#fun-filled reception

[shaadiwish]

Komal & Vijay’s cocktail and reception party was all sorts of glitz and glam

[nomaishuttle]

if i was the bride in that video where they played an LMFAO WEDDING MARCH MASHUP? it would have been a bloodbath in there

[suguann]

an. part two of this | masterlist

You tell him you broke up with your boyfriend while he’s away for work, bunked up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with shit reception, hearing your words as clear as day as if they weren’t the chopped-up version coming through his burner phone.

“It just…didn’t work out.”

It didn’t work out.

He pretends his stomach doesn’t pleasantly twist because he’d expected it to happen eventually. He’s not happy about it—although it does make the desert heat more bearable in his heavy tactical gear—and tells Soap to fuck off when he comments on it.

It was a one-time fuck because Simon doesn’t date. He’s tried in the past before he met you—the flowers, the late-night dinners—but with him being gone almost every other month (sometimes longer, shorter if he’s lucky), it never works out in the end. Sleeping with you twice would fall under that category, the quasi-relationship kind, and make everything messier than it needs to be. 

Just some fun, no strings, those are the words he promised.

If only he believed them.

He does, for all of two weeks until he’s home again, and it’s summer, so you’re wearing a flowy dress that shows off the long expanse of your legs. 

(He’s a goner—not even sure why he tried to think otherwise.)

That one time he’d promised turns into a second, both of you stumbling into your apartment after a night out. The music from the pub still thumping loudly underneath your floor as he pushes you against the front door, hands in your hair—on your waist, underneath your skirt, down your thigh to hitch it over his waist—teasing your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You make this delighted little noise in the back of your throat, arching into him, and his hand spans down your stomach, beneath your underwear, to nudge your messy clit with his knuckle, wanting to hear all the sounds you make now that he has you alone. 

A whiny cry of his name rewards him—jeans tightening around his waist at the sound—when his fingers go down, down until they press against your tight little hole, one finger pressing inside slowly. "If I make you cum, I get to fuck you here.”

You smile prettily, and it disarms him. “If you make me cum, you can fuck me however you want.”

Neither of you makes it to the bed, falling asleep on the living room floor instead, the blanket from the couch draped haphazardly over both of you with his arm curled over your waist.

That night had been a slip of judgment, a product of wanting something warm and soft after several months of only having his hand for company.

It happens again and again, and he keeps letting it happen until there’s no more hiding under the guise of just fun because it somehow turns into a lot more than that.

Simon can’t explain how it happens—maybe becoming something he can touch and hold and think about often—but he finds himself in an exclusive relationship with you that isn’t exactly a relationship because he’s unsure of the ins and outs that they entail.

(Always has been.)

His father was a shit role model, and it was always easier finding someone new who didn’t know his name or care about his scars and only wanted a nice fuck. There had never been any point in shooting for something serious when it was always out of the question for him, until now, that is.

He takes you to that over-rated restaurant overlooking the Thames Marcus never brought you to. A picture of you and him with the sunset in the background—your smile almost blinding in the photo—becomes his home screen, and he finds he doesn’t care when Soap has something to say about it.

He lets you do nonsensical shit, like buying small plants for his house that are surely going to die from him being gone before he comes up with the great idea to give you a key. It’s just a key.

(It’s more than just a key.)

Simon finds himself asking if he can come over more often throughout the week, which slowly moulds and shifts into nights filled with things other than sex—sleeping after a long day of work, cuddling on the couch, cooking together, going to the movies—he doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it because you used to hang out all the time without sex. 

(Somewhere, there’s a but in there.)

There’s still no label to whatever this is, and he wonders if you want him to be the first to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for a little over…he can’t remember, but he knows it’s been long enough for your things to mix in with his at his house. 

Be with me because I’m yours, and you’re mine, that’s what he’s trying to say, and it’s never the right time. Men like him—a little broken, rough, and jagged around the edges sharp enough to cut—aren’t good with words like that.

(That’s what he thought.)

If he hadn’t seen you talking to a guy at the pub, eyes crinkling in that same sweet way whenever Simon makes you laugh, he wonders if he would’ve been the first to break from the start. He knows it’s your job as a bartender to be nice, but his jaw clicks at the sight of the guy leaning over the bar and into your space, almost too close.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he has you spread out on your mattress under him—clothes haphazardly peeled out of the way for him to put his mouth on you—your lips pursed tight around two of his fingers to give you something to focus on as his other hand works between your thighs, pressing down on your tongue when gurgled little sounds slip out.

He teases you with a small, pink vibrator he found inside your bedside table, your legs kicking out and toes curling into his calves.

“Mine. This is mine, love,” he groans, pressing you further into the bed with his weight. “Do you understand?”

You nod, tears pearling and leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Lemme cum,” you whine, words muffled. “Simon, I want to cum. Please.”

He won’t lie that he’s close after jerking into his fist to the sight of you writhing on the sheets—swears he can feel his heartbeat throbbing against the back of his fingers—takes in your surprised expression when he pushes forward, impaling you on the first few inches of his cock.

His stomach twists from the squeal that escapes your throat, and fuck, your cunt, so hot and tight with little pulses that drive him crazy, only growing tighter when he turns up the speed on the vibrator.

“‘Mm, gonna cum. I’m—”

He grits his teeth as you start to flutter around his cock once he’s rooted inside you. “Go on—fuck—go on, love. Let me feel it.”

You look so perfect like this, like a dream: lips parted into an enticing little O with his name tumbling out in breathy mewls, tits hanging out from the bra he shoved to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your throat, panting into your sweat-slick skin, and it’s not long before he’s falling over the edge with you. 

Next time, he’ll have the courage to tell you: that you’re not someone he calls for a meaningless fuck on the weekend, that Simon misses you when he’s gone and can’t wait to come home, that he wants to try with you—except not when he’s balls deep and trembling inside your heavenly cunt.

But the smile he feels against his shoulder makes him think that maybe…

Maybe you already know.

[baby-yongbok]

Enchanted

Hwang Hyunjin x afab!Reader

-`♡´- Genre - Smut - Boyfriend!Hyunjin x afab!Reader -`♡´- Word Count - 2.1k

“I need to kiss you.” He whispers down at you. “Need to have you close to me without these clothes. Just need you, baby.”

-`♡´- Warnings - Unprotected piv (condoms are fun, y'all), Themes of marriage -`♡´-Requested - Yes `♡´ No

✧ Masterlist ✧

You learned quickly that Hyunjin is the human representation of a love bug. It’s nothing new to you, you’ve known him for years. He’s been your friend, your confidant, your crush and now he’s simply yours. 

You knew from observing his few past relationships that he wears his heart on his sleeve and will sometimes rip it off and offer it to you while blinding you with a smile. You knew that he was passionate and you loved it, you still do. 

“Darling.” Hyunjin’s arm wraps around your waist from behind. He startled you a bit, you’ve been standing by yourself on the sidelines of his best friend's wedding reception, barefoot with a glass of champagne that you’ve been sipping for way too long.

 “You seem like you’re ready to go.” He splays his long fingers over your stomach while his other hand runs down your arm. It’s been a long night, you’ve been dancing, singing, and tending to your needy boyfriend all evening. It seems that weddings activate the love bug in him.

“You’ve asked me that twice, Hyune.” You lean back into him, your head on his shoulder and your pretty eyes staring up into his. “You just want to get me home.”

“I can’t help it, baby.” His hand abandons your arm, leaving your goosebumps lonely on your skin as he takes the flute of bubbles from your hand and sets it on the table. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Doing this with you.”

“You want to marry me?” You turn in his hold, lacing your arms around his neck. “Shouldn’t that be a surprise?”

“You know that I’m going to marry you.” The two of you sway despite the blaring upbeat music filling the space. “How could I marry anyone else?” His hands glide over the fabric of your dress, taking in each dip and curve clumsily and calmly. His heart swells behind his ribcage as he stares down at your sweet smile.

“Why do you want to take me home so badly?” He feels up your back, bunching up the soft satin of your dress a bit before flattening it back. His hands run over your hips then wrap around your waist, pulling you so close to his chest that your heart could sing to his. 

“I need to kiss you.” He whispers down at you. “Need to have you close to me without these clothes. Just need you, baby.”

“Won’t it be rude to leave so early?” Hyunjin looks over towards the dance floor and catches the eye of Felix, his newly wed best friend. “Let’s ask, hm?”

He’s leading you behind him before you can protest. Felix meets him halfway with his now wife on his arm. “Are you two turning in for the night?” You smile over at his wife, Amina, and she gives you a knowing glance. This wouldn’t be the first time that Hyunjin whisked you away in the name of love. 

“Think so, is that alright?” The newlyweds smile over at your lover and he smiles back at them. “It’s expected, Hyune. I’m surprised you didn’t sweep her away sooner.” 

Hyunjin blushes at Amina and Felix pulls his friend into a hug. “You’re next, yeah?” Felix breaks the hug and Hyunjin’s arm is back around your waist in an instant. 

“Yeah, I think I am.” You say your good-byes, wishing the newlyweds a beautiful rest of their night and finding the rest of your group to bid your farewells. Hyunjin’s arm stayed around you the entire time. From the venue to the car then from the car to your front door where he kissed you like his life depended on it. 

The previously calm glide of his hands over your body was hurried now. His clumsy nature is consistent in his present touch. He fumbles with the straps of your dress in a  hurried attempt to free you from the garment. He stops himself once he fails to grasp  the second strap. Shining eyes stare at you through a darkening fog, admiring the woman before him like paint on a canvas.

“I’m sorry, I’m moving so fast.” He hooks a finger into the knot of his tie and pulls it. “I just - you’re just so…” He trails off, falling deeper into the sparkling haze. 

You stand across from him patiently waiting for his thoughts to manifest into words. You lean against the back of the couch, reaching down to take off your heels. He watches you as every emotion falls into place. “Enchanting. You’re everything.”

“You’re sweet, my love.” You beam at him, pulling him forward by his loosened tie and he happily falls into your lead. You wrap your arms around his waist and his hands cup your cheeks. “My love bug, what do you want? What do you need?”

“You.” He breathes and you inhale. “Just you, all that you’ll give. Just need to love you.”

“Then love me, Hyune.” He’s indulging in your taste instantly, gently and just as clumsily as before. His pink lips stamp love onto yours and you return to sender with a gentle hum. His eyes are closed, his heart is beating loudly in his ears and every thought rushing through his head sounds like you. 

“Please let me bring you to bed.” He mumbles against you and you nod into the kiss that follows. With some simple readjustments he’s sweeping your bare feet from the floor, carrying you like the bride you should be over to your shared bedroom.

He’s gentle as he sits you down and unzips the side of your dress. He peels the delicate satin off of you like a petal to a flower. He picks you apart in a gentle game of ‘does she love me’. 

You push his jacket from his shoulders, undressing him with the same tender intention. Once your dress pools around your ankles you step out of it, pushing it to the side with your foot before focusing on Hyunjin again. 

You unbutton his shirt, pressing kisses to the skin that peeks from between the fabric. His fingers dance along your bareskin the entire time that you undress him. Once he’s standing in his boxers before you something breaks within him. It might’ve been the way that you looked up at him. It might’ve been the way that you kissed his hip along the elastic of his underwear. He doesn’t know what did it but he knows that he has to love you, right now. He needs to have his arms wrapped around you and you wrapped around him right now or he’ll choke on the air in his lungs that doesn’t taste like you.

He’s pressing you into the mattress once your lips leave his skin, his hands wander the expanse of your stomach and thighs as he rolls over on his side, lips still on yours as he falls deeper into the sparkling haze that has your name. 

“Closer.” He mumbles, pressing the pads of his fingers firmer into your flesh as he pulls you flush against him. His lips run over the slope of your neck, pressing kisses to every inch that he can reach as he runs his length through your pooling slick. 

“Hyune, I wanna feel you.” His hips buck up against you at the sound of your begging. The head of his cock catches on your entrance and he almost slips in. Almost. “Please, my love.”

Hyunjin’s hands run over your hip, his fingers splay over the smooth flesh of your stomach and he’s pushing into you with a soft slow stroke and a groan to match. 

“Oh my- baby.” His eyes are shut tight as he reigns in every ounce of self control he’s ever possessed but it’s no use. He never fails to get lost in you. He can’t help but drown in the aura you provide him. You’re intoxicating, dizzying, enchanting. “ You make me feel so.. So good.”

He whispers against the shell of your ear as he pulls back carefully and sinks back in with an enraptured moan. Your hands run over the sheets and find purchase at different points before you reach back to hold onto your lover. He meets your wandering fingertips in a firm embrace, holding onto you like you’d vanish if he didn’t.

“More please, please.” A muffled groan is all you receive as Hyunjin picks up his pace. His face is buried in your hair, taking in the scent to keep himself grounded. Somehow you still give him butterflies after all of these years. Somehow being inside of you right now feels like the very first time. 

“God, baby, you sound so pretty.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes shut tight with your jaw hung slack in pure ecstasy. Wanton moans bounce off of the walls and fill the empty spaces between you two. Hyunjin’s touch is so soft, his movements so intentional that you can’t help but melt against him. “Look at me.”

You blink your eyes open, looking into his as his hips snap into yours. He hugs you into him, pulling you in impossibly close against his chest. “I love you.” Your eyes water as you look back into his. His brows furrowed with pleasure as you clench around him. His cock sinks into you slowly, pressing perfectly into the spot where you need him most. 

“ ‘M gonna marry you.” He brings his hand up to your face, caressing the soft skin of your neck and gently laying his hand over your pulse point. “Gonna make you my wife.”

“Hyunjin.” You pant a moan, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes as you get thrown into a whirlwind of emotions. “I love you too.” He accepts your profession with a groan as his hips rock into you faster. Your breath gets caught in your throat, your nails sink into the flesh of his hip once you reach back to ground yourself. 

“Tell me you’d say yes.” Your legs are tangled in a mess of trembling limbs. The sound of skin against skin is loud around you as he fucks into you harder. “Please, fucking please.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, I’d say it.” Your hand moves from his hip up to his hair. Your fingers tangle in the damp locks, pulling slightly to milk the prettiest moan from your lover's lips. “Only for you.”

“Only for me?” Hyunjin’s hips stutter, the sweet tingle of his release buzzes in his stomach. “You’re mine. My baby.”

“Yours, Hyune.” Your orgasm builds in time with his, your core trembles with the tension of the knot tightening. “Kiss me.” Your whispered words pull Hyunjin right in. He dips his head down, pressing his parted lips to yours in a slow yet heated kiss that makes you moan on contact. 

His lips move in perfect sync with yours. His hand cups your jaw and keeps you in place as he fucks into you like it’s his last chance to. Moans vibrate through the both of you as your orgasms climb your spines. He slips his tongue past your lips to meet yours in a greedy attempt to claim the sounds that you’re making just for him. He wants to taste your love off of the very tongue that spoke it to him.

“‘M gonna cum.” Your hurried whisper barely makes it past your busy lips but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. “With me, cum with me.” He pants into your mouth, punctuating his sentence with a kiss and that’s all it takes to make you tumble. With a final snap of his hips against yours he’s burying himself deep into your cunt, falling over the edge with you.

“Oh oh, baby, fuck.” Hyunjin’s shaking against you and you against him. His arms wrap tight around your body as your cunt milks him for every drop he has to offer. “C’mere.” 

He turns your head, meeting your trembling lips with his own in a clumsy kiss. You grind down against him, riding your orgasm out as he rocks ever so slightly, giving you the last of himself. “I love you.” You whisper against his lips. “So much, I love you so much.”

He smiles into the kiss, his cheeks growing red with a sweet blush. “Don’t be shy now.” You pull back with a laugh and he groans with a smile. “You make me this way.” His arms wrap around you tighter and you fall into the comfort of the soft silence settling around you. 

“Do you really want to marry me?” Hyunjin hums, leaning in to kiss your cheek softly before following with another and another. “It’s my dream.” You smile into the shower of kisses, pressing back into him. 

“When are you proposing?” You joke, looking back at him with glimmering eyes and he finds himself getting worked up all over again. 

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

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[hemmingsleclerc]

The Leclerc's ┃CL16

Y/N Leclerc looked out the large windows of her new apartment in Monaco. It was a new beginning for Y/N, her now husband Charles, and their four-year-old daughter, Emma.

Excitement filled the air as Y/N prepared for her daughter's first day of school. She carefully combed her little girl's hair, tied it into a ponytail, and helped her into her impeccable school uniform. As they walked hand in hand to the prestigious international school in Monaco, Y/N couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Moving to a new place and enrolling Emma in a new school were significant changes.

She and Charles had met at one of his races. She had been an F1 lover since she was little and when she was able to attend one she did not waste the opportunity. As fate would have it, they met and Charles fell completely in love with her, so it didn't take him long to ask her out, although Y/N didn't accept right away, and that motivated Charles to keep trying.

She had already been to Monaco numerous times in the 6 years of dating Charles, but moving there permanently was something totally different.

When Charles asked her to marry her, he had begged her to move to Monaco after the wedding and she really had no reason to refuse, Monaco was a beautiful and safe place for both of them to be able to raise their daughter in the best way.

Arriving at the school, Y/N and Emma were greeted by the sleek, modern architecture. They headed to the reception area, where a group of teachers and staff were busy.

"Bonjour, madame. How may I assist you?" the receptionist asked with a raised eyebrow, eyeing Y/N's casual yet elegant outfit.

"I'm here to enroll my daughter Emma in school. We just moved to Monaco," Y/N explained with a smile.

''Okay, what's your daughter's name?'' she asked

''Emma Jules Leclerc''

''Leclerc? Like the driver?''

''Yes, he's my husband actually'' Y/N responded

''really?''

''yes'' Y/N said losing patience little by little

The receptionist, along with a couple of nearby teachers, exchanged disbelieving glances. Suppressing laughter, they could not imagine that the ''supposed'' wife of the Charles Leclerc, would be standing in front of them.

The teachers exchanged knowing looks, convinced that Y/N was simply trying to impress them with a famous name.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We take our check-in process seriously. If you are joking or providing false information, it will not be taken lightly," the receptionist warned, a hint of condescension in her tone.

Y/N couldn't believe what she had just heard, wanting to shout something in their faces for such stupidity, she maintained her composure and completed the registration procedures. She politely bid them farewell and left, promising to prove them wrong.

A few days later, Charles entered the school and his presence attracted attention. Dressed casually but calmly, he had an air of confidence as he approached the reception area.

"Bonjour! I'm here to pick up my daughter," Charles announced with a charming smile.

The receptionist could barely speak when she had such a man in front of her. With a slightly trembling voice she asked, "What is the name of your daughter, may I ask sir?"

''Emma, Emma Jules Leclerc, my wife signed her up a couple of days ago.''

''Your-your wife?''

The receptionist and the teachers, who had made fun of Y/N before, were paralyzed by surprise and little by little they felt the color leave their faces.

"Mon-cherie, everything fine?" Charles asked, wrapping an arm around Y/N's waist once she joined him.

''Of course darling''

Y/N smiled triumphantly, looking at the stunned receptionist and the teachers. Emma, holding her father's hand, smiled amused.

"Told ya'll he's my daddy," Emma declared sticking her tongue out , and Charles chuckled, giving his wife a knowing glance.

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[xo-codbby]

forgive the inaccuracies, idk much about babies my bad ☠ baby isn't named, hope you enjoy :)

another kid taking simon's baby's toy? absolute hell

it had been two days of crying and sobbing from the infant, he was in shock of how she many tears she seemed to be able to shed worriedly wondering if she would even get dehydrated at one point. but it wasn't much better when she calmed down, he absolutely hated how sad and miserable she looked as she moped around.

the holiday had seemed so bleak now, you had ordered a replacement plush giraffe for your baby the same as the last but it would be shipped to your home. not to the resort you were currently on and with still a week to go, you didn't know if your baby could hang on for that long. and simon regretted even booking the trip at all, he cursed the hotel for being so incompetent. cursed the people that took her beloved toy away and himself for not being able to find it anywhere.

both of you trying to engage in playtime with your baby who didn't seem very receptive to any of it, it was her first time with sand in all the 7 months of her being alive and at the beginning she loved playing sandcastles with him but now she just looked blankly at it. hardly wanting to join as the soft sad look on her face persisted

"i'll go check with the staff again, maybe they've found something?" you offered standing up, hoping that her little toy would pop out from somewhere while your husband gave you a gentle nod sighing softly himself. he looks back to the infant, giving her a faint smile as he tilted his head

"c'mon sweetheart, it's gonna be alright. look, we can still have plenty fun" simon tried everything, doing the voices she loved, making all different types things in the sand, even sprinkling some on her little hands and feet but it didn't elicit any sort of response from her as she held her little toy spade tapping the sand hopelessly. he sighed once more, shaking his head as he looked up for you hoping magically her giraffe would be in your hand

but it's her shriek and gasp that jolts him slightly, blinking down at her watching her legs trying to crawl eagerly to somewhere while he looks around the families trying to figure out what got her so concerned

and then he spots it, his own heart thudding against his chest

he saw a little boy holding the same pastel giraffe and the sight filled him with triumph and anger. this little kid stole his baby's toy, put his whole family through hell, at this point that damned giraffe felt like his second kid, all while those parents watched without a care in the world? the cursive lettering on the side of the giraffe only confirmed his doubts as he stiffened up.

target set, he was ready to attack

he heard you come back, not finding anything from the staff as you look at him a little confused. your brow raised as he gets up, leaving the baby beside you stalking to the other family with a bone to pick

and like usual, simon doesn't even bother with pleasantries. walking straight to the parents eyes narrowing on the boy playing on the floor, swallowing down the anger that wanted to rip out of his throat as he looked at the giraffe. it was his, it belonged to him

"can we help you?" he hears the mother speak, her tone cautious and wary as she frowns. he barely gives her a glance before he snatches up the giraffe from her son, relishing in the protests as he stepped towards the woman. his face set eerily in a neutral expression but the emotions burned deep inside his eyes, brown eyes darkening as they settled on the woman

"yeah, teach your son not to steal from others. cheers" he spoke coldly, daring one of them to stand up to him. he was in the mood to fight, nights of dealing with his unhappy baby had left him feeling on edge and he was more than willing to shout his rage at someone.

but they didn't say a thing, who would to a 6'4 behemoth of a man, already pissed off and aggravated, just looking for a reason to snap back?

the silence had been resounding and he was satisfied, shooting them a last look as he stormed off. heading back to where you and his infant sat, presenting the beloved giraffe as a gift

"got your little friend, munchkin" his voice immediately softens as he kneels down on the sand once more, handing her the plush toy chuckling gently at her small excited giggles. tiny hands grabbing excitedly as she pressed the giraffe to her chest in pure relief making you both smile. he steadies her and her small frame nuzzles into his chest, a string of "dada" happily falling from her lips making his heart clench with adoration and love. smiling softly at you as he holds his little mini close to his chest, cuddling her tight

she ends up falling out of love with the giraffe the next day

[vivwritesfics]

Marry Me?

She needs a wedding date, someone to fake being her boyfriend, and he's happy to help.

"I need your help."

Daniel Ricciardo loved his best friend. He would have done anything for her. So when she came to him, asking him to pretend to be her date for her sisters wedding, he said yes.

Drinking and dancing with his best friend, he couldn't imagine anything better.

He nodded his head in agreement and opened his arms for her and she fell into them, sigh content. "You're the best, Honey badger," she mumbled as she laid her head against his chest.

"Have you gotten a dress yet?"

Daniel knew before he'd even agreed to go with her that their outfits were going to be matching. His tie, bow tie, whatever he ended up wearing, was gonna match her dress, he knew. His little surprise for the wedding.

Daniel was there a few days later, when her mother called. He turned down the radio in her car and kept quiet as she spike to her mother.

"Hi mum," he heard as he continued to drive. In any other setting, Daniel would have been able to hear her mother's responses. But the low hum of the engine and the sound of the air conditioning kept him from that. Not that he would have been trying to listen in, of course.

"Yeah I got my date sorted," he heard her say, rather exasperated. "Yes, he's really nice. Trust me, you're all going to love him."

There was a pause, her mother speaking as her eyes went wide. "Boyfriend?!" She cried, and her mother continued. "But-" Her mother kept speaking, stopping her from cutting in. "Wait-" And then the line went dead.

Dropping her phone into her lap, she turned her attention back to Daniel. "I might need a bigger favour than you just being my plus one."

***

No matter how many times Daniel told her, she wasn't going to get it through her head that he would do anything for her. He was standing in a Chapel, tie the same shade of green as her dress, for crying out loud! Pretending to be her boyfriend was no big deal.

He'd made a big show of it in the morning, driving her to where her sister was staying. He held her hand, pulled her back into him when she tried to walk through the door. All of her sisters friends cooed when he kissed the top of her head before letting go.

He held her hand through the ceremony. It really was a lovely ceremony, a little cheesy, filled the clichés, but still beautiful. Admittedly, it got a little boring, but that was where Daniel came in.

They thumb wrestled, played rock paper scissors, and other things you'd expect bored kids to do. It didn't matter that they were grown adults, they were having fun.

Daniel held her hand as they headed to the reception. His hand was warm in hers and she thought she could feel a different between his tattooed skin and the skin that didn't have any ink (in reality, she just knew his body that well that she knew exactly where to find his tattoos).

They sat through the speeches. Did it hurt that her sister hadn't asked her to write one? Yeah, it did. But she sat there, Daniel's hand so distracting on her knee.

And then the dancing started. Her sister and her new husband took to the dance floor. It was slow, their entire families watching them. But then more people joined in.

Standing up, Daniel held out his hand.

"We don't have to dance," she said as she sipped her drink.

Daniel took her drink from her hands and put it down. "It'll be fun," he said with his usual charming grin and pulled her to her feet.

One hand holding hers, the other on her waist, Daniel began moving her across the dance floor. "I think your parents were about to ask me my intentions," he said, holding her body against his.

"Your intentions, huh?" He grinned, and looked at her parents over his shoulder. "And what are your intentions, Mr Ricciardo?"

He couldn't hide his grin as he looked at her. "Marriage, kids, side by side coffins, baby!"

Her laugh echoed around the hall. Several family members were looking at the both of them, probably whispering to each other about how cute they were. And they were, his suit matching her tie, the two of them standing too close to be friends.

They just needed to realise it themselves.

[the-grimm-writer]

Imagine getting split up in a haunted house with your friends. It starts off with the typical jumpscares as the actors do their job well.

You're wondering down a smoke filled hall full of flashing led lights. Fake blood is smeared on the walls and cobwebs are on the ceiling. You're still giggling from the way your friend shrieked the moment you all stepped in.

Looking around, you shuddered a little bit as you walked past a guy in clown makeup lying on the floor with a slash across his chest, blood pouring around him. Practical effects are getting so realistic these days, you thought to yourself.

You're so distracted as cheesy horror music still plays in the background that you don't notice a tall figure standing there until you run into them.

Tilting your head back, your eyes go wide as you see a man in a mask towering over you.

"Sorry." You smiled awkwardly as you took a step back to get away, and you see he's wearing black jeans, a white wife beater splattered in red, and holding on to what (you hope) is a fake axe. He easily towers over you.

The man stays silent, making the atmosphere feel more tense. He's tall and muscular, and you can only see his eyes peaking down at you from underneath the mask. He definitely fit the role of a haunt actor.

"Wow." You laughed nervously as you stepped to the side. "You're like, really in character, huh?"

The man stays silent as he turns and watches you rush past him, and you swear you can hear him chuckle as you turn the corner.

Chills ran down your spine as you started to wander around, feeling like someone was watching you, but every time you turned around to check, nobody was there. Frustration started to build up as you hut nothing but dead ends.

Sure, it was fun at first, with the occasional jumpscare popping out at you that would make flinch, then laugh at yourself for letting it get to you. But your phone had no reception and you were losing track of time.

This was getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself as you looked around for someone to ask for help to get out of there. You hoped your friends were having a better time than you were.

Once you reached the next dead end, you nearly screamed in frustration, ready to yank your hair out until you saw the same masked man from the corner of your eye.

"Okay." You sighed as you walked over to him. "Haha, you got me. Can you please help me get out of here now?"

The man stays silent, but his eyes are trained on you as he lowers his head to look down at you.

You rolled your eyes as he stayed in character, watching the blood drip off of the axe he was casually holding onto.

It wasn't until you got closer to him that the heavy metallic scent hit you. A chill ran down your spine, true terror running through your veins as you looked down at his weapon, noticing how sharp it really was. A real weapon, not allowed in haunts like this one.

Suddenly, the fun little jumpscares weren't so fun anymore. This man wasn't a haunt actor at all.

Your face paled as you remembered the dead clown that you'd passed by earlier. The actor that would've been the one to scare you a few times before helping you reunite with your friends at the exit. But he was really dead.

And now you were stuck here with him. An actual killer.

As if reading your thoughts, he grabbed your chin and pulled you against him. You were shaking as he leaned down, lowering his head to whisper in your ear.

"Run." He growled lowly before letting go of your chin and stepping back.

You didn't have to be told twice, immediately running away from him.

Suddenly, the smoke felt too heavy, the music was too loud, the deep red led lights that filled the rooms only added to your terror, and the animatronics they had to jump out at you only made you more overwhelmed.

You were nearly ready to cry as you turned around and saw the masked man casually walking towards you in typical horror movie slasher style.

Then you heard the sound of distant laughter. It sounded like your friends chatting with each other.

A wave of hope went through you as you ran over to the wall and started banging against it, screaming at the top of your lungs.

"Help!" You yelled out as loud as you could as you slapped your hands against the walls. "Please, help! He-"

You shrieked as a hand suddenly grabbed ahold of your hair and pushed you onto the cold ground.

The masked man throws his axe to the side as he climbs on top of you, making you look into his eyes.

He laughs wickedly, pressing himself against you as he tightens his grip on your hair. You screamed and cried, trying to push him off you as you feel his hard on rub against your thigh, cock straining against his jeans.

"Scream all you want." He grinned as he pulled his mask up, feeling his breath fanning against your lips. "Everyone will think it's all part of the show."

[shaadiwish]

A Crazy & Fun-Filled Reception & Cocktail Party

[onsomenewsht]

from the vault:

she's unpredictable, unforgettable

》 Beautiful Crazy, Luke Combs

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 wear one's heart on one's sleeve [idiom]: to show one's emotions very openly

“My love, just one more”

“Don’t my love me, Williamson!”

“Use my full name if you want to make it believable”, she smirks as she comes closer to you.

After years together, the blonde footballer still manages to amaze you with that effortless charming attitude.

Whipped around her finger, that’s who you are.

“I’m still on time to call the wedding off”

“Jokes on you, we already signed the papers”

The work you’re trying to finish is forgotten on the kitchen island as soon as she slots herself between your legs, hands on your thighs too strategically placed to be casual.

Leah closes the distance, kissing first your forehead to then carefully graze her favourite features of your face – the tip of your nose, your cheeks, even the hidden space behind your ears.

When she finds your lips, the kiss is soft and tastes a lot like the comfort of home.

“Nice try, we’re still not adding another one”, you whisper with your eyes still closed.

“Oh, come on!”

“You’re turning it into a country concert”

“And how could that possibly be a bad thing?”, she genuinely asks, folding her arms in the stubborn way you learned to love.

A child-like behaviour that, despite her frown, always gets a loud laugh out of you. One more proof you actually just married a tall, blonde, stubborn toddler.

You prompt her to sit on the kitchen island top, holding her waist in your hands - work long forgotten.

“I want to renegotiate”

“Let me hear your terms”

You realised pretty soon in your relationship with the English skipper that the best way to deal with her in a mood to get what she wants is letting her think she can have her way.

The fact that you usually end up giving her anything she wants regardless is a completely different story.

“You let me add one more country song on the reception’s playlist and I’ll take that cooking course with you”

“You promised that three one-more-songs ago”

Leah’s frown grows in contemplation. You can’t tell if she forgot or she just hoped you did. Either way, she needs to find something else to bribe you with.

“I’ll dedicate my next goal to you”

“You’re a defender”, giggles escape you as a finger traces the deep line between her eyebrows, “and you already do”

“Ohi, I will stop buying those big boy shorts you hate”

“You promised that on our first anniversary and I can’t even remember how many times you broke that promise at this point!”

“I never promised that, I said I would try for you”

Another country song is not gonna ruin the party you two are planning to celebrate your marriage, you know that. But the curiosity to see how much she’s willing to put on the line to win this little game of yours is just too much fun.

“You could let me add it just ‘cause you love me”

“Already done that one Taylor’s Version ago”

“My love, please!”

The athlete’s blonde head drops dramatically on your shoulder, her arms enveloping you and holding you firmly. The calm lasts a second, though. Your hands barely reach the back of her neck when she sprints away with a new determination on her face.

“Just listen to it, you will like this one”

Laughs fill your home as she runs to find her phone, almost tripping on her own feet, to come back in the kitchen with a cocky smile and two country hats.

“Don’t even try–”

The acoustic version of a familiar song resonates in the room. Leah carefully places one hat on your head before finding the right key to join the singer in an quite impressive duet.

And here you were, thinking you couldn’t fall in love with her more.

When she offers you her hand, lovingly guiding the two of you in a slow dance in the middle of your kitchen, you’re sure she is more than the love of your life.

The song stops, and you don’t even realise. Her lips and hands fade the world around.

“Just one more”

[pucksandpower]

Hypnotized

Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader

Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak

You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.

The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”

He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”

Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”

He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”

“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.

“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”

You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”

You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”

Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”

He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”

Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”

You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”

His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.

“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”

You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.

“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”

Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.

“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”

His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.

“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”

A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.

“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”

He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.

“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”

There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.

“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”

His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”

Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.

“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”

He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.

“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.

You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.

“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”

Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.

You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.

“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”

His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.

“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”

Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,

“Come for me, love!”

His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.

At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.

“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”

He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”

You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”

His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.

You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.

You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.

He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”

You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”

A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.

With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.

The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.

Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.

Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.

“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.

He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”

A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.

You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.

“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”

He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.

“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.

He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.

Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.

“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.

A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.

You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.

Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.

“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.

A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”

“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”

The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.

Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.

“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.

“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.

“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.

His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.

“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.

You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.

With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.

“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.

He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”

With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.

A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.

The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.

After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”

And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.

***

The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.

No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.

“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”

A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.

There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.

Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.

“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.

“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.

The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”

With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.

“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.

You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”

Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”

A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”

The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.

You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.

His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.

Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.

“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”

His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.

When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”

Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.

All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.

Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.

When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.

For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”

You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”

Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”

With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.

“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”

He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.

“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”

His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.

His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.

“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.

Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”

The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.

“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.

Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.

Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.

“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”

You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”

“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”

You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.

In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.

His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”

A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”

Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.

With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.

***

The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.

A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?

Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.

“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.

You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly – all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.

He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.

It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.

Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.

By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.

You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”

Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”

“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”

A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.

You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.

“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”

Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.

For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.

“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.

A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.

Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.

“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”

Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”

A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”

Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”

“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply … vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”

You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.

“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”

A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.

When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.

“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”

In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.

There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.

Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.

You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.

Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.

Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.

The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”

His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.

It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.

“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.

“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.

You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.

When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.

You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.

It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”

In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.

In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.

Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.

[ilovejoostklein]

Bad Journalism

You’re an annoying journalist trying to get a story out of Joost, but he knows that’s not what you really want // joost x fem!reader

nsfw: smut, one shot

-

The news that Joost was disqualified had sent shock waves through the entirety of the Eurovision. You heard the news first through whispers, not believing it at first until it was in every headline, plastered over every local news channel, and blowing up all your group chat messages. 

You felt bad for him more than anything. Your heart sunk for him, especially when some of your colleagues had not one bit of empathy for him, and were itching to corner him for a story. You’d passed him a few times in the hallway, smiling at him or waving, he was like a beam of sunshine in every room and captivated the audience with infectious excitement and charisma. You didn’t want to admit it, but you found him incredibly attractive. You found yourself scrolling through his socials late at night and never missed any of his rehearsals. It was clear he was the favorite, and it was all ruined for him now. 

It was the heat of the moment, tensions were at an all-time high. Everyone at Eurovision, both behind closed doors and in hushed voices out in the lounge areas, and everyone on social media who followed the competition talked about Joost. It was all in whispers, yet completely in your face at the same time. No one could avoid it, it was more than an elephant in the room at this point. 

As a journalist, it was like a mosquito constantly looming at your shoulder, irritating you that you could do nothing about it in good conscience. Your boss was hounding you and your colleagues for someone to get a word out of him, incentivizing you all to no end with bonuses, paid vacation time, or even a promotion. It didn’t help that journalists from other papers and countries all shared the same ambition, and some were far more aggressive and weren’t afraid to make it known. You wondered if those shared smiles meant anything at all, and if there was a chance he’d be more receptive to give you a statement rather than the other journalists who didn’t have the best intentions. 

You tried to formulate a plan to gently approach him and try to get even a sentence out of him. Your conscience wrestled with each other. Your boss zeroed in on all of you specifically soon. He complained that you and a few other colleagues in particular weren’t performing up to par, and he was threatening termination. 

“A lot of you are proving yourselves to be dead weight, you especially. You can show you deserve to be on this team by getting a story.”

You fell into a panicked state of anxiety for the next few days. You could barely sleep or eat knowing that your livelihood was now on the line. You’d been so excited that you secured a job at a top company, and now it was all in jeopardy over this nightmare of a situation. The journalists were now in their competition, and that alongside your boss’s threats gave you a new sense of determination.

You waited for the evening when you learned that Joost would be down for a mandatory meeting with members of the EBU. You gave false tips to other journalists who heard about the meeting as well, who believed you hesitantly, but you’d made yourself seem non-threatening and docile since the very beginning. In a way, it still held. It took everything inside of you to keep the shakiness of your voice hidden, and you concealed your nervous body language as harmless fidgeting. 

You noticed him come out, and it was as if it was a different person. The room filled with anxiety and anger, from the both of you. His face was concerning stern, he dressed in basic, dark colors instead of his usual fun, unique outfits that always drew attention. He was alone, and like the fox you were, you cornered him. 

“Hi, Joost.” You greeted him, immediately approaching him. “Did you just leave a meeting with the EBU?” 

You glanced over at you, his eyebrows knitting together as if there was some sort of betrayal. He vaguely recognized you from the fleeting glances in the hallway, a bit disappointed knowing that you were just like all the others. 

“I’m in a bit of a rush.” He mumbled, hoping that it would be enough to shut you down. “I’m sorry.”

You were so overcome with adrenaline you didn’t hear him, doubling down you continued to pester him. “Can you say anything about your disqualification?” You asked, seeing a blush immediately appear on the apples of his cheeks. “Is it true you assaulted someone?”

It was like a switch was flipped. You felt yourself grow cold immediately at the way he looked at you with deep offense. You’d jumped your questions prematurely, not giving him time to warm up to you, or even intelligently posing them. You’d made a complete mess of things and your failure plunged you into mania. There was no going back now, you’d either get a story out of him or make one. 

Joost ignored you, he had to unless he wanted to make matters worse for himself. If you were a man, and not a woman looming at his side, staring up at him with big doe eyes and a blush that rivaled his own he would’ve pushed you away. He desperately wanted to take your stupid phone and throw it across the room before telling you to fuck off, but he tried to keep himself level-headed. He repeated like a mantra that all he needed to do was get into the elevator and go to his room, then it would be over. If you followed him then he’d have good reason to call security to haul you away. 

He didn’t anticipate that you would use the fact he couldn’t hurt you to your advantage. You weren’t sure what came over you either, shocking yourself as much as you shocked Joost you yanked off his headphones from his neck and ran towards the elevator.

He chased after you without thinking, rushing past the closing silver doors as you desperately pushed the button to try to shut him out but your efforts were in vain. Your eyes shot open and you felt yourself move to the corner of the elevator, clutching the heavy, expensive headphones to your chest. Your breathing was erratic, you rendered yourself speechless as the man stood mere inches away from you. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” He questioned in a low tone that bubbled with anger. “Give it back.”

“Answer my questions.” The calmness of your voice shocked you, and you looked up at him like it was an implicit dare. You knew as well as he did that he had no intention to hurt you.

“Don’t do this.” He pleaded, his head falling to the side. Yet still, his tone was angry and his body language rigid. He held out his hand, “Just give it back, and we have no problems. Ok?”

“No.” You stood your ground, hearing the elevator ding open to his vacant floor. 

“No?” He laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t say anything, feeling yourself on the verge of tears from the intensity of the situation you left the elevator and walked down the hall aimlessly as he called after you in a hushed tone.  You knew it wasn’t out of gentleness, but because he didn’t want to cause a scene like you had. You felt like you completely lost sight of yourself, you’d played dirty and this was exactly the kind of journalism you abhorred. 

“Come here.” Joost began to approach you as if you were a wounded animal, “Just give it back, and I’ll answer three of your questions.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised by the easy defeat. He nodded, his face so genuine that you completely believed him. 

You handed the headphones back and he practically ripped them from you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Now go away before I call the police on you.” He spat. “Verdomde eikel.” He mumbled under his breath as he turned to walk back to his room.

You were overcome by the same adrenaline that you felt when he walked out of the conference room. You followed him to his room, no matter how many times he told you to fuck off and slammed the door in your face you weren’t going away until he gave you what you wanted. 

You knocked on the door until your knuckles were raw and aching. Almost an hour went by, some people peering out of their rooms but ultimately paying you no mind. Joost finally opened the door, just enough to peer out with one of the locks to keep you two separated in case you tried another one of your stupid tricks. 

“I don’t want to call the police on you.” He seemed to have calmed down, the cigarettes and alcohol in his breath further indicating it. “Go away, you’re too pretty to be acting like this.”

You huffed in frustration, “I’m trying to help you.” you tried to make something up as you went, “The other journalists tried to wait for you, I told them a lie to get them to go away. If you give me a story you won’t have to worry about them as much.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged, “I’ll take my chances. Goodnight now.”

You put your arm in the door, a last effort to prevent him from shutting you out again. “Please, Joost.” You said shamelessly, now feeling like you’d just had a dopamine crash and all that was left was shame. 

He looked at you for a moment, head coming to the side his head eyes narrowed almost inquisitively before he busted out in laughter. “Oh fuck, I hope you’re not who I think you are.” He said amid his mockery, burning tears immediately forming in your eyes, “What’s your name?” 

You mumbled your name pathetically, your head somewhat bowed to avoid eye contact before he howled in laughter, “No fucking way.” He repeated over and over, the mockery hitting you like nails and making you bleed with miserable shame all over him. “You’re the journalist, my friend told me about you.”

You realized why his reaction was so over the top, and if anything it was warranted. 

You recall when it was only the second day of the competition, everything was still in the very early and most exciting stages. You shared the elevator with a man from the Netherlands, tall, curly hair and dark skin. He complimented your shoes, you complimented his back and you two made small talk. He said that he was just an enthusiastic fan, something that you now knew was a white lie, and asked you about your job and what you thought of the performers. 

“I like your guy from the Netherlands.” You said, smiling at him. “I’d fuck him.”

His eyes widened, and he looked at you in disbelief for a second before smiling back. “Yeah.” He finally said. “Me too.” 

You didn’t know how you could be so clueless, and how you didn’t connect the dots that it was him in that costume performing alongside Joost all this time. He had captivated you so much, that you hardly paid any mind to the other performers, as talented as they were, much less his two friends at the side of the stage. 

“You just wanna fuck me, huh?” He questioned in a sarcastic, degrading tone. “Are you even a journalist?”

You stayed silent, knowing that whatever you said would just make everything a million times worse, or even make you completely break down. It was again, like everything you were doing at this point an empty effort. The tears fell on your face like pieces of hot coal, burning your skin in sorrow and embarrassment. Your chest constricted in quiet sobs, you didn’t understand why your feet felt sewn to the carpeted floors and your arms bound to the doorknob of his room. 

Joost expected this, he could tell from the way your once vibrantly pretty face lost all its color and your eyes became low and glossy that you had lost your strength. He knew someone like you was weak, hardly cut out of this type of journalism. He felt bad almost, knowing you would do much better tucked away in an office, away from people like himself whose personalities completely overpowered yours. He was a performer, after all, so he couldn’t blame you. Joost knew he was soft underneath this hard exterior, and no matter how badly you offended him he couldn’t bear to see you so upset at his expense. 

“Alright.” He relented, sighing and unlocking the door completely as a form of surrender. “I will make a deal with you.”

Your face was buried in your hands, trying to stop and wipe away the tears to the best of your ability, but you still managed to nod. 

“Either you come in here, I answer the three questions you asked about.” He offered, “Or, you come in here and I fuck you, and I don’t answer anything.”

If you couldn’t stand to look him in the eye before, you certainly couldn’t do it now. “The second one.” Your voice was strained, weighed down by your sobs it was nothing less than humiliating. 

You heard Joost’s chest jerk in laughter, and he didn’t have to verbalize how pathetic he thought you were. You were fully worn down now, accepting defeat and realizing that you were so deeply depraved to choose physical pleasure over your literal job. He let you in, shutting the door behind you heard nothing but the turning of bolts and his soft footsteps. There was no turning back now, even if you came to your senses, there was no way your body would allow it. 

“Wait for me in my bedroom.” He said all too casually, “I’m going to have a cigarette.”

The white hotel sheets were cold and uninviting under your warm skin. You began to undress down to your underwear, it was unassuming, the fact that it was black and matching was your only saving grace at sexiness. You found yourself waiting for several minutes, but as you clutched your knees to your chest and shivered from the notoriously harsh hotel air conditioning it felt like hours.

Joost seemed to be stringing you along, and enjoying every bit of it. He came back inside from the porch, walked into the bedroom, and paid you not even a glance before walking into the bathroom. You felt your humiliation plummet to new depths, especially when you heard him turn on the shower. The least he could do was say something, instead of walking past your almost naked body as if it was the least interesting thing in his room.

The excruciating wait ended once he left the bathroom, steaming and smelling of the freshest, most intoxicating body wash you’d ever smelled. It was perfectly masculine, eucalyptus and citruses you wanted to wrap yourself in it. 

Joost approached you, watching as you crawled to the edge of the bed, looking up at him with your raw, puffy eyes it was almost erotic. You’d put yourself through so many emotions just to get a word out of him for your pathetic little job, and now you were on his bed, desperate for his touch. 

He was always a man of his word, so naturally, he was a little ashamed that he tricked you earlier and wanted to make it up to you by not forcing you to beg for him. He unwrapped the towel, his cock springing loose in front of your face. Your face gave away your reaction, showing him that you weren’t used to his size and stroking his ego a little more. 

“Go ahead.” He encouraged, “I hope you’re better at this than you are at interviewing.”

You took him into your mouth eagerly. It was almost like a wish being fulfilled, or being in a dream your depraved mind had conjured up. He felt incredible in your mouth, the way your lips stretched over him and how the tip nudged at the back of your throat did nothing but excite you. You hummed and moaned against him in contentment, the vibrations on his cock driving him wild. Your mouth was perfect, and you had something to prove. This was exactly what you wanted, you weren’t sure who the winner here was. 

Joost couldn’t let you have the upper hand, not yet at least. He grabbed your head and held it into place before he began to fuck your mouth. He wasn’t relentless, even if he wished he could be as the reminder of how you pestered him sat at the back of his mind. His thrusts were deep but mostly gentle. You gagged against him but breathed carefully through your nose and braced yourself with the rhythm he’d set. Saliva dribbled down your chin, your mouth so wet and warm he couldn’t imagine how it would feel like to fuck you. 

The desire was too overwhelming, he was impatient and desperate now, withdrawing his cock from your mouth. Your eyes were watery again, this time for good reason. You coughed a bit, regaining a bit of composure before Joost grabbed a handful of your hair and brought you into a kiss. 

It was the sloppiest, least romantic kiss you ever had. He shoved his tongue into your mouth and held you in place like you were an animal threatening to escape. Your body was aching almost unbearably now, you straddled him and pressed your pussy against his bare thigh and began grinding down on him with such desperation it made him chuckle into the kiss. 

“Slut.” He muttered against your neck, you shuttered against him before you felt his teeth sink into your skin, just enough to make you gasp. “You like that?”

“Mhm.” You groaned, your hips still moving against him hardly getting what you needed. “Please fuck me, Joost.”

His hand returned to your hair, this time pulling it so that you’d face him. He smiled almost drunkenly, his eyes low and dazed, “Can I eat your pussy first?” He asked the smug look on his face anticipating your reaction.

He laid you down on your back. You were a bit glad he wanted to pay attention to you. You fully expected him to fuck you from behind and kick you out, it would’ve been understandable, especially from the way you were acting and the fact he probably had dozens of girls who would kill to be in your place.

You felt the power balance restored as he buried his face between your thighs. He was as eager as you had been, licking and sucking on your pussy as if you had made the deal with him. His thick mustache burned the tender skin between your thighs in the best way possible, a reminder of what he’d done for you that would last at least till the next day. You felt nothing but the warm, blanketing pleasure. It felt like you’d just had a drink, your nerves had settled and all that was on your mind was finishing all over his pretty mouth. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, your back arched as you felt yourself grow closer. A part of you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your thighs closing against the side of his face and moans pouring from your lips, but it happened regardless. Your body almost convulsed from the intensity, the pleasure making your body surrender and melt into his hands so much that you began apologizing. 

“I’m sorry.” You muttered continuously, your orgasm coming at its peak and then rolling over you, “I’m sorry Joost.” 

He didn’t say anything at first as his mind was foggy, and he was lapping up your pussy, avoiding your clit now to give you a moment of calmness and for his pleasure. You tasted good, and it was intoxicating for him. 

“It’s ok, baby.” His tone had now sweetened with you, even if you knew it was mostly from the intimacy of the moment. “I know what you need.”

Joost was overtaken by how turned on you made him feel. He loved how he was putting you in your place, how he had softened the stone-like scowl on your face, the sharpness in your voice and movements to something so perfect. He kissed you again, this time just a few pecks before you felt him press the head of his cock against your pussy. 

He rubbed up and down, every time he passed over your sensitive clit you jerked up in overstimulation. He had condoms in the dresser, but you hadn’t brought up the matter so he decided to disregard it. If anything he’d give you some money for the morning-after pill, but that was the last thing he wanted to worry about. 

Joost groaned loudly, almost overly dramatic as he began to push himself inside of you. You trembled beneath him, letting out sounds of discomfort from how big he was, the sensation new to your body that you instinctively began to push him away with one hand and attempt to cover yourself with the other. 

“Move your hand, please.” He told you, “I promise I’ll stop if it hurts.” 

It was a bit of a struggle, he had to stop a few times to allow you to adjust yourself to his size before he was able to bottom you out. It was all worth it, the pestering and the headache to have you beneath him.  He fucked you slowly at first, pulling out until only the tip of him was inside of you before plunging himself back inside of you. Your pussy squelched and squeezed around him, your eyes screwed shut as you brought him into an embrace. 

Joost kissed you on the cheek, resting his face against you he picked up his pace until it was something almost punishing. The thoughts of what you had done before were now at the forefront of his mind, that horrible feeling intertwined with his passion for you. The sound of slapping skin filled the room, his grunts against your soft gasps. He hit the sweetest spot inside of you with every movement, the feeling so overwhelming you felt your orgasm building again. You tried to tell him, feeling as if hearing it would feel like a reward to him, but your body and mind were no longer one. The only thing that left your mouth was his name and desperate sounds of pleasure. 

Joost felt you come all over his cock, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out into his shoulder. He knew now he wasn’t going to last any longer, his movements becoming sloppy and the feeling of no friction, just how wet you were for him sending him over the edge. He would’ve loved to last longer, but he soon found himself pulling out and pumping himself over your body before coming undone all over your stomach. 

He marked your body, warm cum falling against your stomach and breasts as you were cooling down from the nearly out-of-body experience. Joost looked down at you, breathing heavily it was almost like he was admiring his work. He’d left bruises against your neck, your hair was disheveled, your face wet with tears, and the prettiest sight of all was that he’d finished all over you. 

He wiped down your body softly, kissing you when he was done before climbing under the sheets. He brought you into his arms this time, cuddling with you for a while before he spoke, 

“Are you hungry?” He asked in a whisper, you giggled in response and nodded. 

“Alright.” He nodded, “Maybe I’ll answer some of your questions after.”

-

hope you guys enjoyed :) this is a cross post from my ao3 if you wanted to check it out there

[isak-dot-gov]

POV

Pairing: Wife!Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word count: 3760(including lyrics)

Summary: Based on POV by Ariana Grande

My Masterlist :)

.........................................

The sun had set, casting a golden hue over the reception hall. The evening had been filled with laughter, heartfelt toasts, and more than a few happy tears. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy and fulfilment as you looked around, seeing the people you loved most gathered to celebrate you and Paige. Your heart swelled with happiness as you watched her dance with her father, her face glowing with pure joy.

The band played softly in the background, setting the perfect mood for the intimate moment. Paige’s white suit sparkled under the soft lights, and her laughter rang out as she twirled around the dance floor. She caught your eye and winked, making your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t believe you were finally married to her, the woman who had captured your heart so completely.

As the song ended, Paige hugged her father before making her way back to you. She took your hand and pulled you into a warm embrace, her smile wide and genuine. “I can’t believe we’re finally married,” she whispered in your ear, her breath tickling your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this day for so long.”

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Me too, Paige. Me too.”

Just then, the band leader stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat, capturing everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” he announced. “We have a special surprise for our beautiful bride, Paige, courtesy of her lovely wife.”

Paige turned to you, her eyes wide with surprise. “What’s going on?” she asked, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in her voice.

You gave her a playful smile, squeezing her hand. “You’ll see,” you replied, guiding her to the front of the room where a microphone stood. As you approached, the lights dimmed slightly, and the room grew quiet with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the microphone, your heart pounding in your chest. “Hi, everyone,” you began, your voice a little shaky. “First, I just want to thank all of you for being here today. It means the world to us to have our family and friends here to celebrate our love.”

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and you smiled, feeling the warmth of everyone’s support. Once the noise died down, you continued. “As most of you know, Paige has been joking for months about how I should sing at our wedding since I’m a singer. Well, I decided to take her up on that and do something special.”

Paige’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands, clearly taken aback. She had mentioned in passing that it would be fun if you sang at the wedding, but she never imagined you’d actually do it. The room filled with excited whispers as everyone realised what was about to happen.

“I wrote a song just for you, Paige,” you said, turning to look at her, your eyes locking. “This is the first time I’m performing it, and I wanted it to be a surprise because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Paige’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her hand covering her heart. “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, feeling your own eyes well up with tears. “You’re the amazing one,” you replied softly before turning back to the microphone. “So, here it is. This one’s for you, Paige.”

The orchestra, which had been setting up quietly behind you, began to play a soft, melodic intro. The sound of the piano mixed with the strings created a beautiful, ethereal atmosphere that filled the room. You took a deep breath, letting the music wash over you, and then you began to sing.

---

Song Performance:

“It's like you got superpowers  

Turn my minutes into hours  

You got more than 20-20, babe  

Made of glass the way you see through me  

You know me better than I do  

Can't seem to keep nothing from you  

How you touch my soul from the outside?  

Permeate my ego and my pride”

---

As you sang the first verse, you kept your eyes fixed on Paige, every note carrying the depth of your love and the promises you had made to each other. The words flowed effortlessly, but each one held the weight of your heart, conveying feelings you had never been able to put into words before. It was as if the music was a direct line to your soul, sharing the love story you both had written over the years. Paige's reaction was immediate; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and as the lyrics unfolded, those tears began to spill over, streaming down her cheeks.

She tried to smile, but the emotion was too overwhelming, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her composure. The love in her eyes was unmistakable, shining brightly despite the tears, reflecting back everything you were trying to convey through your song. When she reached up to wipe her tears away, her hand shook slightly, and you could see how much this moment was affecting her. Her gaze never wavered from yours, full of admiration, gratitude, and an intense affection that made your heart swell.

The room around you seemed to fade away, everyone captivated by the raw emotion in your voice, but for you, there was only Paige. It felt like you were singing just for her, in a bubble of your own making, where the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could feel a lump forming in your throat, the overwhelming urge to cry building up inside you. But you swallowed it down, pushing through, knowing you needed to finish this for her—for both of you.

Your voice wavered slightly as you continued, but you steadied yourself, focusing on the reason you were here, on the reason you had written this song in the first place. You wanted to give Paige a memory she would never forget, to show her just how much she meant to you, how deeply you cherished her. With every note, every word, you poured your heart out, letting her see the parts of you that were reserved only for her. 

And as you did, you saw her reaction deepen, her tears coming faster now, spilling down her cheeks without restraint. Paige's shoulders shook with silent sobs, her hand clutching her chest as if to hold herself together. The sight made your own eyes sting with unshed tears, but you kept going, more determined than ever to give her the performance of a lifetime—a performance that would be etched in her heart forever.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me (trust me)  

The way that you trust me (trust me)  

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus was powerful, each word echoing with the intensity of your feelings for Paige. As you sang, you could see how deeply the lyrics resonated with her. Her hands were clasped tightly over her heart, almost as if she were trying to hold it together, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, glistening under the soft glow of the lights, and yet she smiled—an expression of pure, unfiltered love and adoration that made your heart swell. Paige was mouthing the words along with you, her lips moving silently to the rhythm of the song, as if every line was a secret she already knew by heart. It was as if the music had woven a cocoon around the two of you, making everyone else in the room fade away.

You could see the way her chest rose and fell with every breath, the way her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and the slight quiver of her lips as she tried to hold back a sob. The sight of her so moved by your words made your voice catch in your throat, a lump forming as you pushed through the next line. You could feel your own tears threatening to spill over, but you will yourself to keep going, to give Paige the performance she deserved.

The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this moment was just for the two of you. You felt a surge of emotion like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming in its intensity. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the microphone, but you knew, deep down, that this was exactly how you wanted to express your love for her. Every word, every note was a piece of your soul, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. You had always been able to communicate best through music, and tonight was no different. This song was a promise, a vow of your commitment and devotion, and the look on Paige's face told you that she understood that completely.

---

“I'm getting used to receiving  

Still getting good at not leaving  

I'ma love you even though I'm scared (oh, scared)  

Learnin' to be grateful for myself (oh, oh, oh)  

You love my lips 'cause they say the  

Things we've always been afraid of  

I can feel it startin' to subside  

Learnin' to believe in what is mine”

---

As you continued to sing, you saw Paige’s expression change from surprise to awe. The initial shock of hearing you sing something so personal and profound gave way to a softer, more vulnerable look. Her eyes, wide with wonder, began to glisten with unshed tears, reflecting the warm glow of the lights that surrounded you both. She was completely mesmerised, her gaze locked onto yours as if she were afraid to blink and miss even a second of this moment. Every note, every word seemed to resonate with her on a deep, emotional level. You could see her lips part slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

The way she looked at you, like you were the only person in the world, made your heart flutter with an intensity you had never felt before. It was as if time had stopped, and all that existed was the two of you, sharing this intimate moment in front of all your loved ones. Her eyes, filled with love and admiration, spoke volumes; they told you that she saw you in a way no one else ever had, that she understood every part of you—the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the flawed. It was a look that made you feel truly seen and cherished, a look that promised forever.

The song was more than just a performance; it was a confession, a testament to the deep connection you shared. Every line was a piece of your heart, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. It was your way of telling Paige everything you had ever wanted to say, all the things that words alone could never fully capture. The melody carried the weight of your love, the rhythm echoing the beat of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Each verse unveiled a layer of your soul, a vulnerable yet powerful display of your devotion to her.

As you sang, you could feel the energy in the room shift, the air thick with emotion. You were no longer just performing a song; you were sharing a piece of your soul, inviting everyone to witness the depth of your feelings for Paige. The lyrics spoke of your insecurities, your fears, your hopes, and your dreams—things you had only ever shared with her in the quiet moments of your relationship. And now, here you were, putting it all out there, not caring who saw because this was for her, and she deserved to know just how much she meant to you.

You could feel the tears welling up in your own eyes as you poured your heart out into the song. It was as if every word, every note was a declaration of your love, a promise to always cherish and honour the bond you shared. And as you sang, you realised that this moment, this song, was the most honest and genuine thing you had ever done. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with her in the first place, and why you would continue to love her for the rest of your life.

The orchestra swelled behind you, the music lifting your voice higher, carrying it across the room like a wave. You could see the effect it was having on Paige; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her emotions in check. It was clear that she was deeply moved, overwhelmed by the raw honesty of your performance. And in that moment, you knew that this was the greatest gift you could ever give her—a song that captured the essence of your love, a love that was unbreakable, unshakeable, and eternal.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me (trust me)  

The way that you trust me (trust me)  

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus repeated, its melody filling the room with an almost palpable sense of emotion. Each note seemed to carry a piece of your heart, and as you sang, you could feel the intensity of the emotions in the room rising to an overwhelming crescendo.

Paige’s reaction was both heart-wrenching and beautiful. Her tears flowed freely now, her cheeks glistening under the soft lights. She had initially tried to hold back her emotions, but as the lyrics spoke directly to her heart, she could no longer contain the depth of her feelings. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and every now and then, a sob escaped her lips, echoing softly through the room.

You could see how deeply moved she was by the performance. Her eyes were filled with a mix of awe and profound love, and it was clear that the song was touching her on a level far beyond what words could express. It was as if every word you sang was a direct reflection of her own emotions, resonating with the love and commitment you both shared.

The room seemed to hold its breath, enveloped in the raw and powerful atmosphere created by the song. The guests, though visibly moved, watched quietly, giving space to the intimate moment unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate intensity, enhancing the emotional depth of the performance, while you poured every ounce of your being into the song.

Your heart ached with a tender, almost painful love as you observed Paige. Her reaction was a testament to the strength of your bond, and seeing her so profoundly affected by your gift made every moment of writing and rehearsing the song worthwhile. The way her eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken gratitude and affection, made you feel as though you were the only two people in the world at that moment.

You continued to sing, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The connection between you and Paige was tangible, almost electrifying, and it was as if the entire room had become a cocoon of love and vulnerability. The chorus repeated, each iteration deepening the emotional impact, and you could feel the collective heartbeat of everyone present, pulsing in sync with the song.

---

“I couldn't believe it or see it for myself  

*Girl*, I be impatient, but now I'm out here  

Fallin', fallin', frozen, slowly  

Fallin', got me right  

I won't keep you waitin' (waitin')  

All my baggage fadin' safely (my baggage fadin')  

And if my eyes deceive me  

Won't let them stray too far away, I”

---

As you transitioned into the bridge, your voice took on a softer, more vulnerable quality. The intensity of the chorus had given way to a more intimate, reflective moment, and you allowed your emotions to shine through with every note. Your eyes remained fixed on Paige, not wanting to miss even a flicker of her reaction. The connection between you was palpable, as if the music had woven an invisible thread that bound your hearts together.

The room, previously filled with murmurs and soft clinks of glasses, had fallen into an almost reverent silence. Every person present seemed to be holding their breath, captivated by the tender, heartfelt performance unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate precision, their instruments echoing the emotions that swirled through the air. The notes of the song seemed to hang in the atmosphere, each one adding to the building crescendo of feeling.

You could sense the emotional tide rising, the intensity of the moment reaching its peak. The soft strains of the bridge created a space where raw, unfiltered emotions could come to the forefront. Your voice wavered slightly, not from lack of strength but from the sheer weight of the sentiment you were pouring into the performance. Each word felt like a thread of your soul being laid bare, and you could feel the collective emotion of the room, as if everyone was collectively experiencing the song’s depth.

Paige’s gaze remained locked on yours, her eyes brimming with tears that reflected the soft glow of the stage lights. Her expression was a mix of pure love, admiration, and an almost overwhelming gratitude. You could see how deeply she was affected by the song, her eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words alone could not capture. The way she looked at you was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching, a silent testament to the profound impact your performance was having on her.

As the lyrics of the bridge flowed from your lips, you noticed Paige’s eyes glistening with a mixture of happiness and vulnerability. Her gaze was fixed on you, her expression tender and filled with an unspoken appreciation. It was as though the music had unlocked a wellspring of emotions within her, and her eyes communicated a gratitude that was too immense to articulate.

The intensity of the moment seemed to grow with each passing second. The emotional buildup was almost tangible, creating an atmosphere charged with raw, heartfelt energy. You could feel the connection between you and Paige intensify, as if the music had bridged the space between your souls. Her silent reaction spoke volumes, revealing the depth of her feelings and the profound effect your song had on her.

As you continued to sing, the room remained enveloped in that profound silence, everyone absorbed in the beauty of the moment. The bridge of the song served as a poignant culmination of the emotions that had been building throughout the performance. Your voice softened, and the lyrics resonated deeply, capturing the essence of the love you shared with Paige. The moment was one of pure, unfiltered emotion, and the mutual understanding between you and Paige was as powerful as the song itself.

You saw how her gratitude and admiration shone through her eyes, her expression a blend of awe and heartfelt emotion. It was a powerful reminder of the bond you both shared and the depth of your love. As the final notes of the bridge faded away, the room seemed to exhale in unison, the collective breath of everyone present a testament to the impact of the performance. In that moment, you knew that the song had accomplished exactly what you had hoped—it had captured the essence of your love for Paige and conveyed it in a way that words alone could never fully express.

As you neared the end of the chorus, Paige reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched her heart, a gesture that spoke volumes. The sight of her so openly moved, her face radiant with tears of joy and love, filled you with an indescribable sense of fulfilment. It was a moment of pure connection, a manifestation of the love you shared, and it made your heart swell with an overwhelming, heartfelt ache.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)  

The way that you love me (ooh)  

Ooh, for all of my pretty  

And all of my ugly too  

I'd love to see me from your point of view  

I wanna trust me, ooh (trust me)  

The way that you trust me, baby (trust me)  

'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do  

I'd love to see me from your point of view (oh)  

Yeah”

---

As you sang the final chorus, you could feel the love radiating from Paige. She was openly weeping, her face a mix of joy and awe. You could see how much this meant to her, how much she appreciated the effort you had put into writing and performing this song just for her.

When the last note faded, the room erupted in applause, and you could see everyone on their feet, cheering and clapping. But all you could focus on was Paige, who was running up to you, tears streaming down her face. 

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much.”

You smiled, your own tears spilling over as you hugged her back. “I love you too, Paige. More than words can say.”

You pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “I wanted to do something special for you, something that would show you how much I love you.”

Paige smiled, wiping away her tears. “You did more than that,” she replied softly. “You showed me just how lucky I am to have you in my life. I’m so grateful to be your wife.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against hers. “And I’m grateful to be yours,” you whispered before kissing

 her gently, sealing the moment with a promise of forever.

As the room continued to cheer and applaud, you held Paige close, knowing that this was just the beginning of your beautiful journey together. And you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

..............................................

Isak speaks: Uhhhh... hi lol. Ik I kinda disappeared for a few weeks but I promise I'm currently writing a bunch of stuff for the next few weeks. So nobody hate me please

I'm also trying out using pictures for my fics(i was originally too lazy to do it but I always thought they looked so cool on other peoples fics so here we are), lmk what you guys think.

bye bye :)

[pickingupmymercedes]

Blessed - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Blessed - Daniel Caesar - @goldenroutledge

pairing: Husband!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff (bc we need a lil breather from the news lately)

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

“Alright, alright!” The sound of a spoon tapping against a champagne glass drew everyone's attention toward the center of the room.

The reception room was glowing in warm hanging lights, the low hum of chatter filled the air as glasses were put down and chair were pulled closer. It was a night of celebration, of love and new beginnings – tale as old as time.

At the head table, the couple of the evening, Lewis and Y/n, sat side by side. Lewis’s arm draped protectively over the back of Y/n’s chair and she leaned into him slightly, her eyes sparkling as she looked out at their friends and family gathered around.

It had been a long road to get there. Everyone knew that.

Their love story wasn’t the clean, perfectly drawn-out romance people read about in books or saw in movies. It was messy. Complicated. And yet, they had made it there—newly married and completely in love.

Standing in the middle of the room, their friend held a mic in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. Her grin promised a toast that would be anything but typical.

“As much as I’d love to pretend I’m not emotional about this... y’all know me too well,” she began, casting a cheeky look at the couple. “But first... let me just say—finally!”

A wave of laughter rippled through the guests. Y/n chuckled, nudging Lewis as he grinned wide, squeezing her shoulder. Their friend raised her glass, eyes twinkling.

“No, seriously though. I’m not gonna lie. There was a point where I thought, ‘These two? Getting married? Yeah, no way.’ But hey, life has a funny way of proving me wrong.”

The guests laughed, nodding in agreement. She looked around the room, drawing everyone in as she spoke.

“See, Lewis and Y/n... they were that couple. The one everyone’s always asking about. Like, ‘What’s going on with them? Are they together? Are they on a break? Are they—” she paused, turning to the person sitting next to her and raising her hand for dramatic effect, “Are they fine this time?’”

Everyone laughed, nodding along. Y/n exchanged a smile with Lewis, who shrugged as if to say, She’s not wrong.

“They always had this... thing, right?” their friend continued, making an animated swirl in the air with her hand. “Like, they’d walk into a room together and, boom, all eyes would go straight to them. You could tell they were just... magnetic.” She turned to Lewis’s mom, who was laughing and nodding knowingly.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on the families!” She gestured to Lewis’s mom with a playful smirk. “Carmen, you knew Y/n was family long before this day, didn’t you? You were still having your spa days with her even when these two claimed to be ‘over!’”

The room burst into laughter as Carmen raised her glass with a playful smile, shrugging unapologetically. “She’s family, with or without him.”

“And you sir,” Their friend pointed a finger at Y/n’s dad, shaking her head with a grin. “You’re just as bad. I remember calling Lewis during one of their ‘breaks’—you know, the ones we had to keep a calendar for—and he’d be like, ‘Oh, I just got off the phone with Y/n’s dad. We were talking about the race.’” She shook her head, laughing. “You all knew they weren’t fooling anyone, didn’t you?”

Y/n’s dad chuckled, glancing over at the newlyweds with a warm smile. “Some people need more time to figure things out.”

The friend shook her head with an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, who didn’t lose track at some point?” She turned to a nearby table. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever had to ask someone else if they were ‘back together’ or ‘taking a break’ this month?”

A few hands shot up in good-natured fun, the crowd’s laughter rolling even louder.

“Yep! See? Half of us here had charts,” she added dead serious. “And the funny part is, every single time they said they were ‘done,’ deep down, I think we all knew. Because no matter how ‘done’ they claimed to be, they’d somehow find a way back to each other. Every. Single. Time.”

Y/n shook her head, laughing softly as if the memories were flooding back to her—late nights of arguments, quiet moments of reconciliation, times they’d sworn it was over for good, only to realize that no one else quite fit the way Lewis did.

She paused, glancing between Lewis and Y/n, before taking a slow sip of champagne. “You two are a pair, alright. A little unpredictable a lot stubborn. But that’s what makes it funny—and honestly, kind of beautiful— because you couldn’t stay out of each other’s orbit if you tried.”

Their friend took a breath, her grin turning into a soft smile. “And as much as we all like to joke about how confusing it was trying to keep up, deep down, we all knew. Because whatever you two have... It was messy, yeah. But it’s real. And it’s the kind of love that survives the storms because you make each other better.”

Her gaze shifted to Lewis, sincerity pouring into her voice. “Now, Lewis... yeah, you’re a lot of things. A goat, some would say... but let’s be honest—when it comes to Y/n, you’re the guy who can’t help but light up when she’s around. I mean, look at you!” She waved her hand, pointing as he grinned, clearly caught.

Lewis laughed, shaking his head, but the warmth in his eyes as he glanced at Y/n was undeniable.

She then turned to Y/n, her eyes softening even more. “And Y/n, girl... don’t think I haven’t noticed how you let him in, even when you’re stubborn about it. He’s broken through those walls in a way that, frankly, I’m still kind of mad about,” she teased, winking. “He really made me share my spot as your only confidante.”

Another wave of laughter and cheers erupted, softer this time, filled with knowing looks and nods. Y/n’s hand founding Lewis’s under the table, fingers squeezing his as she took in her friend’s words.

“And it wasn’t until you both finally stopped running from this, that the rest of us got to see the magic happen,” their friend continued, leaving her glass on the table to be able to use her hands to motion to the couple.

“And now? Look at you two. You’ve found your rhythm. You’ve learned that yeah, sometimes you drive each other nuts.”

“And us too, to be honest.” She pointed out as she motioned to the rest of the guests

“Sometimes it’s not perfect, and it never will be. But that’s not the point.” She paused, letting the silence hang for a second before speaking again. “The point is... you two, you’re so blessed to be stuck with each other.”

Y/n’s breath visibly caught in her throat. She glanced at Lewis, and the warmth in his eyes met her own, creating a small, private moment between them.

“I mean, look at them, guys. There he is, looking at her with the same adoration he always had, even back when they weren’t even ‘official’. They always saw each other, didn’t they? Even when they didn’t see themselves.” Their friend chuckled as she took their little moment to get her point across, just to cease the moment and break the atmosphere with another tease.  

“Gosh, I remember when you two were in those other relationships,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously as she winked. “And they were great, don’t get me wrong... But we all knew they were temporary. Because there’s no one else out there for you two. You tried to move on, I’ll give you two that. But you were just lying to yourselves. The whole time, you were still orbiting around each other, waiting to collide.”

The crowd murmured in agreement. Everyone there had seen their journey. Everyone knew how hard they’d fought, how much they’d both been through to get to that moment.

“So yeah, you two might be a little messy sometimes” she added, a grin spreading across her face again. “But who isn’t? The important thing is... you bring out the best in each other. Lewis, you make Y/n smile like no one else can. And Y/n, you keep this man grounded in a way that nothing else ever could.”

And it was true.

Lewis was Y/n’s grounding force, the one person who could calm the storm inside her, even when she didn’t want to admit it. And she did the same for him, though he’d probably never say it out loud.

They weren’t perfect, but they were perfect for each other.

“To Lewis and Y/n. To all the highs and lows, to all the moments that got you here. And to the future, because if this crazy, beautiful love of yours has taught us anything, it’s that you’re in it for the long haul. Here’s to being blessed... and a little bit of a mess.”

The room erupted in cheers and clinks of glasses. Y/n’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she turned to Lewis, her fingers reaching for his over the table. When their hands touched, he laced his fingers with hers, giving her that same familiar squeeze he always did when words weren’t enough.

He leaned in, his voice low as he whispered against her ear “I am blessed to be stuck with you.”

Y/n smiled, blinking away the moist that had been threatening to fall. She turned to him, kissing him softly on the lips, savoring the moment.

Because their friend was right. It wasn’t always perfect. It wasn’t always easy. But it was real.

And maybe they were a little bit of a mess.

But they were each other’s mess.

And that was everything.

______________________________________________________________

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[jjkarmy091]

Second Best- Jungkook (part 6)

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Jungkook woke up around 9:30 am. The first thing he did was check his phone in case he had any notifications from Y/n, but had none. He was seriously getting worried about this lack of response. Had something happened with the person Y/n left with? If that was the case he would never be able to forgive himself. He knew he should have gone after her, he's so stupid. 

He got up, took a quick shower, got dressed, grabbed his keys and left, he couldn’t keep up with this uneasy feeling. Putting his helmet on, he drove to the coffee shop Y/n worked. He knew her shifts very well, and that was the only place he could find her. When he got there, he parked his bike, took a deep breath and got in looking everywhere for her but still no Y/n in sight. 

“Hey there moto boy. What can I get you?” Sana asked. Jungkook looked kinda confused. “I was actually looking for Y/n. Is she on her break?” Sana frowned and looked at him suspiciously. 

“You’re kidding right?” Sana exclamed. “You are always together and talk to each otherall the time when you aren’t. You can’t tell me you didn’t know she took some days off” 

The world fell at Jungkook's feet upon hearing that. Y/n took a few days off and didn't even answered to his texts or deign to call? what the fuck was going on. Jungkook nodded his head, said thank you and left, picking his phone up instantly to call Y/n. “The person you called is not available. Please try again later” 

Fuck. Me

------------ 

Y/n fell in love with that place as soon as she saw it. Everywhere she looked she she felt immense peace and everything seemed so quiet and cozy, everything to make the weight on her shoulders disappear. Upon entering the chalet, they were immediately greeted by a gentleman at the entrance who directed them to the reception.

After checking in and receive the keys, they picked up their luggage and followed the gentlemanto the elevator, who was showing them the way to their "apartment”. Y/n couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. Walking in, she’s faced with a very nice living room, with wooden walls and gray furniture. It had shelves with books, among other really cute stuff decorating the place. All very neutral and very light, exactly what she needed. On the coffee table was champagne and a plate with strawberries and chocolate with a small note saying "we hope you enjoy your stay as much as we enjoy your presence. Thanks for choosing us. Have fun" 

From the living room they went to the bedroom to organize their things. When they walked in Y/n was even more astonished. From their bed they had a view of the outside. She always loved snow and being there was filling her heart with so much happiness she wished she could live there forever.

“Where did you find this place and how can you afford it for both of us?!” Y/n exclaimed. Lisa looked at her with a funny look “My dad owns it. A benefit of traveling so much and not seeing his family for so long, not everything can be bad. I used to come here for Christmast and New year. It's crazy during those days and you know me, I love crazy and those were my favourite moments here”

Y/n laughed. Only Lisa could say something like that. 

“So… You know how to ski right?” Lisa asked out of nowhere. “Oh hell no Lisa, no way, not right now, we just got here we should—” Y/n argued back but was soon interrupted by Lisa 

“There's a snow suit in the closet on the right. We have a lot to discover we won't wait until tomorrow. You rest during the night. Come on princess, time is money” Y/n huffed while getting her suit to start putting it on.  How could Lisa have so much energy was something she couldn't understand.

They both got dressed and head out of the chalet. Y/n was amazed by the view, everything was perfect. But it’s not an adventure if something doesn't go right for Y/n. Out of nowhere she lost sight of Lisa, making her panick. She had no idea where she was.

Y/n looked around trying to see her friend but couldn’t identify anyone who would look like her. She started walking around worried about straying too far from where Lisa last saw her. Y/n was so distracted that she didn't even notice anyone coming close to her, ending up colliding with that person, causing her to lose balance and fall. The other person quickly knelt down, stretching out his hand to help her until she heard “Y/n?” 

She looked up, took the stranger's hand and straightened her hair a little, trying to understand where she recognized that voice from, until the stranger took the protective mask off his eyes and saw him.

“Taehyung?”  

Tags: @esposadomd @joonlover1207 @eegyo @furrywonderlandwolf @minghaosimp @differentrunawayperson @nikkinikj @jksusawife @11thenightwemet11 @jk97bam @11thenightwemet11 @cryingoverpixelsetc @bhonbhon @lostinneocity @almostpurplelady @meowforluv