.

Zak is standing there, a commanding presence filling the small hallway. His gaze flickers over you for a moment before locking onto Lando. Relief floods his face, and without a word, he strides forward, wrapping Lando in a bear hug that lifts him a few inches off the ground.

“Thank God,” Zak mutters, voice gruff with emotion. “You had us scared half to death, kid.”

Lando stands there, arms awkwardly pinned to his sides, looking like he’s not sure what to do. Finally, he lifts one hand and pats Zak gingerly on the back, his eyes wide as he meets your amused gaze over Zak’s shoulder.

“Uh, hi?” Lando says, voice muffled against Zak’s chest.

Zak pulls back, his hands gripping Lando’s shoulders as he gives him a once-over. “You alright?” His tone is more businesslike now, eyes searching Lando’s face. “You look … fine, considering what we heard.”

Lando grimaces, glancing at you for backup. “I don’t really feel fine, to be honest. I can’t remember anything.”

Zak’s face tightens, but he quickly shifts his attention to you. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” he says, his voice warmer now. “If you hadn’t been there … well, I don’t even want to think about it.”

You wave it off, feeling a little awkward under the weight of his gratitude. “It’s no big deal. Really. I just did what anyone would’ve done.”

Zak raises an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that. You went above and beyond. We owe you.”

Lando fidgets next to you, his fingers tapping against his leg. “So … what now?”

Zak turns back to him, his expression softening. “Now, we get you back to Austin. You’ve got a race in a couple days, and we need to figure out what we’re dealing with here. Doctors, specialists … we’ll take care of you.”

Lando’s face falls, panic flitting across his features. He glances at you, then back at Zak. “Wait, what? You mean we’re leaving … now?”

Zak nods. “Yeah. We’ve got to get you back to the team as soon as possible.”

Lando looks back at you, his face pale. “But … I don’t want to go alone.”

Zak blinks, clearly not expecting that. “You won’t be alone. The whole team is there.”

Lando shakes his head, his voice tightening with anxiety. “No, I mean … I don’t know anyone. Except …” He trails off, looking at you again.

You meet his gaze, unsure of what he’s asking, and suddenly, you get it.

“No,” you say quickly, raising your hands in surrender. “I can’t — I have classes, and-”

“Can she come with us?” Lando blurts out, cutting you off.

Both you and Zak stare at him, equally surprised.

Zak is the first to recover, blinking as though trying to process the request. “You want her to come with us to Austin?”

Lando nods, his eyes pleading as he turns to you. “Please. I don’t-” He hesitates, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to go by myself. You’re the only person I feel like I know right now.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words get stuck in your throat. You’ve spent the last couple of days trying to help this guy, thinking he’d recover and everything would go back to normal. But now, with him looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, it feels like the ground’s been pulled out from under you instead.

Zak looks at you expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”

You stare at both of them, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. On one hand, this isn’t your problem. Lando has an entire team, an entire life waiting for him in Austin. He doesn’t need you tagging along. But on the other hand … the thought of leaving him now, when he’s so lost and vulnerable, feels wrong. You’ve been his lifeline — whether you wanted to be or not — and something inside you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he still needs you.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I guess I can watch my lectures online …”

Lando’s face lights up, and Zak claps his hands together. “That settles it, then,” he says, already moving toward the door. “Go pack a bag. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”

You stand there for a second, still processing the fact that you just agreed to go to Austin with a guy you barely know, who also happens to be an amnesiac F1 driver. This was not how you saw your week going.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Lando quietly, once Zak steps outside to make a phone call.

Lando nods, his expression sincere. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s going on, but … I know I feel better when you’re around.”

Your heart stutters at that, a warmth spreading through your chest despite yourself. You nod and turn toward your bedroom, trying not to let him see how much that simple admission has affected you.

“Give me ten minutes,” you say over your shoulder.

Lando watches you disappear into your room, relief clear on his face. “Take your time.”

Ten minutes later, you’re standing at the door with a hastily packed duffel bag slung over your shoulder. Zak reappears, finishing a phone call, and gestures toward the SUV. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a plane waiting.”

The ride to the airport is mostly quiet, though Lando keeps glancing at you every few minutes, like he’s still making sure you’re real and actually there. You catch him doing it once, and he quickly looks away, pretending to fiddle with his seatbelt.

Zak notices too, but doesn’t say anything, just tapping away on his phone, presumably giving updates to the team in Austin.

When you finally board the private jet, it hits you all over again how surreal this entire situation is. The plush leather seats, the quiet hum of the engine, the fact that you’re flying across the country with a Formula 1 team because their driver has amnesia and apparently needs you to hold his hand through it all. It’s like something out of a weird dream.

Lando sits next to you, his knee bumping yours every so often as the plane takes off. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. You wonder what’s going through his head — how it must feel to have your entire life ripped away, every memory and experience erased, leaving you with nothing but confusion and panic.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Zak leans over the seat, giving you both a small, tight smile. “We’ll be landing in Austin in a few hours. The team’s already been updated on the situation, so we’ll go straight to the hotel and get Lando checked by the doctors.”

Lando nods, but he still looks uneasy. You reach out and give his arm a gentle squeeze, trying to offer some comfort. “We’ll figure it out,” you say quietly.

He glances at you, his expression softening. “Thanks.”

Zak watches the two of you for a moment longer, then leans back, leaving you in a strange, charged silence as the plane continues its journey toward the unknown.

***

The jet lands with a smooth touch on the tarmac at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, and Zak is already up and moving before the wheels fully stop.

“Alright, let’s get moving,” he says briskly, shooting a glance back at Lando and you. His voice leaves no room for hesitation.

Lando is sitting rigidly in his seat, his fingers anxiously tapping against the armrest. As soon as the cabin door opens and the humid Texas air floods in, Zak gestures for both of you to follow. Lando shoots you a nervous glance before suddenly reaching for your hand, gripping it like a lifeline.

You raise your brows but don’t pull away. “Lando?”

“Don’t let go,” he whispers, his voice tight. “Please.”

The plea is quiet, almost childlike, and something about it tugs at your heart. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m right here. Let’s go.”

Zak, halfway down the steps of the jet, turns impatiently. “Come on, you two!”

Lando pulls you along, practically dragging you after him. His steps are uneven, like he can’t decide whether to sprint away from everything or freeze in place. By the time you reach the black SUV waiting on the tarmac, Lando’s breathing is shallow, his grip on your hand almost too tight. You climb into the backseat with him, his knee bouncing anxiously as the driver pulls out toward the city.

When you arrive at the Hilton in downtown Austin, Zak wastes no time, herding you both through the polished lobby and straight to a large conference room on the second floor. The door swings open to reveal what looks like a pop-up medical center.

There are exam tables, diagnostic equipment, and at least half a dozen physicians and specialists, all dressed in clinical whites and branded team gear. The air smells faintly of antiseptic, and the hum of low conversations fills the space. Everyone is focused and efficient — like they’ve done this before, just not with a driver who can’t remember anything.

Lando stops dead in his tracks at the entrance, his hand still gripping yours. His eyes dart around the room, wide and glassy, like a deer in headlights.

Zak claps him on the shoulder. “Right, Lando. They’re just going to check you over, make sure everything is good before the race.”

Lando stares at him. “What race?” His voice is strained, barely above a whisper.

Zak’s smile is tight, his patience visibly thinning. “The Grand Prix. On Sunday. We’ve got three days to get you ready.”

Lando takes a step back, bumping into you. “How … how am I supposed to race?” He stammers, his voice cracking. “I don’t even remember what racing is. How do you expect me to get in a car and drive it? What if I crash? What if I-”

He’s spiraling, and you can feel it. His breathing is coming faster now, his grip on your hand becoming painfully tight.

“Lando,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you. His chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid bursts, his other hand gripping the hem of his shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, shaking his head over and over again. “I don’t even know how to be me. Everyone’s acting like I’m supposed to just jump back into my life, but I-” He cuts off, his throat tightening.

Zak opens his mouth, likely to say something firm and pragmatic, but before he can, the door swings open again, and someone strides in.

“Lando?”

A young man in casual team gear stands at the door, blinking as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His brown hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a look of cautious relief in his eyes.

Lando stiffens beside you, his breath catching. He stares at the newcomer, recognition flickering in his eyes — not in the form of memory, but in the way his entire body seems to relax at the sight of him.

“Who-” Lando starts, his voice unsteady.

The young man steps forward, concern written all over his face. “It’s me. Oscar.”

Lando doesn’t move for a moment, frozen in place. Then, slowly, as if something instinctive clicks into place, he takes a step toward the other man.

“Oscar …” he murmurs, testing the name on his tongue.

Oscar closes the distance between them in two quick strides and pulls Lando into a tight, firm hug. And just like that, Lando melts into it. His whole body seems to deflate, the tension draining from his muscles as he leans into Oscar’s embrace.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Oscar mutters against his shoulder, giving him a hard squeeze. “We were all freaking out. You had us worried sick.”

Lando doesn’t say anything, just clings to Oscar like a lifeline, his face buried in the other man’s shoulder. It’s the first time you’ve seen him fully relax since the accident, and it takes you by surprise how much it affects you.

Zak clears his throat, and Oscar finally pulls back, though he keeps a steadying hand on Lando’s shoulder.

Lando wipes at his eyes quickly, like he’s embarrassed to have broken down in front of everyone. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I … I don’t remember you. But you feel … familiar.”

Oscar gives him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out, yeah? One step at a time.”

Lando nods, biting his lip, and you can tell he’s trying to keep it together.

Zak claps his hands. “Right, now that we’ve had our reunion, we need to get started. Oscar, you can stick around, but these guys need to run some tests.”

Oscar gives Lando’s shoulder one more squeeze before stepping aside to let the medical team take over. You start to follow, but Lando’s hand shoots out, grabbing yours again.

“Stay,” he whispers, his eyes pleading.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The next couple of hours are a blur of activity. Lando sits through blood tests, brain scans, vision checks, and reflex tests, all the while clinging to your hand like a lifeline. Every now and then, Oscar cracks a joke or nudges Lando with his elbow, trying to make him smile. And somehow, it works. You can see the flickers of trust between them — something unspoken and unbreakable, even if Lando doesn’t remember it yet.

When the doctors finally wrap up, Zak reappears, looking satisfied with the reports. “You’re good to go, Lando. Rest up tonight. You have free practice tomorrow.”

Lando’s face pales again. “Practice? For the race?”

Zak nods. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll be fine. It’ll come back to you once you’re in the car.”

Lando looks far from convinced, but Oscar slings an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll be with you the whole time, mate. We’ll take it slow, alright?”

Lando exhales, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

You give his hand one last squeeze before finally letting go, your heart heavy with the knowledge that Lando’s world is slowly pulling him back in — whether he’s ready or not.

***

Friday arrives under the blinding Texas sun, and the paddock at the Circuit of the Americas is alive with the hum of activity. The smell of hot asphalt, rubber, and gasoline fills the air, and everything seems to move at hyperspeed — mechanics adjusting tires, engineers tapping furiously on laptops, and cameras catching every moment of the weekend’s unfolding drama.

In the McLaren garage, Lando stands rooted in place, wide-eyed and tense, staring at the papaya-colored car being prepped for free practice. His race suit feels suffocatingly tight, and every instinct in his body is screaming at him to run.

“Mate, you’ve got this. It’ll come back to you,” Oscar says from beside him, squeezing Lando’s shoulder.

Lando swallows hard, feeling the sweat bead on his brow beneath the weight of his helmet in his hands. He glances at the car and then at Zak, who gives him an encouraging nod. Everyone around him looks so calm — like this is all normal, like this is exactly where he belongs.

But the thing is, he doesn’t remember if this is where he belongs. His stomach churns with fear, twisting tighter with each glance at the sleek machine waiting for him.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Lando mutters, just loud enough for you to hear. His voice is thin, almost lost beneath the noise of the garage. “What if I mess up? What if I crash? What if-”

“Lando.”

He turns, eyes full of panic, and you step closer, careful to keep your voice steady. “Breathe. Just … take a second. You don’t have to think about the race right now. Just the practice. One lap at a time. One corner at a time.”

He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep his composure. “But what if I forget what to do? I still don’t even remember who I am.”

“You’re Lando Norris,” you say firmly. “And I know you’ve got this. Maybe your brain doesn’t remember, but your body does.”

Lando’s lip twitches, caught between a nervous laugh and a scoff. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Hey.” You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You said it yourself yesterday — racing must mean something to you. Your body knows what to do. You just have to trust it.”

He stares at you for a moment, lips parting slightly like he wants to argue, but something in your expression makes him pause. He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he whispers, though it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Just then, one of the mechanics gestures toward the car. “It’s ready, mate. Time to hop in.”

Lando’s hands tremble slightly as he adjusts his helmet under his arm. Zak gives him an encouraging clap on the back, and Oscar leans in close. “I’ll be right there with you during practice. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

Lando nods, though his eyes are still clouded with uncertainty.

The mechanics pull back the steering wheel and lift it out of the cockpit, making room for him to slide in. Lando stares at the narrow seat, frozen for just a second too long, before your voice cuts through the haze of his fear.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Lando. Just be you.”

Something about those words seems to reach him. He sucks in a breath, gives you a tentative nod, and finally, slowly, lowers himself into the cockpit.

And just like that, something shifts.

The moment his body settles into the molded seat, his fingers finding the familiar feel of the wheel, it’s as if a switch is flipped inside him. His shoulders relax slightly, his hands seem to know exactly where to rest, and his feet instinctively press against the pedals like they belong there. He rolls his neck side to side, the movements fluid and natural — like he’s done it a thousand times before.

The mechanics lean in to fasten his harness and replace the wheel, and Lando doesn’t flinch, his attention shifting to the world through the narrow slit of his helmet. His hands tighten around the wheel, and without thinking, he taps one of the buttons to bring up a setting on the dash.

Zak notices the small motion and smiles. “There he is.”

Oscar leans down beside the cockpit and grins. “Told you, mate. It’s muscle memory. You’re already in the zone.”

Lando doesn’t reply, but you can see the faintest flicker of something like relief in his eyes. His breath evens out, and some of the tension in his posture melts away.

You step closer to the side of the car, giving him a thumbs-up. “See? Like riding a bike.”

He turns his head slightly toward you, the corners of his mouth twitching under the helmet. “Except a bike doesn’t go 300 kilometers an hour.”

“Details,” you say with a grin.

One of the engineers taps his headset. “Alright, Lando. Fire it up. We’ll do a systems check before you head out.”

Lando takes a deep breath, then hits the ignition button. The engine roars to life with a deafening growl, vibrating through the air and rattling the walls of the garage. You jump slightly at the sound, but Lando doesn’t even blink. His eyes are locked straight ahead, his grip on the wheel steady.

It’s like watching a different person — the nervous, unsure Lando from earlier fading into the background as something sharper, more focused, takes its place.

The mechanics give a few final nods, signaling everything is good to go. The team radio crackles to life in Lando’s ear.

“Alright, Lando. Systems look good. Let’s roll out and get some laps in. We’ll ease into it.”

Lando’s fingers tap lightly against the wheel, a gesture that feels almost unconscious. He glances over at you one last time, his eyes peeking through the visor.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, your voice steady and sure. “Just drive.”

For the first time since you met him, Lando’s smile reaches his eyes. It’s small and fleeting, but it’s there — a glimpse of the person buried beneath the fear and confusion.

“Thanks,” he murmurs through the helmet, his voice crackling over the radio.

You step back as the mechanics lower the car off its jacks. The tires touch the ground with a solid thunk, and the sound of the engine revving fills the garage.

“Let’s do this,” Lando says, more to himself than anyone else. And with that, the car rolls forward, smooth and controlled, out of the garage and into the sunlight of the pit lane.

You stand at the edge of the garage, watching as the papaya car disappears around the corner, the roar of the engine fading into the distance. Your heart pounds in your chest, a strange mixture of pride and nerves settling in your stomach.

“He’ll be fine,” Zak says from beside you, watching the car with a knowing smile. “He always is.”

You exhale slowly, still gripping the edge of the garage wall. “I hope so.”

As Lando’s car speeds down the track for the first lap of free practice, a thought strikes you — he might not remember who he is right now, but in this moment, behind the wheel of that car, he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And somehow, you know he’ll figure the rest out from there.

***

Saturday arrives with the buzz of excitement hanging thick in the air, the kind that only race weekends can bring. The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas, and the grandstands are packed, fans waving flags, faces painted with bright colors, and anticipation radiating from the crowd. The tension in the McLaren garage is almost palpable.

Lando sits in the cockpit of his car, visor down, hands relaxed but ready on the steering wheel as Q3 begins. The roar of engines fills the track as the remaining drivers fight for the top starting positions for the sprint race. It’s fast, intense, and unforgiving. There’s no room for hesitation here — only precision and instinct. And for the first time in days, Lando feels like himself again — or at least the closest version of it.

But there’s still a wall in his mind, blocking the memories of who he is beyond this moment, beyond the car. His hands know what to do. His feet know where to place pressure on the pedals. But his brain? It still feels like a stranger.

“Alright, Lando,” his engineer's voice crackles through the radio. “We’ve got time for two more flying laps. Let’s go get it, mate.”

“Copy that,” Lando replies, voice steady.

The tires squeal as he tears down the straight, the roar of the engine vibrating through every bone in his body. He weaves through the first sector like a painter brushing strokes across a canvas, flowing naturally from apex to apex. For those watching, Lando Norris looks like a man on fire — quick, precise, unrelenting. But inside his helmet, he’s still scrambling.

The team radios him updates as he pushes through his first timed lap, green and purple sectors lighting up on his dash. But something still feels off. There’s a pressure building in his chest, like an itch at the back of his mind that refuses to surface.

“Sector 2 looking great, Lando. Keep it together, and we’ve got a chance at pole.”

He doesn’t respond — can’t respond. The itch is growing stronger. A spark flares at the edges of his consciousness, like a door creaking open just a sliver. His grip tightens on the wheel as he flies through the penultimate corner.

And then, it happens.

The door in his mind swings open with the force of a tidal wave, flooding him with memory after memory. It’s overwhelming — flashes of moments, feelings, names, faces. The accident. The ambulance. You.

He remembers everything.

“Holy fuck!” Lando’s voice bursts through the radio, excitement crackling through every word. “I-I remember everything!”

There’s a stunned silence on the other end of the line before his engineer’s voice comes back, laced with disbelief. “Lando? You’re saying-”

“Yeah, yeah — everything!” Lando’s laugh is almost hysterical, pure joy and disbelief pouring out of him. “I know who I am. I know where I am. Oh my god, I can’t believe this!”

“Lando, that’s — well, fantastic, mate!” The engineer’s relief is obvious, but there’s no time to dwell. “Alright, focus. One more corner. Bring it home.”

And just like that, Lando snaps back into race mode. His hands feel lighter on the wheel, his body moves with an ease that’s almost poetic. He barrels down the final straight with precision, pushing the car to its limits.

The crowd erupts as he crosses the finish line.

“P1, Lando! P1!” His engineer shouts, barely able to contain his excitement. “You’ve put it on pole, mate!”

Lando lets out a whoop of joy, thumping the side of the steering wheel. “Let’s go!” He shouts, the exhilaration bubbling over. “Pole position, baby!”

The car rolls back into the pit lane, where the team is already waiting for him, cheering, clapping, and slapping the side of the car in celebration. Lando pulls himself out of the cockpit, yanking off his helmet and balaclava. His curls are a sweaty mess, his face flushed from the heat, but his grin is unstoppable.

He barely has a moment to catch his breath before you come rushing through the crowd toward him.

“You remembered?” You ask breathlessly, searching his face, your own eyes wide with disbelief and relief.

Lando laughs, nodding as he sweeps you into a hug without hesitation. “Yeah, I remembered!” He says, voice muffled into your hair. His arms are tight around you, grounding himself in the moment, as if letting go might make everything disappear again.

You let out a laugh, part relief, part disbelief. “That’s amazing, Lando!”

When he finally pulls back, there’s something softer in his expression — a gratitude so deep it’s hard to put into words. He stares at you for a moment, as if committing every detail of your face to memory.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Lando says, his voice dropping into something more serious, more heartfelt. “I — thank you. For everything.”

You shake your head, trying to wave off his words, but he grabs your hand, holding it tightly between his. “No, seriously. I may have forgotten a lot over the past week, but I’ll never forget you. I mean it.”

His eyes are bright and sincere, and the weight of his words settles warmly between the two of you.

“Well,” you say, trying to lighten the mood, “I guess you’ll have to pay me back now, huh? I did cover your food and clothes.”

Lando throws his head back and laughs — a real, genuine laugh that feels like sunshine after a storm. “Deal. I owe you big time.”

He squeezes your hand one last time before reluctantly letting go, the roar of the crowd still echoing around you. But in this moment, none of that matters.

All that matters is that Lando is back.

***

The McLaren motorhome is quieter than usual as the race weekend winds down. The buzz of victory and podium celebrations has shifted to a more subdued hum. Lando didn’t make the podium this time — P4 after a frustrating five-second penalty. You’re sitting on one of the couches in the corner, sipping a bottle of water while waiting for him to finish his media duties and post-race obligations.

The screen on the wall is playing highlights from the race, showing flashes of the battles on track, the post-race interviews, and the podium celebrations. You glance at it occasionally, but your mind is elsewhere. The last week has been a whirlwind — meeting Lando, the accident, taking him home, the amnesia, his memories flooding back during qualifying. And now, here you are in Austin, at a Formula 1 race, as if you somehow stumbled into an alternate reality.

When Lando finally walks in, his race suit unzipped down to his waist, hair still damp from sweat, he looks a mix of exhausted and relieved. His eyes find you immediately, and he smiles — a real one, not the half-hearted, media-friendly smile you’d seen him wear earlier.

“Hey,” he says, dropping into the seat next to you. “Sorry that took forever.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, returning the smile. “You’re the one who had to go talk to like fifty people after a penalty.”

Lando groans, leaning his head back against the couch. “Don’t remind me. I could’ve had a podium today.”

“You still did great,” you say sincerely. “Fourth is nothing to be disappointed about, especially with that penalty.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lando mumbles, but his eyes flicker with something else — like he’s wrestling with his thoughts. He looks away for a second, then glances back at you, opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then closes it again.

You watch him for a moment, the silence stretching between you, comfortable but also heavy with something unspoken. Finally, you break it with a soft chuckle. “Well, I guess this is it, huh?”

Lando straightens slightly, turning to look at you, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you gesture vaguely, “this is where we part ways. You’ve got your life back, and I’ve got … a mountain of reading for law school waiting for me.” You force a small smile, trying to make it lighthearted, but there’s an awkwardness to it.

Lando’s face falls, just for a moment, but it’s enough to make your heart twist. He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his hands. “Yeah, I guess … I guess so.” He pauses, and when he looks back up, there’s something nervous in his eyes, something hesitant, like he’s not sure if he should say what he’s about to say. “But, uh … I’ve been thinking.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“So, next weekend is the Mexican Grand Prix,” he says slowly, watching your reaction. “And I know you’ve got classes and everything, but …” He trails off, biting his lip, before blurting out, “I’d really love it if you could come.”

You blink, taken aback. “Mexico?”

“Yeah,” Lando says quickly, leaning forward, his hands gesturing as if he’s trying to convince you. “I mean, I’d cover all the travel expenses, of course. And I could get you a paddock pass again so you could hang out in the garage, watch the race from the best spot. It’d be fun.”

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over, though you can already feel your resolve crumbling. “Hmm, I don’t know. I have a lot of lectures to catch up on …”

Lando’s face falls, and he looks genuinely disappointed, his expression bordering on sad. “Oh, right, yeah, of course,” he mumbles, his voice dropping. “I totally get it. You’ve got your school stuff, and I don’t want to-”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off, laughing softly. “I’ll come.”

His eyes light up immediately. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” you confirm, smiling at his excitement. “I mean, I can watch the lecture recordings online, and it’s not like I get an invitation to a Grand Prix every day.”

Lando’s smile grows, wide and almost boyish in its happiness. “You won’t regret it,” he promises, leaning back with a sigh of relief. “I swear, you’ll have the best time.”

“I’d better,” you tease. “You’re my tour guide, after all.”

Lando chuckles, his body visibly relaxing now that you’ve agreed. “Deal. I’ll make sure you get the full VIP treatment.” He glances at you, then adds with a smirk, ��I might even throw in some lunch for good measure.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“For you?” Lando grins, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Of course.”

There’s a brief pause, the playful banter falling into a comfortable silence again, but this time it’s lighter, easier. Lando looks over at you, his expression softening. “I’m really glad you’re coming, though. It’s been a crazy week, and … I don’t know, it just feels better having you around.”

You glance down, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, it’s been a pretty wild week,” you agree quietly.

Lando shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. “You’ve kind of become my good luck charm, you know.”

You snort. “Good luck? You didn’t even get a podium today.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. “Alright, alright, but still … I feel like everything’s better when you’re there.”

His voice drops slightly, and you look up, meeting his eyes. There’s a sincerity in his gaze, something deeper than just the playful banter that’s been passing between you. It catches you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond.

But then Lando breaks the tension with a crooked smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, what do you say? Ready for another adventure?”

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. “I don’t know how I keep getting roped into these things.”

Lando smirks, standing up and offering his hand to you. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

You roll your eyes, but take his hand anyway, letting him pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He grins, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walk out of the motorhome together. “Oh, you totally would.”

***

The Mexican Grand Prix is nothing short of electric. The grandstands of the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez are packed with thousands of fans, waving flags, blowing horns, and chanting in unison. The energy in the paddock is unlike anything you’ve seen before, and you can feel it thrumming through your skin as you stand in the McLaren garage, nerves and excitement buzzing through you like static electricity.

Lando had qualified well, putting his car on the front row. And now, after nearly two hours of wheel-to-wheel racing, pit stops, and heart-pounding battles, the chequered flag waves, and Lando wins.

He wins.

The entire team explodes into chaos. Engineers jump from their monitors, hugging each other, cheering, and throwing their hands into the air. Zak claps so hard it sounds like thunder, while others shout and bang on the pit wall. In the garage, you scream, your voice lost in the roar of celebrations, barely able to believe what you’ve just witnessed.

“He did it!” One of the engineers shouts, wrapping you in a quick hug, making you laugh from the sheer joy of it all. The victory feels contagious, like every person in McLaren colors has won alongside Lando.

In parc fermé, the top three cars pull into their designated spots, their engines cooling with a metallic hiss. Lando’s McLaren rolls to a stop in P1, the bright papaya-colored car shimmering under the Mexican sun. As soon as the mechanics signal it’s safe, Lando jumps out, punching the air with both fists, his face stretched into the widest grin you’ve ever seen.

He rips off his helmet and balaclava, his messy curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. You can see the pure, unfiltered elation on his face — he’s won before, but this one feels special. Hard-fought. Hard-earned.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, Lando catches sight of you standing at the edge of the fenced-off area, just outside the celebrating team members. His eyes light up, his grin somehow growing even bigger. And then-

He’s moving toward you.

The crowd, the cameras, the team — all of it fades into the background as Lando beelines straight to you, like you’re the only person in the world he wants to share this moment with. He doesn’t think twice. His arms wrap around you, and before you can say a word, he kisses you.

It’s quick but intense — an explosion of happiness, adrenaline, and pure relief all at once. His lips crash against yours, and for a second, everything stops.

You freeze, wide-eyed, as your brain catches up to what’s happening. Lando Norris — Formula 1 driver who just won the Mexican Grand Prix — is kissing you.

And just as fast as it happened, it’s over.

Lando pulls back abruptly, eyes wide with realization, looking as if he’s just broken every unwritten rule. His face flushes as if he’s mortified, and he stammers, “Oh — oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I mean, I wasn’t thinking. I-“

You blink, still stunned, and then — laughter bubbles out of you, light and genuine. You can’t stop it.

“You idiot,” you manage between giggles, shaking your head.

Lando’s face is somewhere between sheepish and panicked, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right words to apologize. But before he can get another word out, you grab the front of his race suit, pull him back toward you, and kiss him again — this time with purpose.

His hands find your waist instinctively, pulling you closer. This kiss is slower, softer, but filled with the same electric energy. Around you, the world erupts — the cameras are flashing, the team is cheering, and the crowd in the stands is losing its mind — but none of it matters.

It’s just you and Lando.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, Lando stares at you like he can’t quite believe what just happened. “Does this mean I’m not in trouble?” He asks, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “You just won the race, Lando. I think you’re allowed a free pass.”

He leans his forehead against yours, still smiling, his breath coming in short bursts from the exertion of the race and the adrenaline coursing through him. “Best. Weekend. Ever.”

“You’re biased,” you tease, but your heart feels light, like it’s floating somewhere above the grandstands.

“I mean it,” Lando murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over your waist. “And it’s only the beginning.”

Before you can respond, Zak’s booming voice cuts through the noise. “Hey, lovebirds! Save it for later — we’ve got a podium to attend!”

You both pull apart, faces flushed but smiling. Lando gives you one last look, a mixture of joy, disbelief, and something else — something you can’t quite put your finger on yet. Then, with a wink, he jogs off to be weighed, leaving you standing there, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

And, as you watch him climb onto the top step of the podium, spraying champagne over everyone, you realize that the whirlwind you’ve been caught in with Lando Norris isn’t slowing down anytime soon. And honestly? You’re okay with that.

2K notes · View notes

wwooyology · 2 months ago

Text

Prove It To You | J.YH

「pairing」 : yunho x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.5k

「synopsis」 : you could feel the end of your relationship coming, and yunho saw his opportunity to finally take his chances to show you just how much better he was than that asshole you called your boyfriend.

「genre」 : frat boy!yunho, uni au, angst, a small bit of fluff, smut

「warning」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, infidelity, unprotected sex, dom!yunho x sub!reader, slight size kink, big dick!yunho, biting/marking, fingering, clit play, breast play, teasing, begging, yunho is just a little bit possessive, petnames (baby, darling, sweetheart, my love), semi-rough sex, multiple orgasms, praising, creampie, readers bf hears from the other room, sloppy makeout, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : tbh this idea stemmed from a memory of something similar that happened to me, except it wasn't a guy I was dating. it was a guy that I was crushing on, but sadly I didn't have a yunho back then </3

It was maybe close to three in the morning, and you were still awake as your so-called boyfriend slept peacefully on his bed. You had tagged along with him and your other friends who lived in the frat house to hang out; however, as soon as the others excused themselves to either leave or go to bed, you were left alone with him. At first, you thought you two could watch a movie before going to bed, but he just hummed while scrolling through his phone. He lay in bed while you sat on the ground.

“Just put on whatever you want.” His tone was uninterested as you turned to look at him and he didn’t even take a moment to look at you.

Defeated, you just put on a random show to watch, knowing that he wouldn’t pay attention to anything. You had planned a whole night for the two of you after everyone had left, seeing as he had been out of town with his family for the past two weeks. Yet now he acted as if you were the least important thing to him.

The movie hadn’t even played halfway through when you heard his soft snores behind you; looking over your shoulder, you saw that he was sprawled out all over the queen-sized bed. Letting out a huff, you rolled your eyes before going back to the movie.

Until you started to get tired, but you didn’t really feel like sleeping in the same bed as your boyfriend right now. However, you also couldn’t just leave because you had ridden in with your boyfriend, and everyone was already asleep.

You stood to your feet before bending down and grabbing your phone off of the ground, then walking out of the room, not bothering to turn anything off. The house was quiet, which was a strange thing to you because the frat house was always lively, but you just shrugged it off before carefully making your way down the stairs. Getting to the first floor, you looked around the dark room with the small light of your phone’s lock screen and made your way to the front door.

Unlocking the door, you pulled it open and slipped out of the house. As soon as you stepped outside, you were met with the harsh, cold winter winds, causing you to shiver. Shutting the door, you walked over to the step, sat down, and pulled your phone out again.

Opening the screen, you thought about using the rideshare app to get a ride back to the dorms, but it was a Friday night, and it was late at night, so you quickly closed the app once more. You debated walking back, but you were all the way across campus, and once again, it was late.

“Fucking hell.” You cursed quietly as you shoved your hands into the pockets of your coat along with your phone as the cold started to settle into your bones.

Leaning against the railings, you just watched as a few cars drove by, and you could feel yourself starting to drift off. Your eyes fluttered closed once more, and you hadn’t even heard the front door open behind you.

“Why are you trying to sleep outside?” His voice startled you right awake, and your whole body twisted as you looked up at Yunho. He stood just a few feet behind you with his arms crossed over his chest, his hair a mess, making you believe that he had just woken up. Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage as you looked at him. Ever since you had been introduced to him, there has been an unspoken attraction, but you never act on it because of your boyfriend.

Swallowing thickly, you turned away, “I’d rather sleep out here than in there.” Your voice was soft as you pulled your knees to your chest, your skirt riding up your hips.

Yunho eyed you carefully before stepping forward and taking a seat next to you, leaving a comfortable space between your bodies. You looked over at him for a moment before turning back to look at the empty street.

“I figured you would be cozy in bed with fuckface.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his choice words knowing very well that Yunho and your boyfriend never got along, but you had no idea why.

After a few moments, you inhaled deeply before breathing out, watching your breath fog in the air. “I would be, but he seemed to be more interested in whatever was on his phone than me.” You let out a short laugh before looking over at Yunho, who was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

Yunho’s jaw tightened as he looked at you. He wasn’t sure how anyone could treat you so harshly. If your boyfriend wasn’t just bluntly ignoring you, he was short and seemed uninterested in doing anything that involved you unless it was with your group of friends. Yunho hated it and had believed that he could treat you so much better, but you never left that asshole; far too kind to end things.

But tonight, Yunho had enough, and he was determined to show you that you deserved so much more.

“Yunho?” You called out to the tall male, waving a hand in front of his face, trying to snap him out of whatever daze he had fallen into.

A gasp fell from your lips when he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him. Your other hand flew out to catch yourself, landing right on his thigh. With wide eyes, you looked up to ask him what he was doing, but he cut you off as his lips smashed into yours. His tongue swiped over your lips, the sweet taste of your lipgloss invading his taste buds. It wasn’t until his hand wrapped around the back of your neck that you pushed away from him with wide eyes.

“We can’t.” Your voice was quiet, eyes glued to your lap, and Yunho let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward, laying his forehead against yours.

“Forget about that jerk, y/n; he doesn’t deserve you.” He told you, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and you looked up at him with misty eyes. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you how you deserve to be treated. Please.”

Your brain turned into a warzone as you stared into his eyes, contemplating the repercussions of your action. There was no love in your relationship with your boyfriend anymore, and you were sure that he would take the first chance he could to leave you.

Yunho was so much more than he was, and deep down, you knew that; he was always attentive to your needs and cared more than your boyfriend has ever in the entirety of your relationship. The only thing that held you back was you were too scared to leave your boyfriend, but now you couldn't care less. If he wasn’t going to care for you correctly, Yunho would.

And that’s all it took for you to lean forward to seal your lips over Yunho’s once more.

Yunho’s grip on your neck tightened, pulling you closer to his body, wanting you as close as physically possible. Your lips were soft against his and tasted like sweet cherries; it was driving him nuts. Once the both of you were out of air, you pulled apart, a small string of saliva still connecting your lips.

“Let’s go inside.” Yunho rasped, and you quickly nodded before standing up with him and following him back into the house.

As soon as you were inside his bedroom, Yunho’s lips were back on yours, stealing all the air from your lungs. His hands cupped your face as he stepped back, leading you to his bed. You let out a gasp when the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you fell back.

Yunho chuckled before crawling over your body, trapping you with his and bringing his lips back down to yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring every inch, trying to memorize every part. Your hands moved up to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him even closer to you.

“God, I can’t even tell you how long I’ve waited for this.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled up, brushing against his growing erection. Heat pooled in your core, and the pressure was almost unbearable as he moved away to look down at you.

“Yunho.” You whined softly, hands tugging at his shirt, causing him to smirk, his hand moving to grab your chin.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked, pulling your attention back to him, and he felt his dick twitch in his sweat at the needy and lustful look in your eyes.

“You. I just want you.” You breathed out, wrapping your hand around his wrist as you looked up at him.

“How could I tell you no when you look so desperate.” He teased, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips before moving his hands down to your skirt. “But I gotta prep you first, darling.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the sharp look he gave you instantly had you closing your lips once more. Yunho then unzipped your skirt before pulling it down your legs and throwing it somewhere in his room. Not even seconds after the cloth left his hand he grabbed your shirt, telling you to sit up and pulling it off.

Yunho felt like his body was about to combust at the sight of your pretty lace lilac lingerie, the cloth hugging your curves in all of the right places. You felt small under his gaze as he continued to stare at you, his fingers tracing along the seams. A soft moan fell from your lips when he brushed over your erect nipple.

“Did you wear this for him?” His voice was low as he leaned over your body again, face inches away from yours, and you just looked up at him with hooded eyes.

“It’s for you now.” You cooed, cupping his face as you looked up at him, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

Yunho smirks, his large hand grabbing your waist, causing your back to arch up, giving him just enough room to unclasp your bra. Once the piece of clothing was off of your body and off somewhere in the room, Yunho’s lips latched onto your collarbone.

He left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest until he got to your soft mounds. A sharp moan fell from your lips when he took one of your buds into his mouth. Yunho took his time with your chest, marking almost every inch of skin he possibly could, relishing in the sounds that left your pretty lips.

“Yunho…” You whined, back arching against him as his hand slipped under your underwear, cupping your wet heat. The feeling of his hands on your body was electrifying, like nothing that you’ve felt before.

“Already so wet for me,” He groaned against your skin, moving up to your neck as his slender fingers pressed against your clit.

A choked moan fell from your lips as he started to circle your sensitive bud, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jugular. He soaked in all of the noises you made as your fingers tugged at his shirt; he was determined to make sure that you only knew his name.

“Yu–” You were cut off when he slipped a finger into your tight cunt, brushing over spots that you’ve never been able to reach. Tears pricked at your eyes as he kept a steady pace, watching you closely and studying all of the expressions you made.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m not sure you’ll be able to take me.” He pouted as he added a second finger, stretching you out and pulling another moan from your swollen lips.

“I-I can take it, I promise!” You choked out, looking up at him with so much need, and your hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

“You’re such a good little thing, aren’t you?” He hummed, picking up his pace after adding a third finger.

You’ve never felt this full before, and your high was right on the tip of your tongue; you just needed a little bit more. Noticing, Yunho pressed his thumb against your clit, circling the nub in time with his thrusts causing your eyes to roll back as you came undone.

“Yunho!” You cried out his name as he worked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing against your temple.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let it all go.” He spoke softly, his pace slowing to a stop, and you lay there breathing heavily. Yunho pulled his fingers from your soaping cunt, and wrapped them around the flimsy fabric before pulling them down your legs.

Your body still felt like it was on fire, the burning need for more almost suffocating as you sat up. A chuckle left Yunho’s mouth as you tugged at his shirt, begging him to take it off.

“You’re so cute when you’re all needy.” He cooed as he pulled his shirt over his head and pulled his sweats down his hips, letting them pool on the ground.

Your eyes went wide, seeing the outline of his cock under his boxers; he was big. Noticing your expression, Yunho grabbed your chin and pulled your eyes back to his. Leaning forward before he sealed your lips in another kiss as he laid you back down, hands traveling down to your hips.

He pulled away for a moment, but you tried to pull him back, not getting enough of his taste, and he pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips, “Hold on, I need to grab a condom.” He then moved to make a grab at his nightstand, but you quickly sat up, grabbing his arm.

“No! I want to feel all of you, Yun, please.” You pleaded with him, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked at him. He looked back at you in shock, wondering if he had heard you correctly. “I’m on the pill, please.”

Yunho felt like he could cum right then and there at the thought of fucking you raw, but then he started to wonder if you let your boyfriend fuck you raw too. Noticing the conflict in his eyes, you reached up, cupping his face.

“He’s never fucked me without a condom, just you.” Your voice was soft, and Yunho looked at you for a long moment before his lips crashed into yours once more.

“I love you, fuck. I love you so much.” He told you, and he tugged his boxers down, letting his aching cock spring free. He pulled your hips closer to his, not once leaving your lips in the process, even swallowing all of your moans as he teased your entrance with his tip.

“Fuck! Yunho, please!” You whined, rolling your hips, trying to get him to push in already, and he smirked.

He watched your face contort in pleasure as he started to push into your wet cunt, splitting you open, and you gasped out. You started to question whether or not you would actually be able to take him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you said you could take it.” Yunho teased as he continued to push into you, and you choked out his name.

“I can– fuck!” You cried, wanting to be good and take all of him, and Yunho watched in amusement as you brought your hand up to cover your mouth as your moans got louder.

Yunho was almost fully in when you grabbed his wrist that was beside you, your brain going hazy at the sudden fullness. Incoherent babbles fell from your lips, and Yunho chuckled as he took in your already fucked out state.

“I’m not even fully in you yet, and I’ve already fucked you stupid.” He sat up a bit to grab your hips, using the leverage to push the rest of the way in. A choked moan fell from your lips at the sudden movement, your eyes rolling back. “God, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” He groaned, fighting off the urge to move, wanting you to get adjusted first.

“Y-Yunho…” You breathed out; all of your nerves felt like they were on fire, but it still wasn’t enough. “Fuck me, please!” Your eyes cracked open, gazing up at him with a teary gaze and Yunho felt the last bit of his composure crumble away.

“My pleasure, baby.” He growled before pulling out and slamming back into you, eliciting a loud moan.

Yunho’s pace was relentless, allowing no room for you to breathe, and stars danced across your vision. Your moans were bouncing off the walls, and Yunho was sure that the neighbors could hear how good he was fucking you. Then he suddenly remembered that your boyfriend was still asleep in the next room, and a sinister smirk spread across his face.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart.” He told you, leaning down to press a kiss against your jaw, and you nodded your head, all words lost to you. Kissing his way up to your ear, he nipped at your earlobe, causing your body to shiver, and another broken moan fell from your lips. “Tell me who you belong to, baby.”

“You,”

“Say my name,” Yunho growled, pulling away to pick up his pace once more, and you let out a pitiful squeak.

“Yunho.” You cried out, fingers wrapping around his wrist as your head fell back when he brushed over your sweet spot.

However, that wasn’t good enough for Yunho, “louder.”

“Yunho!” His name fell from your lips even louder than last time, but again, it wasn’t quite enough for the male.

“Louder!”

“YUNHO!” You screamed his name when he pressed down on your clit, causing stars to cloud your vision, your high right around the corner.

A triumphant smile spread across Yunho’s face when he heard movement on the other side of the wall, knowing full well that your boyfriend had heard you. The smile was soon wiped away, replaced with a groan as you tightened around his swollen cock.

“Fuck!” He cursed as he felt his own high creep up on him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, especially if you kept squeezing him like that.

“Yun, ‘m close!” You cried out, back arching off of the bed as the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, cum for me. Make a mess all over my cock.” His words were the last push you needed before you came all over his cock. He groaned as he looked down to see the milky white ring forming around the base of his cock.

“Yunho!” You cried out as he continued to fuck into you at his merciless pace, white spots littering your vision as he abused your sweet spot.

“I’m almost there, baby, just a little bit more.” He cooed, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a sweet kiss as his thrusts became sloppy before he shook in your hold as he came, painting your velvet walls white. “F-Fucking hell.”

Coming down from your highs, Yunho laid on your chest after he pulled out. Both of you just lay there as you tried to catch your breath, your fingers running through Yunho’s hair as he held you close.

You were then snapped out of your trance when you heard movement in the next room, realizing that your boyfriend’s room was right next to Yunho’s, and your heart dropped. Noticing the change in your mood, Yunho lifted his head, resting his chin on your chest.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asked, and your heart swelled at the endearing pet name.

“I think he heard everything,” You whispered as you glanced down at him, worry written all over your features and Yunho let out a sigh before pushing himself up until he was hovering over you once again.

“He definitely heard something, but it’s his loss. You’re mine now.” He told you before leaning down and kissing you once again, his kiss filled with so much love and need it pushed all other thoughts away.

After a few moments he pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You wrapped your hand around his wrist as you looked up at him with a soft smile, soaking in all of the affection he was giving you. Pulling him back down, your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed over yours.

“I’m all yours.” You confirmed his statement before sealing the kiss, all thoughts of your ex-boyfriend no longer clouding your mind. It was all replaced with Yunho and the feeling of his lips and body on yours, showering you with all of the love and appreciation that you deserved.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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sanemistar · 3 months ago

Text

STILL LOVE YOU

contents ★ satoru x fem!reader, angst to fluff, exes to lovers, 1k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event. synopsis ★ what will you do if your ex shows up unprompted in the middle of the night asking your for a second chance?

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

it was quite late at night, probably a little past midnight when you heard a knock on the door of your apartment. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, you weren’t expecting any visits especially when it was this late at night. hesitant, you carefully walked up and slowly opened the door.

the moment the door was opened, you were instantly greeted with the sight of satoru, your ex boyfriend of all people, whom showed up at your door unprompted in the middle of the night. you hadn’t seen him since the breakup, so seeing him again after all that time had shaken you quite hard. past memories of when you and him were so happy and madly in love with one another floated in your mind as you reminisced about all the happy times you had spent together with him for some time.

it was at that moment when you couldn’t believe how fragile you were. like just when you thought you had already moved on and completely forgotten about him as if he had never existed, you’d been reminded of satoru yet again and the fact that you had only been pretending to be indifferent about him when in reality you still had feelings for him.

you took a look at his face, it was still the same as ever. yet, something felt off. he wasn’t smirking or grinning, he wasn’t making any playful faces. his face was blank, pale and dull. heavy dark circles were seen underneath his blue eyes and his white hair was quite disheveled. frankly, his appearance concerned you. it was your first time seeing satoru in this state, you had no idea he could look that miserable.

“what brings you here, gojo?” you sternly asked, trying your best to control your emotions and not let yourself slip up. addressing him as if he were a complete stranger to you.

satoru, who still had lingering feelings for you, who still couldn’t accept the fact that you were no longer his. had no idea as to why he showed up at your door, especially that late in the night. his body acted on its own and his feet just naturally led him to your apartment, a place where was once so familiar to him that it felt like his own home.

but deep down, he knew that he only came here because he missed you, and he wanted to see your beautiful face once again in person.

“cuz baby i…. i miss you.” he stammered as he spoke, his voice cracked as if he was trying to hold himself from crying. you felt a knot in your stomach the moment you heard him call you baby.

“i don’t think we’re in a relationship that allows you to call me that, gojo.” you emphasized on his last name, reminding him of the fact that you were no longer in a relationship.

“look, if you have nothing important to say i’m done with this conversation.” if you were to tell your past self that there’d be a day when you would talk to your beloved toru like that, she would never believe you. honestly, even you were surprised by how cruelly you sounded at that moment, but a part of you thought he deserved it for causing you pain and heartbreak the day he called it quits with you.

you were right about to slam the door shut when he put his hand on it, stopping you from doing so.

“i know i haven’t treated you right the first time and i absolutely regret it.. i’m so sorry it took me so long to realize that, but if you give me a second chance, i promise i’ll treat you right this time around.” you’d never heard satoru say he regretted something he did before, so you were quite taken aback by his statement.

he was fully aware that you were too good for him and he didn’t deserve you. after all, he had once failed to give you the love that you truly deserved.

“please baby… please come back to me..” you couldn’t believe that the satoru gojo, the most arrogant and cocky man who flaunted his powers and strength at any given chance, was right here at your door, looking at you with such a sorrowful expression on his face while desperately begging you to forgive him and allow him to be with you once more.

the part of you that still loved him, the one part of you that you’d been desperately trying to suppress, had begun to overtake you as thoughts of giving satoru a second chance began circulating in your head.

“you know what i really hate right now?” satoru fell silent as you questioned.

“i hate how i still love you.” you paused momentarily before uttering. “i still love you, toru.” you decided to put your faith in satoru once more. it was hard to admit, but it was a given fact that you still loved him despite everything that happened.

he blinked profusely, still trying to process the words he had just heard, not only did you call him by the nickname you’d given him, but also you told him you still loved him. his feelings were mutual. after all, he had never stopped loving you to begin with.

not being able to resist and hold himself back any longer, his body moved on its own yet again and he instantly ran to you as he tightly held you in his arms. he held you so tight for dear life yet at the same time his touch was so soft and gentle, full of warmth and genuine love.

“i love you too, my baby. thank you for giving me another chance to be with you. this time, i promise i’ll never make you sad.” he cried against your ears as you buried your face in his chest and began crying as well. you deeply inhaled the smell of his cologne, the same unforgettable, sweet smell that you had terribly missed.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @lxnarphase @sylusdoll @itachiiwrites @itoshivy @17020 @luv-lies @suguru-getos @kasukuna

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x you

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vettelsvee · 30 days ago

Note

letting oscar take your virginity to celebrate his win

(if this makes you uncomfortable please to deny or only write fluffy before/after!) love ur work sm

V CARDS GOODBYES | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar arrives home after winning his first ever Formula 1 race, so you think it’s the perfect time for you to celebrate and, also, to say goodbye to your v card ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Hope you like it anon! And sorry it's taken me almost a year I'm a mess 😭

WORD COUNT: 3958

WARNINGS: Smut (virginity loss, female receiving oral sex, fingering, p in v, protected sex, little bit of praising kink), curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Came to the conclusion after the latests Oscar fics I’ve posted that he's the most popular driver on my Tumblr page, so this is for all my Osc people out there! I'm always ashamed of posting smut (but still want to keep writing it) so I hope this is good enough for you to enjoy! Remember that your comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! Thanks for reading <3 (Also, thoughts on the new layout?) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

The door of the apartment you shared in Monaco opened, and before Oscar could step inside, he heard excited screams that made it clear someone was more than happy about his arrival.

Not only did your cat start rubbing against his leg while purring, but also you, his girlfriend, were hopping towards him, barefoot and wrapped in one of his McLaren hoodies, which turned out to be even bigger on you than you had expected when you decided it would be a great idea to steal it from your boyfriend.

"You did it, Osc!” you squealed as you threw your arms around his neck. "Osc, oh my God, you won a race! Do you know what that means?"

Oscar felt his cheeks turn red. Of course, he knew exactly what winning a Grand Prix meant, especially during his second season in Formula 1. However, all he did was shrug, as if his achievement wasn’t that important.

"Yeah," was all he could say.

"I’m so, so proud of you," you said in a trembling voice, standing on your tiptoes to cup his face in your hands.

"I couldn’t have done it without you, even though you were here," Oscar replied sincerely, a hint of regret in his tone. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that you hadn’t been there with him throughout the whole process of stepping onto the podium.

"I know you would have liked me to be there, and I would’ve loved that too," you replied, making a sad but funny face. "But it’s okay! I screamed at the TV a lot, so I guess I helped in some way… And I’m sure you’ll win more races and I’ll be there to see them all, so it’s not the end of the world!"

Oscar chuckled and pulled you close until there was no space between you. He allowed himself a few moments to hold onto you, gently running his fingers through your hair while you clung tightly to his shirt, pressing your face into his chest as if he might disappear at any second.

"Hey… I have something for you."

Even though you whispered it, Oscar heard you perfectly. You bit your lip,. a telltale sign of nervousness he knew well, as you pulled away from him. Then, you quickly headed towards the living room, with the Australian following you, and grabbed a small book he had never seen before.

Carefully, as if it were fragile, you handed it to your boyfriend.

"Open it… I hope you like it!"

Oscar did as you asked. Gently, he opened what he soon realized was a photo album. It wasn’t just a collection of pictures of you from the past two years since you started dating. It was beautifully decorated. There were messages, and even reflections from your perspective about each memory you had built together.

"I know it’s not a big deal, but since I was so bored with studying, I have to admit I procrastinated a bit and felt like doing some crafts, so… well, this was the result," you said hesitantly, as if you were confessing a crime, though a small smile crept onto your lips. "Maybe you were expecting something else, I don’t know, but I hope you like it. You could even take it with you whenever you have to travel, so you remember me and also add something else if you feel in the mood," you added softly.

Oscar felt a lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. Although he was used to you being thoughtful, and he always tried to reciprocate, you somehow kept outdoing yourself.

"Y/N, this is…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. More accurately, he didn’t know how to express them. "It’s incredible. Thank you so much."

You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which, as you both expected, quickly turned into something more desperate, fueled by your hunger for each other.

Oscar’s hands found your waist beneath the hoodie, his fingers tracing invisible lines along your skin, moving up and down, even toying with the clasp of your bra. The only thing you could do was keep kissing him, tugging at his hair lightly and pressing yourself against his thigh, seeking friction to ease the growing ache within you.

Then, you suddenly pulled away, more abruptly than Oscar had expected. Your pupils were completely dilated, your lips swollen, and your hair a complete mess.

"Oscar…"

"Y/N…"

"I want to do it."

Your voice was barely a whisper. Oscar’s eyes widened, surprised because, even though he perfectly understood what you meant, hearing you say it out loud was an entirely different feeling.

"Bebe…"

"I really, really want to do it, Osc," you repeated, more as a confirmation to yourself than to him. "Yesterday, you lost your v-card in Formula 1 with your victory, so… I was thinking maybe I could lose mine too."

Oscar had known from the very beginning of your relationship that you had never been physically involved with anyone beyond a couple of kisses and teasing. At first, you had been insecure about telling him, worried about feeling ashamed, but Oscar had always made sure you felt safe and comfortable, promising you would only take steps forward when you were truly ready.

Today, your words made clear that you finally felt like that moment arrived, and that filled Oscar with happiness not because you were about to have sex, but because it meant you were finally comfortable enough with yourself to take that step.

"Are you… sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "You know we don’t have to rush anything… I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this just because, you know…"

"I know, Osc, and I promise I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I weren’t sure," you reassured him, looking into his eyes as you ran your fingers over his hands. "I love you, and most importantly, I trust you. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and well… yeah."

"It’s just… I don’t want to mess anything up, Y/N. This is really important, and it should be perfect,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled, cupping his face and bringing him closer for a kiss.

"It doesn’t have to be perfect as long as it’s with you, Osc.”

"Okay, but… if you change your mind at any point, you tell me," Oscar insisted. You laughed, rolling your eyes.

"I promise, really."

Your lips met again, but this time much slower. Oscar took his time kissing you carefully, wanting to do everything right. He cradled your cheek with one hand to deepen the kiss, while the other wrapped around your back, guiding you gently toward the bedroom you shared.

Once inside, he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath to avoid panicking, even though there was no reason to.

You stood in front of him, looking at him with a mix of shyness and adoration that reminded him of your early days, when you just used to go out for coffee or to the movies back in high school.

Oscar couldn’t help but look at you with an equally shy, yet utterly endearing, expression.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"I will, yeah."

You didn’t need to say anything else since kissing spoke for you. You took your time, enough for Oscar to make sure you felt completely comfortable, enough for you to overthink just a little more before deciding if you really wanted to continue…

*"I love you, Oscar…" you murmured between kisses. You tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it off, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.

"I love you too, Y/N…"

With nerves and hands shakier than he would have liked, almost as if he were the inexperienced one, he took hold of the hem of your hoodie and slowly lifted it over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.

Oscar was surprised to see you in black lace lingerie instead of the usual shorts you wore around the house. He was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together before kissing him once again.

Neither knew how long you were like this, but you both agreed that it had been long enough to discover that you needed more of each other.

Oscar ended up forcing himself to pull away from you and take a breath. A smile curved between his lips, which caused you, somewhat nervously, to giggle at the situation and hug him around the waist, pulling him closer to you while trying not to shove him away.

“Really, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Y/N,” the McLaren driver insisted once again.

“I've been looking forward to doing this for a long time, and I've been mentally preparing for it for a while,” she told him, trying not to sound uneasy. “I trust you, Osc, and there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“So...?”

“I want you to make me yours, Oscar. Today, tomorrow or whenever and wherever you want,” you whispered in his ear as sensually as you could.

“Y/N…”

“Oscar: I just want you to fuck me.”

You felt your boyfriend tense up after those words that had caught even you off guard. Instinctively, you brought your hand to the noticeable bulge under Oscar's pants, but when you tried to reach for the button to unbutton them, he pushed your hands away lovingly.

“No, honey, none of that for now. Today is your day, so let me do the work and just enjoy yourself.”

Oscar, without another word, took you by the chin and kissed you again for the umpteenth time that day. Now, your lips moved at a slower speed. You guessed it was because you noticed how one of Oscar's hands began to massage one of your breasts, giving special attention to the nipple. With the other, he lightly brushed your pussy, making you gasp when he decided to play with your clit.

“Do you like it, babe?” he asked in a tone of voice that showed too much excitement.

His fingers now delved a little deeper into your intimacy, those enveloping movements becoming a little faster.

“Yes, Osc...” you barely managed to answer.

That answer was enough for the Australian to stop immediately. You didn't even look him in the face. Oscar pulled away from you, leaving a quick kiss on your lips and starting a trail of kisses all over your body, stopping once he reached your lower stomach area.

“Y/N…”

His hands stood delicately on your thighs, which he was now kissing, closer and closer to your pussy. Your hair stood on end. Your breath was completely held, unable to breathe in case that put an end to it all, as if that would be enough for Oscar to finish whatever he was doing with you.

“If anything we do tonight makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me please,” the Australian declared. “And, before your little head starts thinking nonsense: no, I'm not going to get mad at you because you don't want to have sex, okay? If you don't want to…”

“Oscar, look at me,” you cut him off, and the boy immediately listened to you: “it's you, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable with you and with anything you do to me.”

“Do you promise me, love?”

“I swear.”

Oscar nodded, grabbing your thighs again and dragging you to the edge of the bed so that his face was in front of your pussy, perfectly aligned with your entrance.

Without warning, he slid his tongue, flat, all over it with a slowness that was completely unbearable and that seemed that, rather than pleasing you, he wanted to kill you little by little. His movements were frantic; constant changes of speed, from faster to slower, and vice versa, that made his nose rub against your clit while his tongue seemed to do wonders with that dance.

When Oscar's tongue began to explore inside you, and his index finger, the one he used to show on camera every time he got a first position just like Sebastian Vettel did in his golden age, started a tortuous tour of your labia majora, you curled up shyly but instinctively. Your hands ended up tangled in his hair, forcing him closer to you at the same time your hips did the same.

“I think you're liking it, aren't you my little girl?” Piastri said, ending his oral contact with you and replacing it with his finger. His gaze was fixed on her, and you thought about why he hadn't done this to you before.

“Don't stop, Osc. For the sake of God, don't even think about stopping...” you gasped, becoming increasingly unable to articulate a word.

He didn't have to say anything else. After those words, Oscar slipped a second finger inside you. You let out a small gasp of surprise and he, without taking his eyes off you, laughed, your cheeks turning red almost instantly. Despite this, he kissed your thighs as he continued the back and forth with his index finger, adding his heart almost soon after while increasing even more the speed.

You felt that everything was going too fast, and the waves of pleasure that were flooding you were making you lose, more and more, the notion of time. You didn't know at what point, but when he decided to add his tongue back into the equation, without leaving the movements of his fingers inside you going straight to that spot that gave you the most pleasure, a strange sensation gripped the lower part of your stomach.

It was getting harder and harder for you to hold back your orgasm. You felt how your eyes were closing little by little, and your leg, too, to which Oscar put a little pressure on them to prevent them from closing.

“Come for me, love,” Oscar let you know. “Come on, Y/N, you've got it babe. Come on…”

And so you did.

Your back curved in such a way that your body, completely sweaty, could hardly keep on writhing as it was doing. You were moaning like you had never moaned before, and your boyfriend seemed to notice. A smirk of satisfaction and success began to break from his lips as he licked at your fluids, his mouth moving slowly now, over-stimulating your clit and making you incessantly.

The Australian rose and carefully positioned himself on top of you.

“I love you, Y/N, you don't know how much,” he said between kisses, making you taste yourself for the first time, but hopefully not the last one. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world... And the best girl in the world. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Oscar, don't…”

“Yes you are, Y/N, and I will not allow you to speak so negatively about yourself.”

After those last words, the driver pulled away from you slightly, trying yo give you some time to recover. Then, you looked at him taking what seemed to be a condom from the bedside table, which he carefully put on and immediately positioned at your entrance.

You swallowed, while Oscar tried not to think about whether he was really going too fast.

·I don't want to sound weird, but... please, if you want me to stop, just tell me,” Oscar spoke as best he could, trying not to succumb to the nerves he felt about taking this important step with you. “I want you to be pretty sure about this since… Well, since there’s not going back…”

You said nothing. Instead, you gave him a slight nod with your head, still looking at him, which was enough for Oscar to enter you carefully, but without a previous warning.

He decided to stand for a while so you could get used to his length. You felt a little pain. You held back a scream, bit your lips and closed your eyes to do your best to make that feeling go away as soon as possible.

“Y/N…”

“Go on, Oscar. It's all right…”

The boy nodded, and finished entering you with the same care. Little by little, his movements gained speed. You arched your back, moaning incessantly as she started feeling more comfortable with the depth of penetration, and Oscar hitting her in a spot that made her feel a pleasure that you feel in a way you didn’t know how to describe, but that felt good enough to make you never want that sex session to end.

“Does it feel good, honey? Are you enjoying my... cock... for the first time?” Oscar moaned, biting her neck. “Look at you… so desperate for me to keep fucking you…”

“Fuck, Oscar... this is a fantasy,” you gasped. “And you talking so... like… like this... God... Don't stop, please…”

“Never for you, sweetheart.”

Your moans became one, a melody that your neighbors were probably listening to but you didnt give a fuck. Your gazes could hardly be averted, and your words, getting dirtier and dirtier as much as your were embarrassed at first, were sounding louder and louder, as were your pleas.

“Oscar!” you shrieked as you felt Oscar's fingers press against you nervous bundle.”

“Love...” he moaned through his teeth. ”Don't stop moaning my name, please. You don't know how you're making me feel right now.

·And of course I'm going to make you feel so much better when we do this again,” you replied, choking with pleasure. As best you could, you sat up a little and wrapped you arms around you boyfriend's neck. “I want to do it again, Osc,” you made it clear. “I want us to do this every time we get the chance....”

You kept moaning his name, giving him promises you knew he would never break. He kept reassuring you and how good you were doing, speeding up his movements as he couldn’t stop playing with your clit, all of that while he kept telling you that you were his.

You couldn't contain it anymore for the second time that day.

“Fuck, Osc,” he stammered. “I think I'm gonna…”

“Let yourself go, honey,” the brown-haired said. “You can do it, love. Cum for me.”

Your orgasm came before you could say anything else. Oscar came within seconds of you, and as soon as he did he ended, he gave you a short kiss on the lips as he carefully pulled out of heyour and collapsed beside you.

Oscar's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure with increasingly slower breaths.

“You ok babe?” Oscar murmured after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding your head with a smile peeking out. “Better than ever, actually.”

It was then that it dawned on Oscar. Quickly, he sat up a little and saw what was under where you were still positioned. His heart began to race, and a pressure settled in his chest as he realized the light blue bed sheets were stained slightly with blood as was his condom, still on him and which he hadn't paid attention to because he just wanted to be with you cuddling after he'd made you lose your virginity.

“Hey, listen, love…” he started to say in a calm, but concerned tone.

You followed his gaze, and couldn't help but blush and die of embarrassment inside.

“Oh...” you spoke quietly, instinctively covering yourself with the sheets. “This... is normal. Well, I guess so…”

“Does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, denying it, though the look on your face seemed to say otherwise.

“Well… It's just a little... just a little sore. But it's fine, really. It happens when you have sex for the first time with someone.”

Oscar studied your face, and he knew you wanted to stop this conversation. You wanted to let it go and pretend everything was fine so you wouldn't give him any sign that you hadn't liked it, even though your moans and pleas seemed to say otherwise.

“Still, you shouldn't let it go.”

The Australian approached you and gave you a shy kiss on the forehead. Then he got out of bed, still naked.

·Where are you going?” you asked in a voice mixed with curiosity and nervousness.

“I'm going to get a towel with hot water to clean you up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already heading towards the bathroom while taking off his condom. As you heard the faucet turn on, and your boyfriend getting everything ready, you couldn't help but feel bad because, maybe, Oscar deserved better, and your behavior, what was happening to you now, was not what he deserved.

You forced yourself to stop overthinking because if there’s one thing you knew for sure is that Oscar loved you, more than sometimes you were conscious of.

Your boyfriend came back a few minutes later, and found you sitting on the bed, curled up on yourself and clinging to the sheets while still covering with them, as if you were afraid.

“You don't have to…”

“I know,” Oscar cut you off, offering you a small smile, “but I want to. So, please, just let me take care of you.”

Your eyes softened at his proposal, and you forced yourself to calm down as Oscar, with his gaze and his hands coyly on your thighs, asked your permission to spread your legs. You nodded, and he carefully ran the wet towel and hot water over your pussy, giving it little touches because he didn't want to risk it stinging or hurting any more because he really didn't know exactly how the female body worked after losing your virginity.

When he finished, he kissed her knee and sat down next to her again, also covering himself with the sheets so he could hug her and, more than anything else, try to reassure her and make her feel as good as possible.

“There, that's it, all settled. Now, let's stay here and rest.”

“Was it good?”

Oscar let out a small laugh from his mouth at your sudden question as he leaned over to you and snuggled into your shoulder.

”You've been amazing, love,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Now you were both lying on your bed, looking at each other. “Are you okay now that… Did I hurt you? I need you to be honest with me... I should have asked you if you liked the pace I decided to take because, well, I’m not going to lie to you, I think I could have gone a little slower...”

You shook your head and didn't give him a chance to keep talking. Instead, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

“You don't have to worry about anything, Osc. It was far from perfect. So, from now on, I hope you win more races because from today on, winning sex has become a tradition that I hope we keep for a long time.”

Oscar laughed, knowing you were completely serious.

“We can make a tradition of this and anything else you want, love,” he buried his face in yours, and began to tickle your waist gently. “We can even have several rounds if you want, so… thoughts on that? Should we keep ready for a second round today?”

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

#writeblr #i actually didn't want a girlfriend before nat #and my dad recently said to me - raquel. i don't approve of the promiscuity #1. i am 30.#2. i had casually dated about 4 people over 18 months.#3. i do believe he was just mad that i get more girls than he ever did #i had to look this 60 yr old deacon in the eye and say. okay so i have a girlfriend first of all im just not tellin yall about her #and secondly.#OKAY???? OLD MAN I DONT EVEN LIVE HERE WHAT ARE U GONNA DO ABOUT IT #briefly considered asking nat if i could pretend we were a one night stand kind of a thing

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michaela-o · 4 months ago

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Random things i think Cybertronians would find adorable about humans~♡ Pt. 2

1. Us getting scared by small things

Humans jumping or screaming at a bug, sudden noise, or a scare prank would probably seem hilarious to the bots, who would be 100% amused by how easily humans can be startled. I bet MANY bots would take advantage of this when there would be a lil human on the lost light. Bots like Whirl, Trailbreaker sometimes Swerve that would like to scare the human despite them telling him not to.

Ya all know the vine video? With guy that goes: "Aaah stoop im gonna drop my criossant."

Yes that XDD

2. Us getting lost even with maps or GPS

I personally have terrible sense of direction and orientation (*p_q*) And some bots catching humans struggle with directions, even with GPS, would be both puzzling and funny to them. They always wonder how humans get lost so easily. But come on give the lialison a break the lost light is fucken HUGE.

3. Getting “hangry”

I mostly get tired when i'm hungry but when im also irritated i become hangry. I think bots would find humans getting irritable when they’re hungry both funny and perplexing to them who might see it as an amusing “malfunction” due to our a basic need.

4. Human body “glitches”

Hiccups, sneezes or random muscle twitches and similar reflexes would be entertaining to the bots, who’d find these involuntary responses both weird and amusingly unpredictable especially when we tell them that we can't control them. Get ready to be friendly bullied for this by some of the bots.

Human sitting over on Swerve's bar counter: *sneezes*

Whirl: What the frag was that sound? A sparkling's war cry?

Human: ( ｡ớ︿ờ)

5. Collecting random souvenirs

Humans collecting small souvenirs, like seashells, keychains, or mugs from places they visit, would be amusing to Cybertronians, who might see it as an odd way of marking memories. Since from what i was reading in comics i didn't see any bots do this and i think they would find this pretty adorable. Almost like we materialize memories.

We are all like crows :3

6. Huddling for warmth

When humans instinctively huddle together or bundle up in thick layers when we're cold. Bots would simply find it cute amd definitively have to fight the yrge to just- squish-

Our need to find warmth and the cozy solutions we come up with would seem quaint and endearing (*´˘`*)

7. Gathering in groups for safety

The way we instinctively form groups, especially in unfamiliar or intimidating and scary situations would be both cute and a bit amusing to bots who might see it as humans’ way of finding strength in numbers despite their physical smallness. But we find great comfort in it ( *^艸^*)

8. Soothing or hugging each other in stress

When we instinctively comfort each other with hugs or reassuring words would be adorably puzzling to the bots, who’d find it endearing that humans can find peace in such small, gentle gestures. I bet a bot that is visibly sad would be pretty surprised when the human lialison comes up to them and just hug their servo and ask if they want to talk about it. It personally makes me happy when i can comfort and help someone in need ( ｡ớ ᴗờ)

9. Making eye contact to connect

Humans instinctively make eye contact to establish trust or share feelings, which many bots would find very intimate, sincere and honest because it shows how deep the personal nature of human connection can go ( ⁎ᵕᴗᵕ⁎ )

(bots getting lost in human's eyes is one of my guilty pleasures)

10. Fighting for what’s important

We humans naturally stand up for our values, friends, and families, often driven by an instinct to protect or defend what we love. I think bots would find this fierce loyalty and bravery adorably noble for such a small species such as us. I even think that many would take us for an example in this (｡>ㅅ<｡)

11. Helping others instinctively

Cybertronians would likely find this endearing that humans instinctively help each other out—whether holding open a door, picking up dropped items, or offering support without being asked. This is the very nature that makes us human (*´▽`*)

12. Blushing when embarrassed or flustered

The way our cheeks turn pink or red when we're shy, embarrassed, or flustered would be extremely cute to the bots, who’d see it as a “giveaway” that adds to our vulnerability and the fact that we just can't hide our emotions makes us very emotionaly transparent is just straight up adorable.

13. The way the human brain is so simple

I personaly am very simple human being and i find many stupid and simple things funny and laugh at them. I think because of this many bots would find us very innocent and adorable

(｡>▽<｡)

AAAAARRRGH there's so many other things i wanna write but i decided to make part two of this bc i enjoy writing this stuff. Dis a good soup :33

(i might add a small masterlist to my pinned post :3)

#transformers #transformers headcanons #transformers x reader #digital art #small artist #art #procreate app #yandere transformers #transformers mtmte #mtmte rodimus #humans are cute #humans are space orcs #mtmte #idw

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illyrianslut · 1 month ago

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Spymaster's mate - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is away on business for the Night Court, but Y/N needs satisfaction while he is gone. He senses through the bond what his mate is needing and winnows home.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, breeding kink, spanking, masturbation. I think that's it..

Author's Note: I don't write smut a lot, so please be kind xD Ao3 Link

Masterlist | Ao3

You had known it was going to be another long lonely night at home without Azriel to keep you company, but that didn’t make coming home to your empty town home any easier. It had been a rainy, dreary day in Velaris but you’d made the best of it deciding to visit Feyre and Nyx at Feyre’s shop surprising them with treats from their favorite bakery.

Even after spending time with you little nephew the ache of missing your mate consumed you once you were alone. Of course you understood that Azriel’s job as Spymaster for the Night Court was an important one, and one that often stole him away from you for days at a time, it didn’t ever take away the ache of being away from him or not knowing if he is safe.

Throwing your things in a pile beside the door, you enter your home and make your way to the kitchen to begin making something for dinner. Much to your surprise, there is a bouquet of flowers sitting on the table, a card with your name on it is sitting beside it.

You look around your home, feeling that your mate isn’t there causing you to wonder how the flowers got into your -locked- home. The note was clearly written in Azriel’s handwriting, confusing you further. You give a small tug on the mating bond you share with him, but can tell instantly that his walls are up and there is no chance of you getting through to him.

Y/N,

I wanted to apologize for leaving you home alone for so long. You know how it kills me to be away from you. Rhysand needs me to stay here longer, I can explain more when I get home. I am so sorry for being away my love, I will be home as soon as time allows. I love you, Az.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips, it wasn’t the first time his job kept him away longer than anticipated, and surely wouldn’t be the last. You know not to take it to heart, but that doesn’t take away the sting of missing him.

You give up on the idea of dinner, just wanting the day to be over. Sleep sounds much nicer anyway. You give the flowers a quick sniff and smile, he had always known your favorite flowers to get. But you’d still rather your mate be home than have flowers.

Tomorrow would be one week since you saw him, one week since you felt his calming pretense, and felt him inside you. Your core aches at the thought of your last morning before he left, as always he made sure to satisfy you fully before leaving. You get to your bedroom and throw on one of his shirts and crawl into bed, still thinking about that morning.

He had woken you with his lips wrapped around your clit, and hands on your hips to hold you in place while he devoured you.

You move your fingers to your needy cunt, and begin rubbing slow circles on your clit, remembering the feel of your mate.

“Az.” You moan running your fingers through his hair, hips bucking to meet his tongue that is currently lapping at your entrance as though it’s his last meal.

“Good morning my beautiful girl.” He says, moving to slide a finger inside you. “How many times shall I make you come for me this morning?” He questions, adding another finger.

You can’t help but sigh deeply at the memory of his fingers inside you, tossing your head back moving your fingers faster.

You hum in response to his question, but can’t find any words as pleasure is coursing through your body. He begins sucking on your swollen clit, making a knot form in your stomach. “I’m gonna cum.” You clasp a hand over your mouth to hold back the moan rising in your throat. But he stops, taking away the pleasure he’d been giving so freely moments before.

“Don’t you dare hide those beautiful moans from me, princess.” He pulls your hand away from your mouth and holds it with his free hand, then goes back to lapping at your core. “You come for me, baby girl. Come all over my face.” His words are your undoing, your release hitting you all at once. Your legs clench around his shoulders and you let go, cumming on his tongue as he keeps licking, and pumping his fingers inside you quickly.

A tug is sent from the other side of the bond, a satisfied grin plasters itself on your face knowing that Azriel can feel the please you’re giving yourself. You drop what little shield was left to you, letting him in fully, letting him feel the orgasm you’re close to giving yourself.

“Please, I need more.” You beg him, not feeling fully satisfied, needing his cock inside you.

“Beg for it, Princess.” He commands, placing rough kisses up your body, sucking once he gets to your swollen nipple. “Beg for my cock if you want it so bad.” His hand reaches up to play with your other nipple.

Your body can’t help but respond to his deep, lust filled voice. “Az please, I need your cock inside me. I need you to fill my pussy.” Your voice comes out in a desperate whine while you take in the assault on your nipples.

“Good girl.” He praises you, lining his beautifully long cock up with your desperate cunt.

He doesn’t take but a moment before pushing his entire length inside you, earning a lust filled moan from both of you.

A brief rustle beside you brings you back to reality. You can’t help but startle seeing a dark figure in the corner of your bedroom, but once you recognize the shadows of your mate you continue flicking your fingers over your clit.

“You dirty little slut.” Azriel growls, stalking over to the bed and gripping your ankles to pull you to meet him.

You laugh excitedly, knowing that you’re in trouble, but also knowing the punishment will be well worth it. “What did I do?” You ask innocently, eyes raking down the man before you. His cock bulging through his leathers, wings fluttering as they always did when lust overtook him, and his eye narrowed on you.

“You know exactly what you did.” He leans down, grabbing the hand that had just been rubbing your clit and pulled you to a sitting position. His lips are close to yours, but instead of kissing you he lifts your hand to his mouth and sucks on the two fingers covered in your wetness. “Take off the shirt.” He commands, leaving no room for argument.

You do as your told, and toss the shirt you’d taken from his dresser across the room. He stood above you not breaking eye contact, he loved to hold the power over you in the bedroom, to be in control. “Get your ass in the air.” Another command, causing your needy cunt to clench looking for something to fill it.

You turn yourself around so that your ass is in the air, and shake it for him. A hard smack lands on your left cheek, a moan from you as you savor the punishment. “Please Az, I need your dick inside me.” You beg, wishing more than anything that cock was filling you up like it had before he left.

He sucks gently at your collarbone, sure to leave a nice purple bruise after he’s done. His hips pull out of you teasingly slow before he shoves his cock back into you so hard your body pushes up. He repeats his thrust again and again, earning pleasure filled cries from you. “That’s right pretty girl, take my cock like a good fucking girl.”

You clench around his cock at his words, digging your fingers into his shoulder. “Good girl, clench that pussy around my dick. That’s right, take it just like that.” Another thrust into your aching pussy.

Smack. Your right cheek stings as he slaps it bringing you back to him. “Dirty slut, distracting me from my work.” One more slap to your left cheek and he pulls away, a whine leaving your lips. “Take my dick out, and if you’re a good girl maybe I’ll fuck you.”

You sit up quickly, facing him on the bed and begin undoing the leathers between you and his cock. A satisfied hum comes from him at your eagerness, earning you a soft caress on the cheek. As soon as you’ve undone his leathers and hauled them down you take in the beauty that is his length. Pre cum is spilling out of the tip, you lick your lips before getting to your knees in front of him, licking his entire length.

He groans your name, and puts a fist in your hair tugging at the roots. You open your mouth wide to fit him inside, and dip down to take as much as you could, using your hand to pump the remaining length. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He praises, keeping his grip in your hair while guiding you in sucking his cock.

A glance up at him shows you his eyes closed tightly, and lips parted slightly as his soft moans fill the room. You use your free hand to cup his balls and he stiffens immediately, eyes shooting open to look down at you. “You are my good girl, aren’t you?” He grabs both sides of your head and thrusts into your mouth several times, making your eyes fill with tears, and gag as his entire length is shoved down your throat. Just when you think you aren’t able to take more he stops, and pulls you up gently. “Aren’t you?”

You nod, wiping at the tears that had filled your eyes from the face fuck, and reach behind him to run a gently finger across the base of his wings. “Do you think you deserve my dick?” He questions, shuddering at your touch.

“Yes baby.” Your words sound like a plea. You can’t help but grind against his cock, needing the friction, your dripping pussy aching for relief.

He leans down to your shoulder placing an all too gently kiss there before wrapping his arms under your ass and picking you up. Instinctively you wrap your legs around him, and lull your head to the side as he sucks at the soft skin.

Before you know it, your back has hit the wall, and he crashes his lips to yours. “You are my good little girl.” He lines his tip up with your entrance and without another word, thrusts into you. “Who got your pussy so wet angel?” He asks, pulling out and thrusting back in quickly, his balls slapping against you while he fucks up into you.

“You did Az, my pussy is soaked only for you.” You moan, taking his cock up inside you, grinding as much as you can to create more friction on your clit.

He hold you up with one arm, still fucking you when he reaches between you and uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit. A red hot ball begins to form in your stomach, lewd sounds leaving your mouth as you try to form words around the ecstasy that you’re feeling.

“I’m g-gonna.” You try to get out, but just as the orgasm is about to take over you he pulls out and sets you on wobbling legs. “Az-” You beg, looking up, legs shaking as you’re unable to hold yourself up at the let down from you ruined orgasm.

“Not yet you’re not.” He drags you over to the bed, holding you up as your body comes down from the disappointment. “You’re coming on my mouth first, sweet girl.” He tells you, laying you down and kneeling before you.

His cock is being fisted in his hand as he pushes you down and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “You don’t cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” His mouth is hovering over your soaked pussy, but he refuses to give you pleasure until you acknowledge his words.

“Yes baby.” You confirm, hips rolling looking for any sign of satisfaction.

He leans in and immediately starts lapping at your soaking cunt “You’re so beautiful.” He says into you, sucking and slurping sending lightning bolts of pleasure rushing through you. Your ruined orgasm coming back, full force.

As though he senses the oncoming orgasm, he tears his hand away from his cock so he can put two fingers inside you, pumping quickly while he continues sucking on your clit. The pleasure is about to burst out of you, and you know you need to ask before you come. “Please let me cum.” You beg, hips bucking to meet his finger thrusts.

“Come for me princess.” With those words you come undone, your pleasure fulled moans filling the room, mixed with the slurping of your pussy in Azriel’s mouth. “Mmm, good fucking girl.” He praises, as your body convulses, letting the orgasm run through you.

You moan his name and a string of curse words, running your fingers through his hair. “Now it’s my turn, and I’m going to cum in that little pussy of yours.” Another wave of pleasure consumes you as he lay over you and thrusts inside before letting you come down from your first orgasm.

He fills you so completely, stretching your cunt to the limits filling you with the most beautiful feeling. His large hand finds your throat, and squeezes just enough to send more pleasure through you, his pace quickening as he fucks into you harder.

You reach back and play with his wings, and close your eyes enjoying the feeling of his hand around your throat. “I’m gonna cum in your pussy and fill you with my seed. You little fucking whore.” His thrusts are becoming sloppy, he releases his grip on your throat and hold himself over you continuing to pump into you.

Your second orgasm burst out of you when he took your nipple in his mouth, the sensation overtaking you. You knew he was close, and the stimulation was becoming too much for you to bare, “Please cum inside me, I want you to put a babe in me, Az.” You knew the words would be his undoing, he’d been attempting to get you with child for years.

Just like that his weight was on top of you in the most loving way and you felt his cum filling you up. Your name continuing to fall off his lips as he kept thrusting to push his seed further inside. As he finished his hips pressed into you, creating an overstimulated cry leave your lips.

As he realized what caused the cry, he began grinding against you harder, a devious grin spreading across his lips. You try to push his weight off you, feeling another unwelcome orgasm creeping up inside you “Az it’s too much.” You beg, your hips betraying you and grinding into his.

The orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, another cry escaping out of you. “You have one more in you, I know it.” He slides down your body, and holds your hips in place while he attaches his lips to your exposed cunt again.

“Azriel!” You cry out, the overstimulation crashing into you, tears falling from your eyes and your cunt clenching trying to hold back an orgasm.

He nips at your bundle of nerves and that is your undoing, your final orgasm leaving your body like an exorcism. Cries of pleasure and pain fill the room as your cunt aches from overuse. “That’s my good girl” Azriel walks away for only a moment before coming back with a warm cloth.

He kneels before you, as your body is trying to regulate itself. “I’m going to clean you now princess, and you need to let me.” He instructs, you can’t do anything but nod as your adrenaline lowers. As he gently wipes at your dripping and aching pussy you want to pull away, but he holds you there getting every drop off you.

You can’t move in the aftershock of your orgasms, so he wraps his strong arms around you and brings you to the head of the bed, tucking you in. “Come love.” He whispers, pulling you close to him, letting you rest your head on his check.

“You were so good for me, you’re such a good girl.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “And who knows maybe I will have finally put a babe in you.” He smiles lovingly at you, and you can’t help but swell with love also at the idea of carrying his child.

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel smut #azriel fanfic #acotar smut #acotar x reader

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reidsfilm · 8 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 — SPENCER REID

divider credit: cafekitsune

PARING: spencer reid x fem reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!! (18+) porn with plot (more plot tbh), soft !dom spencer, oral (fem receiving) praise, aftercare, fluff, spencer being a dorky nerd, a teeny tiny bit of angst. pet names; sweetheart, pretty girl, baby

SUMMARY: You've taken some time off work after nearly getting killed in the field. So you spend your time baking. A sweet and sugary moment between you and Spencer becomes much more...sinful.

WORD COUNT : 8,3k

Notes: this man is so smexy I wanna smooch all over his face. btw this is more fluff than smut. I got carried away with them being sweet. this is not proofread.

Three weeks had passed since you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer had been extremely worried, his brain had worked nonstop to come up with ways on how to better protect you. You'd never seen him so on edge, he was usually very relaxed, sometimes a bit awkward, but never anxious.

Spencer had practically forced you to stay home and rest, the wound still wasn't healed and you had to take care of it. He left a first aid kit right next to the bed and he made you promise you'd apply the ointment every few hours.

You had spent the weeks catching up with your favorite shows and reading some of the books that belonged to Spencer. And all in all just trying to take care of yourself, both physically and mentally.

As you continued to mix the batter of the cupcakes, the silence in the home became almost deafening. Being away from work for so long didn't help, you wanted to be out in the field again, fighting crime, working with Spencer and the team. But you also knew that you had to listen to Spencer and stay home a little while longer.

The sound of keys in the lock pulled you out of your thoughts, and you knew instantly that Spencer was coming home.

The front door opened and Spencer stepped trough the door, immediately he could smell the cupcakes that you were baking. Taking his shoes off, he placed them neatly on the shoe rack before he hung his jacket away.

Slowly he entered the living room, his gaze falling onto you in the kitchen. You didn't look up, your back turned to him as you continued to mix the batter. He could recognize that body language, you were upset.

"Hey," he spoke gently, walking into the kitchen, taking off his tie as he made his way towards you. He didn't touch you yet, knowing how you were feeling. Stopping right behind you, he leaned in slightly. He smelled good, he could smell the familiar scent of sugar, and he knew that you had stolen one of his shirts again.

He gently placed the tie on the counter next to you, quietly observing you as you worked. The silence between you was tense.

After a few moments, he gently touched your hips, his touch light, as if he was scared he'd hurt you, he slowly turned you around, his eyes meeting yours.

He observed you, noticing your slightly flushed cheeks and how you avoided his gaze. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" he muttered, one hand slowly moving up to your face, cupping your chin, his thumb stroking your skin.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He could see the emotions flicker trough your eyes, the frustration, the insecurity, the restlessness.

Slowly, his other hand caressed your hip. "Talk to me, baby," he whispered, his voice soft and comforting.

He observed your expression carefully, noticing how your forehead was slightly creased, your jaw clenched. He knew that you were holding back, trying to keep everything bottled up inside of you. He was worried about you, he knew how hard it was for you to be home and away from the BAU, but he also knew that your health was more important.

His hand on your hip slowly moved up to your stomach, his large hand feeling over the healing scar.

Your heart clenched at the gentle contact of his hand on your stomach, the memory of the stabbing still fresh in your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Looking up at Spencer, you swallowed, trying to find the right words. "I'm just... I'm feeling frustrated. I want to be out there, helping the team, doing what I love," you finally admit, your voice laced with frustration.

Spencer nodded, a soft expression crossing his face. He understood how you were feeling. You were a determined, hard-working person, and being forced to stay home and rest was probably the last thing you wanted to do.

"I know you're frustrated, my love," he said, his voice still gentle, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your hip. "But you have to give yourself time to heal. You were badly hurt, we were all worried about you..."

He gently pulled you closer, his other hand moving to rest on the small of your back, keeping you close to him.

"I know it's hard, but you need to focus on your recovery right now. Healing takes time, but I promise it'll be worth it in the end." He spoke, his brown eyes locking onto yours, trying to reassure you.

His touch was warm and comforting, and you couldn't help but lean into his embrace. He was right, you knew deep down that you needed to focus on healing and recovering, but it was so hard to be patient when you wanted nothing more than to be back at the BAU.

"I just... I hate feeling weak," you admitted, your voice quiet and vulnerable. "I feel like I'm letting everyone down by being home like this."

"You're not weak," he said firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "You got hurt, yes, but that doesn't make you weak. You are strong, stronger than you know. And you're not letting anyone down by taking time to heal. If anything, you're helping us all by focusing on your health."

He gently threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and soothing. "We all want you back at the BAU as soon as possible, but we also want you back healthy and whole. And that means taking the time to recover properly."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You're a valuable member of the team, but your health and well-being are more important than anything else. So please, be patient and take care of yourself. For us, for me..."

His words were like a soothing balm to your frustrated heart. You knew he was right, and you knew that taking the time to heal was the right thing to do, even if it was hard.

Nodding slightly in response, you leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "I'll do my best," you mumbled against his shirt, your voice slightly muffled. "It's just so hard to wait."

He held you close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath your forehead. "I know it's hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I'll be here with you every step of the way. I'll help take care of you, make sure you're eating and resting properly."

His grip on you loosened slightly, and his hands began to glide over your back, rubbing soft circles. "And I know the team misses you too. But they understand that your health is our top priority right now."

You couldn't help but smile a little at his words, feeling a small sense of comfort. You knew that Spencer would be a constant presence in your recovery, and the thought of that helped to ease your frustration just a bit.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at him. "You're right," you said, your voice almost a whisper. "I just need to be more patient. And I know you'll be there to take care of me, even if I get annoyed with you."

He chuckled at that, his chest rumbling softly with the sound. "Oh, I'm sure you will get annoyed," he agreed, a small smile appearing on his lips. "But that's okay. I've learned to deal with your grumpiness over the years."

He gently pinched your side in a teasing gesture, causing you to let out a small giggle. "And just so you know, I plan on spoiling you rotten while you're recovering."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of him spoiling you. Spencer had a tendency to dote on you at the best of times, and you knew that while you were recovering from your injury, his spoiling tendencies would likely be heightened even more.

You raised an eyebrow, a small grin on your lips. "Oh really? So you're going to wait on me hand and foot, bring me food and drink whenever I want, and generally treat me like a princess?"

He smirked at your question, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Oh, most definitely. You're going to be pampered like a princess," he replied, his tone slightly dramatic. "I'll bring you tea, pastries, chocolates, anything and everything you desire. And as a bonus, I'll give you foot massages, back rubs, and anything else you might ask for."

You couldn't help but laugh a little at his display of melodramatic affection. It was so typically Spencer - overly grand and dramatic, yet utterly charming.

You gave him a playful swat on the arm. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" you said, shaking your head in amusement. "But I'll admit, the idea of being pampered with sweets and massages isn't too bad."

As the banter between the two of you continued, your mind drifted back to the cupcakes you were baking. You glanced down at the messy batter, which was still in the mixing bowl.

"Anyway," you said, pulling out of Spencer's arms to grab the bowl. "I should finish these. Can you grab the muffin tray for me, please?"

Spencer, ever the ever-helpful boyfriend, immediately did as you asked. He moved to a nearby cabinet and retrieved the muffin tray, bringing it over to the counter and setting it down next to the mixing bowl.

He watched as you began to scoop some of the batter into the tray, a small smile on his face. He loved watching you cook and bake. It was always a soothing and comforting sight for him, especially after a long day.

As you continued to fill each of the muffin cups, you could feel Spencer's gaze on you. It was subtle, but still present, his eyes on you. You knew he was observing your every move, admiring you quietly.

Despite your earlier frustration, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You couldn't help but feel comforted by his presence, by his silent support.

While you continued to work on the cupcakes, Spencer leaned against the countertop, watching you silently. He found himself admiring the way your fingers moved, the way your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you filled each of the cups with batter.

He knew that you were still frustrated about being home, about being away from the BAU, but he could also see that this little moment, this simple act of baking in the kitchen together, was a small comfort. It was a moment of normalcy among the chaos.

Soon enough, all the cups within the tray were filled with the cupcake batter. You placed the tray into the oven, setting the timer before turning back to Spencer.

He was still standing against the countertop, watching you intently. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was studying you, analyzing your every move.

You rolled your eyes in response. "Stop analyzing me, Spence," you teased, a small smirk on your lips. "I can almost hear the gears in your brain churning."

Spencer chuckled sheepishly at your comment, caught in the act. "Sorry, it's a habit," he admitted, a sheepish grin on his face. "I can't help it, it's what I do. Besides, you know I love studying you."

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Yes, I know you do," you replied, walking closer to him. You stopped when you were in front of him, placing your hands on his chest. "But maybe try toning down the analytical observations for a few minutes, okay? Just treat me like a normal person, not a case to be studied."

He reached up and placed his hands over yours, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin.

"Alright, I'll try," he promised, his voice quieter now. "I'll try not to analyze you so much, just be... normal. Although, for the record, I think you're anything but normal."

You playfully swatted his chest, rolling your eyes again. "Gee, thanks," you said sarcastically, though a small smile tugged at your lips. "But seriously, just try and focus on the moment, on us. No analyzing, no deducing, no profiling, no solving puzzles in that genius brain of yours."

Spencer chuckled again, his eyes meeting yours. "Okay, okay, I get it," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "No more analyzing, no more profiling. I'll try to focus on just us, I promise."

He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "And maybe, just maybe, we can talk about something other than work or injuries or any other potentially depressing topics."

You smiled, relieved that he was willing to take a break from his usual intellectual pursuits. You leaned in towards him, resting your head against his chest.

"That sounds nice," you said, closing your eyes for a moment. "How about we just... talk about anything? Whatever comes to mind, just nothing too serious or work-related."

Spencer hummed in agreement, his fingers beginning to run idly through your hair. "Alright, anything but serious topics," he repeated. "So... let's see..."

He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a light-hearted conversation starter. Suddenly, his expression brightened, an idea popping into his head.

"Hey, did you know that honey never spoils?"

Your eyebrows raised at his random fun fact. You tilted your head back to look up at him, a small smile on your face. "Honey never spoils, huh? That's something I didn't know."

You chuckled softly, shifting to rest your chin on his chest. "What other random trivia do you have hiding in that brain of yours, Spence?"

Spencer chuckled at your response, his fingers still playing with your hair. "Oh, I have a ton of random trivia stored up here," he replied, tapping his forehead lightly.

He thought for a moment, trying to remember another fun fact. "Oh, I got one. Did you know that there are more possible combinations in a game of chess than there are atoms in the observable universe?"

Your eyes widened at his next random fact. "More possible combinations in a game of chess than there are atoms in the observable universe?" you repeated, impressed.

You looked up at him, a bewildered expression on your face. "How do you even know that? And more importantly, why do you know that?"

Spencer shrugged, a grin on his face. "I read a lot of random things," he answered simply. "And my mind seems to just retain all this information for some reason. I guess it's just how my brain works."

He paused for a moment, his tone turning playful. "And as for why I know that particular fact... well, maybe it just stuck in my head because I like chess."

You rolled your eyes at his comment, a small smile on your lips. "Of course you like chess," you replied, pretending to be exasperated. "You're a total nerd."

Spencer feigned offense at your comment, a mock-offended expression on his face. "Hey, I'll have you know that liking chess does not make me a nerd," he protested. "It's a strategic game of skill and intellect. It's a perfectly respectable hobby.

You couldn't help but laugh at his response. "Oh, right. My mistake," you teased. "Liking chess definitely doesn't make you a nerd. And neither does knowing random trivia about the size of the universe or the properties of ancient artifacts. Nope, definitely not nerd-like behavior at all."

Spencer chuckled at your reply, conceding defeat. "Fine, fine, you have a point," he admitted, his tone slightly sheepish. "I guess I do have a few nerdy tendencies."

He continued to stroke your hair, a small smile on his face. "But in my defense, I think my knowledge and interests make me charming in my own unique way."

You couldn't help but smile at his confident statement. "Oh, charming, huh?" you replied, teasing him. "Is that what we're calling it now? Your endless stream of trivia and random facts is considered charming?"

Spencer feigned offense once again, his hand still playing with your hair. "Hey, I'm not just some nerd who spouts random facts all the time," he protested. "I have charm, intelligence, wit, and a sarcastic sense of humor. Those are all attractive qualities, you know."

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "Alright, alright, I admit it," you said, still gazing up at him. "You're charming, intelligent, witty, and you have a sarcastic sense of humor. Not to mention your adorable boyish good looks."

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly at your compliment, his smile broadening. "Adorable boyish good looks, huh?" he repeated, pretending to be unaffected by your words. "I'll have you know that I'm not just some cute, baby-faced boy. I'm a mature and respectable man."

You laughed again, not fooled by his attempt to play it cool. "Oh, really? A mature and respectable man, huh? Sounds very official, Dr. Reid."

You reached up to playfully pat his chest. "It's okay to admit that you're an adorable genius sometimes, you know. It won't make you any less mature or respectable."

Spencer rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. "Fine, fine, I'll admit it," he said, feigning resignation. "I am an adorable genius. But don't let it go to my head, okay?"

You chuckled, knowing that it was already too late for that. "Don't worry, I won't let it go to your head," you teased, leaning up to brush a kiss against his jaw. "Well, not too much, at least."

Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the brief press of your lips, a small shiver running down his spine. He tilted his head down to meet your gaze, his eyes locking with yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much, y'know," he murmured, a mock pout on his face.

You chuckled, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Oh, am I?" you asked, feigning innocence. "Am I enjoying making fun of my brilliant but adorable boyfriend a bit too much?"

Spencer huffed playfully, although a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, you are," he replied. "You're really milking this, aren't you? I'm not sure if I should be amused or annoyed."

You chuckled again, enjoying the banter between the two of you. "Hmm, let me think," you said, pretending to consider it. "Maybe a bit of both?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his expression bordering on mock irritation. "Both, huh? I suppose that's fair," he conceded, his tone still playful. "I can be both amused and annoyed at my girlfriend's relentless teasing. Seems like a typical day in our relationship, really."

You laughed, your hand still pressed against his chest. "It's all part of the fun," you replied, a warm smile on your face. "You know you secretly love it when I tease you."

As your conversation continued, a sudden sound interrupted you both. The oven timer went off, signaling that the cupcakes were done. Well, that was fast.

Spencer's eyes flicked towards the oven, then back to yours. "Looks like the cupcakes are done," he noted, his fingers still idly playing with your hair.

You smiled up at him, realizing that your little distraction had made the baking time fly by. "Looks like it," you agreed, gently untangling yourself from his embrace to attend to the cupcakes.

"Stay there," you instructed, giving him a warning look. "You're not distracting me again with your adorableness, I need to take these out before they burn."

Spencer held up his hands in mock surrender, a playful pout on his lips. "Alright, alright, I won't distract you," he promised, though his eyes followed you as you moved over to the oven.

He watched as you opened the oven and carefully pulled out the tray of freshly baked cupcakes. His gaze lingered on you as you set them down to cool on the countertop.

You laughed, shaking your head at his dramatic response. "That's right," you replied. "Just sit there and keep your charm to yourself, Dr. Reid. Let me finish these without any further distractions."

Spencer pouted slightly, crossing his arms in mock disappointment. "Alright, alright," he said, leaning back against the counter. "I'll be the epitome of patience and restraint, I promise. No more flirting, no more distractions. I'll just... stare at you from over here and admire your baking skills."

You chuckled, appreciating his mock-disappointment. "You flatter me, Spence," you replied, setting the tray of cupcakes on the counter to cool. "But I need less staring and more silence if you don't mind. This frosting isn't going to do itself."

Spencer held up his hands in surrender, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Okay, okay, no more staring. I'll be the model of obedience and silence, I promise. I'll just... be over here, quietly admiring your frosting skills." He paused, his gaze drifting towards the cooling cupcakes. "And trying not to drool over the fact that I can't eat them just yet."

You laughed again, shaking your head at his eagerness. "Patience, Dr. Reid," you said, moving to collect the necessary supplies for the frosting. "You have to wait until they're cooled off properly before you can devour them like a hungry puppy."

As you busied yourself with the frosting, you stole glances at Spencer, amused by his barely contained excitement.

Spencer did his best to contain his excitement, his eyes following your every move as you set up the frosting supplies. His fingers drummed idly against the countertop, and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he tried to keep from drooling over the cupcakes.

"How long until they're cooled off, again?" he asked, his voice slightly strained. "Just... curious."

ou shot him an amused smile, continuing to focus on the task at hand. "A few more minutes," you replied, your tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth as you carefully swirled the chocolate frosting onto one of the cupcakes. "And no touching, no trying to sneak a taste."

Spencer groaned, the sound more of a half-whine than anything else. "But they look so good," he protested, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the countertop to restrain himself. "Just a small taste? Please?"

You shook your head, your smile broadening. "No, no, no," you said firmly, playfully wagging your finger at him. "You have to wait, just like the rest of us mortals. No special treatment for hungry geniuses."

Spencer let out an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders slumping in mock dejection. "But... but I'm hungry," he whined, a pout forming on his face. "And I'm a genius. Surely that counts for something."

You chuckled at his pitiful display, your resolve starting to waver. "You're adorable when you pout," you admitted, placing the pastry bag down and turning to face him. "But you still have to wait, I'm afraid. No special privileges for genius boyfriends."

Spencer leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, and continued to pout like a child. "It's not fair," he protested, his puppy-dog eyes begging for a taste of the cupcakes. "Why can't I get a little taste, just a tiny one? I'll be good, I promise."

You laughed, your resolve weakening further. "You're really laying it on thick, aren't you?" you teased, unable to resist his pathetic puppy-dog expression. "You're not going to give up until you get a taste, are you?"

Spencer shook his head vigorously, his pout only deepening. "No, I'm not," he replied, clasping his hands together, as if in prayer. "Please, please, please, can I have just one taste? Just a tiny bite, that's all I ask."

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a stern expression, but failing miserably. "You're impossible," you said, shaking your head in mock annoyance. "But I can never seem to say no to your puppy-dog eyes."

Spencer's face immediately brightened, his pout melting into a hopeful smile. "Does that mean you'll let me have a taste?" he asked, his voice brimming with anticipation.

You sighed, knowing that you were completely whipped by his adorable pleading. "Alright, fine," you relented, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "You can have a taste. But just a little one, okay? Don't go eating half the batch before the rest of us get some."

Spencer's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He practically bounded over to the counter, his eyes fixed on the cupcakes as if he'd never seen anything more delicious. "I promise, I'll only have a small taste," he declared, although, from the eager way he was eyeing the cupcakes, you had your doubts.

You chuckled, watching him with amusement as he hovered impatiently by the tray of now-cooled cupcakes. "Easy there, tiger," you said, playfully swatting his hand back. "I meant it when I said just a small taste. Don't get greedy."

Spencer sheepishly withdrew his hand, chagrined. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his eyes still glued to the cupcakes. "I won't get greedy, I promise. Just a little taste, that's all I'm asking for."

You nodded, accepting his apology, and handed him a cupcake with a healthy dose of frosting. "Alright, here you go. One small taste, as promised."

Spencer carefully accepted the cupcake, cradling it in his hands like it was a precious artifact. He brought it up to his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as he took a small bite. A satisfied moan escaped his lips as the frosting hit his tongue. "Oh, god, that's good," he murmured, his eyes opening again as he savored the flavor. "So good."

You chuckled, watching as his expression went from eager to blissfully content in an instant. "You look like you're in ecstasy," you teased gently, leaning against the counter. "I take it you approve?"

Spencer nodded fervently, swallowing the bite he'd taken. "Approve is an understatement," he replied. "This is... this is a religious experience. It's like a fluffy, sugary cloud of joy exploding in my mouth."

You laughed again at his dramatic response, touched by the simple joy a single bite of your cupcakes had brought him. "Well, I'm glad it's living up to your high standards, Dr. Reid," you quipped, leaning in closer to steal a tiny bit of frosting from his cupcake.

Spencer barely seemed to notice the loss of frosting on his cupcake, still caught up in his food-induced euphoria. "It far exceeds my high standards," he mumbled, taking another bite and letting out another moan of pleasure. "I might have to marry you just for these cupcakes."

You chuckled, his declaration both charming and comical. "Oh, really? Is that the only reason you'd consider marrying me?" you teased, enjoying the way his guard was completely down in his blissful cupcake-induced state.

Spencer looked up from his cupcake, meeting your gaze with a goofy smile. "Well, no," he admitted, a bit of frosting smeared on his lip. "But these cupcakes definitely make the list of reasons why I should marry you."

You reached out, wiping the bit of frosting from his lip with your thumb. "Good to know your stomach is a major consideration in your decision-making process," you teased, a soft smile on your face.

Spencer chuckled, licking a stray bit of frosting off his lip. "Hey, it's an important factor in life decisions, you can't fault me for that," he replied, his eyes sparkling. "Good food is a non-negotiable in any relationship."

You rolled your eyes, amused by his priorities. "Alright, I'll give you that," you relented. "But what about love and commitment? Those still make your list of must-haves, right?"

Spencer's expression softened and he reached out to take your hand. "Of course they do," he said, lacing his fingers through yours. "Love, commitment, trust, all the important stuff. But good food is definitely a big bonus."

You smiled at the touch of his hand and pulled him closer to you. "I guess I can live with that," you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Especially since I plan on keeping you well-fed."

You quickly snatch a huge bite into the cupcake in Spencer's hand, your mouth getting frosting smeared all over.

"Hey!" he protested, a mix of shock and amusement in his eyes. "That's cheating!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his flabbergasted expression, your mouth still filled with cupcake goodness. "I couldn't resist," you mumbled, through your mouthful of frosting and cupcake base. "Besides, sharing is caring!"

Spencer tried to pout, but the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter. "That was just greedy," he protested, but his tone was playful. "You could've at least asked first!"

You swallowed the bite of cupcake, a cheeky grin on your face. "But where's the fun in asking when I could just steal a bite?" you teased, sticking your tongue out at him, still covered in frosting.

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "You're wicked, you know that?" he said, reaching out to smear some of the frosting onto your nose.

You let out a squeal as the cold frosting touched your nose, giggling at his antics. "Hey, no fair!" you protested, trying to dodge his frosting-covered thumb. "You know I'm ticklish there!"

Spencer chuckled, relishing in the joyful moment. "Oh, I know," he replied, a mischievous grin on his face. "It's just so adorable when you squeak." He attempted to dot your nose with more frosting, laughing at your attempts to evade him.

You continued to laugh involuntarily as he kept trying to smear frosting on your nose, the feeling both ticklish and cold. "Spence, stop, stop!" you gasped, trying to swat his hand away. "You're going to make a mess!"

Spencer ignored your plea, laughing at your attempts to keep him from decorating your nose with frosting. "I thought you were the one who said sharing is caring," he teased, continuing to dab frosting onto your nose. "Now you're trying to deny me the opportunity to share with you!"

You finally managed to grab his wrist, stopping his frosting assault on your nose. Instead taking his thumb covered with frosting into your mouth.

Spencer's eyes widened as a shiver ran down his spine, and a flush of heat crept up his neck. He let out a soft gasp at the unexpected feeling.

Your tongue swirled around his thumb, licking off the frosting. You looked up at him through your lashes, a playful gleam in your eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you, his face growing redder by the second.

He slowly pulled his thumb from your mouth, reluctantly breaking the contact. His pulse was racing, his throat dry. He swallowed hard, trying to regain control of his racing heart. "That... that was a bit of a dirty move," he managed to splutter out, sounding strained.

You smirked at his flustered state, enjoying the effect you had on him. "I just didn't want you to waste any more frosting," you replied, feigning innocence. "You were making quite a mess, after all."

Spencer's brain was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts, his mind hazy with the sensation of your tongue on his skin. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a bit huskier than usual.

You bit back a laugh, the sight of him so flustered was highly amusing. "Maybe a little," you admitted, shrugging. "It's not every day I get to see the great Dr. Reid rendered speechless, after all."

Spencer huffed out a laugh but couldn't argue. "Okay, you got me there," he admitted his cheeks still a little flushed from your earlier actions. "But I feel I should warn you, I don't shy away from retaliating."

You grab a napkin, wipe at your mouth and nose, getting all the frosting off, before throwing it into the trash bin.

A thrill of excitement shot through you at his warning, your pulse quickening. "Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, does this retaliation involve?"

Spencer could definitely be dominating if need be. But he was a soft dom. He had tried being more rough and demanding with you during sex, but he didn't like it. Didn't like degrading you or being awful to you despite it only being for the act.

You watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a mischievous smile. "Let's just say," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "I could think of a few ways to get payback that don't involve pastries."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sudden low timber of his voice and the look in his eyes. A mixture of anticipation and excitement fluttered in your stomach. "Is that a threat or a promise, Reid?" you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

Spencer stepped closer to you, the gap between you diminishing rapidly. "Both," he replied, his tone dropping even lower. "A threat of what I'll do to you, and a promise of enjoying every second of it."

You shivered again, your body responding to his proximity, the heat in his gaze. "Careful, Spence," you warned, your voice softer than you'd intended. "I might just call your bluff."

"That's all the invitation I need," he murmured, his body now flush against yours. He reached up, gently wrapping a hand around your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His brown eyes were nearly black with desire. "You have no idea the things I've been wanting to do to you, sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your lower lip.

His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breathing growing ragged. "And here I'd thought you were a perfect gentleman," you managed to tease, your voice betraying your own desire. "Little did I know you have a deviant side too."

"Oh, you have no idea," he murmured again, his eyes roaming over your face. His finger ghosted over your neck, the skin there heating under his touch. "I'm not a saint, sweetheart. Not by a long shot." His lips twitched into a small, almost predatory smile. "And when it comes to you, I'm practically a sinner."

Your knees almost buckled at his words, your body reacting strongly to the mixture of his proximity and his voice. "Well, if that's the case," you said, your voice trembling, "then I suppose I'm damned too."

A low growl escaped Spencer's throat, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. "Damned? No, love," he murmured, before swooping down to claim your lips in a bruising kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss rough with pent-up desire.

Your gasp was swallowed by the fervor of his kiss, your arms immediately going around his neck to pull him closer. His tongue licked its way into your mouth, claiming every inch with an urgency that belied his earlier restraint. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as if he was afraid you would slip through his grasp if he didn't anchor you to him.

The kiss between you was hungry, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue, spurred on by the weeks of missed intimacy. Spencer pulled you closer, his fingers digging into your hips as if he couldn't bear to let go. When he finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting heavily, your cheeks flushed and your breaths mingling. "You drive me insane," he muttered against your lips, his voice gravelly. "You have no idea what you do to me, baby."

"The feeling is mutual," you panted, your breath stuttering in your chest from the kiss. You could feel his desire rolling off him in waves, his body pressed tightly against yours, the heat from his skin burning through the thin barrier of your clothing. You ran your fingers through the messy curls at the back of his head, tugging lightly. "I don't think I can wait any longer, Spence," you admitted, your voice low and hoarse. "I need you. Now."

Spencer shuddered at your words, a low moan escaping from his lips. The need in your voice, the desperate wanting, was like an aphrodisiac. He captured your mouth again in another hungry kiss, this one more urgent than the last. "I don't want to wait either," he muttered against your lips, his hands roaming over your body, pulling at your clothes, seeking skin. "I've missed you so much."

Your own hands began to wander, pulling at buttons and zippers, desperate to feel his skin against yours. "God, I've missed you too," you gasped, your fingers finally finding their way under his shirt, running over the bare skin of his stomach and chest. "Please, Spence. I need you. Need you now."

With a gentleness, Spencer lifted you and settled you down on the cool countertop of the kitchen. He kept most of his weight off of you, placing his hands on either side of you so he could hover over you. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine," you assured him, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "I just need to feel you, Spence. All of you." You pulled his head down to yours, kissing him fiercely, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "I need you," you repeated against his lips, your fingers running over the bare skin of his back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Spencer groaned at the feel of your legs around him, the sound deep and primal. He slid his tongue into your mouth, the kiss turning heated and desperate. His body trembled with the need to be closer to you, to feel all of you against him. "I'm right here, sweetheart," he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming over your body. "I'm not going anywhere."

Your heart was pounding, your body arching into his touch as he caressed you. "I need you naked, Spence. I need to feel you against me. All of you," you panted, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Now. Please."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He quickly removed his shirt, then leaned down to pull yours off as well. Your skin was warm and smooth beneath his fingers, his own body thrumming with need. He pressed himself against you, his bare chest against your chest, the feeling of skin against skin sending a shiver through him. "God, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice guttural. "You feel so good."

"So do you," you gasped, your hands running over the bare planes of his chest and stomach. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the countertop, and it only served to fuel the desire burning within you. "Touch me, Spence," you begged, your voice ragged. "Please, I need your hands on me. Everywhere."

"I'm not going to make you wait any longer," he murmured, his hands beginning to wander over your skin. He touched every inch of you that he could reach, fingers skimming over your shoulders, your collarbone, your stomach. "You're beautiful," he repeated, his voice low. "So damn beautiful." His hands continued to roam, finding every sensitive spot on your body, setting your nerve endings on fire.

He placed his palm against your stomach, pushing you carefully to lay down flat against the countertop. Spencer's hands were shaking slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they roamed over your body. He gripped the waistband of your shorts, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach. He began to pull them down, his movements gentle but insistent, your underwear following closely behind. "Lift your hips," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You did as he said, lifting your hips off the countertop, his hands pulling your shorts and underwear down your legs and discarding them on the floor. You were completely bare before him now, the cool air causing gooseflesh to rise on your skin. But Spencer's heated gaze made you feel anything but cold, his eyes trailing over every inch of you with a look of reverence.

He ran a hand up your inner thigh, the movement gentle yet possessive. "You're so beautiful, pretty girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, his calloused skin sending shivers through you. "I've missed seeing you like this." He leaned down, his lips trailing over your stomach, his mouth moving lower...

The feel of his lips against your skin sent a rush of heat through you, your body already responding to his touch. You reached down, running your fingers through his curls, holding him close. "Spence," you gasped, your voice ragged with need. "Please. I need you."

Spencer's eyes met yours, his gaze burning. "I know, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers digging into your hips. "Just a minute. Let me taste you first."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body already arching towards him in anticipation. You watched as he lowered his head, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The feeling of his lips and tongue against your skin was intoxicating, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

He took his time, his kisses slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns against your skin that had you writhing beneath him. He worshipped your body with his mouth, his lips moving ever closer to where you needed him most.

You were panting now, your hands clenching in his hair, your body arching off the countertop, seeking more of his touch. "Spence, please," you pleaded, your voice strained. "I can't take any more. I need you, now."

"Just a little more, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against you. "I want you to come like this. I want to taste you when you're falling apart for me."

Those words, that low, gravelly tone in his voice, almost sent you over the edge alone. But then he moved his mouth to where you needed it most, and a cry tore from your lips as he began to taste you, his tongue and lips moving against your folds.

He tugged you closer to the edge, making you squeak as he chuckled between your legs, draping them over his shoulders.

It was hard to form coherent thoughts, your mind filled with nothing but sensations — the feel of his mouth against you, the heat of his breath, the possessive grip of his hands on your hips. You arched off the countertop, your body taut as a bowstring, each flick of his tongue against your clit bringing you closer to the edge.

"God, sweetheart, you taste so good," he murmured against you, his voice rough. "So sweet. I could do this for hours and it would never be enough." He increased the pressure, his tongue moving with a purpose, driving you higher and higher.

It was too much, the pleasure building to a peak that you knew you couldn't hold back from. "Spence, I'm...I'm coming," you panted, your body trembling. "I'm coming, oh god."

''Come for me, come on my tongue, pretty girl,'' Spencer muttered against your clit.

He didn't let up, his mouth and tongue continuing their relentless assault until you were crying out his name, your orgasm ripping through you, your body arching up off the countertop. He held you there, his mouth against you, his hands steadying your hips until you were spent, your body boneless against the countertop.

You lay panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. Spencer moved back up your body, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. "You're so beautiful when you come," he murmured, his voice thick with need. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss.

After a few moments, Spencer pulled back, his breathing still labored. He looked down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and disheveled hair. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

You nodded, your body still feeling boneless and sated. "Yeah, I'm okay," you murmured. "That was...incredible." You reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing over his stubbled jaw.

Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closing at the feel of your fingers against his skin. "Good," he replied, his voice soft. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He glanced down at the countertop, realizing just now where he had taken you. "I wasn't too...enthusiastic, was I?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, you were perfect," you assured him. "But, you did just eat me out, right next to the cupcakes.''

Spencer's eyes widened as he looked down at the countertop again, realizing the exact same thing. "Oh. Right," he said, a sheepish expression crossing his face. "Well, I guess we did." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I got a little...carried away, I suppose."

You laughed again, amused by his reaction. "It's okay," you reassured him. "I don't think it's the first time we've...defiled the kitchen countertop.''

Spencer smiled at that, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "No, you're right," he agreed. "We have been known to...christen multiple surfaces throughout the house."

"I don't think there's anywhere in this house that hasn't been defiled by us yet," you teased, a grin spreading across your face.

"Well, we have been living together for a while now," he reasoned, his hand running idly over your bare hip. "It's a wonder we haven't broken any of the furniture yet."

You let out a small chuckle, ''The day will come.''

Spencer laughed at that, ''Oh, I'm waiting for that day.''

After a moment of comfortable silence, Spencer spoke up again. "We should probably clean up," he murmured, his hand still running over your hip. "You're a little..sticky."

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, a smile playing on your lips. "And we should probably do something about all the...evidence that we just did what we did right in front of the cupcakes."

Spencer chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. "Yes, that too," he agreed. "But first, I need to take care of you." He shifted his weight, gently lifting you off of the countertop and into his arms.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to carry you out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Taking care of me, huh?" you teased, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

"Of course," he replied, his arms tightening around you. "I need to make sure you're comfortable and taken care of, especially after I essentially manhandled you on the kitchen countertop."

You laughed, enjoying the feeling of being held in his strong arms. "I think it's safe to say I didn't mind the manhandling," you assured him, kissing his neck.

He chuckled, his grip loosening as he set you down on the bathroom counter. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, his hands moving to your hips as he gazed down at you. "But still, I want to make sure you're okay. That I didn't get too...carried away."

You met his gaze, seeing the concern and tenderness in his eyes. "I'm okay," you reassured him, cupping his face in your hands. "And you didn't get too carried away. I enjoyed every moment of it, I promise. And I know you'd never hurt me."

A relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he leaned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Good," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I just want you to always feel safe and comfortable with me. I never want you to feel like I'm taking things too far or being too...forceful."

Spencer reached for a washcloth, turning on the sink and running it under warm water. He squeezed out the excess water, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know I can get...carried away sometimes," he admitted, his voice low. "Especially when I'm with you. But I never want you to feel overpowered or uncomfortable."

"I know," you assured him, reaching out to brush your fingertips against his cheek. "And I don't. You always make me feel safe and cared for, even in the most... intense moments."

He smiled, leaning into your touch. "Good," he murmured, taking the washcloth and gently wiping away your essence. His touch was tender and careful, his movements slow and methodical.

"You're always so gentle and caring," you observed, watching as he cleaned you with the cloth. "Even when you're being...dominant."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. "I may be dominant, but that doesn't mean I don't care about your comfort and pleasure," he said, his tone low and steady. "I would never do anything to hurt or diminish you. I love you too much for that."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his words. "I know you do," you murmured, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair. "And I love you too. I feel safe with you, no matter what we're doing. You always take care of me."

He set the washcloth aside, his eyes full of tenderness as he looked at you. "I will always take care of you," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "You're the most important thing to me, and I will always do everything in my power to make sure you're happy and safe."

You melted at his words, a wave of affection and love washing over you. "You're such a sap," you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But I love it."

He chuckled, a mock offended look crossing his face. "Hey, I'll have you know that I am a very rational, logical FBI agent," he protested, his tone light. "I cannot possibly be labeled a sap."

"Oh, of course," you agreed, laughter in your voice. "Because FBI agents are known for being rational and logical, and definitely not sappy at all when it comes to their partners."

He tried to maintain his mock offense, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his eyes sparkling. "I may be a little sappy when it comes to you. But I blame you for making me this way."

''Mhm.. definitely my fault.''

Spencer's hands came up to cup your face, pulling you gently against him as he leaned down and captured your lips in a tender kiss. The kiss was slow and sweet, full of affection and tenderness. As the kiss deepened, his arms came around you, pulling you flush against his body.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lost yourself in the feel of his mouth against yours. As the kiss finally ended, he pulled back just far enough to look into your eyes. "I love you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Your heart fluttered at his words, your entire being filled with a sense of love and security. "I love you too," you breathed, your fingers tracing over his stubbled jaw. He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're everything to me," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around you and the sound of his voice. "You're everything to me too," you replied, your fingers running through his hair. "I can't imagine my life without you." He lifted his head, smiling down at you. "Good thing you don't have to," he said, his tone light.

"You're stuck with me forever, sweetheart."

''I don't mind.''

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