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immoral-stranger · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 // 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Summary: “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!” — Or, in which an accident-prone girl stumbles and falls for everything, including Lando.

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem! reader

Word count: 23.2k (grab a snack)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: injuries, hospitals, surgery, scars, blood, dead parent, mention of car crash. Smut: penetrative sex, oral (f! receiving), body insecurities, very vanilla. Fluff: idiots to lovers, so much pining and scheming. Other: inaccurate timeline and made-up race results. it's fiction, folks!

A/N: Posting this then falling off the face of the earth, because this fandom is scary. Kinda unedited for now. English is not my first language! ♡

Melbourne, Australia

Lando didn’t recognise you at first. Granted, he wasn’t the best at remembering faces, but usually if he’d met someone, he would remember them the second time around. Although, this wasn’t his second time seeing you, he would later learn. It was probably close to the tenth time. It had just been some time since your last encounter. For a logical reason, he would also later learn.

Albert Park, 2024. Race day. That’s where he saw you this time. Walking down the paddock, next to Oscar and his girlfriend Jasmine, trying to keep up as the three of you made your way to the McLaren garage. Your hair getting messed up by the breeze, annoyingly sticking to your glossy lips, feet almost tripping on the seam of your baggy jeans. You were out of your element, putting on a brave smile — and Lando could tell.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring at you, from his seat on the steps up to his motorhome, until you were out of eyeshot again, somewhere in the garage. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why you were familiar and it was killing him. If you were Australian, maybe that would explain it, since Lando had no way of keeping track of all of Oscar’s old friends.

But you weren’t Australian. As he later walked into hospitality, he overheard a bubbly British accent talking to Jasmine and Oscar, an accent belonging to you. It confused him even more, really gnawed inside of him. He should know you, yet something wasn’t aligning, something wasn’t right. Oscar wouldn’t just fly anyone halfway across the globe.

It all came crashing down when he heard Jasmine ask you a simple question.

“Bunny, can you grab me a fork?”

Standing up from the table, you gave Lando a small smile as you caught his gaze, signalling that you at least knew who he was.

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny. The nickname finally made him realise, finally made him recognise you. But you weren’t the Bunny he’d met at multiple races before. You didn’t look like she did. Or, you didn’t look like you used to. Bunny was Jasmine’s childhood friend who had gotten sick, who had stopped traveling, who had stopped coming to races at all. The girl before him however, wasn’t sick. You didn’t look weak in any sense. Nervous, fidgety, and out of place, sure — but never weak.

As you were about to say a quiet hello to him as you walked past, Lando was already falling apart — socially that is. Words were stumbling out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to keep up. He cringed internally before he could even finish the sentence.

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead!”

He shocked you, that was obvious. Your eyes went wide as you struggled to say something in response.

“Lando, you can’t just say that to someone,” Oscar chuckled from a few metres back.

“I-I’m sorry, I just… didn’t recognise you,” Lando stuttered out as you still stood dumbfounded in front of him.

“You don’t think I would’ve told you if my best friend died?” Jasmine butted in, standing from the table, placing herself beside you.

She could tell that you didn’t know how to react, already expressing your nerves about how uncomfortable it would be to attend a race after not going for a very long time, afraid that people would ask too many questions.

“It’s alright, it’s been a long time,” you finally managed to say.

Then, an uncomfortable silence fell over the four of you. It was like you knew that you should explain why it had been such a long time, but you didn’t know how to do it —casually explaining the second most traumatic experience of your, thus far, relatively short life. It wasn’t casual at all, and you couldn’t even try to fake it.

“Ehm, I’ll go get that fork for you Jazz,” you broke the silence, swiftly excusing yourself to go back to the catering table.

Oscar couldn’t stop chuckling and Jasmine looked borderline offended, something she tended to do, a resting bitch-face of sorts. Lando felt like the stupidest, most socially inept person alive, mentally facepalming himself as he watched you leave. This was going to be a long day.

Lando’s race however, was frustratingly short.

You and Jasmine watched the race from the garage, surrounded by muddled mechanics, blinking monitors and loud noises. It really was a circus, a well-oiled machine, fascinating to watch. You’d forgotten how fun it could be. Also, how nerve-wracking it was to be standing next to Jasmine while her boyfriend — love of her life, light of her eye — was going 300 km/h, head to head with insanely competitive people, in big death traps.

The early races of the 2023 season that you had managed to catch in person hadn’t been too impressive, from McLaren’s standpoint. Your humble opinion was that anyone who even sat in one of those cars was more courageous and impressive than you would ever manage to be. As the last season went on, you had learnt to trust the process, but both you and Jasmine would be lying if you said that 2024 didn’t look like an even better year for the brightly papaya-coloured team you were rooting for.

With both drivers in good starting positions and Verstappen’s brakes catching fire on the third lap, Jasmine couldn’t contain her excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet next to you. Ferrari’s in the lead and McLaren fighting for that glorious third spot. It wasn’t until Lando had a chance to pass Leclerc that the castle in the air came crumbling down. Ooh’s and aah’s filled the garage as you watched the scene unfold on a monitor.

“Oh, fuck,” you said under your breath, knowing that barely anyone would be able to hear you in the crowded space. “Is it over for him?”

Jasmine had been too busy squealing over Oscar going into third that she failed to realise that it was on the cost of Lando. That was until his car came rolling into the pit lane with irreparable damage from making contact with Leclerc.

You’d seen it happen before, but that didn’t change the feeling. Your heart basically lodges itself in your throat, making you unable to breathe for a couple seconds. And then it was the aftermath… Seeing the driver leave their car, head hung low, just wanting to scream at the world in frustration but bottling it all up inside.

Leclerc wouldn’t even get a penalty, it was just how racing worked sometimes. That didn’t change the feeling of complete utter failure for Lando. You could tell that as he, with assertive steps, made his way to his driver’s room, slamming the door shut so hard that it only flew back open again.

“Bunny.” Jasmine grabbed your arm to get your attention, leaning closer so that you would hear her. “One of us has to go ask if he’s alright. He doesn’t have anyone here with him.”

“Doesn’t he have an entire team to do that?” you wondered.

Surely, they didn’t send these drivers out without having enough support from the team when something went wrong. Surely, you thought. The look on Jasmine’s face told you the opposite. The fact that no one was running after Lando to his room was also quite telling. Or maybe… they knew better than to disturb him. Maybe Jasmine was setting you up for failure by asking you to comfort someone who didn’t want to be comforted.

“He’s gonna need someone who’s not obsessed with performance and profit. Trust me, the people on this team may be nice, but they are not human when it comes to things like this,” Jasmine explained, and you took her word for it.

“Am I the best option?”

You didn’t know him. And you were awkward. But so was he… Yet, you couldn’t even get your little brother to stop crying by making him laugh or comforting him — let alone a grown man, like Lando.

“Please,” she insisted, and you could tell that she was serious. There was no point in arguing with her. Seeing the rest of the race with Oscar battling to keep his podium position would be enough of a feat for her poor emotions. She wouldn’t be able to walk away from it.

You weren’t even sure if you were allowed to walk back there, but there was also no one stopping you when you did it. Your steps were the opposite to Lando’s assertive ones as you made your way to his driver’s room. You had no idea what to expect when you reached the already open door…

… but Lando, sat on his little bench, racing suit halfway off, lazily scrolling on his phone was not it.

“I understand that I’m most definitely not the person you would want to talk to right now, but Jasmine said that you were here alone and I just wanted to ask if you’re okay,” you rambled out way too quickly.

It got his attention, looking up from his phone, but he didn’t say a word. He was mostly shocked to see that you were the first person to come talk to him. He had expected Jasmine, or maybe someone from the team that he wouldn’t want to talk to anyway. But not you. You had no reason to even be nice to him after how weird he’d been.

“Uhm, so this is me asking that,” you reminded him when his silence got too much for you.

“I’m fine,” Lando sighed, dragging his fingers through his sweaty curls, getting flashbacks of what had happened all over again.

You could tell from the look on his face that he, in fact, was not fine.

It was toxic and harmful, that his first instinct when something like this happened was to immediately check his phone to see what people were saying about it online. But he had done it anyway. And sure enough, there were people blaming him — calling him reckless and a whiny little kid, finally getting what he deserved. There were also people calling Leclerc out, but Lando somehow couldn’t focus on it.

Because the thing he saw most of when he was scrolling through twitter was your face. Maybe that was why he was even more surprised to see that it was you standing in the doorway to his room and not someone else.

“Do you know that we’ve gone viral?” he asked you, referring to the phone in his hand. He couldn’t help but let out a little laugh under his breath.

“No?”

You looked confused as Lando scooted over to make space for you to sit down beside him. You didn’t have any social media, and Lando knew. He definitely hadn’t tried to look you up after your encounter earlier to see why on earth he hadn’t recognised you. It had gotten him nowhere. You had no accounts of your own and Jasmine hadn’t posted any photos of you. He had stopped himself before searching up old paddock photos. So, it wasn’t a surprise that you didn’t know about the video that was circulating around right now.

“Apparently, someone was filming when I said that I thought you had died. It’s quite a funny clip,” he clarified, tilting his phone to show you the screen.

He watched as you looked at the clip, a gentle giggle leaving your mouth at how ridiculous it was. Your smile then turned into concern, seeing the amount of interactions the post had earned.

“Is that not bad publicity for you?”

“I don’t care about that,” Lando said honestly. “But I am truly sorry for saying that to you.”

Thinking someone had died was a new low even for him, and saying it to your face was just unexplainable behaviour. Yet, he still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognised you. Sure, he knew that you had been sick and then… probably gotten well again? But did that change your appearance? Maybe he just hadn’t really looked at you before.

“I can’t blame you, Lando — I probably looked dead the last time you saw me,” you laughed.

You couldn’t remember exactly when it was, sometime mid last season. Right before it got really bad, but while your condition was stable enough for you to go to races. Maybe it was Silverstone. You had a vague memory of seeing Lando on that podium. You knew that you had looked horrible either way. When you thought about it, maybe Lando had never seen you completely healthy.

“There was something wrong with your lungs, right?” he asked, wondering if he was remembering things correctly.

“Just the left one. I had spontaneous pneumothorax three times in a year,” you explained, earning a confused look from Lando before adding, “Collapsed lung, basically air was leaking from the lung out into my chest.”

He raised his eyebrows as you spoke. You made it sound a lot more trivial than what he assumed it was.

It happening one time wasn’t actually that uncommon. Apparently, lungs collapsed right, left, and centre. It was usually a quite easy fix as well, not even something that required surgery. But when it happened to you, that third time — it was obvious that the problem was much larger. There was multiple surgeries and constant checkups. There were ugly scars and never-ending breathing exercises.

It was a lot, for anyone. Even worse for someone just about to graduate from their bachelor’s programme. Your life had fallen apart, to say the least, and it wasn’t something you gladly talked about, so making it sound trivial was your way of coping. If Lando realised that was another question.

“And I’m sat here moping about a DNF,” he heard himself mumble before realising how insensitive that might’ve come across. “But you’re okay now?”

“One final checkup left, practically as good as new,” you said, putting on a smile. “You do know that it’s not comparable though, right?”

Lando didn’t understand at first, so you kept on speaking.

“Me, having a life threatening medical condition — and you, having a bad day at work?”

Maybe you were the one sounding insensitive now, knowing full well that his work wasn’t normal in any way, shape, or form. But that was the opposite of your intentions, so you kept on rambling to try and save yourself.

“You’re allowed to be selfish and angry about something going wrong in your life without thinking about how other people might have it worse,” you added. “Because let’s be honest, someone is always going to be in a worse situation. That doesn’t take away from your right to feel things about what’s happening in your life.”

What had happened with Leclerc was shitty as fuck and if you were Lando, you’d be crying, cursing everyone and their mothers that even had a slight connection to Ferrari. But you weren’t a professional race car driver. You were an emotional young woman. What you were trying to say was that Lando had a right to even be a fraction more emotional than what he was showing right now.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lando answered simply after a moment of silence.

He wasn’t used to people telling him he had a right to be emotional. He’d been told since he was a child by people in the industry that being a whiny little kid would get him nowhere. Maybe you had a point. Whatever he was doing now to deal with his emotions (which was ignoring them completely), obviously wasn’t working with how he was feeling inside.

“You don’t have to say anything to me if you don’t want to, just allow yourself to feel, because even I can tell that you’re shutting yourself out and I don’t even know you.”

Your voice was soft as you spoke. Your accent reminded him of the people he grew up around. That was something he hadn’t realised before. He was starting to think that he had been completely self-absorbed all the other times he’d met you. You were almost… pretty, when you sat there next to him in ugly fluorescent lighting. Maybe it was the way you seemed to actually care that made his brain a little mushy.

You were scared to cross a line with him by saying too much, so you decided to retreat. Standing up from the bench, creating more space between you, you took a stance in the doorway again. It felt like you couldn’t breathe in his tiny little room.

“I should probably go back to see how Oscar is doing,” you said, signalling with your hand to the garage.

Lando looked up at you with big eyes, nodding understandingly. You could almost visibly see how he was holding back from telling you that he was, in fact, not okay.

You really had no business pushing him to say something to you. But, something inside of you was calling you a coward for not even giving it a try. For not even giving it a second chance, trying to make him feel better about himself. It all reminded you a little all too well of something that your mother always used to tell you. Fuck it.

“My mum taught me to always linger in doorways for a couple extra seconds before leaving someone,” you said, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the mere thought of how stupid this was. “That’s usually when people get to thinking about things they haven’t had the courage to say yet, since you never know when you’re next going to see the person.”

You were over-explaining it, pressing your nails into the soft skin of your palms as you got nervous. You were trying to say that you always resolved to leave people feeling better than they did before you talked to them.

Lando cracked a small smile as he watched you stumble over your words. He had now decided that you were pretty, standing in the doorway, your gaze oscillating between him and the floor.

“I’ll ask one more time and then I’ll go — Lando, are you okay?”

“No,” he sighed. He couldn’t hide it. “But I will be.”

“It’s never okay after something like that happens. I keep on blaming myself for things I have no power over, but that’s got to stop at some point, right? I have to learn at some point,” he continued, voice coming across as slightly defeated.

You recognised his mentality, Oscar usually said something similar after experiencing a setback. You still didn’t understand how he wasn’t more visibly upset, yet you now knew that he was harbouring it all inside. It made you feel better that he had actually said it out lout — that he wasn’t fine. You also felt a little bit worse, getting the feeling that his self-deprecation was far more severe than you originally thought. He blamed himself without good reason.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to say the right thing now, but for what it’s worth, I’m so impressed by you,” you admitted truthfully, hoping you weren’t showing pity. He was actually such an inspiration, such an idol. Even when he sat there, looking like he had run through hell and back, fighting his brain to not feel sorry for himself.

“Have I done enough lingering to make my mother proud, you think?” you joked, tilting your head while you looked at him.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’ll join you out there in a minute.”

Oscar had secured his third position and his first home race podium. Getting to see him up on that podium, covered head to toe in champagne was so special to you. Even though you were Jasmine’s friend first, you had really grown to love Oscar during their years of dating. Although, Lando never managed to make his way to the celebrations, something that lingered in the back of your mind.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to say the right thing — to make him feel better about himself. That was more than most people did. He was used to people sucking up to him, but this was different. This was honest. You had no reason to be nice to him. You had no reason to even give him your time of day. But you did it anyway. Lando didn’t even think to say thank you before you left. He should’ve, because you were right. He didn’t know the next time he would see you, hell with your track record you might actually be dead tomorrow, and it was a shame if you didn’t know that your words had helped.

Lando wasn’t sure how long he stayed in his room, sitting on that uncomfortable little bench. Letting his thoughts get the best of him while simultaneously trying to think of what you’d said to him. That he should feel, that he should think this through. He was just hoping that what he was feeling was healing more than it was self-destructing.

He stopped spiralling when Oscar came back to his room to change, just next to Lando’s. He was covered in champagne, exuding pure joy of getting a home race podium. While Lando was happy for his teammate, trying his best to give him a heartfelt congratulations, he also couldn’t stop thinking about how that trophy could’ve been his. The first one of the season.

What Lando didn’t know was that Oscar was very much aware of all of this, having learnt how to read his teammate’s expressions quite well after spending so much time together. He knew that Lando took defeat harder, or at least he showed it more clearly than Oscar ever did. He also knew that he needed someone to… turn on the faucet for him, making him feel like it was okay to spew out feelings about how the race had gone, without judging him for what he might say.

“Did Jasmine come check on you?” Oscar asked, leaning in the doorway to Lando’s room.

Lando would never be able to look the same way at a person standing in a doorway without thinking about what you had said about lingering, staying for a couple extra seconds.

“No, uhm, Bunny did,” he replied, feeling himself smile for some reason. He felt odd using your nickname, as he had no idea where it originated from. Yet, it was just so you.

“What was that look?” Oscar laughed. Lando’s smile wasn’t just a normal one. Oscar could almost guess what had happened, that was just the kind of person you were.

“She’s different from when I last met her,” Lando explained, feeling heat rise to his face as he wondered just about how transparent his emotions actually were. “Oscar, she’s trouble.”

“This is about to be hilarious, isn’t it?”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Greater London, UK

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t have to wait long to see you again. On a week without racing, he decided on a whim to stay in England for a couple of days longer than planned after debriefing at the MTC. It was someone’s birthday — a mechanic, an engineer — he really didn’t know, but a bunch of people from the team ended up in a pub, drinking to their hearts’ content. It was nice, but most of all, it was relaxing. It wasn’t Monaco, where everyone had their eyes on him as soon as he stepped outside. He could blend in better with the masses here.

As could Oscar. Lando had never really seen Oscar drunk before. Apart from now. Putting him in a cab alone and sending him home wasn’t an option when the poor lad could barely stand on his own. That’s how Lando ended up in his and Jasmine’s shared flat. Even helping Oscar up the stairs had been a mission, especially since Lando wasn’t that sober either. It was alright, they were young and without responsibilities for the rest of that week at least. The team leaders didn’t even have to know…

“Bunny is in the guest room, but you can stay on the couch if you want,” he heard Jasmine say from the kitchen, getting Oscar a glass of water, as Lando had just watched her wrestle him to bed. Jasmine was a short woman, but when she set her mind to something, she could move mountains. Or, her boyfriend.

It took Lando’s inebriated brain a concerning amount of time to figure out that Bunny meant you. You were Bunny. And he liked you. Or he thought so. He liked the picture of you that he had built up in his head after your conversation in his driver’s room.

He wasn’t sure what you were doing here. Maybe you and Jasmine had a girls’ night when Oscar was away. He didn’t actually know that much about you, even less so when his brain was compromised by alcohol.

Lando thought he was being sneaky as he walked over to the guest room, where the door stood ajar, but the wooden floors creaked beneath his feet. He could spot your head of hair peeping out from under the sheets, shoulders covered by a papaya-coloured shirt that he assumed was originally Oscar’s. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t sleeping.

“Lando, I can feel you staring,” you almost whispered, cracking a smile but still not opening your eyes.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling ashamed.

You reached out to turn on the lamp that stood on the nightstand. Lando watched as you sat up in bed to get a better view of him, looking amused as soon as you caught his gaze. “Drunk?”

“A little.”

“Did you two have fun?”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen Oscar this drunk before,” Lando said, letting out a soft laugh. He’d been like Bambi on ice getting out of the cab and up the stairs. It was certainly a bonding experience between teammates. “Jasmine had to wrestle him to bed.”

The shirt looked huge on you, it was too big to even be Oscar’s. That was a nicer thought, for Lando. As you sat up, the sheets pooled at your waist, with a bare leg sticking out on the side. For a second, it struck him that you probably had no trousers on.

No, nope, look at her face Lando.

Your face was bare. If he stared long enough he would probably start counting your birthmarks and imperfections. It almost looked freshly washed. Maybe you and Jasmine had done face masks. He didn’t really know what a girls’ night entailed.

“Your hair is shorter.”

Lando said it out loud the moment he realised it. His drunk brain didn’t let him keep anything in.

“It was easier to manage while I was back at the hospital,” you explained, on instinct reaching up to touch it.

“Fuck, right, the surgery!”

Oscar had told him about it and Lando had somehow forgotten. He could blame the alcohol for now. You only having one checkup left and being practically as good as new had been too good to be true.

“Uh, how did it go?”

“Simple checkup turned into an emergency surgery and two weeks in a hospital bed.” You shrugged, as if you had told him what you had eaten for dinner, not showing any signs of how awful it had truly been. “But I survived.”

Lando nodded. “That’s good, I guess. Scary, but good that you’re good.”

How many times could he use the word ’good’ in one sentence?

The both of you turned silent after that, unsure of what to say next. You watched him as he stood in the doorway, his feet tentatively moving as his eyes flickered around the room. You started to smile as you realised what he was doing.

“Is this you lingering in the doorway?”

“I think so,” Lando shyly admitted. “Is it working?”

You chuckled, still smiling all sleepily at him like what he had said was funny, or special. It made Lando’s heart hurt and his cheeks burn.

Truth be told, you could’ve used some lingering right now. You had talked to your father and to Jasmine of course, but you still felt like you had this pressure over your chest for things you hadn’t said.

You could’ve told him about how you’d gone alone to the hospital because you’d thought it would be quick, but ended up getting prepped and rushed into surgery before anyone you knew even had time to make it there to be with you. There had been no one there to hold your hand.

You could’ve told him about the scar on your chest that was now worse than ever before. It was larger, more red, and way more noticeable. You’d cried trying on shirts before going to dinner with Jasmine tonight, which you hadn’t had the heart to tell her about. You’d wanted to cancel the entire thing, before sucking it up and putting on a turtleneck.

You could’ve talked about it for ages, knowing that maybe he would listen. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not right now. Not to him.

“I think we should both go to sleep, Lando,” you said, yawning comically loud as you turned off the light before falling back on the mattress.

Lando didn’t push you. Instead, he chuckled and said a soft goodnight. He knew he maybe should’ve pushed you to talk. He sensed that he could’ve done it. But it also didn’t feel like the right time. Not when he was drunk. Not when you were tired.

His eyes longed on you for a couple extra seconds, you looked adorable with the sheets practically swallowing you whole. He then walked back into the kitchen where Jasmine was standing, putting wine glasses into a display cabinet. Maybe you weren’t entirely sober either.

He took a seat at the kitchen island, slouching over as he rested his face in his hands. Jasmine smiled at him, tilting her head to the side as if to silently ask him if something was wrong.

“Jasmine, has she always looked like that?” Lando said, unsure of what he was even asking.

“Bunny?” Jasmine questioned, leaning her elbows on the counter, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion.

“She looks different from when I first met her.”

Maybe you just weren’t sick anymore. Maybe Lando had just been a right idiot the other times he’d met you and not properly cared to look at you. Maybe you had been shy and he had been self-obsessed. Maybe it didn’t matter what had happened before.

“Well, for a start, she has two working lungs now,” she argued, a laugh slipping out under her breath as if what she said was obvious. “Got the colour back in her skin and gained some healthy weight, I think.”

Lando hummed in response. It made sense. You did look different. That was the only sane explanation as to why you were constantly on his mind.

“Why did you ask?”

She looked at him for an answer, her eyes staring him down, searching for eye contact that he wasn’t able to hold. He couldn’t help but turn to the side so that she wouldn’t see how pink his face was.

“Holy shit, you like her!”

Jasmine let out a gasp as she realised, having to contain herself to not squeal and wake the entire building. Lando had nothing to say all of a sudden, his drunkenness not showing at all.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

He quickly stood up to go to the bathroom, ignoring her question and hiding his dumbstruck smile.

“Goodnight Jasmine.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt your hands grow sweaty against the stack of papers you held in them. The costume looked nice — almost too nice to be on your body. Beautiful, sparkly platform heels. Delicate lace and trims on the dress. The corset showed off a waist you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t you, so thank god you were acting like someone else.

“Go on, Magenta. Say your next line,” Jasmine urged you from her spot on the bed in your childhood room. The old canopy and fairy lights that decorated your bed made her look ethereal in a way.

There was something heartfelt, seeing your oldest friend in that room again, now a whole lot older than when the two of you would play with dolls on your floor. When you dropped out of university, you had to move back in with your dad and little brother. It hadn’t been awful, but not ideal either.

Magenta was the character you were playing in your local theatre's production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You’d been part of the crew at the little theatre for most of your life and now, when you had no classes to worry about and no summer job lined up for you — being part of a musical over the summer seemed like the perfect waste of time. You were going back to university in the autumn, so you felt like you had a chance to have some fun this summer.

“…to sing and dance once more to your dark refrains. To take that step to the right...”

Magenta was the opposite of you. She was bold, and sexy. She had a sultry voice and was dressed in a stereotypical maid costume. Showing off both legs and cleavage. It was a fun change, but a scary one too.

“But it's the pelvic thrust… That really drives you insane?”

Jasmine couldn’t keep a straight face as she acted like your counterpart, starting to giggle like a schoolgirl, trying not to get told off by the teacher for laughing. The lines made no sense to her.

“And our World will do The Time Warp again — Jazz, you’re not focusing!” you exclaimed, joining her laugher as you fell on the bed next to her, ruffling the huge amount of decorative pillows you had on there.

“This was so much easier when you were doing Moulin Rouge, because then I at least understood the plot,” Jasmine scoffed as she looked over the manuscript, leaning into your shoulder as you both relaxed into the pile of pillows.

“What do you meeean your character is a maid who is also an alien? Babe, why are they going to space?” she continued, gesticulating wildly with her hands at the pages.

“It’s camp, Jazz. Or maybe just written by someone on acid,” you laughed.

Rocky Horror was not the simplest of musicals to explain to someone who had never heard of it before. It was camp, and queer, and rock’n’roll. There were aliens, and virgins, and a man in golden underwear. It was a nightmare — and the most fun thing one could imagine.

“Who have you invited for the opening night? I’m so sorry again that we can’t come,” Jasmine asked, turning over to lay on her back, staring up at the fairy lights.

The premiere was only weeks away at this point, but you had known for awhile that Oscar and her were busy celebrating her parents wedding anniversary on the same exact date. She had kept on apologising and you had kept on telling her that is wasn’t that big of a deal. They could come on the second weekend, or the third, or any weekend during the entire summer. It didn’t matter to you.

“Don’t apologise,” you reassured her. “I haven’t invited anyone. Dad has to go with Matteo to his first ever football game.”

Matteo was your little brother. He was the sweetest kid you knew, albeit biased. He was also the most anxious kid you knew, so you could already guess that performing well during his game would be important to him. Your father had to be there, even for your own sanity.

“But you need someone there, cheering you on. This is a big deal!”

It really wasn’t. You’d done it alone before.

“Jazz, Matteo is 10. He needs dad there more than I do,” you remarked.

“I didn’t just mean your dad. You need someone there in general, Bunny.”

You really didn’t. You’d done a lot of things without someone holding your hand along the way.

“Lando should be in England on that day, y’know, some MTC thing,” Jasmine hinted, her gaze catching yours.

You thought you heard her wrong at first. She never talked about Lando casually. From what you had gathered, he and Oscar hadn’t even been that close up until the start of this season. Now, you knew that they hung out, but what did that have to do with you and your little musical?

“Huh? That’s just absurd. He would hate it.”

If you were allowed to be judgmental for a moment, you would assume that Lando had never seen a musical in his life. Let alone something as weird as Rocky Horror. You also didn’t understand at all why he should come watch you, on his own. That would honestly just make you feel like the joke was on you.

“I think he likes you,” she commented plainly, as if it was clear as day and not at all something from her wildest imagination.

She might as well have been speaking Greek. You did not understand Greek.

“Why would he like me?” you squeaked, your eyes going wide.

“You’re hot and funny, maybe a bit odd, but people like that. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

“I’m sat here flipping pages of a manuscript, while he is flipping some model over in bed,” you expressed, throwing your copy of the script at her.

Maybe that was harsh. You didn’t know Lando well enough to say something like that with confidence. But, you did know yourself well enough to say that you weren’t his type.

“So, what? He could flip you over!”

You snorted in response, hiding your laugh. Jasmine was being ridiculous right now.

“It’s like you lost all your confidence when you got sick,” she said, her voice suddenly softened. “Remember our trip to Malaga? That Bunny would’ve jumped on his dick without thinking twice.”

It was crazy how she could make your trip to Malaga sound sentimental, or like an old memory of how you used to be. Malaga had been anything but orthodox. A group of teenage girls — too young to be drinking, making questionable decisions and racking up their body counts.

“I guess I grew up, Jasmine. I also shouldn’t do something reckless with Oscar’s teammate.” You shrugged, standing up, ready to be over with this conversation and to start rehearsing again.

“That is if he actually fancied me, which he does not,” you decided.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t know what he was doing. When he sneakily asked Oscar if he was doing something after their meetings, he had really been thinking about you. In his mind, maybe they could’ve done something the four of them, so it wouldn’t be as obvious that it was you he wanted to see again.

But Oscar had an anniversary dinner to go to with Jasmine. And you — you were in some off off-West End musical. He really had to get to know you better, because that was not something he would have ever imagined about you.

Not that he was imagining you doing things…

Oscar had told him to go. Lando had questioned his entire existence.

Yet, he still somehow ended up outside of the small theatre on a Friday night. He wasn’t even sure if he was technically still in London, that’s how remote the little community he was in felt. Going out clubbing with Max was his plan B, if this turned out to be as ridiculous as it sounded.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show — that was what the poster outside said. Nothing but a big pair of messily painted red lips were on it. He had no idea what he was in for and Google hadn’t been much help. It looked like a mixture of the story about Frankenstein’s monster and a drag queen show.

He was early, arriving right in the middle of the final dress rehearsal. Something that Oscar had recommended he did, to not get recognised as much and to be able to leave swiftly if he turned out to absolutely hate it. Lando wondered how much of an avid musical-goer Oscar was, or maybe he had just gone to yours.

The theatre was small, probably not more than a hundred seats. It was classic looking, with red velvet chairs and heavy curtains lining the stage. He slid into one of the seats at the very back, looking with anticipation at the stage. The room was maybe filled to one third with what he mostly assumed were the cast’s friends and family.

The stage was decorated with delicately handmade props. It showed a grand hall with checkered flooring, a wooden staircase at the back. Multiple odd sculptures and a wonky replica of the Mona Lisa. All under bright red lighting.

Lando didn’t even have time to take it all in before actors entered the stage.

“Are you having a party?” said a girl in a baby pink dress and a comically blonde wig. Her voice was so high and brittle that it was almost annoying.

“You’ve arrived on a rather special night. It’s one of the master’s affairs,” answered a man with a fake hunchback, his long white hair making him look nothing but creepy.

“Oh, lucky him,” said the girl again.

That’s when he heard a voice he recognised. A voice belonging to you. Sliding down the bannister of the stairs, you whipped an old-timey feather duster around.

“You're lucky. He's lucky. I'm lucky. We're all lucky!” you practically yelled as you made your way to the girl, who looked positively terrified by you. Her looser boyfriend (Lando assumed), who stood by her side looked even more frightened.

It had been two minutes and Lando already rooted for the weird people — meaning you and the man with the hunchback. You were in what he would call a… slutty maid costume. Except it wasn’t slutty; it was more artful. What was he even thinking?

Your wig was large and curly, the dark red colour of it suited you well. Your makeup was dramatic, and your entire costume was covered in silver sequins and glitter. You were not the nervous, out-of-her-element girl that he had seen in Australia a couple months ago. Right now, you were acting completely like someone else. And you were damn good at it.

Much like he imagined a musical to be, the conversation immediately turned into song. The Time Warp, he had heard of that one before. The stage flooded with an ensemble of dancers, dressed in tuxedos. The plot of this musical was still something completely alien. Maybe it barely had a plot.

Lando couldn’t decide if he loved it or hated it. He felt like maybe that was the entire point of the show. Like it was supposed to be annoying, but also so colourful and odd that you couldn’t help but be amazed by it.

Even with so much happening on stage, all he could focus on was you. You didn’t dance or sing like someone who’d injured her lungs not that long ago. You performed like you loved it, having a hard time hiding your smile even if your character was more of a moody type.

Lando, too, found himself smiling. He was astonished by how such a small production still could archive basically perfection. The singing, the choreography — it was like watching something prerecorded. It had to be a passion project for all of you, because he wasn’t sure small theatre productions were the most lucrative thing.

At the end of the number, the dance ended with everyone falling to the floor. That’s when it happened, when he for the first time in the performance, heard something that didn’t sound like perfection. No, that was the sound of someone in pain.

His eyes tried to find you in the pile of bodies on the stage.

You’d practiced it a million times. Falling over �� gracefully that is — in high heels wasn’t the easiest of tasks. But never once before had it hurt like his. A stinging pain that never ended, so you couldn’t help but scream. It gathered everyone’s attention, quickly stopping the act and flicking on the normal lights.

A broken ankle. Your broken ankle and your yelping voice. It hurt like hell.

You could see how the people around you started to panic, talking about a first aid kit and getting a stand-in ready to take your place. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, your eyes filled up with tears, clouding your vision.

God, you would pass out if this pain didn’t stop.

Lando watched it all unfold from his seat. Seeing you sat in the middle of the stage, clenching your hands over your foot, tears falling down your cheeks, taking your mascara with them.

Ironically, something started to hurt inside of Lando, and he didn’t know how to react. Could he sneak out so you wouldn’t have known he was here? No, no. He was going to see if he could be of any help. That was the only right thing to do. In seconds, he had left his seat and started to march down to the stage.

“Lando?”

Your voice was pathetic. Your tears clogged your throat and you felt ashamed, so fucking ashamed.

You knew that Jasmine had talked to Oscar, and that Oscar had talked to Lando. But seeing him by the edge of the stage, a worried look on his face, wasn’t something you actually thought would happen. You did not understand why he would’ve wanted to come.

“Is your foot okay? The fall looked pretty bad,” Lando said as he crouched down in front of you, looking more at your face than at your ankle so as not to scare you more than what was already inevitable.

“You saw me fall? Oh fuck, why are you even here?” you groaned in pain.

You didn’t mean for it to come across as rude — you just didn’t have much of a choice over your emotions right now. It was nice that he was there, so fucking nice.

“Oscar told me to come — I mean, I wanted to come too,” he emphasised.

Lando didn’t exactly know how to help you now that he had waltzed up on the stage like some knight in shining armour. He looked around to see a man in his mid-thirties come forward with a bright red first aid kit. He tried not to raise his eyebrows too much at the man — dressed in his costume, looking like if Elvis Presley had been in a motorcycle gang.

The man tried not to look too much at Lando either — having known you most of your life and never once seen you bring a boy to the theatre.

“Darling, that’s broken,” the man said as soon as he got a view of your ankle.

Lando could’ve said the same thing.

“No, it’s not Eddie. Just bruised I think,” you tried to tell yourself, and Eddie.

Eddie, whose character in the musical coincidentally was also named Eddie, was your on-sight medic, working as a nurse when he was not busy acting and singing in his studded leather vest and greaser-like hairstyle.

Bruising meant you could suffer through it. Broken meant spending the summer in a cast and missing every single one of your performances. That’s what you got for wanting to have a fun, selfish summer for once in your life.

“Bunny, I don’t know how to tell you this in a nicer way — but it’s broken,” Eddie persisted, rummaging through the first aid kit for something to help with the pain.

“B-but the show…”

You said it quietly, but Lando heard. Your voice was heartbreaking.

It showed how much this meant to you, and he realised now that you were probably embarrassed. He drew parallels to his own life and career, and how much a clumsy mistake could leave its marks for a long time forward. Even if this was only a hobby, it was still important.

“I can wrap it up for you, but it won’t heal unless you go to a hospital,” he continued, not waiting for an answer before he began to gently move your foot.

You whimpered in pain, biting down on your lower lip to not scream as it shifted. Grasping for just about anything to hold on to, you found Lando’s hand. You didn’t have time to think it through, but Lando had a lifetime.

Your nails were painted black to match your costume, and your hand felt so small and cold in his own, yet you were strong as hell as you gripped his fingers in pain. He suffered through it, knowing that what you were feeling was a million times worse.

Eddie wrapped your ankle in a tight bandage. Lando could tell that he’d done it before. Some girl had found a bag of frozen peas in the staffroom freezer, that he then strapped over it to ease the pain. By the look on your face, it did absolutely nothing.

“I’ll drive you to A&E,” Lando offered without thinking twice. He could see Max some other time.

Then it was the trouble of getting you down the stage and out of the building. Eddie throwing you over his shoulder could’ve maybe worked, but you had this thing called dignity.

So, with one arm around Lando and the other one around Eddie, you hopped your way out of there on one foot, cursing Mother Earth herself every time you accidentally touched the ground with the injured one.

“You’re supposed to go to a UTC with broken bones,” you pointed out when you remembered it, feeling the need to correct Lando.

“You’ve broken a bone before?” Lando asked.

Eddie didn’t have to ask because he already knew about your history with hospitals.

“Twice. My wrist once from falling off a trampoline, and a finger from shutting a car door on it,” you explained.

“You’re a walking emergency, aren’t you?” Lando said, like he was joking.

It wasn’t really a joke to you anymore, though.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you mumbled, thinking he wouldn’t hear you.

But he did, and it got him thinking.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you got out to the parking lot. In your periphery, you could see how Eddie’s jaw dropped. A bright orange McLaren was not what you had expected to see, but then again, you couldn’t have said what you expected instead. The man was a Formula 1 driver, for Christ's sake.

Eddie kept his mouth shut, but the look he gave you said something along the lines of you have a lot to explain, young lady. You would have no idea how to explain how you ended up here, even if you wanted to tell him.

“Lando…” you said to get his attention. “I don’t think I can get in this car without it hurting like hell.”

“I borrowed it for the weekend. I didn’t think—” he stopped himself, unsure of how to continue.

I didn’t think you would break a bone and I’d have to drive you?

Yeah, no. He couldn’t say that.

“I was about to tell you to just shove me in the backseat, but it doesn’t even have one,” you tried to joke, earning small smiles from both Lando and Eddie.

Just as getting out of the building, slow and steady won the race. Only this time, you weren’t only cursing Mother Earth but Lando and Eddie too, blaming them for whenever your foot nudged something. You hoped they could take it lightheartedly because you weren’t angry or mad at them. You were angry at yourself.

“You, young man — take care of our best performer, okay?” Eddie said to Lando as he shut the door on your side.

You scoffed at his wording. He knew he didn’t need to take on the role as a protective older brother-like figure in your life, but you kind of liked it when he did. Lando probably met a lot of important and intimidating people with his choice of career, yet Eddie felt different. He had no actual influence, but he had a heart that cared for you. Lando couldn’t joke that away.

“I will, sir.”

The UTC was relatively calm for a Friday evening, so you didn’t have to wait long until you were rushed into a room to be assessed and treated. Nurse after nurse who saw your ankle said the same thing, get x-rays, evaluate, and hope it’s not surgical.

Lando didn’t say much, only helping you explain what had happened when your pain made you unable to form coherent sentences. He stayed by your side, though. You had half-expected him to leave as soon as you got there, making up some excuse about being busy.

But he never did.

You even had to convince him to leave to get your bag that you had left in his car. He was unsure about leaving you alone the first couple of times you mentioned it.

But you wanted to get your makeup off, and fix your hair which had been left a mess after you’d taken the wig off. You’d thought about that part, but the maid’s costume was still on your body. At least the nurses got a good laugh out of it — a barefoot, glittery maid with makeup smeared all over her face and a packet of peas strapped to her ankle.

When you were rolled off to get x-rays taken, Lando finally agreed to go outside and get it. It wasn’t like he was allowed to go with you anyway.

“Thank you,” you said as he handed you the bag. “The x-rays will take a while, but the doctor said it is most likely a simple fracture and I will only need a cast.”

You immediately took out a makeup wipe and a comb. The braids you had on under the wig were starting to feel very stiff, giving you a headache. Or maybe you were just tense because of all the other pain you were feeling.

“That’s good.” He nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Did they give you anything for the pain?”

You giggled a little, rolling your eyes, overplaying how loopy you were. “Can you already tell?”

“Just a little.” He pinched his fingers, showing just how little. “Do you want help with that?”

“You don’t have to—” you tried to tell him, but his hands had already undone one of the hair ties, his fingers moving gently to separate the braided hair.

He scooted behind you to reach better as you continued to take off the makeup, the wipe quickly turning a messy mixture of red and black with how much product was actually on your face. Stage makeup was no joke. His fingers through your hair sent shivers down your spine, but you tried not to think too much about it. He was just being nice. That’s all he’d been the entire evening.

“You probably have better things to do on a Friday night,” you mumbled.

Lando shook his head, and then he figured you couldn’t see it as he sat behind you.

“I called Oscar when I went out. He said he would tell your parents.”

“Parent. My mother’s not alive,” you whispered. “But that’s good, I guess. Did Oscar say anything else?”

You didn’t give Lando any time to think or ask about what you had said. That was on purpose. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, with every possible sentence coming to mind feeling insensitive or way too pitiful.

“No, not really,” Lando replied.

That Oscar had made fun of him, for getting to play a knight in shining armour as you were a damsel in distress, was something he opted out of telling you.

“He didn’t say that this was typical of me?” you muttered, rubbing your face in obvious distress.

Lando was done undoing the braids so he could move to see your face again, seeing it streaky and glittery from you having wiped off the makeup without a mirror at hand. He reached for a clean wipe, his eyes silently asking you if it was okay if he helped.

“I just… I can’t fucking believe it.” You exhaled from your nose as he wiped your undereyes clean from glitter.

“It’s always like this,” you continued, showing frustration. “Whenever I’m about to accomplish something in life, I always get injured.”

“I don’t believe that—”

You cut him off by explaining, “Well, I fucked up my lungs right as I was about to graduate.”

“You didn’t fuck them up. Things like that just happen,” Lando interjected.

“I lost my voice on the second show the last time I did a musical. Had to give up a leading role for one that was just dancing, no singing,” you counter-argued, proving that it wasn’t just some one-time thing.

Lando looked at you, waiting to see if you could come up with more examples before he told you that it wasn’t fate that got you injured. They were coincidences.

“My wrist was broken when I took my A-level exams, that was hell on earth,” you said, raising a finger of conviction. “Oh, and I had appendicitis on my 18th birthday. Jasmine still hates me for that one because I ruined a girl’s trip.”

“Is there more?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

You snorted out a laugh as another one came to mind. “I got a nosebleed when I lost my virginity. It didn’t stop bleeding for like three hours.”

Lando pursed his lips to not laugh, but he couldn’t keep it in for long. “I’m sorry for laughing, but the picture in my head is really funny.”

In hindsight, it was quite funny. At the time, however, it was the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I was going to say that probably everyone experiences these sort of setbacks, but… I don’t know anymore,” he tried to comfort.

“I think I might just be cursed, Lando,” you huffed, locking eyes with him again.

You both went quiet for a couple seconds as he took in your expression. A gaze so hollow, it didn’t matter that you were trying to hide it with a smile. The smile was blacked out anyway.

He didn’t understand how you could talk to him and reassure him without making it sound like you were second-guessing things, or ever feeling unsure of what your words meant — but as soon as the subject was switched to regard yourself, you were suddenly cold. Or not really cold at all, but just not as warm as you were when you talked about other people.

Your staring contest was interrupted by a young boy saying your name. A man came shortly after him into the small hospital room. Lando assumed it was your father and little brother, as he stood up from the bed to introduce himself. And to make some space between the two of you, since you were sitting suspiciously close together.

The boy got shy as soon as he saw Lando. He looked a lot like you, with the same coloured hair and the same big doe eyes, only he was clad in a green football kit. Your father was wearing a matching one to show support.

“Hi Matteo,” you called out as your brother walked past Lando to immediately get to you. He was like that — shy with people he didn’t know and anxious to talk to them. So you saved him, by talking to him as you saw Lando shake your father’s hand. That wasn’t awkward at all.

“How did the game go?” you asked, ruffling his sweaty hair as you invited him to sit next to you on the bed.

Matteo started talking, all excited about how they’d won and that he had gotten an assist. Pretty solid for a first game, he thought. You were mostly glad that he had a good time and that he seemed to get along well with the other boys on the team. He didn’t have it easy making friends because of his shyness.

Lando overheard the conversation, taking notice of how you had asked him how it went and not if he had won. It was those little things that made you different, made the way you talked to people so much more worth it. You were so fucking lovely, and you seemed to have no idea about it.

Your father had recognised him, but Lando couldn’t tell if that was only because of Oscar or if he cared about racing.

With your family there, Lando started to feel excessive. He couldn’t exactly argue his case for wanting to stay right there in front of you, and your father. He guessed it wasn’t too late to still catch up with Max, but a part of him almost didn’t want to do it.

No, he had to leave. He couldn’t explain his reason out loud.

As he said his goodbye, he met your eyes from his position in the doorway. He didn’t have much to say to you, or maybe he had so much to say that his brain couldn’t find what was most important. His shoes almost felt sticky against the sterile hospital flooring, something glueing him to the spot.

“Will I see you at Silverstone?” Lando decided to ask before leaving.

“Uh… maybe? I’ll have to talk to Oscar,” you said unsure, still sat in the bed with your arm around Matteo.

“Can I come this time?” he whispered, looking up at you.

You were shocked by his question. He’d never asked to come before. But it wasn’t really up to you if he could or not. It was always someone else getting you race passes, so you were in no position to be greedy.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort you out,” Lando hurried to say, seeing the uncertainty on your face.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you… for everything.”

For showing up, for driving you, for staying. He’d done so much that he didn’t need to do. Maybe Jasmine was correct. Maybe he didn’t just see you as her friend that he had to be civil to. Or maybe, he’d been dealt really bad cards tonight and had no option but to comply. Otherwise, he would be seen as a complete dickhead.

Lando nodded, pursing his lips into a smile, staying in the doorway for a moment too long, before finally walking away. You didn’t notice him doing it, but someone else certainly did.

“Bunny…” your father said.

“Mm?” you mumbled, perking up your ears.

“Did that boy just linger in the doorway?”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Silverstone, UK

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“Are you avoiding me?”

Lando’s voice shocked you as he came up from behind. You’d seen him around during the day but kept your distance. You were technically his guest today, only ever having been invited by Oscar before. But you would be lying if you said that premise had made you more liberal with how you interacted with Lando. You stayed with Oscar and Jasmine, and your father and Matteo, because that was what you knew.

The paddock at Silverstone was a lot, even for you who had been to this rodeo before. Matteo and your dad, however, would fall asleep quickly tonight with how many new impressions they’d received today. You’d only managed to come on the Sunday, with you on crutches and Matteo being, well… Matteo. It was good enough of an experience anyway.

“No, there’s just a lot of people here to see you. I didn’t want to be a bother,” you explained, nervously laughing.

It was jam-packed with friends and family, sponsors, and celebrities. Every time he had a moment for himself, it could quickly turn into a meet-and-greet if he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now, minutes before he had to make his way to the starting grid, it was finally sort of calm in the garage. You were standing in the viewing section, a papaya-coloured headset around your neck.

Lando shook his head and sighed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You could not be a bother, even if you tried.

“So, it wasn’t a make-a-wish thing after you saw me fall on my face and break my ankle?”

“Would I’ve been your wish?” he asked, voice affected by laughter.

“No, sorry, I’d pick a broadway show over this any day,” you responded jokingly.

“How’s your ankle anyway?”

The cast and the crutches you were leaning on didn’t look too dramatic. It just looked like you had broken your ankle and were now dealing with it to the best of your ability.

“It’s healing just fine,” you nodded, leaning to rest on one crutch to show Lando your palm. “The worst thing right now is the heat and the crutches giving me callouses.”

As you reached out your hand, Lando couldn’t help but gently grab your fingers to take a closer look. He was practically holding your hand. Sure, you held his when Eddie was wrapping your foot, but you were in an immense amount of pain at the time. This was something different. The callouses weren’t even that bad.

Why was he holding your hand?

In the same moment you could overthink it, he let go.

“Have you been hopping around the paddock all day? You should’ve told me, I could’ve gotten you a golf cart or something,” Lando wondered, feeling kind of bad.

He hadn’t thought about your broken ankle when he’d asked you to come.

“It’s alright. Matteo’s been having a blast all day, so… thank you,” you shrugged.

You could deal with being uncomfortable for a day if it meant that Matteo got a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

His McLaren cap was signed, and he had ice cream in his belly. He’d even gotten a wave from Sir Lewis Hamilton himself, and if that wasn’t enough to make him school ground royalty for at least a week, you didn’t know what was. Maybe you took your big sister duty too seriously, but literally nothing could make you stop caring for that kid.

“And your dad?” Lando asked.

You looked over your shoulder to see what he was doing. With Matteo in front of him, practically hiding into his side, you could see him talking to someone and smiling. You understood that he was mostly doing this for you and Matteo, but there was some underlying fascination that middle-aged men had with fast cars that you knew he was trying to hide.

“He appears to be smiling, that’s always positive.”

“He’s talking to my dad,” he revealed. That wasn’t awkward at all.

Lando hesitated, unsure of asking you what was on his mind, but soon enough, words were falling out of his mouth anyway. You seemed to have that effect on him.

“I need to get ready, but can I see you afterwards? Maybe you can come back like you did in Melbourne.”

You smiled, agreeing before adding, “I’ll watch you get on the podium first.”

The race started with both Lando and Oscar in good positions, which probably led to a false sense of security. Your gut feeling was unsure of it all.

Matteo held on to your hand during the entire start, you could tell that it was mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety. His headset was big on his little head, and he looked positively adorable as he tried to understand what was going on.

“Lando is third right now,” you explained to him, pointing to a monitor. “And Oscar is fifth, you remember them, right?”

Matteo nodded. “Lando broke your foot, and Oscar talks funny.”

“I broke my own foot, but you’re right about Oscar,” you laughed.

It was you that had to hold onto Matteo for a moment during the race when it really looked like both Oscar and Lando had a chance at winning. But after some godawful strategic calls, you realised that the podium wasn’t as secure as you thought. Hamilton was steady in the lead, and Verstappen was chasing Lando like there was no tomorrow.

You were so focused on the leaders that you didn’t even realise what was happening at the bottom of the grid. Pictures of two cars making contact flashed over the screens, and Matteo tensed up beside you.

“What happened?” he worriedly asked, clinging to your arm. “Did they get hurt?”

“No, no, it was just a little love tap,” you reassured him. They probably didn’t even have any damage — that was how minimal it was. “Like when I reversed into grandma’s postbox.”

“That was you?” your dad laughed.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to watch the race,” you hushed him, eyes back on the leaderboard.

Verstappen ended up catching Lando. P3 was the bittersweet consolation prize that Lando would have to act like he was happy about. Parade around the podium, covered in champagne, as if he wasn’t completely gutted inside. You could see on his face that he was acting happy as they celebrated. He wasn’t that good of an actor, if you were to be honest.

If only they had put on different tyres for his last stint.

Afterwards, you made your way back to his driver’s room — just as he’d asked. You could have overthought that question a million times, but you decided to just go for it. It was crowded with people, both staff and guests, rushing to congratulate him. Or maybe to comfort him. Your guess would be on the latter.

At last, the hallway cleared, and you hopped to stand in the doorway, finally seeing him.

“P3, baby!” you joked cheerfully.

Lando stared at you blankly, shaking his head as he snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah, no, that was frustrating to watch. I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

He had no words. Already having had to put on such a fake façade to everyone else he had met after the race. He didn’t want to do that to you. So, he ended up speechless.

“Should I leave you alone?” you whispered, breaking the silence.

“No!” he hurried to say. “Uhm… please, sit.”

With some struggle, you managed to sit next to him on the bench in his room. Much like Melbourne. It was, however, a lot more difficult to move in the little room while on crutches.

He sighed as you sat down, helping you rest the crutches against the wall so they wouldn’t fall to the floor. His racing suit was halfway off and filled the room with a scent of champagne. You tried to look him in the eye, but ended up focusing on how his helmet had left red imprints on his cheeks — like a gorgeous mark of endurance.

“I just… I don’t know what to say, or what to feel. It’s always so fucking close, and then I lose it.” Lando’s voice was stern and measured, his face blank.

It was a forced expression, though. He could cry if his tear ducks would’ve allowed him to. Some mental barrier stopped him from doing it. He almost wanted to do it so that you would see his true emotions.

Your heart broke a little, seeing him be so harsh on himself. Because, with your mentality, he had just done something miraculous. He’d done something mere mortals couldn’t accomplish.

“I’m impressed you get out of that car alive every weekend, so I might be the wrong person to complain to,” you softly told him.

Lando had heard those sorts of words before, how he was superhuman for even getting in the car. He’d felt the same way when he started, and maybe he’d lost that initial spark he used to have.

Your words didn’t mean that you didn’t want him to complain. He should vent, to the people that it mattered to. Get it out of his system, so that he could be sensible in front of the media.

It was funny how the sport worked that way. That he was somehow less happy in third, than Sargeant was in eleventh. That the people on the second and third steps of the podium were the biggest losers. And, they were expected to be robotic about it, otherwise, they would be deemed erratic and emotional.

What was the crime in being emotional anyway?

“I think you drove a perfect race,” you complimented him. “And then I think there were some strategic… mishaps that you’re not to blame for. Overall, this race was like the coolest one I’ve ever witnessed, and Oscar didn’t even get a podium. He’s my favourite driver!”

You tried so hard to get him to laugh again, but he wouldn’t budge. He had to tell himself not to. It actually kind of annoyed him that Oscar was your favourite. He knew he didn’t know you well enough to be your favourite, yet.

“I don’t get how you’re not proud of yourself,” you finally sighed, gesticulating with your hands as you spoke. “You have every right to be proud, annoyingly so.”

Lando knew he had to let his guard down. That was the only way he would feel better about this. This wasn’t like Australia, when it hadn’t been his fault for the bad result. He’d still blamed himself, but let it go after a couple of hours. This time, a good result was somehow his fault. It was insane, the mental game he was playing with himself. And he couldn’t let this go without talking it through.

“I’ll be that later, I just need to feel sorry for myself for a couple of hours first,” he scoffed.

It was Silverstone, after all. He’d gotten a podium on home soil. That was an accomplishment to be proud of. Last year, he was over the moon over his Silverstone race, but maybe that was because the car hadn’t been that great. This time he had a great car, but was somehow a worse driver. It didn’t make any sense to him.

His spiralling thoughts were stopped when he heard his phone continuously vibrate from the other side of the room, somewhere hidden under a pile of clothes.

“Are people blowing up your phone with congratulations?” you asked amusingly.

“No, it’s the PR team,” he said as he looked over his notifications, a confused look on his face. “We’ve gone viral again. It looks like I held your hand when you showed me the callouses from the crutches.”

You did technically hold my hand, was what you wanted to say. You decided that staying quiet felt better.

Lando regretted his wording as soon as he said it. He held your hand in a garage filled with cameras. He knew that. He was to blame for that. But was any harm done?

“I don’t get how it’s always with you that it happens,” he mumbled nervously.

He sat back down beside you, giving you a view of his phone screen. The photos were cute, if you were to be honest. But also blurry and obviously taken by someone who wanted to be sneaky.

“Always? Meaning once before?” you questioned.

That showed how little you were on social media. You didn’t know about anything other than the video from Melbourne.

“No, there were also photos of me at the hospital when you broke your ankle,” Lando explained.

The photos had been everywhere. He, and that orange car, at a hospital parking lot on a Friday evening. It was quite the headline for news outlets and gossip accounts.

“Oh…” you said, visibly surprised. “I’m so sorry if it caused you problems to be seen with a girl in a slutty maid costume.”

For a second there, Lando could watch you go through the five stages of grief, all through your facial expressions.

“You weren’t in the photos. It was just me and that… obnoxious car when I went back to get your bag,” he quickly added, calming your nerves.

You nodded understandingly, feeling yourself get less tense. “Did you have to explain it to anyone?”

“Thankfully not, I’m such a bad liar.”

What would he need to lie about?

Then you realised that someone like him probably couldn't just say that they drove a friend who had injured themselves. That would only lead to a million more questions. And, if he had said something — people would’ve been able to put two and two together as you showed up to the paddock with a cast and crutches. Maybe he was protecting you.

You didn’t know what else to say to him now, meeting his bright eyes once again. They had this way of shining, even though he was sad. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but you were starting to wonder if you’d overstayed your welcome.

Then Lando spoke again, his voice in a happier tone. “Has Jasmine mentioned Italy to you?”

“Monza?”

“No, now before Hungary,” he replied. “Oscar and I have to represent McLaren at some charity auction, and I thought about inviting you as my plus one so that Jasmine doesn’t have to be alone if we have to work a lot.”

The invitation was carefully phrased, and you recognised that. If you had been more sure about Jasmine’s ridiculous idea that Lando liked you, you would’ve made fun of him for dragging in Jasmine in his way of asking you to come with him.

“Oh,” you mused. “I’d be a fool to say no, but there has to be other people that you’d rather go with.”

Lando looked at you in confusion.

“Like, don’t invite me just to do Jasmine a favour,” you continued.

He finally broke into a smile, not being able to contain it anymore. You were clueless, and Lando found that hilarious. “It’s not like I hate your company, y’know?”

You chuckled. You hadn’t expected him to say something so direct.

“Can I talk to Jazz about it first, before I decide?”

Lando nodded softly. “Sure, I mean, the invite is yours anyway. If you don’t want to come, I’ll just go alone.”

You turned quiet again, looking him in the eyes as you took in what he’d said. The invitation was yours. He hadn’t ever thought of bringing someone else. Maybe he truly was doing Jasmine a favour. Maybe this was him sneakily making a move. He’d have to be a lot more upfront for you to catch on, though.

A tension settled over the room, an eternity passing without anyone saying anything. The mood switched, and you both could tell. It was probably time for you to leave, yet the expectation to say that last little thing was there. The little thing that would leave him feeling better about himself. You wanted to linger in the doorway, or linger on the bench, you guessed. You wanted to say so much more.

Oscar intruded by softly knocking on the already open door.

“Oscar, hi!” you squeaked out of surprise, straightening your back to make space between you and Lando.

“Your dad’s looking for you,” he explained, chuckling.

“I guess I better go,” you said, standing up, finding balance with the help of your crutches. “You both should be proud of yourselves today, or every day for that matter.”

Lando looked down at the floor as you left. He knew that whatever face Oscar put on or whatever sentence he formed, it would accuse Lando of being down bad for you.

“Did you invite her to Italy?”

“Yeah, she said she’ll talk to Jazz about it,” Lando mumbled, hiding his smile.

You hadn’t immediately said yes, but that was almost his plan by dragging Jasmine into it. She wasn’t even supposed to come with them to Italy at first. But Lando wanted the four of them to do it together. It was a foolproof plan to get to spend some more time with you that wasn’t in a paddock nor in a hospital.

“On another note,” Oscar said while he remembered it. “How the hell did you get her dad to come to a race?”

“I don’t know… I just sent Bunny three passes?”

“I’ve invited him to races since I was in F3 and he’s never once shown up,” Oscar began explaining.

Lando scrunched his nose, unsure of where Oscar was going with his reasoning.

“He’s a good man, funny even — but he does not like racing, at all,” he continued.

Was Lando being stupid for not getting Oscar’s point? Lando couldn’t tell if he was being stupid. He probably was.

Then, it finally clicked for Oscar. “You don’t know how her mum died, do you?”

Lando could do nothing but slowly shake his head, his mouth slightly open out of confusion. He could tell that Oscar hesitated to tell him. Maybe he shouldn’t be telling your story, but he trusted Lando.

“Alone, in a car crash. She died on impact. Bunny was 15 or so when it happened,” Oscar said gently, his face showing pity with a downturned smile. “Her dad has always told her not to come to races, in case someone crashes and it brings up bad memories for her.”

Now, Lando was definitely being stupid, because it still didn’t click for him. It made him understand your mentality more — that you’d said you were impressed he got out of that car alive every weekend. Because you had, close up, lived through someone not making it out of a car — a car going nowhere near as fast. But what did that have to do with your father attending a race?

“I think Bunny must’ve convinced him to come see you, specifically,” Oscar finally said.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lombardia, Italia

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” you sighed, looking from the balcony out to the beautiful garden.

Fruit trees, pink oleander, and pungent lavender. Beautiful limestone houses. It looked picturesque, like something out of a movie. Yet, you were unsure if you belonged there.

“You’re spending the weekend in an Italian villa. That is what you’re doing,” Jasmine insisted, wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

The house was gorgeous. The area was gorgeous. Everything was just perfect. And you felt undeserving of it. You’d gotten to take off your cast just in time for the trip. This was your moment to be selfish this summer.

So, why the hell did you keep on questioning yourself?

“You’d have no stories to tell from this summer if it wasn’t for this trip. You need things to talk about when you go back to university, otherwise, you’ll make no new friends,” she then pointed out.

You hadn’t even thought of that. All your other friends had graduated. You still had six months of classes left because of your stupid lungs. You didn’t want to make new friends. You wanted to keep your old ones.

You crossed your arms, looking up at your best friend with a pout. “I’ll let you know that me and Jane Austen have had a riveting summer thus far in my dad’s hammock.”

Doing just about anything with a broken ankle was impossible, so reading in the garden it was.

“While you travel the world and go to races, I will always entertain you with hilarious Goodreads reviews,” you added.

Jasmine shook her head disapprovingly. “I really don’t need to know even more nasty things that you would do to Mr. Darcy.”

Deep down, you knew she got a giggle out of getting a notification on her phone with a five star review only saying Mr. Darcy could raw me and nothing more.

“Isn’t this going to be awkward though? It’s like we’re double dating all weekend!”

“Would that be so bad?” Jasmine laughed, thinking that it was probably Lando’s plan all along.

You realised quite quickly that Lando hadn’t lied about them having to work. During the day, they were off to the manor house that was hosting the auction, doing lord knows what. It was something about cars being auctioned off and sucking up to millionaires.

You didn’t understand why this type of event even existed. It felt like the 2011 classic Monte Carlo with Selena Gomez. That was at least your only experience with auctions for rich people.

While this one was for charity, it still only felt like a way for these millionaires to seem humble. They would’ve bought the cars anyway, it was only for their own conscience that the charities even mattered. Maybe you were being harsh.

You and Jasmine at least got to spend some quality time with each other in the villa. You ate a long breakfast, cycled down to the city centre to try odd flavours of gelato, and went into cute little boutiques to find her a pair of heels to wear with her gown for the auction.

Your dress was black, and so were your heels. That was how fun you were going to be.

Truth be told, it was a prom dress that you hadn’t gotten to wear because of covid, so maybe you were a little excited to get all dolled up tomorrow night.

When the boys got home for the day, they decided you all should take the bikes to a nearby lake. You didn’t have much of a say, packing a basket with antipasti for dinner. It was unbearably hot even though the sun had started to settle, so maybe going for a swim wasn’t the worst thing.

As the four of you swooshed down Italian country roads on rusty borrowed bikes, Lando and you ended up in front of Jasmine and Oscar, going much faster than they did. Everything wasn’t a race, but some things definitely were.

Oscar cycled closer to his girlfriend, asking her a question he’d been dying to ask all day. “Do we tell them something about how they are both madly infatuated with each other or will they figure it out on their own?”

“I tried to tell Bunny, but she wouldn’t believe me. It’s like she doesn’t understand that people still find her attractive after she got sick,” Jasmine said.

She didn’t know if she should sigh or laugh at your behaviour recently. She understood that your life had changed completely, but falling in love, or even just dating, shouldn’t be something to be scared about. Not when you had a boy acting like a fool right in front of your eyes.

“So, we let Lando try and awkwardly flirt with her by himself? And watch Bunny be clueless about it?” Oscar laughed

“He has to be upfront at some point, right?” she responded.

They probably wouldn’t have to wait long until Lando would scream in your face that he liked you. He had no filter left when it came to you.

The lake was small, surrounded by a pebble beach. The water looked almost artificially teal, like natural sources of water tended to do. You’d never been to Italy before, but it was quickly becoming one of your favourite destinations. It was idyllic in ways you couldn’t have dreamt of.

You threw the bikes in the grass and put out your beach towels close to the water. Feeling the pebbles under your bare feet and the sweet smell of sunscreen, you and Jasmine started to pack up your picnic basket.

There were almost no other people there, only seeing a family with children taking an evening swim on the other side of the lake.

After eating a little, the boys tested the water, groaning about how cold it was, yet somehow getting in anyway. You still didn’t know what they had done during the day, but with their lifestyles, you guessed they always needed to find ways to relax.

Jasmine rested on her towel with her nose in a book, recognising it as one you had rated highly on Goodreads. See, you knew she loved your reviews. She mumbled something about how the protagonist reminded her of you when you asked her if she was enjoying it. You took that as a good sign.

You went down to the waterside, only dipping your toes in before deciding that it was way too cold for you to want to swim in it. Instead, you crouched down to look at the rocks, all round and polished from the water, in pretty green and coral shades. You’d already gotten Matteo a local football shirt as a souvenir, but you could definitely fit some cool rocks in your suitcase as well.

Lando, zoning out from whatever Oscar was talking about next to him in the still water, tried to secretly keep his eye on you. He could catch a glimpse of a bright red bikini underneath the long, sheer white shirt you had on. His fondness had grown so large that even watching you pick pebbles warmed his heart. Or maybe that was the bikini’s doing.

Jasmine could watch it all happen through the darkness of her sunglasses, having lost focus from her book. She furrowed her brows with concern. “Bunny, aren’t you warm?”

Your hand subconsciously traced the edge of the your shirt collar, a faint smile forming on your lips. “Yeah, but I’ll scare the children away if I show the scar on my chest,” you replied, your tone light yet tinged with an undercurrent of insecurity.

“It’s not that bad,” she said, promising, her eyes meeting yours as she tipped down her shades.

You laughed a little in disbelief. “You haven’t seen it since they reopened it.” You were talking so loud that the boys in the water definitely could hear you. “I also hate touching it, so I don’t want to put sunscreen on.”

Jasmine remembered the first time she saw your scar, a jagged reminder of the surgery that had saved your life. A long red line, right on your sternum, that had faded over time. But she hadn’t seen the new scar, the one left by the recent, unexpected procedure.

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Jasmine urged, getting up from the towel, a bottle of sunscreen in her hand. “Get your shirt off and I’ll do it.”

She knew you well enough to push you to do it. You would never get over this mental hurdle without people telling you that you looked fine. People had scars. That was the way life worked.

You sighed, slowly fumbling with the shirt buttons as you tried to decipher Jasmine’s reaction. “See? It’s awful.”

She shook her head, trying to keep a neutral face. It was worse than she thought, but she could never tell you that, because it hurt more than it helped. And it wasn’t like the scar tainted your entire being. You were still a gorgeous woman, in Baywatch-esque red bikini. That was an unstoppable combo.

“It’s really not bad. It needs some more time to fade, that’s all,” Jasmine reassured you, having no problem with touching the uneven skin to apply sunscreen.

You didn’t want to look at her hand as she did it, so you looked out over the lake, catching Lando’s surprisingly… odd gaze as he stood in the water next to Oscar.

You hadn’t wanted to stare too much at him earlier, knowing that your head would get messed up if you saw him shirtless in swim shorts. But now, you couldn’t disregard the look on his face.

“Lando, I saw that look. Just tell me that it’s bad,” you said, clearly still frustrated over the entire thing.

Lando was shocked you were talking to him, struggling to find the words.

“He’s staring at your tits, it’s totally different,” Oscar suddenly said, having kept quiet for too long.

You almost didn’t know if you had heard him correctly, but Jasmine’s ringing laughter told you that it was true. Lando sternly said Oscar’s name before drenching him in water, a playful fight breaking out between the two of them, overshadowing what had just happened.

That didn’t mean it left your mind, though.

It was dark by the time you got back to the villa, stars hanging above you in the night sky. You knew it was the same sky as you had home in England, yet there was something much more magical about it this time.

Jasmine and Oscar went to bed, but you had a few things to prepare for the auction. You wanted to paint your nails and do a face mask; maybe even get in an everything-shower to save time tomorrow.

The night was still warm as you made your way out to the balcony in your nightgown, deciding that you might as well take advantage of the view while you painted your nails. The balcony felt like a secluded little sanctuary, bathed in a soft glow from the outdoor lighting and wafting in the breeze of the Italian countryside.

Behind you, the glass door slid open with a soft creak, and you turned to see Lando stepping out onto the balcony, carrying what looked like a cup of tea. You’d thought he was asleep, the villa eerily quiet.

He had an easy confidence about him — something you admired. Clad in a soft cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, the kind that looked threadbare and like the most comfortable fabric ever. His eyes silently asked you if it was okay for him to join you, and you nodded. He sat down across from you at the outdoor dining table.

“Orange?” Lando asked softly, seeing the colour of the nail polish.

“I thought it was papaya,” you joked, biting your tongue to not get it on your cuticles as you continued to paint. “I bought it for Silverstone but forgot to wear it.”

Lando didn’t care. At least he told himself that he didn’t. You were just representing his team by carefully painting your nails orange. There was no need to get all mushy inside because of it. It wasn’t like it was permanent. Only a week or so of you thinking of him every time you saw your own hands. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe you didn’t think of him.

“I should’ve told you earlier, but you look great today,” he said like it was nothing, raising his cup to take a sip.

He could tell that you were slightly baffled, a line forming between your eyebrows as you scrunched your nose in disbelief. “Scar and all?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Oscar had maybe been right about what Lando was looking at when you had asked him about the scar. They had overheard the entire conversation you had with Jasmine, so when he caught a glimpse of the scar, he had imagined something much worse. It truly wasn’t that bad. It at least didn’t steal his attention when you were standing in front of him in a bikini.

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filled only by the sounds of the night. Cicadas, a distant car, and birds chirping. Lights from neighbouring houses twinkled like scattered diamonds.

“I don’t know if you wanted me to know, but Oscar told me about your mother,” Lando’s voice trembled, confessing it to you. His eyes searched your face for a reaction, a mixture of concern and vulnerability painted across his features.

You stared down at your painted nails, adding one last stroke before closing the bottle of polish. You were scared to look at him, unsure of how this conversation would play out.

“It’s not really a secret, just a hard thing to tell people,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You somehow felt the warmth from Lando’s body even though there was a table’s length between you. His presence wasn’t uncomfortable to you, but the conversation certainly was.

“Don’t pity me like I’m some motherless child. It’s really not that bad,” you continued, trying to keep your composure, the familiar ache in your chest making it hard to breathe.

In moments like these, it was like you could feel your scar glowing, how the tight skin wanted to rip right open to help you take full breaths.

A flicker of frustration crossed Lando’s face.

He hated how you had said it — how you tried to downplay everything that had happened in your life. He understood that it was your way of coping, but your entire being basically screamed for the emotions to be let out. You were hypocritical, and he was tired.

“It’s allowed to be bad. You were the one that told me that in Australia. You’re allowed to feel bad about things that are shit,” he insisted, his voice carrying a firmness that contrasted with the tenderness in his eyes.

His raw honesty sliced through your defenses. Your view of him blurred as tears filled your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Clearing your throat, you calmed yourself down.

Lando wasn’t actually frustrated with you. It was more at the circumstances. He didn’t want to push you, and you didn’t want to upset him. It was just a very difficult conversation to have.

“Do you ever have nightmares about crashing?” you asked, whispering.

“No, not really,” he admitted.

If he was thinking about what might go wrong all the time, he wouldn't be able to continue driving. Racing showed some people horrible fates of life. The abundant success that could be archived was harvested by others.

It was all about finding a balance, about showing respect for the thing they put themselves through, but also overcoming it by showing no fear.

Maybe it was different for you, Lando thought. Maybe you had already given in to the fear, because you’d get no success out of it no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t get your mum back anyway.

You took a deep breath before confessing. “I do. All the time.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The early morning sun filtered through his bedroom windows as Lando got out of bed. He’d slept like a king. The countryside was so quiet compared to Monaco and the cities he raced in. He stretched as he drew back the curtains, getting a view of the garden, and you.

The conversation you had yesterday had left the both of you unsatisfied. Yet, neither wanted to push the other to really get to the bottom of the problem,

This morning, however, you were waltzing through the garden on bare feet, a big bowl in one hand and a small ladder in the other one. The summer dress you were wearing blew with the breeze. You looked free. And slightly out of your mind, climbing a ladder to reach the fruit trees, without anyone keeping an eye on you.

Not that you needed supervision, but climbing a ladder could be dangerous. That was what Lando told himself as he rushed outside.

“Oh god, please don’t fall down,” he said, voice laced with concern as he almost ran through the garden to get to you, keeping his steady hands on the ladder.

You glanced down at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “It’s a stepladder, Lando. I’m one metre above the ground,” you reassured him.

“Still, you should be careful,” he insisted.

“I’ll break your nose if you look up my dress,” you warned. You weren’t serious, but Lando felt his cheeks flush anyway. “Do you want one?” you asked, referring to the fruit you were picking.

“What is it even?”

“I thought peaches at first, but they’re not hairy. Not small enough to be apricots but maybe hard enough to be nectarines, so that would be my guess.”

You examined the fruit as you stepped down from the ladder, tossing one in the air before catching it again and placing it in the bowl.

“Are you sure you’re still talking about fruit?”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the innuendo.

You picked up a nectarine and took a bite, the sweet juice dribbling down your chin. “I made breakfast, but I assume you’re on the same diet as Oscar?” you asked, voice muffled by the mouthful of fruit.

Lando stared at you in awe, taking way too long before nodding.

“Well then, I guess you can watch me eat while you stick to oatmeal,” you replied playfully.

As the sun rose above the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the cosy balcony, you and Lando sat by the outdoor furniture, eating your breakfast. The air filled with a scent of fresh coffee and the sweet nectarines. You ate them with yoghurt and honey, and Lando was totally jealous.

You didn’t say much to each other. It wasn’t really necessary. The world around you started to wake up, but on that little balcony, it felt like time had slowed down just for you two.

Lando turned to you, curiosity in his eyes. “Why do people call you Bunny?” He’d wanted to ask you that for quite some time.

“It’s quite a sad story, to be honest,” you began, swallowing what was left of your breakfast.

He almost regretted his question immediately. He hadn’t even thought about how a cute nickname like yours could be from a sad memory. You watched as Lando’s expression softened, his eyes encouraging you to continue.

“Matteo stayed a lot at our grandparent’s house after mum died, because… well, life happened,” you explained, your orange fingernails tracing the rim of your coffee mug. “Since he was so young, he hadn’t really understood the fact that I was his sister, so I instead became the girl he would visit from time to time who owned a pet bunny.”

Lando leant his elbows on the table, captivated by your way of talking, his interest piqued.

“And Bunny was easier for him to pronounce than my actual name,” you continued, a faint smile forming on your lips.

“You had a bunny?”

“Yeah, his name was Taco,” you laughed, your smile growing more genuine.

He chuckled softly at the name. You would name a pet Taco, that was just the kind of person you were.

“Do you like having it as a nickname?” Lando inquired, his tone gentle again.

“I don’t mind it,” you shook your head. “Matteo doesn’t say it anymore, but it’s… it’s different when other people say it.”

It’s different when you say it, Lando.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“You’re drooling, mate,” Oscar’s voice laughed from behind him as they got out of the cars.

“I am not,” Lando protested, but Oscar only shook his head.

He wasn’t fooling anyone as he watched you and Jasmine step out on the front porch, dressed to the nines, ready for the auction.

Oscar and him had picked up the two cars that were being auctioned off while you got ready. It was important that they were seen driving the cars up to the manor house as they arrived, and you and Jasmine were supposed to be arm candy. It felt both below and above your worth.

You laughed as you saw the cars, shiny and polished McLaren’s. You didn’t care enough to know the models, you just knew they were worth millions.

Jasmine walked down to Oscar with ease in her high heels, a beautiful burnt orange satin gown on her body. You watched as he greeted her with a kiss, feeling both a sense of pride and also some loneliness in your stomach.

Your feet already hurt from your own heels. Something wasn’t entirely right since you broke your ankle, but you would have to suffer through it.

Lando walked up to the porch, casually keeping his hands in the pockets of his well-fitted black suit. The white shirt he had on underneath probably had one too many buttons undone. Not that you were complaining, it looked gorgeous in contrast with his tan skin. He looked gorgeous.

You were dressed in all black, apart from your orange nail polish. Your gown with a perfectly poofy tulle skirt and a flattering balconette corset top. You looked delectable, and Lando had a hard time hiding that.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said seriously to him.

“Like what?” Lando replied, feigning innocence as he took your hand to help you down the front porch stairs.

Like you’re falling in love with me.

“Like this is some early 2000s rom-com and I’m the nerdy girl who’s just gotten a makeover by a more popular girl,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a genuine laugh, the kind that could only bring a smile to your face. He wanted to respond with some cliché statement about how it was only fitting since you looked like a movie star, but he remained silent.

Lando helped you into the car like a real gentleman, while Oscar and Jasmine got into the other one. The drive was two minutes at most.

“Did you have a dress like that lying around?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt.

You nodded, moving your hands over your lap to smooth out the fabric. “It’s a prom dress that I never got to use because of covid.”

A spark lit up in Lando’s eyes. “I never got to have a prom either, y’know.”

A moment of silence passed between them, the weight of missed milestones hanging heavy in the air. You assumed it was because he hadn’t really gone to school like a normal kid, too busy with karting. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, Lando revved the engine.

“Come on, let’s treat this night like prom.”

The manor house was bigger than anything you’d ever seen before. You couldn’t grasp it — the multiple stories, the annex buildings, the beautiful and meticulous gardens. It was all too much for you.

Lando pulled up to park the car next to the grand entrance, handing the keys to the valet before coming to open the door for you. You were met with camera flashes as soon as you stepped out. It wasn’t paparazzi, thank god — only photographers hired for the event.

Lando didn’t dare to hold your hand in front of the cameras, this time. He settled with a hand on your lower back as you made your way inside after Jasmine and Oscar.

The auction was held in a grand hall — no, a conservatory. It had a glass roof. It was filled with decorations, floral arrangements, and candle lights. A stage was built by the end of the room, which you assumed would be where they auctioned things off.

It was also filled with people, dressed in sharp suits and colourful gowns. It looked photoshopped with how perfect it was. Not a thing out of place nor a person behaving oddly. Except for you, of course. You did not belong here.

“What are they compensating for? Tiny cocks?” you whispered for only Jasmine to hear as you took in the room. This was bonkers.

“The tiniest of cocks,” she snorted under her breath.

Oscar and Lando did have to work — work the room that was, mingling and sucking up to people with big wallets.

You and Jasmine made your way around as well, albeit much slower and with less intention. You talked to some people, drank some champagne, and eyed the canapés being served around. It didn’t look like anyone was eating, so you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You already were. So, now you were both odd and starving.

You also eyed the objects up for auction. It was jewellery, cars, and destination vacations in places you’d never heard of. All in favour of some charity that was hardly mentioned once. Was this just a rich person shopping spree without the guilt of overconsumption?

Lando kept looking across the room for you, his eyes always seeming to find you within seconds. And you found him to, sharing smiles or joking faces, saying get me out of here.

It wasn’t possessive — it was more of a secret bond that existed right there in time and space, going unnoticed by everyone but the two of you.

The bond was broken when a man approached you. Lando didn’t recognise him, but he already despised him. He was flirting with you; that would be obvious to anyone but you. You didn’t necessarily look uncomfortable. It seemed more like you found the conversation he tried to have with you pointless.

You were so oblivious to the impact you had on men, or maybe on all people in general. It made him want to set himself on fire. The itchy feeling inside of him, telling him to scream for everyone in the room to hear — that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that you should be talking to him, and only him. Not some suave-looking asshole in an ill-fitting suit. God, you made him stupid. More stupid than normal.

As Lando’s thoughts spiralled, you somehow got out of the conversation, swiftly making your way across the room and out of a door that he thought led to the garden. Or one of the gardens. This place was huge.

He had things to do inside, people to talk to — but for a moment, he came to his senses and said fuck it. He needed to know if you were alright.

His assumption that the door led to a garden was correct. The evening light cast a silvery glow over it, a tranquil contrast to the busy ballroom. From a distance, he saw you take a seat in an old stone gazebo, covered with ivy. You bent down to unclasp your heels.

Lord, was he about to risk it all.

His steps over the gravel path made you hear him, and he couldn’t help but feel busted.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

You shook your head, gesturing with your hand to the space beside you. He sat down, shyly looking at his hands in his lap. On the bench, he saw what he thought was the reason you had come out here, besides that man talking to you. Dessert. Two of them in little ramekins, but only one spoon.

Lando breathed in the silence before hastily asking you what had been on his mind.

“Who was the man you were talking to?”

“Some stuck up think-tank-bitcoin-billionaire,” you huffed. “He asked me if my company was up for auction.”

It wasn’t company as in a business. It was company as in your time of day. Or time of night more likely. He was asking to spend the night with you. Would audibly gagging be too improper of a reaction? Lando had to fight himself to not do it.

“What was your answer?” he wondered, trying to keep his cool.

Your lips turned into a smug smile. “That it’s free for people who deserve it, and then I walked away.”

Lando chuckled, liking the fact that you showed a sense of pride with your actions. “Do I deserve your company?”

“Haven’t asked you to leave yet, that should tell you something,” you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders.

Lando nodded, scrunching his nose, a pink tint on his cheeks forming from the crisp air.

No, he was blushing. It wasn’t even cold outside.

“Have you had fun otherwise?” He cleared his throat, making the conversation about something else.

“I don’t know. I feel like a fraud, like I don’t belong,” you shrugged, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I think I might have convinced multiple people in there that I’m a communist, just because I was raised with a working-class perspective on things.”

Lando suppressed his laughter for it to not be too loud. You saw his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“This entire thing just feels performative to me,” you added.

“Oh, it totally is,” he agreed.

You glanced back at the manor, hearing the sound of voices in the distance. Your face reflected a mixture of amazement and discomfort. “And don’t get me started on the way people look,” you began again. “My mascara smudged and my dress got wrinkled the minute I stepped into that humid room, yet everyone else continues to look flawless.”

Lando thought about interrupting you, saying that you still looked flawless to him. Or maybe you didn’t, and that was the best part. He understood your point fully, though.

You shook your head as you continued, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. “And I can’t walk in heels since I broke my ankle, and my dress shows my scar, and I’m just… being a miserable little twat.”

You dropped your shoulders, looking down at your bare feet as your heels were on the ground next to them. It hadn’t even crossed Lando’s mind, the shoes nor the scar, but it made sense that you didn’t feel confident about it. That he thought you should be confident wouldn’t exactly change your mind.

“Oh! And they don’t eat,” you hastily pointed out. “They just hold the food and look pretty.”

That was definitely true. He knew that you couldn’t eat yourself full at functions like this. His own empty stomach was a testament to that.

“Is that why you came out here with two desserts and one spoon?” he questioned, containing his laughter to not come across as judgmental.

You giggled. “Have you seen Amélie?”

Lando shook his head no.

“It’s a movie. It doesn’t really matter, but one of the main character’s favourite things in life is cracking the sugar on a crème brûlée, and I… think I agree with that,” you explained, grabbing one of the ramekins and carefully smashing the caramelised surface.

It made a slight sound. Your eyes lit up as you looked at it. “See? Did you hear that?”

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction.

“Try the other one,” you urged, handing him the spoon.

He had tried crème brûlée before but never in this way. Never with someone telling him about how it was the best thing in life. As he cracked the sugar, he laughed so hard he felt his chest vibrate.

He knew he couldn’t eat the dessert because of his diet, but seeing you take a spoonful was almost satisfactory enough.

“Your mind is so… special,” he smiled in disbelief. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, he just knew he needed you to hear it. “I don’t get how the universe could’ve created you.”

Your smile faded as your laughter turned quiet. “Is that a compliment?”

“In the highest form, Bunny,” Lando insisted.

He didn’t know how to read your reaction, your sudden silence was a shock for him. Had he ruined a perfect moment by saying too much? That’s when he saw it, the tears pooling in your waterline as you fought with yourself to not let them fall.

Lando was a soft mess in seconds. “A-are you crying because I complimented you?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to laugh but your voice came out hoarse.

“Don’t cry, it’s alright,” Lando said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears away from your face, gently cupping your cheek with his palm.

He crossed a line as he did, moving closer to you than ever before.

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

“I just…” You were full on crying now. “I have no idea who I am, and this environment really showed me that.”

Your lack of confidence broke his heart. Things had really piled up on top of each other to now finally get to you. A stupid auction being your downfall, the thing that made you realise how much your life had put you through.

“I can’t get a degree, I can’t do musicals, and I definitely cannot fit in here. I have no way of being the girl that you want me to be, Lando,” you sobbed, your breathing picking up as your hands gesticulated out of pure panic.

Your words hung heavy over the garden, suffocatingly, as you honestly believed them to be painfully true.

“Hey… don’t say that,” Lando tried to comfort, grabbing ahold of your hands to stop you moving, centering your focus. “You have no idea what I want from you.”

“I want to hear you laugh at my stupid jokes. I want to feel your painted nails when you hold my hand. I want to see you get all giddy over a crème brûlée,” he listed things as they came to mind.

The warmth from his hands surrounded you as you let yourself relax, exhaling loudly.

“I want you to linger in every possible goddamned doorway you can find,” Lando continued, looking you deeply in the eyes. “That’s all. Nothing more.”

You were so close that he could see how colours reflected in your eyes. He liked you in ways he didn’t know was possible — for the little things that he’d never thought about before with other people. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He didn’t want to think clearly. Lando hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if seeking permission.

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

He scanned your face, his gaze finally landing on your lips. You were waiting for him to move, for him to lean in, because you were too scared to do it yourself. But you wanted him to do it. You wanted it more than anything else.

But all of a sudden, the lust in his expression turned into concern, and you felt something wet drip down on your upper lip. Blood.

“Oh, fuck.” Your hands flew to your face, trying to stop the blood from dripping further.

Of course this would happen now. You were cursed, after all. What were you thinking? A pretty boy could not just kiss you. The universe had decided that happiness wasn’t for you.

“Let me help—” Lando said, trying to get a hold of you to stay still, but you had already stood up.

You moved to pick up your shoes, and Lando sat frozen in his spot. “I’m gonna walk back to the villa, you stay and do your rich person duties,” your voice cracked as you said it, taking a step back to avoid his proximity. You had panic written all over your face and blood on your hands.

Lando’s emotions finally caught up with him as he too stood up to try and stop you. “Bunny, please! Don’t go, let’s talk about this,” he pleaded, hearing how pathetic he sounded. But he felt like he had no choice.

You recoiled further away from him, your eyes glistening with tears as you started to walk, your bare feet over gravel, heels swinging from your hands.

He couldn’t understand — how you’d gone from laughing about crème brûlées, to crying, to almost kissing each other, and then to you getting a nosebleed. He also couldn’t understand how he had let you get away. Fuck, was he stupid.

His thoughts got interrupted by the sound of someone running on the gravel. He met Jasmine’s worried eyes, contemplating if she should just murder Lando now.

“Did she just leave? What did you do?”

Lando could only shake his head, running a hand through his hair, the gesture portraying his inner turmoil. “I didn’t do anything…” he muttered, sighing loudly. “I was about to kiss her, and then she got a nosebleed all of a sudden.”

Oscar came walking after Jasmine, just close enough to hear what Lando said. “That’s so typical of her,” he breathed out, baffled at how you always managed to almost comically mess things up.

Jasmine rubbed her temples. “Are the two of you actually fucking stupid?” she questioned angrily before yelling, “Lando, don’t just stand there. Go after her!”

“To do what? Get rejected again?” he gesticulated with his hands in defeat, feeling his voice crack. His own tears had started to form.

Jasmine looked back at him like he was stupid. Lando was stupid. That was a fact he now knew.

“To clean up the blood and then actually fucking kiss her — because she did not reject you, she’s just scared!” Jasmine shot back, an intensity in her eyes that made Lando listen. “All she knows is fear, and falling in love with you hasn’t exactly helped with that.”

He was stuck, his feet glued to the floor, the weight of Jasmine’s words hit him like a punch in the stomach. Falling in love — that was what the two of you were doing. Lando had been too blinded by his own infatuation to realise that you were scared of it — scared of that stability because your life hadn’t been stable for years. You truly believed yourself to be cursed.

Fuck, was he stupid. He needed to fix this, and that was quick.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

He left the auction, Oscar assuring him that he could handle the rest of the night alone. The villa was quiet when Lando returned. He didn’t know what he should say when he saw you. He didn’t even know what kind of mood you’d be in.

For a moment, he stopped in the hallway with all the bedrooms. Your door was open, a faint yellow light seeping through. He heard you moving around, the tap running in your en suite bathroom. That made him dare to move, to stand in your doorway.

Your room was a bit messy from earlier when you were getting ready, your suitcase basically turned inside out. Your dress was tossed on the floor, next to your heels. A small red stain could be seen on the beige soles.

Suddenly, you exited the bathroom. Your face was washed clean from makeup and blood, and you were wearing an oversized sleep shirt, reaching your mid-thigh.

You stopped abruptly when you saw him, first shocked, then annoyed. He had no right to use your own methods against you, even though you knew he was right. Whatever he’d said to you, he would be right.

“Now is not the time to be lingering in some fucking doorway, Norris,” you snapped, more to mask your own panic than anything else.

You walked up to the door with determined steps, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms.

“I’m not letting you close that door, Bunny,” he said softly, but with an edge of determination, placing his hand on the door so it couldn’t move.

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” you insisted, shaking your head as if to physically ward off his words.

Lando’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away to reveal an expression of raw sincerity. “Doesn’t that defy the point? Your mother’s entire idea with teaching you to linger?”

“Don’t,” you whispered. He had no right to bring up your mother.

“We might be dead tomorrow, but you won’t hear me out?”

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded through gritted teeth, tightly closing your eyes to even bear with your emotions.

“Why won’t you let me tell you that I like you?”

He dropped the bomb. He had no option but to confess it to you. It was the scariest thing he’d ever done, yet when it was out there in the open, a weight was off his shoulders. This was meant to go this way.

You opened your eyes. “Because I’ll screw this up like I always do!” you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!”

“Something always gets in the way of me and good things,” you continued.

“I’m a good thing?” he whispered, but it almost echoed in the quiet room.

“That’s what you got from that?” you cried, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. “You don’t understand. Everything good that comes into my life, I mess up. I can’t even be normal around you because I’m so afraid of ruining it!”

“Because that’s the only thing that matters — that we like each other, that our feelings are mutual,” Lando explained like it was simple. “You’re not cursed. You’re just human. And so am I. We’re allowed to mess up, to be scared, to get nosebleeds at the worst possible moments.”

He took your hand, basically shaking as he held it. You didn’t move away. You let him hold you. You let him closer.

“Or… if you are cursed, then I’ll start carrying a first aid kit,” Lando continued with a small smile, moving his free hand to wipe your cheek clean from tears.

You let out a surprised snort, the sound mingling with your sobs. It was a ridiculous notion, yet somehow, it made perfect sense.

“Can I try kissing you again?” he softly wondered, a semblance of hope in his voice.

Lando watched as you started to smile at the question, nodding slowly. “Please, kiss me.”

He brought both his hands up to your cheeks, your eyes intensely locking for a moment before he softly leant closer, his lips meeting yours in a featherlight connection.

The kiss was sweet. Softer than what you would’ve expected. It was also quite telling of all the emotions that you both harboured inside, finally being set free.

Lando kissed you like it was important, like his life depended on you knowing how much it meant to him — like the two of you would never need another form of communication to tell each other things. This was for you to know that calling yourself cursed was just stupid. You were scared, that’s all. But you didn’t have to be scared anymore.

He was the one to break the kiss, his breath hot against your face as he grinned. “See? Not cursed.”

That was enough to get you laughing, turning your head down to lean against his chest as you let out a pathetic giggle. No blood, no broken bones, no compromised breathing. Okay, maybe your breathing was a little off, but that was to be expected after kissing someone.

For a long, hazy moment, the two of you simply stared into each other’s eyes. How you ended up on the bed passed in a blur, the only thing your mind could focus on was Lando’s hands on your body. His lips back on yours.

The kissing quickly grew fevered and devoted, his tongue exploring your mouth, neck, and chest as you melted against him and the soft mattress, your fingers clutching around him. He took away all of your thoughts, every lingering worry or doubt completely removed. Insecurities too, gone with the wind.

He was breathless when he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. You fiddled with your fingers to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing a landscape of freckled tan skin before your eyes. His palms moved over your hips, up your waist, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin cotton of your t-shirt.

As he moved to take off your shirt, you froze. Lando stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to say something.

“The scar,” you said. “It makes me feel… weak, and I don’t want you to treat me like I’m weak.”

Weak was the last word Lando would use to describe you. But he also understood.

“I don’t have to see it. It’s alright like this if that’s what makes you comfortable,” he explained softly.

You nodded, deciding on keeping your shirt on as you watched Lando remove his own. He was perfect, and you were you. Maybe that was enough.

Lando caged you beneath him again, crawling over you, leaving sloppy kisses on your face, arms, and over the fabric of your shirt. The kisses ended with him biting your lower lip as his hands found home in a tight grip on your hips, the lace edge of your underwear tickling his palms.

“Can I go down on you?” he whispered. His eyes looked for permission to continue, and you nodded, messily kissing him back.

He lowered back down your body again, his strong hands absentmindedly massaging the plush skin of your thighs, before finding the waistband of your panties, pulling them off you in a slow motion. He nestled between your legs, not breaking eye contact.

You almost felt cold by being naked, even though the room was delightfully warm. You wanted to cringe at what his sight of you must be like, but he didn’t give you a chance to do so, a string of praise words falling from his mouth.

As each word was said, he spread your wetness through your folds with a feathery movement of his fingers. Lando brushed your clit with a light touch, taking in your reaction before dipping his fingers into the pooling wetness.

“P-please, Lando, oh fuck—” Your voice was wrecked as you grew desperate for more.

He grinned at your words as his face met your heat, leaving kisses around it before finally touching the part where you needed him the most. “So pretty,” he mumbled against you, kissing your clit. That made your brain short circuit.

You reached down to push the curls of his forehead as he delved in, softly bringing you pleasure. Sucking on your clit with intention while his fingers curled deeper into you, his free hand gripping at your thigh, certain to leave crescent-shaped imprints from his fingernails as your soft skin spilled out between his fingers.

You truly did look pretty, though — through Lando’s eyes. With the evening glow of the sun shining through the windows and the white linen bedding surrounding your body, you looked angelic. As your shirt rode up, your stomach was revealed. He loved seeing your skin. Nipples pebbled through the t-shirt, hair dishevelled, skin gleaming from a thin layer of sweat. You made him painfully hard by just lying there, letting him taste you.

“I’m—” You couldn’t get the words out, voice choking on your own moans, but Lando knew to increase the intensity.

You were a fucking mess when you finished, letting that hazy feeling completely take over, whimpering his name out like it was the sweetest thing. He kept on babying your clit with the tip of his tongue until you tugged at his hair, lifting his face. He could’ve gone on forever if you’d let him.

“Come up here,” you urged him, your voice shaky. You watched him lick his glossy lips, running a hand up your body in a soothing manner before collapsing next to you.

“You should see how breathtaking you look right now,” he exhaled, looking at you with your face flushed and your eyes glossed over. You stared at him so deeply, catching your breath, as you realised you couldn’t decide what eye colour he had. They shifted from green, to blue, to brown. Fuck, you were spent.

You thought for a while, and Lando could see it on your face, a mischievous grin forming on your lips before your hands moved down his stomach, stopping by his belt buckle. He let you undo it, your bottom lip nestled between your teeth as you teasingly looked up at him.

Already worked up from before, he moaned as you started to palm him over his trousers.

“I’m not gonna last if you do that,” Lando gasped, holding your hand still with a tight grip around your wrist.

“Take them off, then,” you simply answered, earning a laugh.

He couldn’t say no to that, moving awkwardly to get both trousers and underwear off as quickly as possible. He then settled closer to you, having you basically wrap your legs around him, clinging like a koala. You shared a look between each other, making sure that this was okay. It was so much more than okay. This felt necessary, like you were meant to do it.

“I’m on the pill, so this is fine by me,” you explained to him, a tremble in your voice by having him so close to you.

He kissed you before he did anything else, settling your nerves. Feeling your bodies mould together, creating a common heat. He glided himself through your folds, touching your already stimulated clit. As an act of desperation, you moved your hips lower, grinding against him.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You hummed against the skin on his shoulder, playfully nibbling as you kissed him all over. His eyes met yours as he pushed into you, waiting patiently to see your reaction to the light stretch. You nodded, your breath hitching as he began moving more purposefully.

The slow drags set of sparks of pleasure within you, so intense your eyes rolled back. You weren’t sure what kind of noises left your body, uncontrollable with the pleasure. Hearing Lando moan deeply into your ears made you feel less unsure.

Completely intoxicated, you tried your best to take it all in. You focused on the golden shimmer in his eyes, the scattered freckles on his face, and the scar on his nose. It was so warm, and wet, feeling him thrust inside of you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands again, just desperately spreading them over his back to his shoulders. Your sharp nails were destined to leave claw marks.

“Faster, baby,” you breathed out, ready for more.

You felt Lando grin against your cheek as he heard the pet name. It had completely slipped out on accident, but that didn’t mean it drove him any less crazy. You felt him grip your body harder as he fucked up into you.

“Doing so well for me,” he moaned out your name. “C’mon, Bunny, let me see how pretty you are when you come again.”

A litany of moans filled the room, from the both of you. That, along with the sounds of your bodies crashing together, made you fucking delirious. You were close, so close. You wanted to feel that feeling again, of him bringing you to the end.

You shamelessly used him as you felt the familiar fire spread through your veins. He wasn’t long after, almost lifting your body to get you closer to him as he finished. His moans were slow and shaky as he rested his lips on your forehead.

His hips lost all rhythm as he spilled into you, his cock twitching inside you while he slowly pumped you full of his release, thrusting several times as he rode it out. You wanted to memorise the guttural sounds and the tremble of his face muscles as he reached the ultimate high.

“We’re a mess,” he commented, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You let out a small chuckle. “Stay still for a second,” you ordered him as you relaxed in his hold. Both of you sighed at the sensation of him filling you up completely. You would enjoy this feeling of having him as close as humanly possible for as long as he let you.

“I don’t ever want to move.” he murmured against your hair.

You caught your breaths in unity, staying close together without saying much more. You didn’t need to. Lando knew that all his future dreams would take place here, lying quietly next to you, in your own sacred heaven. You two, sharing heavy breathing and sighs, after delicately bruising each other’s bodies.

He looked you deep in your eyes, seeing how tired you were, but solidifying what was once a doubt for you. He looked at you like you were a risk worth taking. A river worth wading. A river worth drowning in.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando woke up the morning after feeling well rested, in a bed that was warm and the sheets scented by you. He felt you moving next to him as he came out of his slumber, mumbling something about it being too hot and how you had forgotten to open the window before falling asleep.

He didn’t understand how you felt hot when all he felt was ice cold as you left him alone in bed. The room got brighter as you moved the curtains, opening a window to let in the outside air. He opened his eyes to see you, back turned against him, stretching your body to wake up. A grin plastered on his face. He was painfully happy.

You moved to wrap your arms around yourself, lifting the hem of the shirt you’d slept in. As you pulled it over your body, Lando got a view of your entire being. He was certainly awake now. Naked, your skin glowed golden technicolour from the sunlight, in stark contrast to the white room.

You knew exactly what you were doing as you slowly turned around.

“Just look at you…” Lando exhaled. “Fucking gorgeous, Bunny.”

In seconds, you were back in bed next to him, pulling the bedding up to hide your face.

“Gonna act all shy now?” he teased, chuckling.

As you peeked back out, Lando was quick to get closer to you. He hovered over you as his hands found your body.

He didn’t even have to tell you — your lips already parting as his thumb caressed your cheek, moving closer to your mouth. You took his thumb in your mouth, softly sucking as it rested on your tongue. You saw how his eyes fluttered at the feeling, gently removing it to press a passionate kiss to your wet lips.

Lando was hesitant to let his hands wander lower, softly cupping your breasts and littering your sternum with open-mouthed kisses. His fingertips lightly pinched the sensitive peaks of your nipples, as he looked up at you through tired eyes, always wanting your reassurance, as his lips got close to the scar.

You nodded gently, allowing him to kiss it. You didn’t like touching the scar, but somehow, you had no issue when his mouth did it. He kissed it gently before moving to kiss your nipple. He smiled with pride at the breathy gasp you let out as he placed his mouth on you. You were practically whining at the pressure of him sucking at your skin.

He released you after a moment, lying down next to you. He felt your heartbeat through your chest as his head rested on top of your breast, softly padded by the plush skin. You looked down at him with joy, placing a finger under his chin so he was looking right back at you.

Slowly, your fingers traced his face. He smiled at your orange nail polish. You took your time tracing the bridge of his nose, stopping when you got to the little mark he had right across it. He had his scars too.

“My heart hurts,” you groaned quietly, as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Huh? Are you serious?” he mumbled against the skin of your chest.

“It’s a dull ache, a desire almost,” you explained, and Lando understood your point.

“I think it’s contagious,” Lando smiled. He let the words linger in the air before adding, “You should come with me to Hungary after this.”

You sighed, realising how hard it would be to say no to him in the future. “I don’t go back to uni for another couple of weeks, so…”

“I’m buying you a plane ticket right now,” he said, reaching for his phone, but your hands stopped him.

“No,” you said.

For a second, Lando started to second-guess everything.

“Join me in the shower first.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

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hexxynn · 6 months ago

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you're my forever | best friend! anakin x fem!reader

word count : 10.2k

warnings : MDNI 18+, anakin and reader are 18, angst, angst, so much angst, self deprecation, reader has a mom named lucille, insecure! reader, modern!, jock! anakin, swearing, anakin worshiping the ground you walk on, reader is described as having a tummy!, praise, even more praise, anakin talks you through it, arguing, readers parents are divorced, pet names, virgin! reader, oral (f receiving), piv, no condom mentioned (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, aftercare (i think that's all?)

summary : you develop feelings for your long time best friend, anakin. you fall into a pit of bedrot trying to cope and push him away, only for him to push back. what you didn't know is that he felt the same way.

a/n : my first fic ever pls be kind lol, this is my first time writing smut too, so any tips would be appreciated! im lit new to tumblr so please don't be afraid to request anything. also im literally a slut for angsty sex and praise can you tell? also this isn't proofread soz

You didn't know when your feelings had turned from platonic, to overwhelmingly romantic.

Honestly? It was scary.

You had known Anakin for a while, him being your neighbor for most of your life. That was, until you moved, but only to downsize after your parents split. The quaint neighborhood, the only thing you had ever known, being torn away from you. Luckily— your parents didn't want to move far, so you stayed put in the same town, just in different neighborhoods.

You were two when you guys met, both of your toddler selves adorned with the aroma of innocence and childhood. Your moms had both bonded, over the struggle of motherhood, while you two seemed to find each other in the purity of your early years. He came up to you, with a simple ask to push him on the swing; an offer you couldn't refuse. Retorting with an, "as long as you push me after," which couldn't help but earn an eager grin from Anakin.

As you two pushed each other, giggles and laughs emerging from the silence of the neighborhood, your mothers had noticed the bond and smiled; knowing their friendship, and the one forming by the swing sets, would go on past this little encounter. They exchanged numbers, beams from ear to ear, knowing they found comfort in each other, and a pal for their children.

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As time went along, they set up playdates, leaving you two to watch shows, and do little things only young kids would do, whilst they sat on the back porch of your house with a wine glass in hand. You and Anakin would watch silly things, and you would play with his toy cars; in exchange, he'd play dolls with you (no matter how girly it was, or how frustrated he got in his three year old brain).

The neighborhood gossip would flow from their lips. Inside, the sounds of juvenility and jolly would make themselves present in some of your earliest memories. Your moms has been content with the current exchange. The simple call to come over, no matter whose house, with the almost immediate response from the other, and you and Anakin were dragged into their friendship, building one of your own. It worked out nicely.

As you grew up, playdates turned into school, and he was your best friend in elementary. Bus stop hand holding was the cause of teases from the boys (not the girls, who thought it was 'cool' you were able to get a kindergarten boyfriend), eliciting a shrug of nonchalance from Anakin. He would defend you, and go back to the swing sets with you, returning back to your place of blossoming friendship. He didn't care much for what the six year olds had to say, knowing you already for over half of his life. The bond your mothers had created was stuck, and would be for a while.

Once you got to middle school, there was a shift, though. He found his guy friends, understanding the game that adolescents liked to play with jokes and gossip. While he still walked you to the bus stop, he didn't see you as much in school. Especially with the deferring interests you two had grown. You had become a bookworm, immersed in studies as soon as you entered the next phase of your life, while he became athletic and would stay after school to play soccer with the other boys in the field behind school. Nevertheless, he'd come home and his mom would tell him they're going to your house. With no protest— he'd go. He would never turn down seeing you. Without prying eyes and weird looks, he could be himself and return to the faithful friend he'd had for so long. The simplicity and routine created never felt off, even as the times changed. He would always run back to you.

Until High School started. Things changed yet again, messing with the routine you two had created. He didn't walk you, or drive you to school, but would bring you food, smile at you in the halls, and nod his head in the structured environment of school. It was more than middle school. You two still saw each other as much as possible, but hangouts got a lot different. He got into football, and the schedule was rigorous. Yet, you'd still go to his games, cheer him on, and wait until he got home to personally congratulate him. He never even let flings, or girlfriends throughout the years, change his behavior towards you. It had never been explicitly romantic, but you two were closer than most. He'd hold your hand to drag you to his room, and vice versa. He'd let you drape his legs across him on the couch, or let him spin you around in a hug after his games.

He saw you more than middle school, his maturity hitting him slightly. He valued you, and you valued him, and that was one of the first things he'd ever known. This platonic relationship he held with you, was one of the things he cherished most. He wouldn't let anything get between you two, no matter what was to come in the future. He'd never let you go.

You on the other hand, immersed in studies and prepping for college, had turned a lot of hangouts into study dates. Which was okay with him, as long as you two got to see each other. He'd lounge in your room while you sat at your desk with a textbook and computer. He'd bring you food when your mom called that dinner was ready, knowing your academics had pulled you away from reality. His nurturing nature stayed the same.

You two had both gotten into different colleges, across the state. He got a football scholarship, and you got an academic scholarship at a prestigious college on the west side. You knew what was to come as the summer after senior year approached.

What you didn't know was to come, was your feelings towards him.

You didn't know when your hand holding started making your tummy flutter, or when his hands tracing patterns on your calves had you feeling flustered. Sure, he changed a lot in High School. He got muscular, grew his hair out, had more charm and appeal. He had girls swooning. But you? You never expected to be one of those girls.

Coming to terms with your feelings was definitely a task.

At first, it was jealousy. Jealousy towards the girls who were able to openly fawn over him, with Anakin relishing in the attention they bestowed on him. He loved living in this spotlight, and the rush he got when girls would whisper and giggle sentiments about him. He adored all of the looks and the eye fucks he would get in the halls. It was an ego boost.

You wished so terribly you could be one of those girls. The ones he'd kiss after his games, the ones who went out with him on Friday nights. You just weren't that girl.

Sophomore year came with heated jealousy, and Junior year came with longing. Senior year, you slowly came to terms with it. It wasn't until after graduation, when you relished in all the attention he would give you on summer days, that you fully realized what you were feeling. You had never had a boyfriend throughout all your years, academics taking priority over any man.

The beginning of summer was torture.

He was mindful of his last couple of months with you, giving you his full, undivided attention.

And you fucking loved it.

At the same time though, you hated it. The torment of the sudden affection you received, along with an endless stream of texts and calls when you two couldn't be together. It made your feelings all the more real, and you couldn't do it any longer.

You were then slowly trying to distance yourself, for your own sanity, to protect your feelings and soften the blow of college. You were frustrated, angry, and hurt all at the same time. It wasn't his fault, but your brain blamed him for all of it. You were starting to resent him, and hole up in your room, only coming out for meals and water. It had been this way for about a week now, in the middle of June, and the contrast from this to the way you were two weeks before was startling. Especially to Anakin.

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Your mom, Lucille, was standing on her back porch per usual, pacing around her best friend, also known as Anakin's mom. Though she was across town, it wasn't far. A mere ten minute drive at most.

"I just don't know what's gotten into her, you know? One minute she's going out almost every day with Ani, the next she's- she's- god!"

Lucille was very annoyed, to say the least. The state she had found you in was worrying her, and her financial situation with college didn't assist in her anxiety.

"Did something happen between her and Ani?" Lucille pondered, quirking a brow up inquisitively at her friend, sighing. "Not that I know of. In fact, he's been asking about her," Shmi sighed heavily. "She might just be stressed about university, you know?"

"I know... but she normally comes to me about these things, Shmi! And now she's this void," Lucille sat down, wine sloshing in the glass.

Shmi rubbed her back, smiling softly. "Just be patient, Lucy, maybe try to have a heart to heart with her? Sit down with her," Shmi pondered.

"Yeah... yeah, sure. I'll do that," Lucille returned the soft expression Shmi reflected onto her, letting out a huff. "Can you come by tomorrow morning? I'll keep you updated," she asked, while Shmi rubbed her back.

"Of course. I'll head home, love you," Shmi replied, standing up and walking into the cool air of the house, watching the moonlight cast the house in a low glow. The hardwood floors leading to the front door were bleached from the sun, it's constant rays hitting the floor from the many windows in the home.

"Love you, too," Lucille wrapped her friend in a hug, wishing her off. "What to do," she looked at her feet, shutting and locking the door, heading upstairs to talk to you.

She heard soft music coming from your room, probably from the speaker Anakin had gifted you Junior year. She recognized the soft hum of your voice, and Lucille was then unsure if she wanted to disturb your peace. But, she knew it was for the better.

A soft knock resonated in the empty hallway, and she heard your hums stop, followed by your music. Your footsteps could be heard trekking to the door, that once opened, revealed darkness in your face.

Your bags were heavy, face devoid of any feeling as you tilted your head to the side, "Hey, what's up?" You muttered, avoiding eye contact with your mother.

"Can I come in?" Your mom requested, analyzing every feature you once held. It was sad, depressing, and a mess all in one. You straightened your spine, opening your door wider and flicking on the light. With no words, you sat on your bed, the white comforter all messy and tangled in an array of clothes; unfolded laundry you were too tired to do.

Your mother sat next to you, placing a hand on your back. "Is everything okay?"

"Mhm, why do you ask?" You force a smile, nodding your head. Your appearance spoke much differently though, along with the state of your bedroom. Your hair in a messy updo, and your clothes scattered around the carpet. Spandex and an oversized tee adorned your figure, hiding the body you once loved to dress up with random articles of clothing, a uniqueness reflected in your personality onto your style.

This wasn't you.

"You've been in your room for a few days now, what happened to your summer plans? The job you were looking for?" Lucille removed her hand, placing her cheek in her hand.

You again avoided eye contact, looking to your window. "I'm just tired, Mama," you replied in a hushed tone, chewing on your already scabbed lip.

"I know, hon, I know. But we're all worried. Me, Shmi, Anakin-"

At the mention of his name, you dropped your head again. Deep down, you knew it wasn't fair to anyone. But you couldn't help it. You'd rather put up your walls before letting yourself get hurt with a stupid crush. "It's okay, I promise," you again put up a facade.

"Is it me? Did I do something?" Your mother started to tear up, placing a hand on her chest. The last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt you. She had never seen this from you before, though.

You finally made eye contact, shaking your head rigorously. "No, of course not. I just need to sleep," you scrunched your nose, trying not to let the tears fall yourself.

"Okay... but if you need anything I'm here, alright?" Lucille stood up then, making her way out the door, shutting off the light on her way out.

In the absence of another person, you felt yourself rotting in self deprecation all over again. The mention of Anakin just hurt you all the more. You hated doing this, you really did, but crying for hours on end seemed to help, even in the slightest.

So, you sat back in your mess of sheets and blankets, music starting up again, as you scrolled through photos of you and Anakin over the years. Even looking at photos of him with girlfriends, his smile brighter than ever. Kisses on cheeks, arms around them in photos. A reminder of something you could never be to him. A hole was making its way into your heart, one that only he could fill, and you were devoid of any reciprocation to your feelings.

But, back at the Skywalker's residence, Shmi had come home, setting her keys on the rack, and plopping down on the couch with a soft thud. Even she was confused and frustrated, thinking of you as one of her own.

At the sound of the door opening, and footsteps, Anakin came tumbling down the stairs, excited to see his mom after a long day of work, knowing she went to your house immediately after her shift.

She perked up at the noise, laying back and turning on the TV. "Hello, Ani," she yelled to the hallway, as he came walking towards the living room.

"Hey, Mom! How was your day?" He asked, setting himself next to Shmi, leaning back in the cushions. His hair was damp from a shower, clad in a black tee and plaid pants.

"It was good, stopped by Lucille's after work," she muttered, with him letting out a chuckle in response. "Assumed so, it's around ten— you're normally not out this late unless it's Lucille's," he nodded. "Did you see Y/N?" He then asked, turning his head to face Shmi.

"No... I didn't. Have you heard from her at all?" Shmi frowned, watching him shake his head and loll it back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips. "No, I haven't. I'm worried, you know? Did I do something?" He asked, looking for some sort of answer. Your absence was sudden, and no matter how many times he'd call or text, you wouldn't respond. Your location stayed the same as well, the icon staying on your house, so he knew you weren't busy. He didn't want to intrude though, and push boundaries, but he truly had no idea what was going on with you. And it hurt him.

"I don't think so, she's avoiding Lucy as well," Shmi looked at her son quickly while she channel surfed, finding something to hopefully fall asleep to on the plush tan cushions.

Anakin sighed, standing up. "Tell Lucille I'll be over tomorrow, okay? I'll see if I can figure it out, might be too personal to tell her mom about," Anakin assured Shmi, standing up to make his way up the stairs.

"Okay," Shmi replied simply, feeling sleep overtake her soon enough.

Anakin, though, made his way up the stairs, racing to his phone. He pulled up your contact again, pressing the call button, and listening to the same ringing tone that he's heard for the past week bounce off of the walls of his room.

He sighed when it hit your voicemail, the sound of your once cheery self beginning to speak. He hadn't heard your voice in so long, it ached and left him confused. "Tomorrow," he told himself.

He'd see you tomorrow, no matter what it took.

Tomorrow didn't come soon enough, though, leaving Anakin tossing and turning in his sleep. He was so, so tired, so worried, and so anxious about what would happen. He had no idea if he had done something wrong, his brain relentlessly bullying him with 'what if's'. He kept waking up in cold sweats, eyebrows furrowed with concern for you. He cherished you like a lifeline, and he felt like he was slipping away as you did from him. When morning came, he had bags under his eyes, and his hair was tousled with the constant running of his hands through his hair throughout the night. He didn't know what if it went wrong today, or if you gave no response and shut yourself off.

He didn't even eat, too sick to his stomach to do so, waving a small, "bye," to his mother before slipping into his car, and Shmi had sent a text to Lucille as he left.

Shmi

He's on the way.

Lucy

Alright, she's awake. Ty for sending him over 😘

Shmi

Anytime. Want to come over while they talk, give them a little space?

Lucy

On my way.

And with that, Lucille had left her own home, knocking on your door and letting you know where she was going. You had hummed in response, getting into the shower, preparing to repeat the cycle of bed-rot you had created in the recent days.

The water soothed you, hot streams battering on your back as you sunk into the tiled floor. The speaker still let out hushed instrumentals and lyrics of your playlist, allowing you to wallow in your feelings. Not even washing your hair, or your body, you simply laid there. Tears were scarce at this point, not able to flow down your cheeks, as you looked at yourself in your naked state.

You doubted Anakin could ever, ever, love something like this in the way you loved him.

It was honestly sickening, in your opinion, how you destroyed yourself over him. Promises to him left unkept, and your friendship flowed down the drain, following the stream of the water. The sad, angry music you hummed along to only allowed for your wallowing to fester into an ugly knot in your stomach.

Some Phoebe Bridgers lyric had you leaning on the wall, closing your eyes. Too many years wasted. Too many tears shed over Anakin.

As the song was reaching its peak, you were oblivious to the sleek, black jeep that pulled into your driveway. Your room perched in the back of the house, anyway, so it was hard to hear over the shower and the music, along with your own humming. You were unaware of the unlocking of your front door, which Anakin had a key to, and the sound of his footsteps bustling up the stairs of your home. Which would have been bad, had it been an intruder, but it was just your good ol' Anakin.

As he made his way up the stairs, he heard the music in the shower, and the sound of your voice, the murmurs of lyrics you sang along to. He also heard the familiar pattering of your bathroom, having also showered here one too many times after games. Your bathroom was attached to your room, and he didn't want to disrupt, so he simply opened your door and sat on your bed.

When he walked in though, he was shocked. Your entire safe space was in disarray, a mirror of your emotions. If there was one thing about you, though, it was that you were a tad bit messy, but never this bad. He frowned at the thought, and decided to lay back on your messy bed, pulling out his phone to check the time. You should be out soon right?

But as fifteen minutes passed, he was getting impatient. He strolled up to your door, knocking softly.

"Mom, I thought you were at Shmi's?" Your voice was raspy, and quieter than normal, a pang resonating in his heart.

"It's me," he softly said, hand on the door.

You were struck with shock, sitting up immediately, feeling guilty and overwhelmed suddenly.

"I'm busy, come back later?" You pleaded, hoping to avoid him. But if anything, Anakin was persistent, and when he says he's doing to do something, he'll do it. Your brain had hoped silently that he'd take it, making his way out, so you wouldn't have to face him.

He shook his head, "No. We need to talk, now. Are you almost done?" he inquired, leaning his side on the door now, dragging his fingertips over the ridges of the wooden door. You didn't respond, and he didn't hear any movement, so he continued to press. "I swear to God, Y/N, I'll come in there if I have to."

Fear struck your veins, and you stayed silent, hoping he'd go away. "We can talk later, I'm busy," you simply replied, shaking your head at his perseverance. You always adored that about him, but now was a bad time for him to do so. Now, you wanted him gone. He was no longer your sanctuary, but a cause of fear and pain to you. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't stop.

And you were right.

You heard the handle jiggle a little bit, before a groan was let out behind the door. "There is no need to lock the door in your own home," he sighed, turning back to your room. A bobby pin should work, right?

"It's to prevent people from coming in, y'know, like you're trying to do," you rolled your eyes and scoffed, borders and walls making their way back up. You heard his footsteps walking away from the door, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. One obstacle down, right?

But then, you heard the jiggling of the doorknob again, and the click of the lock, and a sense of alarm surged through your veins. "I'm coming in," he announced sternly, before you heard the creak of your bathroom door opening. He had successfully found your bobby pins littered around your vanity, from various updo's you'd style your hair with during school. For a second, he was glad for the mess, which allowed him to find it so easily.

"I'm naked!" You screeched, though the shower curtain covered anything he could possibly see.

He chuckled, scoffing, "I've seen you before," he sarcastically uttered, hands finding purchase on the counter behind him, facing the curtain. The only barrier between you and him in the current moment.

"Yeah, when we were four, asshole," you shot back defensively, groaning at his antics. You still continued to attempt to avoid him, dragging out your shower for as long as possible.

Anakin grabbed the towel off of the seat, reaching into the curtain to shut the water off. "Get out," he demanded, "or I will personally come in there and wrap you in the towel myself," his aggression didn't go unnoticed, knowing now that something was definitely wrong between you and him.

"Fuck, fine," you sneered, standing up and reaching out for your towel, which he handed to you through the curtain. You stood up, wrapping yourself, and peeking through the curtain. Shit, he still looked as beautiful as ever. Even more than the photos you would look at while letting sobs escape your lips. He wore a white ribbed tank top, paired with gray sweatpants, hung low on his hips. He looked like a mess himself, curly hair frayed at his neck, sticking to the skin from the steam.

He raised a brow, looking away in respect for you. "Go get changed, I'll wait here," he muttered, allowing you to be at least respectable before he confronted you. As a result, you zoomed past him, quickly grabbing a pair of drawstring shorts and a hoodie, knowing you wouldn't have to waste time on a bra if you were in something baggier. After slipping into your clothes in your closet, you opened up the bathroom door again, and he followed you forward to the center of your room.

He eyed you up and down, finally taking in your features and your state. Though your hair was dripping wet, he didn't miss the puffy circles around your eyes and the split lip you often had when you worried about something too much. His face softened, ever so slightly, as you sat on the bed in front of him, while he continued to stand in front of your figure.

He broke the silence as soon as you sat, "Y/N..." Anakin muttered, folding his hands across his chest in front of you. You gulped, picking at the strings hanging loose from your shorts, "what's so important that you had to interrupt my shower for?"

"You act like you were doing something important. You've been ignoring everyone for days now," he began, eyeing you up and down as you fidgeted and avoided his eyes. Those damn eyes.

"I was, I was showering. Hygiene is important, Anakin," you retorted, turning your head to the window on your left.

"You know what I mean," he opened up his stance, running a hand through his hair. You hardly ever called him Anakin anymore, just Ani. The fact that you used his first name sent shivers down his spine.

"What do you mean?" You inquired, acting oblivious, hoping he'd leave and let you go back to your previous state. Though, as mentioned, when Anakin was determined to do something, he'd do it.

He took a step closer to you, peering down, "You've been avoiding me for days now. Everyone, for days now," he pouted slightly. "You promised you'd tell me everything, so what's going on? You know I don't judge," he assured you, getting down to face you, sitting cross legged on the carpet of your room.

"It's nothing, I promise," You said the same thing you've told your mother consistently. "It's nothing," you repeated.

"It's not nothing, if it's got you like this," he tried to smile warmly, show you he was there, to bring comfort, to bring peace to your mind. "Yeah, well, it's not something I'd like to share with you."

Now that stung, a pain radiating in his very bones, your words leaving him stunned momentarily. You shared almost everything with him. Everything that ever stressed you, he'd hug you and distract you until you were a laughing and smiling disaster. You had never been so closed off, so defensive.

Unknowingly, unintentionally, he shot back, "I've given you every piece of me to show you how open I am, and you can't do the same back? What happened to you?"

Venom laced his voice, making you finally face him. It made the blow all the more easier, while it also gave you a heartache you couldn't possibly fathom. "Life happened, Anakin. We're no longer silly teenagers living our lives, we're adults. We're growing apart," you let your arms fall to your sides, helpless to the heat and tension growing between you two.

"We're about to go off to college, and I've been spending every waking moment with you. We didn't just drift, something changed. I'm trying my hardest to be here, you know? Support you, give you a hand, and you won't even open up," he shifted uncomfortably, sensing an argument arising, which has never before occurred between the two of you.

"It's nothing you can help, Anakin. It's out of your control, so leave it be, and get out," you persisted.

"Get out? Get out?" He shot straight up, standing up in front of you, inching closer to your balled up figure facing him. "You don't kick me out of a place that is basically my second home," he raised his voice, causing you to stand up to face him at the same time.

Before you could speak though, he continued his banter, "So you admit something is wrong," he pointed to your chest, jabbing your collarbone while he spoke the words, voice booming out in the silence of your bedroom. Your stance was less defensive now, as he slowly broke down the barrier, and he continued, yet again.

"I told you, it's nothing you can help with," you replied with a hushed, raspy voice, not wanting to bicker.

"Just tell me what it is, then? Is it school? Because while I may not be as smart as you, I have damn well studied for hours on end with you. I have given up movie nights, going out with you, for all of that shit. You're perfectly fine. You're set. You've got a scholarship, and you'll be fine!"

He continued to step closer to you, closing the space ever so slowly, as you shrunk under his words. "If it's your daddy, fine! But I watched the divorce, the split happen. I watched as you were torn between your parents, and held your hand through that!"

"So tell me, Y/N, what is different this time around?"

Your throat was dry, not wanting to respond, everything seeming so stupid now. How were you supposed to admit, right to his face, it was him? Anakin, the one who held you, the one who made you laugh, the one making you cry yourself to sleep.

"Is it boy troubles? Because I haven't seen any man swoop down and carry you in his arms, and I would have heard about it from your mom. You haven't told her shit, either. So it's got to be pressing you, huh? Just let it out!"

He continued his verbal attacks on you, his frustrations from everything being let out on you. You wanted to shrink back, run away, but there was nowhere to go. Your gut was churning, bubbling, as a sob almost escaped your throat. "You wouldn't get it!"

"Yeah, I don't fucking get it because you won't tell anyone what's wrong," he immediately responded, again taking another step closer. You swatted the hand that was on your chest away, pushing him back from the close proximity. He stumbled, catching his balance, before turning to the side and letting out a low chuckle. "I see."

He saw the polaroids of you and him, laying on your nightstand, shaking his head, "It's me, huh? What the hell did I do? Just tell me," he almost begged, yelling at the top of his lungs at this point. You glanced back and let tears finally escape your eyes, sniffling from the flow. He noticed, slightly softening, as you began to yell back, finally breaking the dam.

"It is you, idiot! Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile at girls like they're everything to you, bring them home at night to cuddle and hold them. It's the way you style your hair, and the way you saunter with your huge fucking ego!"

Oh, now he was confused. You despised his guts because of the way he was? Always has been?

"And you know- you know, I wish I was one of those girls! But you've never even looked at me that way, Anakin! That's the issue! That you've been so oblivious to the way I've wanted you, turning around and fucking other girls while I wait at home for your text that you're safe! It's all of it, Anakin," you let out a choked sob in the midst of your sentence, looking him directly in the eyes, "You go around and play football and don't even give me a sideways glance in the stands! It's so, so wrong to feel this way about you, someone I'm just supposed to care about. But no, I fucking love you, Anakin, and it hurts, it hurts so much. You sit and flirt with the cheerleaders in the cafeteria, giving them kisses on their temples and wrapping your arm around them, in public! But I will never, ever, be one of those girls to you. I will always be the best friend. I will never get to feel you longing for me, and never get to feel you loving me the same! That's what's wrong!"

You finished, letting out a huff, and realizing what you had done. Anakin stayed silent, processing your words, mouth open in shock. You were so terrified, yet so relieved that you had let everything out all at once. You knew now that you had crossed a line, broken a border down in your relationship with him. It had turned from sweet, innocent bliss, to rage and despair, mixed with love and fury. You knew you could never come back from this, back from the words that flew out of your mouth. You were desperate for him, and you would worship the ground he walked on if it meant you could receive one backwards glance held with the passion he held for the other women. But you knew you'd never get that, and you'd spend all of your life searching for a person to fill the hole he created in your heart, but never quite filling it up fully. It would be like a bandaid, covering it up temporarily, but the wound would still exist. It would still rot underneath your skin.

"You mean it?" Anakin simply said, words quiet, as he took a step towards you again, looking into what felt like your soul.

"Every goddamn word."

As soon as the curse left your lips, he grabbed you so swiftly, so tenderly, colliding his body with yours as his breath fanned across your lips, waiting for you to say no. You froze instinctively, still coming to terms with the fact that his hand was laid on the small of your back, the other placed on the back of your head, inching you closer. Before you knew it, the feeling of his lips encompassed yours, with unspoken feelings reverberating through the action. You immediately kissed back, gripping his shirt with the arms in front of you, pulling him instinctively closer. He pushed your frame impossibly close to his, wrapping his arm tighter around you, clutching onto the hoodie you wore.

His hand had gripped your sopping wet hair, earning a small noise elicited from your mouth into his, leaving his kiss softening in satisfaction. It was filled with need, hunger, and years of built up frustration. He handled you so softly, as if you would break, tears still streaming down your cheeks. A sob wracked your chest again, causing him to pull away.

"How in the world could you think I could never love you?" He questioned, bringing you into a hug. You continued to clutch his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. He gingerly set you down to sit in front of him, while he kneeled between your legs. His hands were placed on your knees, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess bestowed upon him.

"I'm not them. I'm not the cheerleaders, or the dancers, or the athletes you date. Look at me, Ani," you grabbed onto his hands, squeezing. His expression showed guilt, love, and anger. Anger at himself, for ever making you feel like this. For ever making you feel like you were the second option, and that he could never adore you. Because for years, he has.

"Oh, honey, you are so much more than them," he brought a hand up to cup your cheek. "I have loved you for so long, I can't believe you ever felt this way," he mumbled, kissing your knees after he uttered the sentiment. "You are everything to me."

He wiped the tears off of your cheeks with his hand, raising himself on his knees slightly. "I'm so sorry I ever made you feel that way, because you are my first and forever love."

"You mean it?" You mocked him, your normal attitude coming back to life. He grinned like a cheshire cat, watching you beam back in the midst of tears.

"Every goddamn word," he mocked back, grabbing your hands and placing kisses on them, "you could never compare to any other girl. You are worth so much more to me, I promise. You are my sun and my moon, my stars, I revolve around you. I love you, so much," he praised you, placing one of your hands on his cheek.

You began to cry again, tears of happiness this time, knowing it was okay.

"No, no, don't cry baby, please," he kneeled up, know facing you directly. "You're too pretty to cry."

You shook your head in disbelief, looking down at your lap.

He kisses your forehead, softly, bringing you close to him. "I'm so sorry," he profusely apologized. He left kisses down the side of your face, peppering you, before meeting your lips again, where you wrapped your arms around his neck as he hunched over. He never once disconnected your kiss as he hooked his hands under your thighs, pushing you back on the bed and under him. The kiss grew more needy, more desperate, as his hands rubbed your outer thighs, guiding them to wrap around his waist. As you did so, you pulled him down closer to you, your two bodies moving in sync with love, care, and adoration.

You tugged on his hair, making him grunt softly into your mouth, making you giggle slightly. "What was that, hm?" You mumbled into the kiss. You honestly were lost with what you were doing, your first kiss taking place on the playground at recess, and had never gone as far as to continue kissing someone.

"God— you, Y/N," he pulled away, looking at you from above, the locks of hair falling from his head, caressing his jaw. He scanned your face for any hesitance, any doubts, and in finding none, he leaned back down, caressing your arms in the process.

"Wait, Ani," you stopped him before his lips could meet yours, bringing one hand to trace along his jaw. "I've never done anything like this before," you mumbled, partially out of embarrassment and nervousness. He had then begun to pull away fully, out of respect for you, before you trapped his hips in with your calves, pulling him back down.

"We don't have to do anything, I promise, I don't expect anything from you, nothing— I swear," he promised, grinning at you from above. "I want you to feel as comfortable as possible," he told you, realization hitting him that you most likely had never done anything beyond kissing, and he didn't want to pressure you into anything you wouldn't want.

"No, that's not what I mean. Ani, I want to," you told him, the heat growing between your bodies, his sweatpants and your shorts being a soft barrier between what could occur.

"You want to?" He questioned, anticipation almost hurting him in his core. You were willing to give him one of the most treasured, most vulnerable parts of yourself, to him, and he couldn't quite fathom that.

"Yes. Anakin, I've always wanted to do this with you, since I knew I fell in love," you leaned up to kiss his cheek, then you kissed the shell of his ear, whispering, "let me be yours."

With that, he bent down to kiss you again, gentle hands and tender touches. "I'll be careful, and tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay?"

You nodded, bringing him back down to you, yet again, as the kiss grew heated. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, allowing you to open your mouth, letting his own wrap around yours and explore your mouth. The feeling itself was sensational, and you wished you had confessed sooner. Your hips bucked up to meet his, knowing only clothing separated you two. You reached down to tug on his shirt, enticing him.

He sat up, ripping his shirt off quickly, and you took the time to admire him. While you had seen it many times throughout the years, you couldn't get enough, knowing this was the man who loved you, who adored you, who pledged himself to you. Your hand traced along his abdomen, and up his chest, with slow circles and movements.

He looked down to you and your hoodie for permission, to which you grew embarrassed and shy. He stopped, again, tracing his hand along your hip, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not wearing a bra, Ani," you muttered with embarrassment, and he looked at you inquisitively at the fact. "Honey, do you know—"

You interrupted him, mid laugh, "Yes, I know, I'm just nervous. My body, and uh—"

You were cut off, almost immediately, with a tut from him. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I promise," he told you, looking at you as if you'd break with a single touch or glance.

You nodded, beginning to lift your shirt up yourself, before he stopped you, kissing you and setting your wrists down. "Let me show you how much I love you," he told you, so sincerely, that you felt your body heat up and tense.

His fingers found the bottom of the garment, beginning to lift it over your head, as you lifted your arms up for him to slip it off of you.

He could have practically cum at the sight.

He was met with your soft skin, only for him to see, and his sweatpants tightened ever so slightly. Your breasts splayed out, tummy revealed, and it was all for him. Would forever only be for Anakin.

He kissed you again as you held him, trailing pecks down your cheek, and to your neck, where he suckled the skin and nibbled. You whimpered quietly, never having even thinking you could let out anything from kisses.

"You're so, so beautiful. Sculpted by the gods themselves, I swear. If I could worship a statue of you at a temple, I could," he whispered into your collarbone, moving his pecks downward. You became inherently flustered at his words, a garbled mess, until his breath was fanning in between your sternum. His palms found your ribs, inching upward to your breasts, thumb teasing over your nipple. The contact jolted you, overly sensitive and becoming needy for him to make love to you.

"So divine, I swear," he spoke over your nipple, before his mouth latched onto it, suckling like it would be the last thing he ever tasted. Yet, at the same time, it was so pure. Merciful whimpers left your garbled throat, hands tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

He switched over to the other breast, the other one being caressed with his saliva coating it, hardening at the contact. He let his teeth drag along the peak, almost teasingly, before kissing the bud and moving downwards.

He moved down to your tummy, kissing all over. His tongue licked a stripe from your sternum to your navel, then kissing the skin above your shorts. "No matter how insecure you are, your tummy is perfect," he mumbled into the skin, teeth gently grazing the skin as he sweet talked into your skin, lust filling his eyes as he made eye contact with you from above him.

"Anakin, I need you," you muttered, not able to hold the eye contact as he sat between your legs, where you needed him most. He smirked, nodding as he did so, "I know, baby, just wanna take my sweet time with you," he spoke, so close to your core, where your desire lingered for him. He could practically taste it as well, bending down lower, his teeth biting on the waistband of the fabric, slowly pulling it down. His other hand met the other hip, assisting in his teasingly slow antics. He shimmied the shorts off, looking back to where you laid underneath him. He adored you, to say the least, and the way you're looking at him as him twitching in his pants. Desire and need are painted all over your expression, as he finally looked down to your panties.

He noticed the damp spot on the gray cotton, his mind going crazy. He did this to you. God, he loved it.

He kissed the wet spot, earning a small noise that strangled it's way out your mouth. Those damn noises to him, would be the death of Anakin himself. He then looked up, "Is this okay?" He questioned, wanting to make sure you were alright more than anything.

"Yes, please, Ani," you begged, watching him then tauntingly pull the fabric down your hips. Before looking, he begins to kiss the inside of your thighs, tongue dragging along the plush of the skin. The freckles and moles and scars, everything, he was taking in as he tasted you. It was perfect to him. You are perfect. He wanted to make sure you knew that as well, his attention switching to the other leg, repeating the same tantalizing licks and nips and kisses, sucking gently as he got closer to your center, leaving light hickeys and eliciting noises from you.

He then made eye contact with where you needed him most, a small sigh of his breath leaving a tingling sensation for you. "All of this, for me? You're too good to me," he spoke, before taking his first lick, a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning at the taste of you. "Y'taste so heavenly, honey, please," he begged for nothing, knowing he already had you as putty in his hands. You fell limp as he pressed a damp kiss to your clit, using one hand to pull back your folds for him. You were glistening with desire, leaking onto your sheets. He was disappointed he couldn't take the chance to lick it up off of the sheets, your hole twitching and practically clenching at this point.

He began his attacks on you, slow and steady, trying not to overwhelm you. Moans began to fill the room, letting him know he was doing a good job, only using his tongue at this point. "S'good," you spoke out, and he hummed in response, smiling in his head. All he wants is to make you feel good. This is an apology, devotion, and need all in one.

The vibrations sent shivers up your spine, fingers clutching the sheets beside you. His other hand was keeping your legs apart, the incessant twitching making him rut into the end of the bed. This wasn't about him though, this was about you.

His tongue prodded your entrance, scooping up whatever was leaking out, and he swallowed it graciously. "You're doing so well, my love," he praised. You hummed in response, not being able to form coherent words, even though he was the one with his mouth occupied. The hand spreading your folds twisted, allowing for his thumb to start slow, gentle circles around your clit.

"Is this good? Do you feel good, darling?" He asked, looking up to you as you nodded feverishly, in a haze of love and lust all at once. Your brain was clouded with the pleasure of Anakin between your legs, lapping you up like you were his final meal on death row. His thumb circling your nub, and his tongue swirling around your walls, gummy and slick with his saliva and your desire. He loved every second of it, your squirming and your hips rolling on his mouth, suffocating him in the best way possible.

His thumb began to speed up, and your hands found their way to his hair, pulling him closer and gripping on for dear life. And he hasn't even inserted fingers yet.

The heat between your legs grew stronger, as minutes passed of torturous circles and slow licks and prods, before you begged for him more. "Fingers, something, Ani," you managed to make out some words, jello and oozing into his palms and mouth. He chuckled at your eagerness, now using his hand he was using to hold your legs apart to wrap your legs behind his back, heels digging into the muscular blades of his shoulders. A single digit slowly entered you, curling inside, arching your back off of the sheets. His tongue moved up to your clit, suctioning the bud, and gently nibbling as his finger began a new pace. It was steady, almost leisurely, as he inserted a second finger, scissoring at your entrance. You were so, so tight, and it was heavenly to him. "Ani, faster, please," you commanded, and he damn well listened like an obedient dog, picking up the pace and curling inside of you each time, his thick fingers searching for the spot that would make you see stars. One your own fingers could hardly reach.

As he sped up and became more passionate with it, your legs trembled from overwhelming excitement and anticipation. You felt the knot beginning to form, one you had only reached on your own, while always thinking of this. Your moans became more strangled and raspy, his mouth never leaving his assault on your clit, and his fingers squelching from your wetness between your legs. The smell, the taste, everything was undeniably delicious to him. This was his Y/N, the one he pined after for so long, the girl of his dreams.

Your pussy began to ache, an overwhelming sense of your release approaching. With whatever you could make out, you uttered in a strangled mess, "C-cum, Ani, 'M gonna."

He began to get more aggressive with his suckles, and his eyes looked up to your expression as your breasts shook with every breath you took, head lolled back from the craving you had- no, the need you had for him. He felt your walls clench around him as your release was coming, his eyes never leaving you. "Good girl, I wanna see that pretty face look at me while you cum," he quickly reattached his mouth to you, the words themselves making your orgasm hit you like a trainwreck. Your eyes never left his, though they rolled into the back of your head momentarily. He felt the flutter, and the clenching of your legs around his head as you finished, his mouth licking up the last of you as he finally pulled away. "You did so well, baby. We can stop here if you want," he assured you, licking his fingers clean as he leaned up to cup your face and kiss your neck.

"I want to feel you inside of me," your lips were flush and swollen from the kissing and biting you had done, and your checks were splotched with redness as he nodded. "Fuck, you're so perfect," he guaranteed your utmost comfortability and contentment. "If you're sure."

He began to pull down his boxers and sweats in a swift motion with one hand, the other propping him up so he could kiss your cheeks sweetly and with care. "You're doing amazing."

You grinned and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips eagerly. Sweat beaded your foreheads, but the mess created never stopped either of you from continuing. He kissed your forehead, then both of your cheeks, before dragging his lips down to the corner of your mouth. He pulled away momentarily, hands reaching down to stretch you with his fingers. You glanced down to below his navel, and holy shit, was he big.

"It'll fit?" You questioned, your naïveté getting the best of you in the moment.

He chuckled, grinning and looking down at you waiting for him. He took a mental picture, analyzing every possible detail of your bare skin, and the way you looked right now. He was infatuated with you before, but this sight under him, left precum leaking from his tip. His fantasies could have never compared to this sight of him between your legs. "Yes, it will. It'll hurt at first, okay? And tell me to slow down or stop at any point, promise?"

You nodded your head eagerly, "I promise," so grateful for the way he was praising and taking care of your needs over his.

He kissed you again, dragging his tip along your folds. The red and swollen cock in front of you had you nearly drooling, but you decided to save that for another point in time.

"Are you ready?" He asked tenderly, kissing along your neck, tapping your clit with the head of his cock. "Yes, please," you chanted over and over again, like a prayer on your lips.

He let out a quiet hum, slowly pressing his tip into your folds. It slowly slipped past your entrance, earning a hiss from between your teeth.

"Are you okay?" Anakin immediately asked, though not pulling out, so he could look you in the eye, his gaze wavering slightly.

"Mhm, just hurts," you felt tears prick the corner of your eyes, and Anakin knows you've never been someone with a high pain tolerance. "Shh, it's okay, I've got you," he comforted you, pressing a small kiss to your lips, waiting for you to nod to continue. It didn't matter that even your entrance was gripping him like a fucking vice, he wanted you to feel as safe and pleasured as possible.

You made eye contact with him, nodding slowly, as he pushed in a little more, your hands finding his biceps, caged around your head, nails digging into his skin and leaving welts. It hurts, but you expected it. And there was nobody else in all the universe you would rather give your virginity to, just Anakin himself.

"You're doing such a great job, taking me so well," he smiled, hoping his voice would bring you a sense of oasis in the middle of his cock piercing through your insides. "Think you can take a little more?"

You nodded, as one hand reached down to press on your thigh, as he felt your pussy clench him so tightly, knowing you were his. Made for him. "Relax, it'll help it hurt less baby, I promise," he told you, rubbing sweet circles on your leg.

He felt your body loosen up, and he was able to bottom out into you, and his tip kissed your walls, a whimper of pain and pleasure entering his mouth from the kiss he gave you. "Good girl," he whispered into your mouth, making sure he was to never break eye contact in this moment. It was so pure, so sinful, and such a precious moment. He was lingering inside of you, movements stilled, no matter how badly he wanted to pound into you until you were crying into the sheets. You bucked your hips up, enticing him to move, and he got the memo.

It wasn't full throttled thrusts, but slow and lazy pumps in and out of you, waiting for the pain to subside. He felt so amazing inside of you, with your warmth and wetness connecting you both. The closest he could ever get to you, and he never thought he would be here. He was savoring every clench, every thrust, and every moment like it would be his last. Because it was you, and he loved you so dearly, he wanted this to be perfect for you.

Your back arched, your pussy twitched around him, all the while he was still slowly going in and out. It was celestial, the way you moaned and let out slurred words of his name, eyes half lidded and already looking fucked out, a devious and wanton expression he'd commit to memory. "Ani," you made out, grabbing the hand on your leg and placing it on your core. He understood, starting to rub spirals under the red and swollen hood of your clit, picking up his pace. Then, the pain has completely subsided, turning into seraphic pleasure, his eyebrows creating a wrinkle as they furrowed. His own pants and grunts left his lips, chest heaving from the bliss he was subdued in. He was immersed in you completely, mentally and physically. You looked so angelic, even godly, as your bodies connected in the most unholy way possible.

He had waited too long for this.

Your warm and inviting, virgin pussy, saved all for him. And now you were underneath him, his cock filling every inch of you, and each time he bottomed out his tip would meet your cervix, but not hard enough to hurt you. He treasured you, wanting the moment to last as long as possible.

"Faster, Ani, I'm okay," you rested your hand on his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes, as he tried so hard to contain himself so you could feel loved for every second of it. He got off on you feeling so cherished under him, and you had never felt more adoration than in the present.

He listened though, picking him his pace, hips snapping so scrumptiously against you. You could hardly moan anymore, and you broke the eye contact, head rolling back and hitting your pillows from the amount of satisfaction you gained. He took the opportunity to look down at where your bodies met, watching his length slide in and out of you, coated in the sticky sweetness of your serene need for him. His eyes glanced over your body, watching as your tits bounced with every jolt of his body, and he almost creamed at the very sight. He was going to wait though, until you came, to ever think of cumming.

"S'well, baby, you feel so good wrapped around me. You're so beautiful, God. I could do this for hours," he praised you, feeling your pussy clench around him at the simple, yet overwhelming words. The way the plush of your thighs jiggled with every little movement, and the way your tummy followed with. He was encompassed in serenity for every second of it.

"M'gonna cum," you mustered out, warning him of your second release, building quicker than the prior one. "Go ahead, my love, whenever you feel like it," he said between pants and grunts, thumb still circling around your clit as he felt you get all the more tighter.

He sped up his pace, shifting his body to the right, the angle directly hitting that spongey spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Your hands began to dig into his shoulders, the knot tightening. He could tell, watching as your thighs clenched and you let out the most wanton cry of his name, cumming around his cock.

The feeling and satisfaction of you finishing left him close to his own release, pulling your head down to look at him. "'S it okay if- fuck- I cum?"

"Cum in me, Ani, fill me up," you assured him, still whimpering from overstimulation and groaning at the feeling of him fucking your cum back into you.

His breaths were shakier, turning into soft whimpers and groans as you felt his thrusts grow messy, and soon still, feeling a gush of warmth inside of you, filling you to the brim. He stayed there for a moment, sighing as his cock softened, not wanting to pull out and disconnect from you in the most intimate way possible. He knew he had to though, as he pulled out slowly, leaving you feeling empty and lost.

You let out a breath of air, leaning up to kiss him. He happily obliged, rubbing sweet patterns along your hips, tracing the dips and curves with his index finger, soothing you after your release.

He leaned up quickly, making you feel cold, empty, and lost. Was he already leaving?

But no, he came back with a warm washcloth, leaning between your legs again. He came face to face with your cum and his load leaking out of you, beginning to drag wet and sloppy kisses on your knees as he ever so gently wiped up what was leaking out of you, and the mess and sweat off of your thighs. The residue piled along the fabric, which he then wiped his soft cock with, running back to your bathroom to throw it in the hamper. He crawled back into bed with you as you turned over on your side, the room smelling of sex and love.

"I'm so proud of you, you did so well," he told you, wrapping an arm around you and bringing you close to him, so you could lay your head on his chest. His palm rubbed along the small of your back, tracing up your spine.

"Thank you, I don't think I could have asked for someone better to do it with," you smiled, an after sex glow making you all the more beautiful to him.

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?" You asked, and a dumbfounded expression was plastered on Anakin's face, causing you to worry momentarily.

"I would assume so, but only if you'll have me," he spoke into your hair, bare and naked bodies intertwined under the cold sheets. "Of course I'll have you," you comforted him, hands tracing the curve of his biceps. "You're my forever, Anakin."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

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