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mrsfancyferrari · 2 days ago

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Marriage of Convenience

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

Song: Heartless · The Weeknd

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

Word count: 18.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He found her sharp wit and unconventional hobbies intriguing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cleared his throat. "Y/N?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s too late now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the moment she had been dreading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But instead, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lewis forced a smile. “Right. Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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melanchoire · 3 days ago

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We need g!p Yujin 😭 imagine Yujin fucking reader with her nerdy glasses perched upto her nose, the hem of her sweatshirt between her teeth. Reader asked her to remove it but Yujin says "No it's too cold.." with that stupid pout of her!!

Please please please 🥺

missing having babyboy in my inbox :( yujin stans where are you guys

yujin may look charismatic and charming and have a somewhat self-centered attitude, but in reality, she is a complete loser when it comes to being with you, regardless of whether it’s alone with you or surrounded by other people 😭 plus, she acts like a complete awkward virgin when fucking you, but you’ve been dating for years and you fuck practically once a day?? yujin will never get used to having a pretty girl around her…

she is having a dominant and cocky act; pushing you down on the bed and making you lie on your back, climbing astride you, holding your wrists above your head and looking at you with a smile as she pressed you into the mattress… all so that when she bends down to kiss you her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose and hit you in the face 😓 you would try to ask her to take off her stupid glasses but she would respond with something like “but i can’t see without them ☹️” and you would let her keep them on because if on a normal day she looks hot with them on, yujin looks twice as hot with glasses on when she is fucking you!!

WHAT ANON SAID ABOUT THE SWEATSHIRT imagine having already taken off all your clothes, leaving only your underwear on because you want yujin to be the one to take those clothes off, especially since you’re wearing a cute set that’s one of yujin's favorites 😋 so you slowly walk over to where she is, climbing to the foot of the bed and crawling over to where yujin is sitting against the headboard, climbing onto her lap and starting to kiss her neck, making her sigh and close her eyes as she gives in to your touch and slides her hands down to your ass and massages the globes between her palms… until you slide your hands under your sweater, touching her tits over her shirt and teasing her a little, removing her hands from under her coat just to try to grab the waistband of her sweater, but being stopped by yujin’s hands and a pleading look along with a “i don’t want to take it off… it’s cold 🥺” and you look at her dumbfounded because you two are literally about to fuck and she is refusing to take her clothes off?? you would say something to yujin about her and her stupid preferences but really want her to fuck you right now, so you can ignore her and her dumb brain for a while

and yujin is serious when she says she doesn’t plan on taking off her clothes because it’s cold, because when she fucks you, she just unzips her pants and releases her cock from inside her boxers?? just as she is about to insert her cock inside your pussy she stops in place because she notices the look of disbelief you give her, your eyes fixed on her while you raise an eyebrow and seem to ask for explanations but without the need to say it in words… awww yujin getting shy instantly and not knowing what to do 😭 she would instantly become embarrassed, nervously biting her lower lip and looking away from yours and anywhere in the room but your face

tujin ends up taking off her pants and underwear but you can’t get her to take off her sweatshirt because you couldn’t negotiate for her to agree to it 😮‍💨 so you settle for this because at least she is fucking you now!

but yujin is holding the hem of her sweatshirt between her teeth because if she wear it properly, she is afraid that it will get dirty with her cum or your juices??

she was looking very cute holding your legs on her shoulders and fucking you in a brutal rhythm at the same time her glasses were sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose and she looked so focused on holding the hem of the sweatshirt between her teeth but at this point she was already drooling on the fabric because it was muffling her moans 😓 she looked adorable multitasking; making sure her glasses don’t fall off from her face and hit you in the face, making sure she doesn’t get her favorite sweater dirty, and fucking her girlfriend like she deserves!

you just have to say ”would you like to fuck me while i’m wearing your sweatshirt?” to make her stop everything she's doing and finally take off that annoying piece of clothing from her body, taking it off over her head and holding it out in your direction, looking at you like a puppy who is excited to play with its owner 🥺 sometimes it’s complicated to deal with yujin’s silly ass…

#yujin #yujin x fem reader #yujin x reader #yujin smut #g!p yujin #ahn yujin #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin smut #g!p ahn yujin #ive #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #ive smut #g!p ive

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rafes-slut · 14 hours ago

Text

Misses It Too Much

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You (Exes)

Warnings: Explicit smut, phone sex, desperation, Rafe being pathetic over you, mentions of infidelity, dirty talk, mild angst

Summary: You’ve both moved on—at least, that’s what you tell yourselves. But when Rafe calls you in the middle of the night, breathless and wrecked, confessing just how much he misses you, you don’t hang up. You listen. And you enjoy every second of it.

The shrill ring of your phone cuts through the silence of your bedroom. You groggily blink at the screen, the contact name burning into your retinas.

Rafe.

You shouldn’t pick up. It’s been months. You’re past this. He has someone else now.

But something inside you—maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s pride—has you swiping to answer.

“Rafe?” Your voice is thick with sleep.

A sharp inhale, a shaky exhale. Then his voice, broken and breathless.

“Fuck, baby… thank God.”

His words are rushed, almost frantic, like he’s been holding back for too long. You sit up, suddenly alert, heart hammering.

“Why are you calling me?”

“I—” His voice cuts off, then returns, softer. Desperate. “I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, but I—fuck—I miss you.”

You roll your eyes. “You have a girlfriend.”

He groans, a frustrated, pained sound. “I know. I know, but—Jesus, she’s not you. She doesn’t feel like you, doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t—fuck—doesn’t make me cum like you.”

Your breath catches.

“Rafe—”

“She doesn’t even feel good,” he continues, voice strained, like he’s on the verge of breaking. “It’s nothing. It’s—God, it’s fucking torture. I have to picture you just to get off. I have to close my eyes and pretend I’m buried inside you.”

Your stomach flips. He sounds wrecked. Raw. Like he’s been holding this in for too long.

You should hang up. You really should. But you don’t.

Instead, you hum, tilting your head. “That so?”

A choked whimper. “Yeah.”

You bite your lip. “What else, Rafe?”

He groans again, the sound so guttural it makes heat coil low in your stomach.

“Fuck—everything. I miss everything. The way you squeeze around me. How wet you get when I just—God—just touch you. I’d fucking kill just to slide my fingers inside you right now, feel how warm and tight you are. I know you’d let me. I know you would.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily. You should stop this. But the power of it—the way he’s unraveling for you, over you—has you feeling high.

“Keep going,” you murmur, fingers teasing at your own skin.

He whimpers. Actually whimpers.

“I can’t even finish in her,” he admits, voice breaking. “Have to pull out, have to stroke my cock and think of you. Only you.”

Your breath is uneven now, lips parted. “And right now?”

A sharp inhale. “Right now I’m so fucking hard it hurts. Been like this all night. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t—” He cuts off, voice thick. “I’m leaking for you, baby. It’s fucking pathetic.”

You smirk. “So fucking pathetic.”

He moans, breath stuttering. “Fuck, yeah. Yeah, I am. And I don’t even care. Just—tell me you miss me. Tell me you miss my cock. Please.”

Your fingers drift lower.

And you don’t stop him.

Not when he sounds like this.

Your breath is uneven now, lips parted as your fingers toy with the hem of your panties. You shouldn’t be doing this—you know you shouldn’t. But Rafe sounds wrecked, desperate in a way that makes something deep inside you pulse with satisfaction.

You let the silence stretch, making him wait, making him ache for it. Then, finally—

“Maybe I do,” you whisper.

He groans so loudly it’s almost embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. You can hear the way he shifts on the other end, the rustle of sheets, the sharp exhale as his hand wraps around himself.

“Fuck, baby, say it again,” he pleads.

You smirk. “I miss it, Rafe.”

A sharp, choked moan punches through the speaker. “Jesus—fuck—” He sounds close to breaking. “You—God, you’re evil. You know what hearing that does to me? My cock twitched, baby. Just at your fucking voice.”

Your fingers dip lower, pressing against the damp heat between your thighs. You sigh, just loud enough for him to hear.

Rafe sucks in a breath. “You touching yourself?”

Your smirk deepens. “Maybe.”

“God, fuck. Wish I could see.” His voice is hoarse, thick with lust. “Wish I could spread those pretty thighs, slide my fingers inside you, feel how wet you are for me.”

Your fingers dip beneath your panties, teasing over your clit.

“Bet you’re soaking,” he rasps. “Bet I could slip right in, no resistance. You’d take me so easy, wouldn’t you? Just like always.”

A quiet whimper leaves your lips.

Rafe growls. “Oh, you are touching yourself. Fucking knew it.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “You don’t know shit.”

“Oh, I know,” he counters. “Know how you get when you’re turned on. Know the little noises you make, how breathy your voice gets.” A pause, then softer—“Miss those sounds so much, baby.”

Your fingers move a little faster.

He must hear the shift in your breathing because he moans, voice shaky. “Wish I could feel you clenching around me. You always did when you were close.”

You bite your lip.

“I—fuck—I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop picturing how tight you’d feel wrapped around me, how perfect you’d be.”

Your own breath stutters now, pleasure building. “Yeah?”

He groans. “Yeah. Would fuck you so slow, make it last. Make you beg.”

You let out a soft, shaky moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises. “Missed that little sound so fucking much.”

You can hear the slick movement of his hand on the other end, the sharp intake of breath, the broken moan that follows.

“Shit, I’m so close,” he gasps. “Tell me—tell me you want me, baby. Just this once. Please.”

Your stomach clenches, and for a moment, your pride wars with your desire.

Then—

“I want you, Rafe.”

A strangled, wrecked noise rips from his throat.

“Fuck, baby—gonna cum—”

His voice dissolves into incoherent moans, and the thought of him falling apart just from the sound of you—the idea that no one else can get him off like you—sends you over the edge, too.

You arch against your own hand, breathy little whimpers slipping free as pleasure rolls through you.

For a moment, all that fills the line is the sound of heavy breathing.

Then, a hoarse, broken whisper.

“Fuck, I still love you.”

Your stomach tightens.

Silence.

And then, before he can say anything else—

You hang up.

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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 days ago

Text

Post It - Part 7 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

|| - Part 1 || - Part 2 || - Part 3 || - Part 4 || - Part 5 || - Part 6 || Master List

warnings & notes: lil bit of smut at the end. swearing. As always, thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for the external validation, even if she does forget about me sometimes. 😁 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 4.6k words

The blistering Miami heat beat down on the paddock early Friday morning, the humidity hanging in the air thick and heavy. It clung to everything like a damp blanket, even this early. Outside the air-conditioned haven of McLaren’s hospitably, the sun was already blazing hot overhead and you were regretting your choice of spots for breakfast.

You and Lando sit at a small shaded table just outside the doors of building, half eaten breakfast of fruit and whatever else your boyfriend had chosen sits scattered between you. The air buzzes with the low hum of generators and the distant roar of engines being prepped for the first and only practice session of the weekend. Lando sits across from you, a mix of nervous energy and focused calm radiating off of him as he scrolls through his phone, occasionally glancing up at you as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. The moment you two had been reunited yesterday, it had felt like a giant weight lifted right off his shoulders. He’d slept so well last night, better than he had in what felt like weeks, with you tucked up against him, limbs tangled together and his arms curled securely around your middle.

He felt focused as he sat watching the replay of the weekend warmup show from his phone, prepped after a win in Saudi Arabia and confident from his maiden win here last year. You were just happy to have today off to a better start compared to yesterday, despite the fact that the heavy humidity was already making your skin prickle in protest.

Just as a comfortable silence settles over the table, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the distant shout of an engineer, Hannah breezes over, a whirlwind of energy. You hadn’t seen her for a few weeks either, as she had needed to go home to California for a bit but with the race being state-side this weekend, she was able to make it.

“If it isn’t my two favorite love birds.” Hannah teases as she pulls out a chair before plopping down beside you. “I heard you guys caused quite the PR nightmare yesterday.”

You scoff, looking pointedly at Lando. “Hey now, that wasn’t my fault!”

Lando rolls his eyes, dismissing Hannah’s teasing with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. I made it up to her last night, didn’t I baby?”

The smug look on his face has Hannah choking on her water and you reaching over to swat at his arm while you shout, “Lando Norris!”

Lando holds his hands up in a show of mock innocence, “What? You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong.”

Brows raised, you have to admit can’t really argue with him. As soon as he had gotten you back to the hotel room late last night, your clothes had been on the floor and had remained there until Lando’s alarm had gone off early this morning. He had pulled you to the edge so many times over the course of the night, in both his bed and this morning in the shower as you were getting ready for the day that you were still deliciously sore as you sat next to him in the paddock.

“Okay, that’s enough from you two.” Hannah says, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Come on,” She stands before turning to you, hands on her hips. “Can we go find Alexandra? Ferrari always has the best iced coffee, better than anything Red Bull has.”

You laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to Lando’s mouth. “Yeah, I need some extra caffeine this morning, don’t I Lan?”

“Enough!” Hannah groans.

“You’re both traitors.” Lando mutters as he watches you take a few steps away. “McLaren’s coffee is just fine.”

“Oh stop. You know that is total lie.” You say, hands on your hips. “Ferrari has the best food in the paddock.”

Lando captures your waist in his arms, pulling you closer. If he was going to suffer the backlash from the comms team after his little slip up yesterday, he was certainly going to enjoy his new found freedom in being able to paw at you openly in public. “Fine, but don’t forget I need a good luck kiss before quali this afternoon.” He says, bottom lip poking out in a over exaggerated pout.

Hannah rolls her eyes, “You can have her back for lunch, Lando. I told you we’d share custody of her, didn’t I?”

“Fine, but make sure she’s back in time so I don’t have to send out the authorities to look for her. I don’t want to have to take you to court for modified visitation.”

“Okay! That’s enough with the divorced parents analogy, thank you!” You grab Hannah’s arm before the two can bicker over you even more. “Let’s go find some decent coffee before you two start drawing up a custody agreement.”

You and Hannah navigate the bustling paddock, weaving your way though the throngs of team personnel, media, and VIP guests. The air is thick with the smell of fuel and the hum of voices, loud and excited in anticipation of this weekend’s races. It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of Ferrari’s hospitality, a hive of activity surrounded by a sea of scarlet and yellow. After a few moments you spot Charles LeClerc’s girlfriend Alexandra sitting by herself at an outdoor table.

“There she is.” Hannah says, nudging you with her elbow. “Lets go say hi.”

You’d met Alexandra back in Japan and had instantly clicked with the brunette. You had a lot in common and had instantly bonded over your shared love of art and her dog Leo. You and Hannah approach, exchanging quick hugs and cheek kisses before quickly catching up on the latest gossip, most of which seemed to center around you lately. After catching up in the latest goings on and getting some of the coveted iced coffee you were craving, Hannah suggests a walk to stretch your legs before the first practice session.

“Let’s see if we can find some shade.” Alex suggests, gesturing towards a less crowded area of the paddock. “I’m already melting, this humidity is so gross.”

As the three of you stroll along, the noise of the garages fading into a dull roar, you find yourselves walking down a less frequented path towards the back corner of the paddock. The air is still thick with heat, but a slight breeze offers you a small reprieve and you start to feel your body adjust to the heat.

Suddenly, Hannah stops in her tracks, mouth dropping open when she spots a familiar figure standing a few feet ahead of your group. You follow her line of sight and when you see who she’s starting at your stomach flips very unpleasantly.

Allegra.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” You hiss, heart hammering so hard against your ribcage, you’re surprised you don’t bruise something.

“You don’t think Lando…” Alexandra lets the sentence hang in the air but you’re shaking your head before her thought is even completed.

“No, he showed me the messages between him and her weeks ago. There was never anything going on.”

“Well don’t look now but she’s coming over here.” Hannah warns, sliding her sunglasses up into her hair so she can fully glare at the blonde walking towards you with a smug grin on her face.

You thought it would probably not be a good look if you punched her, but you considered it anyways. As she approached you felt a pang of insecurity rush through you just looking at her long blond hair, wondering how she kept it looking so perfect in the Miami humidity. She was thinner than you, perfectly tanned and was flashing you a blindingly white smile that reminded you of a shark circling it’s prey.

“Well well,” Her voice is light and airy, the perfect innocent tone that would lull anyone into a false sense of security. “If it isn’t my replacement.”

Beside you, Alex huffs and you can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Replacement?” You tilt your head to the side, studying her as if she’s a strange creature that’s crossed your path. You’ve dealt with mean girls before and have this act down pretty good, even if you have to fake it with the way your heart rate has jumped sky high since you saw her. “Honey, there was nothing to replace. You and Lando were never anything other than a desperate attempt to drum up some positive PR for the both of you, nothing more.”

To your surprise, Allegra smirks like a cat with a mouse in its jaws. “Then why did he invite me to Saudi Arabia a few weeks ago?”

You blink, caught off guard at her question. You’d heard through the grapevine that she had been spotted skulking around the circuit and in the city but nothing had surfaced proving that she had been at the race. Had Lando invited her? Your previous confidence in his sincerity waned for just a brief moment as you thought back to yesterday and how you felt like something had been off. Had you trusted Lando too quickly?

And then Alex spoke up.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it, Allie.” Allegra’s eyes flare in anger at the nickname you knew she reserved for Lando alone. “I was at the race all weekend and I didn’t see you at all. Not a single hint of that cheap perfume you’re wearing, and let me tell you, I can smell that shit from a mile away.”

You blink in surprise at your friend. If there was one thing Alex was, it was quiet. Once you got her alone, she was downright chatty but out in the paddock with the public? She was quite reserved.

“Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t in his hotel room all weekend.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, the doubt that had been clutching at your heart for the last few moments dissipating as quickly as it had come. “I was on FaceTime with him pretty much any time he was in his room, Allie.”

“It’s Allegra.” She hisses.

“What are you even doing here?” Hannah asks, taking a sip of her coffee before flicking her gaze away from the blonde as if she was bored out of her mind. “Did you not see Lando’s interview with Crofty yesterday? Their posts right after?”

“I know a PR relationship when I see one.” She sniffs but you can tell you’ve unnerved her. Allegra hadn’t totally thought this through. Either that or she was just dumb enough to think that she could have the upper hand here still.

“Of course you do!” You laugh, swirling the ice around in your coffee. “You spent the last year pretending to date someone who barely tolerated you.”

As Allegra sputters, searching for a response, your phone begins to ring. “Hi baby.” You say, glaring directly at woman opposite you who has turned bright red in the last few moments. “Yeah, of course, we’ll be right there. We’re just finishing up with a fan. Of course I’ll say hi for you. See you soon!”

You swear you see steam coming out of Allegra’s ears as you glance over at Hannah and Alex next to you. “Lando got out of his engineering meeting early and apparently feels the need for a pre-practice kiss.” You turn back to Allegra, smirk on your face. “Athletes and their superstitions, am I right?”

Before Allegra has a chance to respond, you spin on your heel and walk away, leaving her standing in a deserted part of the paddock alone.

When you’re out of earshot of her, Hannah speaks up, her voice wary. “Should we tell Lando she’s here? Maybe McLaren PR? I don’t think that’s going to be the last time we hear from her this weekend.”

You shake your head, “Not right now. Lando doesn’t need any distractions. He was pretty anxious this morning about the sprint and I don’t want anything to take his focus away from that. I’ll tell him tonight.”

The darkened hotel room was a stark contrast to the frantic energy of the Miami paddock that you had spent your day in. The air conditioning hummed softly, a cool, artificial breeze that did little to dissipate the residual heat that was clinging tightly to your skin. Outside, the city throbbed with the sounds of Miami on a Friday night. It felt as though everyone was out enjoying everything that the city had to offer, but in the hotel room that you shared with Lando? The suffocating silence that hung in the air was almost too much to handle.

Sprint qualifying had been a complete disaster, a series of unfortunate events that included a deleted push lap in SQ3 and getting stuck in dirty air behind George on his second attempt. The difficulties had resulted in a disappointing P7 start for tomorrow, further advancing Lando’s distaste for sprint weekends. He’d carried that frustration back to the hotel, the tension radiating off of him in palpable waves as he laid on the bed in just his boxers. Even with you wrapped around him, his normal playful demeanor was replaced by a dark, brooding intensity.

You weren’t feeling much better though, to be honest. Seeing Allegra earlier in the day had really spooked you. Lando hadn’t made any indication that he knew she was here this weekend and you still fully believed that he hadn’t invited her to the Saudi race but there was something so unsettling about her presence here. Like she had expected to be welcomed back into Lando’s orbit with open arms. Like you didn’t even exist to her. It felt disrespectful and unnerving to have her in town, even if you felt secure in your relationship with your boyfriend.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the soft rusty of the sheets as you tracked idle patterns on Lando’s skin with your fingertips. Your boyfriend’s love language was touch and even if he was silent and broody now, you knew that having you here, legs tangled with his, fingers running up and down his tanned skin, was good for his mood. The warmth radiating off of his body felt charged though, almost volatile and you knew Lando was busy battling his own demons, replaying the day’s events over and over in his head, trying to figure out where he went wrong and how he could blame himself even further.

You also knew you had to tell him about what happened earlier. If he found out from anyone other than you, it would be a disaster. The unspoken tension in the room was becoming unbearable but you knew you needed to tell him, no matter how bad his reaction was.

Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“I need to tell you something and I don’t think you’re going to take it very well.” You murmur, shifting so you’re on your side, propped up by your elbow.

Lando turns to you then, eyes dark and stormy. This was shit timing and you both knew it but you had to get it out in the open. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The thought of another shitty thing happening today nearly sends Lando into a tailspin. The way you were talking had him thinking worst case scenario. With the way this weekend was going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was you had to tell him.

“Allegra is here.” You say, the words hanging in the air like a fragile confession, the weight of them settling between you two.

Lando’s body stiffens ever so slightly but you notice it immediately, the sudden surge of tension rolling through his body telling you everything you need to know. He turns his head to meet your gaze and you’re struck by how dark and guarded his eyes are. Your normally goofy, playful boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Unable to resist, you lift your hand to card your fingers through his still shower-damp curls, a move you know calms him and soothes out the rough edges of his anxiety.

“What? How do you know?” He asks, his voice so low you almost miss the question.

“When Hannah and I went to Ferrari this afternoon we ran into her in the paddock.”

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asks, frustration sneaking its way into his voice.

Biting your lip, you second guess your decision to keep this from him until now. Knowing how shit qualifying had been though, it only takes a moment before you’re firm in your belief that you did the right thing. “I didn’t want you to be distracted. I know how are when you get inside your head and I didn’t want her to ruin this weekend for you.”

Which is exactly what was happening.

Lando turns away from you then, limbs untangling from yours. Your skin is instantly chilled after losing his body heat and you have to restrain yourself from moving to follow him across the bed. Lando may be a pretty physical person but you knew how to read his body language well enough to know exactly what he was feeling. Everything that he was communicating to you with the way his shoulders were set, his jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the dark ceiling above him told you that he needed space.

“Fuck.” He whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face, the slight stubble starting to make its way back on his face after not shaving this morning.

“Don’t be mad at me.” You plead, unable to keep the anxiety out of your tone.

Lando rolls back over towards you, eyes soft with regret. “I’m not mad.” He assures you, reaching out to pull you closer to him. You practically sigh in relief when he slots his thigh between your legs, hitching your top leg over his hip. He drags a finger down your jaw as he pastes a smile on his face, one that you know is for your benefit only. You can still see the pain and regret in his eyes as he holds your gaze and you know he’s thinking about how Allegra nearly ruined everything that he had with you.

“I’m not mad at you.” He repeats himself, more for your benefit than his own. “I know why you did it and I appreciate it. I’m just so fucking frustrated that she’s here. It’s just another reminder of…everything that I’d rather put solidly in the past.” He pulls you closer, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck where he mouths at the skin there. “I don’t like thinking about how close I was to losing you.”

Dragging a single finger up and down the toned line of his bicep, you can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your lips when Lando visible shudders at your touch. “But you didn’t in the end and that’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” You murmur, lips finding his in the dim room. Pressing your hips into his, you try to remind him that you’re real, you’re here and you’re not going anywhere. You couldn’t bare to lose him any more than Lando could bare to lose you.

“It’s just such a mess. A mess I know you don’t want to be brought into. You’ve worked so hard for the reputation you have and here I come, threatening everything you’ve built because I allowed myself to get talked into a fake relationship with a woman I can’t stand.”

You pull back to Lando’s forced to look at you fully. The anguish you see on his face sends a sharp shock of pain cutting across your chest so brightly it steals the breath from your lungs. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” You wait, staring pointedly at Lando until he nods his head in agreement. “She can come and try to ruin what I’ve built, what we’ve built together these last few months but she’s not going to succeed. You have proof of what she was to you and that was nothing more than a PR thing. Sure, it might be embarrassing for that shit to get made public but we’ll get through it.” You pause to lean forward, pressing your lips to his. “Together.” You murmur against Lando’s mouth.

Lando pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss but its you that runs your tongue along the seam of his mouth, a silent ask for him to open for you, which he does immediately. The warmth that floods your blood has you rolling your hips into his, desperate for more friction. You know Lando is in a mood and you’d do anything to smooth out the rough edges of his troubled mind.

“Please don’t give her one more thought tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out but right now, I want to make sure you feel better. Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?” You murmur against his heated skin as you drag your mouth away from his lips, down his jaw, towards the thick column of his neck.

You take the moan that rumbles through Lando’s chest as permission to do exactly what you’ve just asked. Usually it’s him taking charge when you two are together like this but tonight there’s something different crackling in the air. You can tell he needs to be taken care of, the combined stress of a tough day and then Allegra’s appearance in the paddock is weight heavy on his shoulders. With a gentle push of his shoulders, you roll your boyfriend onto his back before dragging a heated line down his neck towards the hollow of his throat.

Lando tangles his fingers in your hair, gently guiding you further down his body. You work slowly, teasing and nipping your way down his chest, stopping briefly to flick your tongue across one nipple. When he gasps at the way your teeth graze the sensitive skin there, you can’t help the grin that finds its way onto your face.

“Fuck, baby.” Lando breathes as you continue to move your mouth further down his body. The way you feel against his heated skin has the tension melting out of his muscles so quickly he barely has time to wrap his mind around how quickly the energy shifted between you. The way you always wanted to make sure he was taken care of, that he was okay, was something he’d never experienced before and he was certain that he’d do anything to make sure you never doubted his feelings for you ever again.

You reached the waistband of his boxers, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed them down, revealing how hard Lando already was for you. His breath hitched, a low groan escaping his lips as he lifted his hips slightly, a silent plea for you take him in the way he desperately needed you to.

Your hands graze the thick corded muscles of his thighs as you finally take him in your mouth, the taste of him, salty and musky and familiar to you now, filling your senses. You moved slowly at first, teasing the sensitive tip with your tongue, eliciting a series of soft moans from deep within his chest. You ran your tongue up along the underside of his length, tracing the vein that runs up the underside of his cock.

“God, that mouth.” Lando moans as he gathers your hair together in a makeshift ponytail to give him something tug on. He knows how much you like that, when he guides you to the places that give him the most pleasure with a rough tug of your hair. It has you squeezing your thighs together, which you barely ignore, wanting to remain solely focused on Lando and his pleasure tonight.

You begin to move with more urgency, your hand gripping at his thigh, eyes flicking up to look at him through wet lashes. Lando’s moans grow louder, his free hand reaching down to twine his fingers with your hand, giving it a squeeze to let you know how much he’s enjoying this. He’s lost in the sensation of being surrounded by your wet, warm mouth, the tension that had gripped him all day finally melting away. The way you took all of him without hesitation, whimpering when his hips force his dick deeper towards the back of your throat grounds him, reminding him that he’s got someone to share the good and the bad now, that he’s not alone and you’re in this thing together.

The way he reacts to the way you take him has heat pulsing between your legs. Unable to keep your fingers to yourself anymore, you let go of Lando’s hand before trailing your fingers down between your legs. It’s not enough to really distract you, but the pressure from your fingers against your clit is enough to dull the aching need that you know you’re going to need to deal with later.

Lando bucks his hips against your mouth, his moans turning to ragged gasps as you take him even deeper. The way you swallow against him has a desperate whine spilling from his lips in a way that sends zaps of electricity straight to where your fingers are currently working over your wet pussy. He was so close, you could feel it in the way his thighs were tensing beneath the hand that gripped at his taut flesh.

“Gonna swallow all my cum baby? I’m so fucking close. I want you to swallow every drop of me, can you do that for me?”

You’re too preoccupied to give him a proper answer, not wanting to let go of the heavy length of him that sits so solidly in your mouth so you just nod, hoping that its enough for him. It’s so grounding, so erotic the way you feel him twitching away in your mouth that you’re pretty sure you could spent the rest of the night with him in your mouth like this.

And then he’s there, right on the edge of release and you’re flicking your tongue against the sensitive head of his cock and with one last guttural moan, Lando spills into your mouth. The warm, salty cum slides down your throat as you hold him steady, allowing him to fuck up into your mouth as he crests over the waves of pleasure that you brought him to.

Lando’s eyes, still glazed over with pleasure, find yours as he reaches out to trace the curve of your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Holy fuck, baby. Thank you” He croaks out, voice raspy as the exhaustion of the day settles over him. He’s soft and pliant like this and you continue to hold him in your mouth, waiting until he’s fully come down to release him with a soft pop.

He pulls you up his body, his lips finally finding yours in a slow, tender kiss that says more than he could ever find the words. His mouth works yours over, the taste of his own release still on your lips. “You’re too good to me.” He murmurs against your lips as he tucks you against his side. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll repay the favor, okay?”

You hum, eyes drifting shut as the warmth of Lando’s body sinks deeper into your muscles. “It’s okay, this is enough for me right now. Go to sleep for a bit and we can take a shower later tonight, okay?”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Lando wonders before his eyes flutter shut and he allows a deliciously satisfying sleep to pull him under.

tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

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mediumgayitalian · 2 days ago

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“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Will smiles, pushing down the bubble of air that fires up his torso, pressing down on the balloon of giggles that expand up his belly, into his lungs. He hides into the pillow, acting at sleep, feeling Nico’s hand walk across his chest.

“Tell me more.”

That callused hand pauses, and Will’s breath hitches, goosebumps pilling up all over his warmed skin. He can feel the slow spread of Nico’s tiny grin in the air, can feel the crooked edge to it, the sharp edge of possession. His teeth-torn fingernails dip below the sag of Will’s stretched-out tank top and feign hesitance, feign modesty, before sliding clear up along his abdomen, his sternum, his pectorals. The web of Nico’s thumb rests dangerously, daringly close to the edge of Will’s areola, by no accident. Will shivers.

“Greedy,” Nico murmurs, and his lips are so close to Will’s skin that he feels the rumbling baritone of his voice in the hard lines of his muscles, and they clench, tiny little spasms, with every ghosting breath. “Greedy, greedy boy.”

Will’s stomach bottoms out. He feels it, dropping to his clenched toes, and drawn unbidden from his mouth is the tiniest of little sounds, breathy, gravelly, humiliating; the quiet echo of Nico’s snicker makes it so, so much more intoxicatingly worse and he can feel it, the headiness. The way his mind starts to float.

“‘M not.”

It’s barely a defense. It’s barely words. He can focus only on the scrape of Nico’s palms against his skin, on the heat of his breath, his body; so close. Will’s mind spins and his own breathing gets short, shallow. Wanting.

“You are.” His lips touch, finally, the burning want of Will’s skin; pressing firm against the slope of Will’s shoulder, hard enough to feel teeth, to feel panting, to feel the strength of Nico’s wanting. His taking. “You drink everything I give you. You replenish your blood with it, don’t you.”

“And?” Will asks, breathless, challenging. He bares his neck and hears the sharpness of Nico’s inhale; looks out of the corner of his eyes and smirks at the clench of his Nico’s jaw, the tongue that darts out to wet at his lips, to lap at him. “Will you give it to me?”

“I will give you anything.”

He says it with the force of a thousand whispers, a million final oaths. He says it and Will hears thunder clap. He feels the ground shake, the bed shake, his thighs shake, uncontrollably, weak under the bruise of Nico’s clench, the brand of his palms. I will give you anything. I will give you everything.

“How will you ever afford it?”

Nico’s teeth sink into his skin and Will opens his mouth to shout but the only sound to exit is the broken vowels of his Nico’s name, all of them. Nico shifts to face him and he knows, but the steel in his Earthen eyes, that cost is of no question, if no concern.

I will. Easily.

Will folds into him like the stars do their ending, glowing sun.

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draqu1a · 1 day ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A DANGEROUS DELIGHT . . .

— what kind? : SMUT — warnings : sexual&suggestive content ahead , viewers discretion is adviced , MDNI .

The silk of your dress feels impossibly smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the way your nerves are buzzing tonight.

You smooth it down again, even though you know for a fact there's not a single wrinkle in sight. Tonight is a big night for Chris. A gala, making alliances with investors, potential partners and enough champagne to float a small yacht.

And you're here, glued to his side like a particularly fashionable parade.

"Just smile and nod, babe," he'd told you earlier while making final touches to his tie, it already being perfectly knotted. "I'll try not to leave you stranded for too long."

Liar.

He's been working the room for the last hour, a whirlwind of handshakes and forced smiles. You've lost count of the insufferable conversations you had to encounter.

Something about leveraged buyouts, something about quarterly projections, something about… you honestly tuned it all out after the first fifteen minutes of attending the event.

You’ve mostly been smiling, nodding, and trying not to spill your red wine on anyone important and possibly face a petty lawsuit.

You catch his eye across the crowded ballroom. He offers a strained smile, a silent apology etched onto the features of his stupidly perfect face face.

He’s trapped, you can see it. Trapped by obligation, by ambition, by the relentless demands of his empire and carrier path. A wave of frustration suddenly washes over you.

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him – the late nights, the constant travel and business trips, the never-ending stream of social events and meetings.

But knowing it doesn't make it any easier when you're standing alone at an event filled to the brim with people important to the business society, feeling like nothing more than a decorative accessory for people to just gauge at.

Another blonde woman in a ridiculously expensive designer dress latches onto Chris, her laugh an annoying high-pitch, grating sound that sets your nerves on fire. That's it. You're done.

You turn and head towards the edges of the room, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor. You need air. You need a break from all of the socializing.

You need… Chris. But the real and genuine Chris, not the all polished, performative version he’s projecting for the benefit of the room.

You find yourself in a dimly lit hallway, lined with portraits of stern-looking men in powdered wigs. Perfect. You lean against the cool wall, close your eyes, and take a deep breath to cleanse your mind.

"Lost, darling?"

The voice is a low rumble, instantly familiar. You open your eyes to find Chris standing before you, his tie softly loosened, his eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like hunger.

"I was starting to think you’d forgotten I existed," you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

He steps closer, stepping inside of your personal space. "Impossible," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "Besides, I always pay my debts."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've been thinking about getting you alone all night."

A shiver runs down your spine. "Is that so?" you breathe, trying to sound nonchalant, but your pulse seems already be racing.

"Oh, you have no idea," he whispers, his hand sliding down your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body seeps right through the thin fabric of your dress. "I'm going to make it up to you. Right now."

He glances down the hallway before going back to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He grasps your hand and leads you down the hall right before stopping in front of what appears to be a heavy oak door.

He pushes it open, behind it revealing a small, empty room – probably a storage room.

He pushes you inside and shuts the door, the sound softly muffled by the thick wood. The room is dark and slightly dusty, the air thick with the scent of old wood and disuse. Perfect.

He doesn't waste any of the delicate time. He backs you against the door, his body pressing right against yours. "God, you look incredible tonight," he rasps, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Chris," you gasp, your head falling back against the cool wood.

He kisses you hard, possessively, his tongue plunging into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders. He pulls back slightly, his eyes clearly blazing with desire.

"I want you so fucking bad," he growls, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

"What about your guests?" you manage to say, your voice completely breathless.

"Man, fuck the guests," he says, his voice thick with lustful unsaid words. "Right now, it's just you and me."

He lowers his head and begins to kiss your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You arch your back to grant him better access. His hand slides under your dress, finding the sensitive skin of your thighs. You gasp, your legs almost threatening to buckle.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates right through your body. "Easy, darling," he murmurs lowly. "We don't want to cause a scene now, do we?”

He continues on with his actions, his touch becoming more eager, more demanding. You're hanging off the edge of something dangerous, something delicious.

But just as you're about to lose yourself completely, he pulls back, his breath ragged and features softly disheveled.

"As much as I want to keep going," he says, his eyes still dark with desire and hunger mixed together, "we can't risk being gone too long. People will start to wonder."

He kisses you one last time, a quick, sharp kiss that leaves you wanting, pleading for more. "But trust me," he whispers, his lips against your ear. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He straightens your dress, smoothes down his tie before he opens the door a crack, peering out into the hallway to make sure no one was around.

"All clear," he says. He takes your hand and leads you back into the glittering chaos of the ballroom, leaving you breathless, flushed and utterly desperate for more of his touch.

The rest of the evening passes in a complete blur of polite conversation and strained smiles, but all you can think about is the promise of what's to come when you two return home . . .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . yappin claudia : i’m still figuring out how to work this app proper so don’t bash me 💔 @strnilolover taught me some cool tricks and the gradient text thingy, anywayy first fic here just dropped like a mic bitch .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . empty taglist for now ;(

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stellamarielu · 1 day ago

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late night visits

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, mutual pining, oral f!receiving, mention of an age gap because i can’t help myself, just dr robby having a realization of feelings while going down on you

author’s note: told y’all i was gonna write some dr robby smut!! like usual, it didn’t feel right to jump right in with nasty jaw dropping smut so here’s a little fluffy— but still saucy, hookup drabble with the hunkiest emergency doctor i know

Michael Robinavitch was your neighbor.

Your apartment doors faced each other which lead to many casual exchanges and brief interactions.

They started off innocent; shy waves and polite smiles.

Then, they turned into conversations about what each of you did for a living and how long you’d lived in the city— just a culmination of small talk and harmless banter that took place in the little hallway of your apartment building.

But then, after weeks of coy chitchatting outside of your front doors, your exchanges escalated.

Your conversations with Robby had turned into hushed moans and deep throaty groans as his hands gripped furiously at your hips while he thrusted into you after an exhausting day at work.

The first time you tested the waters of shared desire was a little over a month ago. You spontaneously invited him over to join you for dinner as he was getting home from work. Neither of you thought much about it. It felt like a simple invitation to get to know a new-ish neighbor. Just a friendly meeting over a quick meal, but it turned out to be something entirely different.

That evening ended with his calloused hands greedily sliding up your body with your back pressed against a wall.

Both of you were stewing with pent-up frustration and using the other for an easy thoughtless release.

The next time you found yourself underneath his body was just as unexpected but far more impassioned.

He had knocked on your door, his expression unsure yet somehow laced with anticipation when you answered.

He started trying to make up some excuse as to why he was interrupting your nighttime routine until you pulled him into your apartment, meeting his lips with your own in a hurried and desperate kiss.

It continued like that for weeks, late night visits full of eager touches and sinful craving.

The exact nature of your relationship was unclear. You just found one another for physical connection, never getting in too deep or finding meaning in your dubiously satisfying meetings.

But, of course you had feelings for the guy, he had his dick buried in you on a nightly basis. You just weren’t sure if he felt the same way.

You couldn’t help but assume he saw you as a quick fuck— an easy way to detach from his day in a bout of vulgar connection.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Sure, the first time had been because Robby needed a distraction. You were just stood there, cooking a meal for him and listening intently as he told you about his profession. You were completely enthralled with him, your lips turning up into a cute little smile, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that; let alone a beautiful woman nearly half his age. It was almost criminal how fast he gave into temptation, letting himself get a taste of you through hungry kisses and tainted intentions.

After that he became addicted to you.

He even found himself thinking about you at work— a place that didn’t allow more than a sliver of space in his mind to think about anything other than the task at hand, yet you occupied nearly every corner of it.

So he kept showing up— kept seeking you out in hopes that he could stay high on your presence long enough to stay satisfied before getting the next inevitable taste.

You seemed to enjoy the unspoken arrangement. He didn’t want to ruin anything with the complication feelings and exclusivity. Plus, he was a busy man, relationships never seemed to work well for him, so maybe this situation was for the best.

But now, his face was buried between your legs, and he peered up to find your head thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen something so picturesque. So undeniably perfect.

“God, You’re beautiful.” His voice was a hum against your skin as he stopped to place a sloppy kiss on the inside of your thigh along with his words.

Your fingers tightened into his hair as his mouth hungrily worked at your core.

You opened your eyes to glance down at him, unsure of how to take his compliment while he was busy doing such lewd things to you.

He caught the silly grin on your lips at his words— so pure and gentle. The innocent curve of your mouth only made him want more. He gently grabbed at your thighs, spreading them even further.

The soft moan of approval slipping from your tongue had an involuntary groan breaking from his chest.

With every sweet sound off your lips he dived deeper into you. His mouth was expertly working you toward your release, and just as you felt the pressure getting ready to snap, he pulled away.

He rested between your legs, his torso propped up just enough to get a good look at you.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat after this.” His statement came out in a breathless whisper. It seemed more like a question with the way his eyes were looking up, watching intently.

You tried to hide the giggle that at your lips as a small smile took over your expression.

What on earth prompted him to bring this up while he had you on the verge of coming undone on his tongue?

But also, why was it so sweet? The way his words held such sincerity felt extremely intimate.

“Just- I want to take you out somewhere.” His grin was wide as he watched you react to his ill-timed inquiry.

He knew it was late and maybe you wouldn’t be interested, but he couldn’t help but ask.

Watching your back arch under his touch and hearing your sweet whimpers fill his ears had him losing his patience.

He needed more of you.

Needed it so badly that he was stopping himself from tasting your sweet release just to ask for more of your time. The two of you were only ever together in a dimly lit apartments under bed sheets, he wanted to go out with you; somewhere different, somewhere new. He wanted to take you to grab a coffee down the street at that place that stays open until 2am. He wanted to ask you questions about yourself and watch you smile while you talked— to see the sweet curve of your lips that he'd grown so attached to.

Maybe he wasn’t much of a relationship guy, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he harbored for you.

“Like a date?” You were leaning back on your elbows with your eyebrows raised subtly at his suggestion.

“Yeah, a date.”

“Ok Robby. I’ll go on a date with you.” Your smirk met his idiotic grin as he dove back down, satisfied by your answer.

He resumed his previous actions with a fervor of victory.

“Perfect.” The word was messy as it left his lips and landed directly on your core.

It wasn’t long before your body was tensing, and mumbled profanities filled the room at your release. Even though you had just finished on his tongue, you weren’t done. You wanted to let him fuck you into the sheets, to repay him for getting you off, but he refused. No— he was determined to follow through on his promise.

The two of you walked side by side to grab a coffee at nearly midnight; you laughing and him watching, as he got to know you outside of the walls of your apartment.

#i feel like this is something he would do idk #a date (and a fuck) with dr robby would cure me #man of my dreams fr #michael robinavitch #the pitt #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch smut #dr robby smut #the pitt fanfiction

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hazbinhotei · 1 day ago

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curing a hangover.

read part one here

warnings/tags: reader is hungover, alastor being a little shit, cunnilingus, P-in-V penetration, minor olfactophilia and dacryphilia if you look hard enough

word count: 6292

summary: The aftermath of one drunken night leaves you reeling—and Alastor surprisingly eager to help you recover in the most intimate way imaginable.

alastor x f!reader. my first ever smut fic, so please be gentle with me, my darlings. i did not expect this fic to end up so long but i really just had such a hard time diving straight into smut without some more interactions between reader and alastor—i love me some character building! i've always been a MDNI account, but especially in this instance—minors kindly go away!

It wasn’t just the hangover.

Though to be fair, the hangover was its own personal Hell—screaming behind your eyes like a banshee with a megaphone, and your stomach doing acrobatics that defied several laws of physics. Your mouth tasted like someone had poured sand into a blender with regret and served it lukewarm. Your soul felt wrinkled.

Even the walls of the hotel seemed to wince when you staggered into the kitchen, hoodie up, sunglasses on, and death in your eyes.

(The sunglasses indoors was definitely an active choice, a mental wave of a white flag as you hoped and prayed no one in this damned hotel would bring up the fact that you were so publicly caught snogging the Radio Demon less than 24 hours ago. At least, not bring it up while the tempest in your head demanded you rip apart the first demon who dared to piss you off this morning.)

No one dared speak to you. Husk took one look and slid the coffee pot across the counter like a peace offering before vanishing away down the hall. Niffty, bless her overly cheery heart, started to chirp a greeting—saw your face—and made a hard left turn, muttering something about reorganizing the mold drawer. Even Angel Dust tiptoed around you. Angel. A man who routinely did lines of coke on the lobby dining table at 2AM. He gave you a once-over and simply nodded in solemn solidarity.

But of course—it wasn’t just the hangover.

Of course.

The one person immune to your carefully cultivated aura of “speak and perish” was him.

Smug. Pristine. Radiant. Like he hadn't spent last night flirting with alcohol poisoning just to egotistically one-up you in a drinking game that he proposed you two play. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in sight. Wearing that damn bowtie like he’d earned it.

He didn’t just walk into the kitchen. No—he waltzed in, humming a cheery little tune and radiating danger in four-part harmony. You ignored him, continuing to stir your coffee, hoping he would show you some pity to at least not bother you for the first few hours of the day. But of course he wouldn’t. He was Alastor, of course.

You felt him before you saw him. That chilling presence sliding in behind you, brushing too close, violating several unspoken rules about personal space and hangover protocol. You felt your bloodshot eyes twitch, whether that be from the hangover or the Sinner standing right behind you, you weren’t sure. Inhaling slowly, you continued to look at the caramel-colored beverage in front of you, once more praying to any deity out there that perhaps you were just imagining his presence.

"Good morning, darling!" he purred, like your skull wasn't splitting open. "Sleep well?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Not when your entire existence was currently held together with willpower and lukewarm coffee. You weren’t planning to reply at all until he cleared his throat—clearly waiting.

You swore the mug cracked in your hand. “…I had a dream that I died. Peacefully. In my sleep. You ruined it.”

He chuckled, that low, musical hum that scraped up your spine and took residence in your brain like a catchy song you couldn’t get rid of. "Such vivid dreams. I do hope I was in them."

Despite your irritation, your stomach fluttered at his soft tone, the vocal static accompaniment absent as sincerity intertwined with his usual mirth. You turned slowly, craning your neck to look at him through your sunglasses. Pursing your lips, you watched him through the tinted lenses. “You know, I think I like this color palette of you more.”

Alastor’s eyes seemed to narrow when you lifted your chin up defiantly, a deep rumble of satisfaction emitting from his chest. “Ah, but chère, now I can’t see those lovely eyes of yours!”

He leaned down to remove the sunglasses, his long fingers brushing against your temple a bit too gently for your liking. You were about to protest before Alastor ripped the glasses off your face, your frown twisting to hiss like a vampire as you shut your eyes tightly in a failed attempt to shield yourself from the light. “Alastor! What the fuck!”

He only laughed at your pain, dropping the sunglasses on the counter behind you and covering your upper face with his large palms. You continued to shut your eyes after the light behind your eyelids disappeared, not daring to open them and face the sadistic asshole in front of you. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Open your eyes, chère.” You shivered at the sudden proximity of his voice, his breath tickling your right ear as you involuntarily swallowed. You weren’t sure why you necessarily listened to Alastor, but as your eyes hesitantly fluttered open, you realized you weren’t in the headache-inducing bright lights of the hotel kitchen. No, you were suddenly greeted by plush red cotton sheets, pupils adjusting to the dim glow of soft green lights littering the walls.

You glanced around, realizing quickly you were in a hotel room. Not any hotel room—Alastor’s. You jolted up from the bed, wincing as you moved a little too fast for your hangover’s liking. “Alastor, why exactly am I in your bed?”

Your eyes landed on Alastor standing by his desk, coat discarded on the loveseat next to him, fingers starting to undo his bowtie. You practically short-circuited at the scene, your cheeks turning a bright red as you blinked in surprise. “Al, what is going on?”

“Why, I’m here to cure your hangover, dearest,” he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused, trying to make sense of the current situation you were in—which was not giving you much to work with. Your brows furrowed. “And exactly how do you plan on helping?”

He hummed softly, placing his bowtie on the table as he approached your spot on the bed. “By getting in bed with you.”

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing up air as you gave him an incredulous look. “What?!”

“Oh please, nothing will come of this encounter if you don’t wish for anything to happen. I’m simply trying to help in any way I can.” He sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you as he waved his hand over the other, a tall glass of water appearing in it.

You were too surprised by the turn of events to comprehend his statement, throat suddenly dry by the glorious cup of water practically dangling in front of you. He sighed once more, rolling his eyes as he handed you the glass. “Drink up.”

You snatched the cup with both hands and downed it, gulping so fast it nearly splashed back up your nose. Your eyes closed as you sigh in relief, your body an ounce better than it was before as you passed him the glass. Though you still had a raging headache, your eyes weren’t throbbing from any bright lights nor were you unknowingly suffering from dehydration now.

“Would you like another one?” Alastor hums softly, watching your pacified expression. You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at Alastor. He was watching you with surprising patience, his smile small but genuine. You pause a moment to observe him, him merely doing the same as you meet his glowing stare. Those damn eyes—blood-red, always gleaming with mischief. But now, as he stared at you with uncharacteristic softness, you couldn’t help but get flashbacks from the way he watched you the entire time last night.

You inhaled through your nose, groaning as your moment of peace is suddenly interrupted by the remembrance of last night’s affairs. "...Are we going to bring it up or not?"

Alastor took a second to think, brow raising in confusion when he didn’t understand what you were talking about. "Bring what up, dear?"

You stared, huffing at him in exasperation. "The kiss, Alastor. Are we just gonna pretend that didn’t happen?"

His smile froze, ears twitching faintly—as if caught off by the thought of it as well. Then, just as quickly, he lit up like you’d handed him a fresh corpse wrapped in a bow and sealed with a kiss.

“Oh, that!” he chirped. “Heavens, no. I’d never forget something so…” He paused, his eyes dragging slowly—lazily—down your face. “…tantalizing!”

A sharp inhale slipped through your nostrils. You visibly recoiled, your face now a dangerous shade of crimson. “Tantalizing?!” you sputtered.

His smile turned downright wicked, lips curling upward. He leaned forward to set the empty glass on the bedside table, the movement smooth, casual. But your eyes betrayed you—snagging mid-motion, drawn down to the curve of his back, the subtle shift of fabric over lean muscle.

And then you saw it.

Somehow—somehow—you had missed it before. Blame the hangover. Blame the shock. Blame the fact that your brain was probably still rebooting from the whole appearing-in-Alastor’s-bed thing. But now that your gaze had landed on it, there was no un-seeing it.

The harness.

A jet-black leather harness wrapped around his broad chest, completely visible now that he was sans his usual red coat. Despite just drinking water, your throat suddenly felt extremely dry. You tore your staring upward like a Sinner yanking their hand from a Bible.

Too late.

He was already watching you. And oh, he was delighted.

His smile widened by degrees. His eyelids dipped into a half-lidded stare, slow and heavy with implication. There was no point pretending. Between your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes had lingered a millisecond too long, you may as well have been holding a neon sign that read: I JUST OGLED THE RADIO DEMON.

He savored your expression. A content hum rumbled in his chest, not quite a purr—but close.

“I do wonder, though,” he mused, voice dropping to a velvety murmur, “was it only the liquor?” His head tilted again, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “Or...”—He leaned in slightly, just enough to send your pulse scattering—“would you still taste as sweet sober?”

Your eyes widened by the shift in his attitude, clearly feeling confident from your little staring mishap. Swallowing, you folded your arms, trying not to give into his very tempting flirting. “Alastor,” you warned, your tone brittle, “I’m five seconds away from tearing that smug expression off your face.”

“If that’ll help your hangover, by all means.”

You paused, confused if his words were another jest or genuine. “What?”

“I told you,” he said, gesturing innocently, “I’m here to cure your hangover. Whichever way you find fit.”

You blinked at him. Hard. The silence stretched. Finally, you squinted, hugging your crossed arms harder against your body with a slow, suspicious edge. “You’re messing with me.”

His brows raised in mock innocence. “Moi? Never. In fact…” he paused, his tone shifting just slightly—less cheek, more earnest, like the static had dialed down a notch. “I realize I’ve put you in quite the precarious situation. One that now, unfortunately, involves the rest of the hotel bearing witness. And for that”—He gave a faint, ironic bow of his head—“I do apologize.”

The cogs in your head churned in overtime to try and understand the current situation.

You somehow were sitting in the middle of the Radio Demon’s bed, being pampered by that very demon himself, because he wanted to apologize? The very concept was laughable, and you especially found this whole thing unnecessary when it was simply a drunken mistake.

(Not to mention that you enjoyed every second of being in Alastor’s lap. How were you ever going to forget that intoxicating smell of cedarwood and death?)

You forced away your drifting thoughts, looking at him with a raised brow. “You’re doing all this to apologize? Really? All you did was kiss me.”

Alastor’s lips twitched, like he was resisting the urge to grin wider. It was a losing battle.

“Correction, dear,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “You kissed me first.”

Your jaw dropped at how he completely ignored your question, instead focusing on your word choice. You scoffed, once again scandalized. “While wasted! That doesn’t count!”

“Ah,” he mused, tapping his chin as though pondering the secrets of the universe. “Then perhaps we should try again.”

You stiffened, throat catching at how he spoke so easily. His voice still held that familiar playful edge—but beneath it, something was shifting. The air thickened. His grin didn't widen this time. Instead, it softened, just a touch. Like he was testing the waters.

His eyes flicked across your face—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. When he spoke next, the room felt smaller somehow. Quieter. You could hear the gentle hum of the fire in the hearth, blending seamlessly with the low radio static emitting off Alastor, the mattress creaking as he leaned a fraction closer.

“Why, I don’t do this often, you know,” he murmured, the static in his voice dimmed as he almost gave you a bashful look.

Your brows furrowed.

“And I realize,” he continued slowly, almost cautiously, “our unfortunate interruption last night may have left… desires unfinished for you.”

His eyes searched yours, expression unreadable. But his voice—oh, his voice—held the kind of vulnerability that cracked through your defenses like light under a locked door.

“I’m here to help.”

You blinked at him, stunned. The words didn’t even register at first—not fully. Not until they echoed in your chest a second time.

“…Wow,” you managed, trying to keep your tone light, deflecting with a slight teasing huff. “How noble, Alastor.” You bit your lip at how Alastor’s gaze studied every detail of your expression like a hunter, his lips thinning as if he was waiting for more from you—a challenge wrapped in silk.

You swallowed down your nerves, catching on the way his intertwined fingers twitched in his lap. “...Did it leave unfinished desires… for you?”

He stilled, his eyelids dropping as he took in a deep inhale at your words. And when he looked at you again, there was no mask. His smile had turned into something so hesitant—so faint that it barely registered in your mind as a smile at all, the corners of his mouth barely upturned. A long, soft silence filled the room as he looked at you with such intensity, you forgot how to breathe.

“I’d be lying,” he said, voice suddenly deep and sure, “if I said I am not undoubtedly yours, ma chère.”

The world stopped. Your breath caught. The heat that had been simmering under your skin now rushed to the surface, electric and dizzying. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled. You hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

The man sitting in front of you was one of Hell’s most feared Overlords, a man who had crumbled the strongest of demons. And yet, he was also a man who had just confessed his feelings for you, just hours after french kissing you in a drunken stupor. Sure, Alastor had always seemed to be kinder to you than to anyone else in the hotel, but you had always just brushed that off to be mere acceptance of your presence—not a fondness for it.

Alastor simply waited patiently for your reply, legs crossed politely over the edge of the bed as he twisted his body to face you. His ears were flat against his head, his thumb tapping against his skin in a small display of nerves. And Satan help you, your heart surged at the sight like a moth to a flame.

“I—” you started, voice breathy. But as your brain failed to come up with a response, you didn’t try to say anything else.

You just leaned in, cupping his cheeks with your palms as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. The gesture was familiar. But this time—unlike the inebriated mess of a kiss you’d given him last night—you had the decency to pull back. The radio static in the room swelled, the old radio on one of Alastor’s shelves crackling to life, playing a charming jazz melody.

“Dare I presume that’s your way of telling me you share the same sentiments toward me, darling?” Alastor chuckled, pulling his hands away from his lap to lean in closer to you.

Before you could react, Alastor had leaned in close once more, stealing another kiss from your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle in response, “Yes, you ass.” You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, your eyes twinkling with joy. “I’d hope you’d think I’m better than to just snog any demon in the lobby, drunk or not.”

Alastor’s grin turned sly, humming in satisfaction at your words. You gasped as he pushed you down onto the bed, your body bouncing gently as you found yourself now facing upwards. Your mind blanked at the sight of Alastor popping off his shoes, rolling off the leather harness with practiced ease. He climbed onto the bed alongside you, draping a casual arm around your body as he laid beside you.

“Oh, I knew your kiss seemed too passionate for me to be just a passing fancy,” Alastor teased, “Good news is that I’ve found a lasting obsession with having your lips on mine.”

He didn’t wait for you to react as he leaned in to kiss you once more, this time harder. You sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer. His hand found the side of your waist, firm but not forceful, fingers splaying like he was grounding himself in the moment. His lips were warm, steady, moving against yours with a relaxed confidence that stood in sharp contrast to the rushed, sloppy kisses from the night before.

And oh, the effect it had on you.

You shifted instinctively, hand coming up to bury your fingers into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. He hummed at the contact, the sound reverberating against your lips—low and pleased, a static buzz of delight that thrummed in your chest.

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, nose brushing yours, and for a fleeting second you forgot what air was. His lips parted slightly, inviting you to meet him halfway, and when your tongues brushed, your breath hitched. That was all he needed to hear.

“Mmm… positively divine,” Alastor murmured as he pulled away just enough to catch your dazed expression. His smile was lazy now, lopsided and glowing with something deeper than amusement. “You make the air taste sweeter, chérie.”

“Flatter me more, why don’t you,” you teased breathlessly, though your voice came out more of a whimper than anything else. He chuckled, deep and velvety, as he leaned in again—no room left for anything between you now but fabric and heat.

This time, it was slower.

Less fire, more honey. His kisses dragged along your lips like he had all the time in Hell to savor you—and damn, it felt like he would. He brushed his nose along your cheekbone, feathered kisses down to your jaw, then up again as you curled into his touch, the edge of your thigh sliding along his leg. His velveteen hand traced gentle circles at your hip, occasionally slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie just far enough to let you feel the scalding contact of skin against skin. But he never pushed. Never rushed.

Instead, he lingered like a melody stuck on a loop, exploring the shape of your lips with his own, pressing kisses that grew longer, needier, then softer again. He was addicted, drunk on your taste, his usual collected composure starting to become carnally hungry as he continued his kisses.

“You’re… you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” you asked, giggling between kisses as you tried to catch your breath.

Alastor nipped at your lower lip, grinning devilishly. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a fond growl, “not unless you ask me to. But I do hope you won’t, because I am utterly enchanted.”

Again and again, he kissed you, each one a little different than the last—some chaste, some daring, all brimming with a dangerous kind of tenderness that made your body warm up. And in between those kisses, he whispered little nothings: praises, teases, threats of affection so sweet they made your toes curl.

By the time he finally pulled away, just barely, your lips were swollen, your face flushed, and your heart? Utterly, stupidly his.

“Stars above,” you mumbled, dazed and breathless. “You really do like kissing me.”

He laughed, brushing his nose against yours once more, eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

You were going to fire back something clever—something cocky, maybe flirty—but the words fizzled out the moment his hand slipped beneath your hoodie.

Fingertips ghosted over your waist, your body shivering at how soft his hands were. The contrast of his sharp claws against your delicate skin made your spine tense, a soft gasp slipping from your parted lips—and Alastor felt it. He smirked against your mouth, already chasing another kiss before you could even process the last one. He shifted beside you, rolling slowly until he was caging you in from above with his large frame.

Teeth grazed your bottom lip, not rough—teasing. His tongue slipped past your lips, curling against yours with surprising precision, like he was memorizing the shape of your hunger. You moaned before you could stop yourself, thighs instinctively shifting beneath him. He groaned in response, low and guttural, barely restrained, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like thunder waiting to crack open the sky.

“Dearest,” he purred, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to your chin, then your throat, then just above your collarbone. “Those little noises of yours are going to drive me mad very easily.” He pulled away for a second, looking down at you as his red locks surrounded your peripheral vision—it was just you and him in this moment.

“Is… is this something you want?”

You felt his hand rub circles into your stomach soothingly, his eyes searching yours to make sure every bit of your being wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You can’t help but laugh at the uncharacteristic sweetness of it all, shaking your head gently beneath him. “Who would have thought the Radio Demon was so respectful in bed?”

“Why, I am a Southern gentleman after all, sweetheart!” He drawled, his smile widening at your teasing remark. “But tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop immediately. No matter how hard it’ll be to—quell my hunger.” He finished his sentence with a sharp nip at your neck, making you involuntarily squeak at the pinch.

You hummed, intertwining your hands into his hair. “Thank you for the concerns, but I promise this is everything I want.”

He groaned at the way you scratched his scalp, his ears twitching from the feeling. You smirked at the starry look he gave you, his lips once more meeting yours. Your eyelids shut as you mewled into the kiss, Alastor’s hands returning to underneath your hoodie with more need. Your breath started to shorten as his hands hesitantly reached higher and higher, your chest rising and lowering faster.

His hands cupped your breasts, your thighs instinctively pushing together as you felt your head spin from the contact. You had to withdraw from the kiss, gasping for air as Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes. He leaned down to kiss your neck instead, his fangs nibbling softly as he fondled your chest with such tenderness. You gasped when his thumbs rubbed against your nipples, and you felt Alastor grin against your skin as they peaked under his touch.

Every caress of his sent a jolt of fire straight to your core, the heat between your legs growing. You were sure you were starting to seep through your panties, the room a thousand degrees hotter with how Alastor was groping your body.

“You feel like sin,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I could get drunk off the heat of you alone.”

Before you could reply, Alastor removed his hands from your breasts, leaning back on his knees to pull you forward in a searing kiss. You were temporarily winded from the sudden movement, sitting up as you desperately tried to match his pace. His hands gripped the hem of your hoodie, lifting it up over your head as goosebumps littered your skin from the sudden exposure. He discarded the material somewhere off the bed, pushing you down once more as his hungry mouth met the skin of your chest.

You moaned out his name, your hands carding through his locks again as his tongue swirled around your left nipple. His thumb stimulated your right nipple in similar fashion, your eyes glazing over as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His mouth detached from your mound, going lower and lower as he continued to fondle your breasts. Wet kisses were placed in a trail down your stomach, his mouth hesitating right at the top of your shorts. He glanced up at you, your core clenching at the way he locked eyes with you before pulling down your shorts and panties in one steady go.

Alastor wasted no time pulling your thighs apart, your cheeks suddenly warm at being completely exposed to him. He had you spread out like a decadent offering, laid bare before him, your body instinctively trying to fight the vulnerable position. You struggled in his grip, his strong hands holding the bottom of your thighs steady as you tried to push them together once more. Your stomach coiled in embarrassment when he took a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal. “Alastor—”

Your complaint was lodged in your throat as your eyes landed on his expression. His pupils were blown wide, grin parted, as though the image of you—dripping, glistening with need—was something sacred. One of his hands moved to gently spread your lips, and his thumb ghosted over your clit with maddening care, pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“My, my…” he breathed. “So wet already. And all for me.”

And then, without further warning—he devoured you.

His mouth latched onto you with terrifying precision, tongue flicking in fast, deliberate strokes against your clit while his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed. The sensation was immediate—sharp, electric, almost as if a wire had been connected straight from your core to your spine. You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you, kept you right where he wanted you.

“Easy now,” he murmured against you, voice muffled but amused. “Let me take my time.”

You were soaked—and he seemed to love it, moaning softly as his tongue dipped down to taste everything. He licked up your arousal like it was nectar, slow and indulgent, before circling back to your clit and sucking, gently at first—then harder. The lewd sounds of Alastor’s mouth mixed with the faint love song crackling from the radio, your eyes rolling to the back of your head from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Your back arched. Your hands tugged on hair behind his ears, desperate for more. He groaned when you pulled on him—deep and vibrating against your sensitive flesh. The sensation made you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“Th-that—Alastor—fuck—” You lifted one of your arms to cover your eyes, your face burning hot from the shameful sounds Alastor was eliciting from you.

A shadowy tendril wrapped around your wrist, pulling your forearm off of your eyes. He pulled away only briefly, his mouth slick with your juices, a feral grin splitting his lips.

“Oh darling,” he purred, voice thick, eyes gleaming. “Don’t shy away from me.”

Then he buried himself in you once more.

His tongue moved with devilish skill—flicking, circling, pressing in just the right rhythm, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing at your entrance before easing inside you. One. Then two. Slow, curling motions that had your entire body clenching around him. You felt Alastor finger you with precision, the faint reminder of his pointed nails against your walls made your head spin. He could tear you apart in an instant, and yet here he was, devoting himself to giving you nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He fucked you with his fingers and licked you like a man starved—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. He’d groan when you moaned. Chuckle darkly when you cursed. Murmur “that’s it, my sweet, give in” when your hips started grinding against his mouth.

You were unraveling—gasping, writhing, begging for something you couldn’t name. The pressure was building exponentially, and you could barely form a thought beyond more more please don’t stop—

And he didn’t.

He knew. He felt the way your body tensed, the way your cries grew higher, the way your legs tried to close around his head—he pressed his free hand to your stomach, grounding you, keeping you open and his.

“Come for me, chère,” he whispered into your skin, voice thick and reverent. “Let me taste it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, snapping the invisible rubber band inside your stomach. You shattered with a cry, your orgasm hitting you like a storm, thighs trembling violently as your entire body curved off the bed. Alastor held you through it, lapping up every drop, groaning with delight as he worked you through the high with soft, slow licks until you were twitching, sensitive, your hands weakly trying to push him away.

“Al—Alastor, too much,” You whimpered pathetically, your hands softly pushing him away from your overstimulated core. He finally pulled back, chin dripping with a mix of his saliva and your wetness, eyes black and gleaming.

And he smiled.

That big, sharp, genuine smile.

“So sweet,” he sighed, voice dreamy as he kissed your trembling thigh. “I could gorge myself on you for hours and still crave more, dearest.”

You were too blissed out to answer—just a panting, whimpering mess beneath him.

He crawled up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your chest. And when he finally reached your lips again, he kissed you with the same mouth that had just ruined you—and you didn’t even hesitate to return it.

You could taste yourself on him.

Alastor cradled your face in his hand, brushing your sweaty hair back gently, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Still with me, ma douce?”

His voice vibrated against your lips, his hands coming up to his neck to quickly unbutton his shirt. His hands moved with practiced accuracy, your body still regaining strength from your orgasm. You glanced down at the strain in his slacks, your mouth watering at the sight of just how badly he needed relief. Withdrawing only enough to stand at the foot of the bed, he dragged his belt open with a snap that made your stomach flip.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” he asked, even as he slid his trousers down his hips, freeing himself.

You nodded instantly, but your breath caught in your throat once your gaze landed on his member. He was long. Thick. Already dripping at the tip from how hard he was, how worked up you’d made him just from tasting you. His cock curved slightly upward, pulsing with anticipation as he crawled back over you, guiding himself to your entrance with one slow, grinding drag of his tip along your still-sensitive folds.

“Alastor, stop teasing.” You hissed as he continued brushing the head of his cock against your wet slit. A deep hum of amusement escaped his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he relished the way your lips invited him in.

When he pushed in—it was slow. Torturously slow. Stretching you inch by inch, making your mouth fall open with a sound that bordered on a sob. You were still so aroused, your walls fluttering, clenching down on him as he eased deeper.

“Ohhh, fuck—” you gasped, legs trembling.

Alastor groaned—really groaned—his voice breaking for just a moment as your warmth enveloped him fully. You clenched around him as he hissed out your name like a prayer.

“You feel—divine,” he growled, his composure splintering as his hips finally pressed flush against yours. “Like you were made to take me.”

He stayed there for a moment buried to the hilt, before pulling back and thrusting in again with a force that made your body jolt up the bed. The rhythm started hard and deep—slow but intentional, like he was trying to imprint himself into every inch of you. There was no frantic rutting, no careless pace. Every thrust was a symphony of tension and release. Your moans came unbidden, rising with every grind of his hips, every brush of his pelvis against your overstimulated clit.

And Alastor loved it.

He drank up your reactions as if it were ambrosia, glowing red eyes fixed on your face, on the way you gasped and cried out, on the way your nails clawed at his back. Your sounds were music to his ears, your blissed out expression making his dick twitch. You looked thoroughly fucked, Alastor’s chest swelling with pride as he felt his antlers start to grow ever so slowly. You bucked beneath him, hips grinding up to meet his thrusts, and he groaned again—sharper this time. The sound shot straight through you, and your hands flew to his hair, yanking him down into another kiss that had your teeth clashing, your tongues tangling.

“This pussy—fuck,” he mewled into your mouth, “this perfect little pussy—clinging to me like she doesn’t want me to leave.”

His voice was fraying now, strained, unraveling at the edges. “Is that it, darling?” he rasped, still kissing you between words. “You want me to stay right here? Fill you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yes—please, don’t stop, Alastor—”

One hand suddenly snaked beneath your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. The angle changed—oh God, the angle changed!—and you cried out, your back arching as he hit deeper, harder, grinding against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“There,” he smirked, voice low and breathless. “There it is.”

He continued to pound into you until you were sobbing his name, clutching the sheets, tears brimming in your lashes from the sheer overwhelm of it. Alastor's smile turned feral as he saw your tears, his pace faltering as he kissed your tears as they fell.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, soft between the pounding thrusts. “So good for me. Taking me so well. You were meant for this. Meant for me.”

You whimpered at his praises, cumming again without warning—your body locking up, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave breaking against stone. Alastor groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, pulsing, twitching, milking him as he drove in deep one final time.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a growl—deep, guttural, almost animalistic—his cock twitching as he filled you, spilling inside you with a heat that made your thighs quiver. You felt him pulse inside you, bury himself deeper, hips twitching with the last few, slow thrusts.

Alastor collapsed beside you with a sigh that was more satisfied than smug for once, his arm immediately curling around your waist to tug you flush against him. His skin was slick with sweat, his breath still uneven, but his smile—that damned smile—was gentler now. Calmer. Like some longing ache inside him had finally eased.

The two of you lay there in silence for a moment, your body still twitching with the occasional aftershock as your breath steadied. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, warm and safe as your hands gently played with the soft fur of his chest. He sighed at the feeling, inhaling deeply as he relaxed.

Then, with absolutely zero shame in his tone, he spoke.

“So,” he drawled lazily, voice low and playful, “did I cure your hangover?”

You tensed, lifting your head just enough to blink at him, eyes wide and incredulous. You paused for a moment to focus on your head, realizing your headache was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, laughter flowed out of you, your head thrown back as you giggled at his question—of course he still remembered.

“You know what…” you breathed, grinning at him like he’d just said the funniest thing. “Surprisingly, you did.”

Alastor chuckled, eyes glittering with delight. He merely leaned down to kiss your forehead, brushing away the hair stuck to your forehead. Cuddling closer, you dropped your head once more to the crook of his neck, his fingers stroking lazy circles on your back, and the silence that followed was heavy with comfort. After a pause, you tilted your head to glance up at him again.

“...Did you get me drunk because you knew I’d kiss you?”

Alastor gasped dramatically at your questioning. Hand pressed to his chest, all mock offense and theatrical flourish. “Oh contraire, chérie!” he insisted. “I was trying to get us both drunk so I could confess my affections for you—never did I expect you to do something so scandalous.”

He paused, grin widening into its usual smirk. “But alas, it ended in my favor… so I must thank you for it.”

You groaned into his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed—a full, rich sound that rumbled against your cheek as he kissed the top of your head once more.

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “But I’m your idiot now.”

tag list: @railgunuzi @frompiscium @rose-in-blue @catticora @milkissesx + @lovingyeet @flannychan @ari-hatake24 [want to join/be removed from the tag list? check my pinned post!]

#i will forever support the headcanon that alastor wears a leather harness and has a fur chest #“he's a freaking deer let him have more deer characteristics!!!” i scream as they drag me into a padded room #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor x reader #smut #oneshot

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billysgirllol · 1 day ago

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well…he might be right this time, she is trying to get out of things to get away from his kisses because he’s making her too crazy. but that has her deviously smiling even more— because there’s truth in it and she’s not admitting to it. “i know, but i wanted to try out this fun water fall!” she claims, “it’s got nothin’ to do with not wantin’ your kisses, sugar.” lucy gray lies, laughing as she flaps her arms some more before hugging her chest, still hopping around on her feet though. the look on his face and the unhappy grumbling encourages her laughter, smearing the water out of her face, holding her hands under the water pouring off the umbrella. “why not, billysaur? it’s not that bad.” saying innocently before leaving the umbrella to quickly circle around the pool, going to the ladder on the slide, starting to climb up. “you know i can’t swim in the deep end!” she yells as she continues to climb, pausing briefly to point over at the pouty dinosaur, the slide half way between the deep end and shallow end, “so you’ll have to dive in and catch me. hm?!” the brunette teases, butt plopping down on top of the slide, waving at him with both hands and grinning brightly.

sugary giggles sound from her as he turns right around to watch where she’s going, he sounds so cute saying things like that… make him miss her again. almost makes her apologetic for flying off. “i gotta find me a new bird bath, this one is too hot.” she slyly responds in admitting to it, fighting a huge smile overtaking her face as she walks backwards with a pep in her step across the tile flooring. then turns to go skipping, right underneath the water fall shaped like an umbrella adjoined with the swimming pool, the water’s warm but it’s still a huge contrast to the hotter water she was just in which causes her to flap around like a chicken and hop around like she stepped on hot sand. squeezing her eyes shut as the water drowns her face and messy braids, laughing at the adrenaline of it. at least it’s beneficial to all those feelings and fireworks from half a minute ago and can’t forget billy pointing out how she makes happy sounds too that her hot cheeks definitely need cooling off to.

#HE IS VERY FUNNY W THE NAMES😂😂 dlskdjdj

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dckweed · 1 day ago

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tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 bf

They thought they won.

After terrifying you with fake break-ins, kidnappings, and other various scare tactics, TF141 had spent the last few days walking around like undisputed champions of the prank war.

But what they didn’t know?

You were about to end their entire legacy in one night, you were coming for him. and his stupid lil friends too.

The Setup

They were all in your house tonight—your bf and his lil buddies—because they had an early deployment in the morning and they all needed to arrive on time and together.

So, naturally, they had taken over your living room, sprawled out on couches and armchairs, drinking, bullshitting, and talking about their last great victory over you, teasing you (even though you distinctly remember winning, but who’s keeping score, right?)

The fools.

They had no idea what was coming.

You had spent the last twenty minutes slinking under the bed like a goddamn cryptid, phone in hand, camera rolling.

You knew exactly what was going to happen.

Sooner or later, your boyfriend would come into the room, strip off his gear, sit on the edge of the bed, and—

Grab. His. Ankle.

It was perfect.

Captain Price – "I oughta throw you out the window"

Price was the last to go to bed, the sounds of his team snoring away in your living room came through when he opened the bedroom door, slinking in quietly. You had made it look as though you were curled up on the bed asleep already, which was believable as he’d fucked your brain loose not too long after dinner when the boys went out to rough house and play some football to work off their bloated bellies full of your warm food.

He let out a deep, tired sigh, kicking off his boots before sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples.

It was time.

You reached out, grabbing his ankle with the coldest, deadest grip possible.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY—FUCKIN’ HELL?!*"

PRICE STRAIGHT UP PUNCHES THE FUCKING WALL.

He jumps so hard that his knee collides with the nightstand, knocking his phone off. His entire soul leaves his body for a full three seconds.

"FUCKIN’ JESUS—"

The door bursts open, Ghost and Gaz standing there with their guns drawn, Soap behind them.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" Gaz shouts.

"SWEETHEART, ARE YOU OKAY?!" Soap yells, looking at the lump you formed under the bed.

Price is panting. Hands on his knees. Looking like he’s about to have a stroke.

And then—

You cackle.

From under the bed.

Price immediately knows.

"YOU FUCKIN’—" He grabs your arm and yanks you out from under the bed.

You are crying with laughter, camera still recording. "JOHN, YOU JUMPED SO HIGH—"

Price glares at you. "I oughta throw you out the fuckin’ window, sweetheart."

Soap, dying laughing now that he sees there’s no threat. “SHE GOT YOU GOOD, MATE."

Ghost, shaking his head as he takes his finger off the trigger of his gun, sliding it into the waste of his pants. "That might’ve actually taken years off your life, old man."

Price grumbles, rubbing his chest. "I felt my fuckin’ soul leave me, love."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "you fuckin dick"

Gaz strolled into the bedroom after lunch like nothing was wrong.

His phone was in his hand, scrolling through some dumb video, completely unaware that you were camped out under the bed, ready, waiting for him to be off his guard so you could finally get your revenge.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a relaxed sigh.

And then?

You grabbed his ankle.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?"

GAZ LEAPS STRAIGHT UP LIKE A FUCKING CARTOON CHARACTER.

His entire body leaves the bed.

HE LANDS ON THE NIGHTSTAND.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

"KYLE?!?" You hear from the living room, loud footsteps thundering across the house,

"The fuck just happened—" Ghost burst into the room, gun raised as he checked the corners and behind the door.

Gaz fucking scrambles BACKWARD onto the bed, staring wild-eyed at his feet, leg still twitching. You can see it all in the floor length mirror in front of your bed, typically used for other shenanigans.

Soap is next into the room, John not far behind him, the latter looking more mildly annoyed than concerned about his comrade.

"SOMEONE GRABBED ME! SOMEONE FUCKIN’ GRABBED ME—"

And then—

You laugh.

From under the bed.

Gaz goes silent.

You peek out from underneath, wheezing. "Gotcha."

"BABY, YOU FUCKING DICK—" His head slowly comes over the edge, fear still evident in his eyes.

Soap falls over laughing. His gun is still in his hand as he clutched his stomach. "BRO, SHE GOT YOU."

Ghost is wheezing. "He looked so scared, mate—" He grabs your hand, pulling you from under the bed with a gentle tug, letting you pull and push on him as you climb back to your feet, you’d been under there for a while, your joints sore.

Gaz throws a pillow at you. "I hate you so much, I swear to fuckin’ God—" You cackle all the way to the kitchen, headed for the dessert you’d made as a little reward for your menace behavior.

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "prank war babe!"

Ghost is calm when he enters the room.

Like, unnaturally calm. And granted you should have felt bad for ruining that peace, for putting him on edge in that moment, and a small part of you did but you also knew you’d make it up to him later, probably on your knees, probably with tears streaming down your face.

He doesn’t even look at his surroundings, just unholsters his gun, places it on the nightstand, and starts unzipping his jacket.

He sits on the edge of the bed, sighing.

And you grab his ankle. And you stare at the mirror, phone recording as you watch him.

Ghost freezes.

Like, FULL STOP.

His head snaps downward, staring at his foot.

For a full five seconds, he doesn’t move.

Then—

He grabs his gun, standing up with it pointed at the foot of the bed.

"WHO THE FUCK—" He unlocks the safety in one movement, and you hear a round click into the chamber, watch his finger clench around the trigger, you panic.

You scream.

"WAIT—IT’S ME—" And try to clamber backwards, trying to avoid the area he was aiming incase he did fire.

Ghost gets down on his knee, perks under the bed and sees you in the shadows, next thing you know, he yanks you out from under the bed like a goddamn horror villain.

The second he sees your face, he squints, trigger finger relaxing.

"Baby… what the fuck."

You wheeze. "PRANK WAR, BABE—"

Ghost sighs so deeply that it sounds like he’s reconsidering his entire life again.

"Jesus Christ, love."

Meanwhile—

Gaz and Soap are fucking LOSING IT in the doorway, having come running when they heard your scream.

“YOU ALMOST GOT SHOT, SWEETHEART—" Soap sounds just as horrified as you were, his hand on his chest. He glared at Simon. “The fuck were you thinking, LT!”

Gaz sighs stepping into the room to help you up off the floor. “Gave her a right fright, Ghost-” He tugs your hand gently, helping you up right.

John has joined Soap in the door, sighing as he looks at the situation. “Best be making that up to her later.” He chuckles as Gaz brushes the dust bunnies off of you.

Ghost just groans, tossing his gun onto the bed. "I knew you’d fuckin’ pull some shit like this eventually."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "ready for a snooze"

Soap is humming to himself as he walks into the bedroom, stretching, yawning. He’s ready for a nap, you wore him out this morning before the crew had arrived, and preferably he’d like to take the nap wrapped around you.

“BABY, YA READY FOR A SNOOZE?” He yells, slipping his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor.

He plops onto the bed, completely unaware.

Until—

You grab his ankle.

"FUCKIN’ HELL—"

HE SCREAMS LIKE A FUCKING CHILD.

Johnny FULL-BODY FLAILS, tripping over his shirt and landing on the floor, trying his best to scramble backwards towards the door. KICKING HIS FEET SO HARD THAT HE ACTUALLY KICKS YOU IN THE FACE.

"AHH—FUCK—" Your voice is muffled, your hand cupping your face to staunch the blood flowing from your nose.

Soap, FREAKING OUT flips onto his belly, eyes wide as he takes in the visual of you."BABE?!? WAIT—BABY?"

You roll out from under the bed, clutching your fucking nose. "OW, WHAT THE FUCK—"

Soap, horrified, replaces your hands with his own and you’re almost positive that there’s tears in his eyes, a different kind of fear in them. "OH MY GOD, BABY, I FUCKIN’ KICKED YOU, I’M SO SORRY—"

Meanwhile—

Ghost, Gaz, and Price are on the floor around you, you don’t remember hearing them move in, silent on their feet.

Ghost is removing Johnny’s hands, practically having to slap his hands away "He got you good, doll, I think it’s definitely broken—" He’s gentle in his touch, but you his when he brushes his thumb over the ridge of your nose. “Want me to set it for you? Gonna hurt like a bitch and your eyes are gonna be blacked tomorrow..but it’ll get the job done..”

Gaz is laughing silently, clapping Johnny on the shoulders. "She’s gonna kill you—"

Soap, holding your face, after pushing Simons hands away. “BABY, PLEASE DON’T BE MAD—"

You glare at him, though you know it’s your own fault. “I WAS GONNA PRANK YOU, BUT NOW I’M GONNA KILL YOU.” You shout, wincing as pain flares through your face. “No head tonight, or little videos when you’re gone..I was gonna give you the sloppiest fucking top as a goodbye present in the morning too-“

Soap is on his knees, head in his hands, actual tears flowing "NOOOOOO—"

John sighs, helping you up off the floor as Kyle consoles your boyfriend. “Right lass, you’re okay aside from the nose?” Yoh nod as he leads you to your bathroom, where he knows there’s a first aid kit because Johnny keeps one in every bathroom and the kitchen. “Good. Might be crooked when it’s healed, but you’ll be no less pretty, love.”

Moral of the Story:

The prank war is never over.

And now?

They sleep with one eye open (literally in some cases).

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saphiccarma · 24 hours ago

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- Gamer Girlfriend

Relationships - G!p Natasha x Reader

Summary - When you get home from work to find your girlfriend playing games and hardly paying attention to you, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Warnings: g!p natasha, cock sucking, slight humiliation, bratty reader, riding,

Steps heavy with exhaustion, you fumble with your keys, struggling to insert them into the slot. After a moment of jangling them together you manage to open the door, pushing your way into the house. Damn Natasha and her insistence to have a locked house.

Shuffling into your home, you toss your keys onto the table beside the door, toeing off your shoes and placing them on the rack. You hear the familiar sounds of Natasha shouting and the smashing of controller buttons. With a fond, yet weary, smile you wander into the living room.

Her legs are spread as she lounges in sweatpants, gaming controller clutched between her fingers as she plays something with her friends. A bulky headset sits atop her messy red curls, pulled back into a loose bun. Reading glasses and a book were discarded, proof she had only started just recently.

Natasha glances your way briefly, mouthing a greeting before snapping her eyes back to the screen. Sighing softly you head to the bedroom to change out of work clothes and into something more comfortable, hoping Natasha would hop off to say hi properly.

Alas, as you walked back into the living room, now wearing simply an oversized t-shirt that dangled off your shoulders and left your upper thighs exposed, she was still shouting at her friends and characters on a screen.

You climb onto the couch next to her, humming softly as she wraps an arm around, pulling you close. A quick kiss is placed atop your head and Natasha does lower her voice now that you're right next to her before she continues with her games.

You watch the TV absently, really more focused on when she gets off. It seems like forever, after each match ended, she started up a new one.

Frowning slightly in impatience, you glance downwards, noticing the subtle bulge of her cock against her sweatpants. The frown turns into a small smirk as you slide your hand from your own lap onto her thigh. She inhaled sharply but otherwise said nothing.

You let your hand linger for a moment before drifting further inwards, brushing against the bump in her pants. You only stay there for a moment before fully grabbing her cock, giving it an experimental squeeze.

Natasha curses and you're not sure if it's from the game or you, but her dick twitches in your hand. The movement spurs you on and you begin to slow move your hand up and down along her length, applying a light pressure that has her gripping the control so tight you think it might snap.

You can feel precum begin to soak through her pants, her cock throbbing as you tease it casually. It's fully erect now, rock hard and forming a tent in her pants. Her leg bounces up and down as her chest heaves for much needed breath.

Hips bucking into your touch, Natasha gives you a firm glance - telling you to either cut it out, even though her body says otherwise. All you offer in return is a smirk that betrays your real intentions as you slip off the couch, sinking to your knees.

Your hands rest on her hips, and you lean forward, slowly placing a kiss to the tip of her clothed tip, faintly tasting the precum. Groaning softly, you lick along her length through her pants, staring up at her with your lashes.

Her eyes keep on flicking between you and the TV and your surprised she hasn't stopped to spank your ass black and blue by now. Encouraged, you hook your fingers into her waistband, maintaining eye contact as you tug them down her legs. She lifts her hips to help and you raise an eyebrow when you notice she isn't wearing boxers.

Natasha shrugs unapologetically, her cock jerking and twitching as the tip leaks. She looks seconds away from grabbing your hair and shoving her cock down your throat. You lick your lips and lean forward, taking only the tip of it into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around the veiny skin, moaning against her and letting your eyes flutter shut. Teasingly, you dip your head down, taking inch by inch of her casually. You gag a little as she hits the back of your throat but then you pull back, lips popping as you let go of her dick. A string of saliva connects your lips to her twitching cock.

That seems to be the last straw for her because she tears her headset off, tossing her controller away. Her hands are in your hair in an instant, hips jerking up to slam her cock down your throat. You choke on it, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Her hands force you to bob up and down her shaft at a rapid pace, your jaw straining at the stretch. Saliva begins to leak out of the corner of your mouth, her cock absolutely dripping with it as she lifts her hips with each thrust.

"You were being such a fuckin' tease," she growls, grip on your hair tightening painfully, "And why? Because I wasn't giving you enough attention."

You're forced to open your mouth even wider to keep from your teeth grazing her cock when she plunges particularly deep. You get a face full of red-pubic hair and the heady scent of her arousal. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, mixing with your spit that dripped down your face.

You probably looked pathetic, face flushed with desperation, lips sealed around her cock as you cry and drool.

Natasha scoffs as she looks down at you, still yanking your head up and down forcefully, "Look at you, so fucking pathetic."

You can feel her cock throbbing as she nears her climax and the heat between your legs grows more prominent. Whimpering around her dick, you gag on a mix of spit and her cock, snot beginning to leak from your nose. Now you must look really pathetic.

"F-fuck-" Natasha tilts her head back, hands faltering in their swift movements so you pick up the slack, "Fuck baby I'm gonna cum in your mouth." The words make you moan around her cock, eyes fluttering shut as you bob up and down.

Swirling your tongue around the tip is all it takes for her to offload into you. White streams of cum coat your mouth as her hips stuttered and you swallow down every inch of her cum. It tastes distinctly like her, something you couldn't place, but you lap it up eagerly.

She pants against the couch and now you can hear her friends screaming at her through the headset, shouting at her to get back in the game. Natasha ignores them, instead tugging you up and into her lap. Her cock, still stiff, presses against your ass and you whine softly.

"You want me to stuff this pretty little pussy?" She coos condescendingly, thumbs brushing over your hips.

Nodding frantically, you grab on her shoulders, lifting yourself up, "Please Natty."

She rolls her eyes at your desperation, but you know she loves it and uses her fingers to push your panties to the side. In one swift movement, her cock is buried deep inside you as you groan loudly, back arching. It was easy for her to slip in, considering how soaking wet you were.

"There you go sweetheart."

Her hands find your hips again, guiding you to bounce up and down along her length. Your pussy makes wet squishing sounds every time you slam back down but you can't bring yourself to care. A part of you wonders if her friends can hear your moans and whimpers, the sounds of you getting fucked.

Lips finding your neck, Natasha trails a blazing path down the side, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. Stars dance in front of your eyes as her cock goes as deep as possible, the ridges and girth rubbing your walls just right.

"Fuck baby you feel so fuckin' good," one of her hands dips between your thighs, her fingers finding your clit as you ride her. It's embarrassingly how quickly you come to edge. Her lips on your neck, biting and licking with precise movements that left you tilting your head for more. Her fingers twisting and rubbing your clit so perfectly. And her cock just slipping in and out of you was almost too much.

A sound between a moan and a keen leaves your lips as you orgasm, head falling down onto her shoulder to stifle your gasps and whines of pleasure. Natasha helps guide your hips through your climax, slowing down bit by bit.

"Good girl," she purrs in your ear, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"You wanna sit there for a while I play games, hm?"

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female!reader #g!p Natasha romanoff

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coco-loco-nut · 3 days ago

Text

Take a Chance on Me

pairing: charles x reader

summary: a secret can only stay a secret for so long, especially when you aren’t really trying to hide it

masterlist series masterlist soundtrack

requests open

——————————

You made Charles put in the work, but it felt as easy as breathing for him. He was just thankful to have you in his arms again. Charles took every opportunity to travel from Maranello to your home near Ravenna.

The relationship has been kept under wraps, needing to focus on yourselves and the relationship. It’s been hard to remember that you aren’t the same people as you were before and your relationship won’t be the same either.

Charles really stepped into a father figure role quickly. Neither you or Alessandra expected him to do so right away, but it was an easy adjustment. Truthfully, the whole relationship has been an easier to fall back into than expected.

“Good morning,” Charles kisses your shoulder, voice groggy as you roll over to face him.

“When do you fly out?” you blink away your exhaustion. You’ll be relieved when the season is over.

“I’ll have to leave here in a couple hours,” he replies, pulling you in for a cuddle.

“That’s so soon,” you groan, wanting to fall asleep on his chest.

“I know, but it’s the last race. You’ll see me in a couple days anyway,” Charles is bringing you in Friday evening for Saturday and Sunday. Alessandra has been not-so subtly asking to go to another race and you are happy to go and support him.

“I know,” you reach up and play with the ends of his hair. “I think you need to swing by Monaco and have your mom cut your hair,” you smile, giving it a light tug.

“It’s in my plans for after the race, don’t worry. I do recall you begging for me to grow it out longer,” he smiles lazily.

“Well now it’s too long,” you give him a quick kiss and sit up. “I’ll start breakfast,” you slide one of his shirts on and a pair of shorts before heading to the kitchen. It doesn’t take too long before Charles joins you, easily sliding beside you to help cook.

“Morning, Mom. Good morning, Charles,” Alessandra yawns, wearing an old Ferrari hoodie she stole from Charles after you washed it.

“I was wondering where that went. Remind me to bring you to Monaco, I have a storage unit full of old team kits,” Charles greets warmly.

“Really?” her eyes widen as she sits at the kitchen table.

“Of course, we can go after the prize giving ceremony,” he promises. You never could’ve imagined this being your family. You’ve noticed the little things. How he clearly wants to be a father, but holds back until it’s clear that you and Alessandra are comfortable with that.

“Are you packed?” you set down a plate of pancakes as Charles helps set the table. Alessandra is leaving for the race with Charles after she spent a week begging you. He was kind enough to pull some strings and ‘hire’ her as a temporary personal assistant. She’s been packed for the last few days.

“I’ve been packed,” Charles hides his smile at her response. He’s a little stressed, it’s a lot of responsibility to bring his girlfriend’s daughter on a trip overseas. It’s a test, he knows it is. If something goes wrong he wouldn’t blame you for calling it off.

“Maybe I should change my flight plans,” you joke, taking a seat beside Charles.

“Just say the word and it’s done,” Charles says, making your heart flutter at the notion.

“Can’t, I have some big meetings today and tomorrow,” you remind him.

Breakfast passes by quickly and you find yourself alone in the kitchen cleaning up as Charles finishes packing. A picture frame catches your eye and you grab it. You are beaming at the camera as Alessandra takes some steps out of your arms and towards the camera. You wouldn’t be able to tell from the picture, but that was one of the hardest years of your life.

You were struggling being a single mom, even with your parents help, and your depression didn’t help. The news was filled with Ferrari’s championship year and Charles’ track dominance as he won his first of three championships. You couldn’t escape it. You were even struggling in your career, being a single mom fresh out of college was a challenge you weren’t ready for.

“Mom?” Alessandra’s voice pulls you out of your memories. You hum in acknowledgment, looking away from the photo. “I’ll finish up. Go help Charles pack,” she offers.

“Honey, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” you set the photo down and pull yourself together.

“No, go. Spend some time with your man,” she nudges you away from the sink.

“Okay,” you breathe. Glancing once more at your grown up baby girl before heading to your bedroom.

“When I was a driver, sweats were perfectly acceptable flying attire,” Charles frowns as he buttons up his shirt.

“I don’t know, I like this look,” you fix his collar.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you feel your cheeks flame as you place a stack of folded clothes into his suitcase.

You notice nervous energy as Charles double checks his backpack.

“Hey, everything okay?” you extend your hand and gently touch his shoulder,

“I know we pretty much have the championships on lock, but what if something happens? It came down to the last race for a reason,” Charles stresses.

“Then it wasn’t meant to happen this year. Trust yourself and your team like you have every time, have fun, and just remember it’s another regular weekend at the track,” you use roughly the same speech you gave Alessandra many times before a dance recital or football game.

“I don’t know how I survived without you,” Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing himself against your back in a hug.

“Alright, you need to get going,” you sigh, feeling his warmth leave you. Charles watches you quickly get dressed to go to work, wishing he could just stop time and spend the day in bed with you. You feel a greater sadness when he and Alessandra get into his car and drive off.

“Excited?” Charles asks as the plane nears Abu Dhabi. Alessandra looks like a younger version of you, wide eyed and ready to take on the world.

“I am, thank you for bringing me early,”

“Of course. You did the hard part of convincing your mom,” Charles feels like it is thankless.

“You know, it’s all kinda crazy. I went from being a fan to having a guy who is basically my dad be the team principal of Ferrari,” Alessandra mentions, warming Charles’ heart at the words.

“Well I never thought I’d have the chance to have a daughter figure, or ever see your mom again, so I think I’m the lucky one,” Charles is careful with his words. He doesn’t want to overstep, but he does want to be honest.

“I know we aren’t there yet as a family, but I do look forward to the day where you will be my dad,” Charles reaches across the aisle and gives her a hug.

“Soon,” Charles promises. Does he have a ring already picked out? He bought one a couple days after reconciling.

The next two days pass by quickly. You get so many updates from Alessandra and Charles that you feel like you are right there with them. As you lock the door to your home, your phone pings with a text. It’s a photo of Alessandra on the pit wall where Charles usually sits, headset on and looking at data while Charles points something out. You quickly dial his number as you carry your bag to your parents car.

“Don’t you think she’s a bit young to manage the team?” you ask when he picks up, your smile audible through the phone.

“She’s learning from the best. Our future leader of Ferrari,” Charles replies. Our. Your heart warms at the word, at his want to be a part of your family and the integration of your family into his life.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend that she sits on the pit wall during a race, but to each their own,” you laugh.

“I take it you are on your way to the plane then?” Charles asks, you hear shuffling and the shut of a door in the background. You have his full attention.

“I am, my father says hello by the way,” you sink into the car seat, anxious to arrive in Abu Dhabi.

“Hello back to him,” you chat for a few more minutes until he has to go again. Your father turns up the radio once the call ends, an old CD that has played on many trips. With the sun streaming through the window, you are taken back to the days when he would take you to a nearby town as an adventure.

“I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I am glad you two are back together again,” you dad speaks as you get closer to the airport.

“You are?”

“Of course. He’s one of the few people who have ever made you truly happy. It was unfortunate when you ended things the first time. I’m happy to see my baby girl happy again once more,”

“I am just still a little on edge. It’s hard to trust after all these years,” you pick at the hem of your shirt.

“How does my stellina feel about the relationship?” your fathers asks, briefly glancing at you.

“She adores him, and not just because of his occupation. She is the reason we found each other again after all,” your words have a fondness to them that you hadn’t recognized yourself yet. Maybe Charles isn’t the only one ready to take that step.

“Then why the hesitation?” you open your mouth to answer but no words come to mind. “Tesoro, everything you have done for nearly the last seventeen years has been for Alessandra. It is okay to allow yourself another source of happiness, especially one that already seems to have her approval.”

“How did you become so wise?” your smile meets your eyes.

“The same way you have, raising a headstrong daughter,” your father stops at your drop off point, following Charles’s instructions to a t.

“Thank you,” you give him a hug goodbye and head inside. You spend the flight watching movies and napping. Charles is still at the track for free practice two when you land, so a hospitality staff member is sent to pick you up and bring you to the track.

“Miss Rossi?” the staff member isn’t hard to spot, their crisp Ferrari polo standing out in the crowd.

“That’s me,” you smile tiredly.

“We should get going, best not to leave Mr. Leclerc waiting,” the British accent sounds almost harsh against the Italian you are accustomed to. “How was your flight?”

“Pleasant, thank you for asking, and for retrieving me from the airport,” your luggage is loaded into the waiting car and you slip into the back seat.

“This is your paddock pass, please do not lose it,”

“Thanks,” the car ride is short, and a little awkward. You expected it, retrieving your boss’s significant other is probably not a fun task.

“We will handle your luggage from here,” the staff member leaves you at the front of the hospitality center.

“Mom!” Alessandra rushes over to hug you.

“Hi,” you hug her back, squeezing a little tighter.

“Charles is in a meeting but he will be right out,” she says professionally, practicing her assistant role.

“Well then, what do you recommend we do?”

“Y/n?” a familiar voice distracts you.

“Carlos? What are you doing here?” you take a step forward to hug Charles’s former teammate, but quickly stop yourself.

“I could ask the same, I haven’t seen you in, god almost twenty years. I’m here to support the team in winning the championship, you know, former driver things. What are you doing here?” Carlos also seems unsure of how to proceed.

“I, um, Charles and I got back together recently. This is my daughter, Alessandra. She pulled the strings and here we are,” you motion to your near carbon copy. Carlos quickly tries to identify any of Charles’ features but finds none.

“Hi, I’m a huge fan,” Alessandra is giddy. It seems like you both just arrived.

“Two of my favorite people arrived,” Charles steps into the room with a smile.

“Your wife is here,” you point at Carlos with a teasing grin.

“Forget him, let’s run away together,” Carlos teases back. It takes Charles back, like you never broke up.

“Don’t do that. Ready to head out?” Charles asks you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Yep, although your staff did something with my luggage,” you look around for someone to ask.

“On its way to the hotel as we speak. Are you hungry, we can go get dinner?” Charles asks like you are the only person in the room.

“I would love some, thanks for asking,” Carlos replies as Charles rolls his eyes affectionately.

“Maybe we can order in?” You suggest, not in the mood to go out anywhere.

“Sounds like a plan. Carlos you are welcome to join,” Charles extends the offer, knowing Carlos will take it anyway.

“Send me the time and room number, we have some catching up to do,” Carlos leaves the three of you.

“Sometimes I wish you two never split. Like, can you imagine if Carlos was my uncle from birth,” Alessandra says as you near Charles’ car. Carlos is only a few steps ahead, so you and Charles capitalize on it.

“You don’t want that, he has horrible jokes,” Charles deflects, but speaking loud enough for Carlos to hear.

“That’s true, and his singing is worse,”

“Aye, take that back,” Carlos turns around.

“Smooth operator,” Charles sings mockingly.

“Are they always like this?” Alessandra asks, looking at you.

“They always were. Some fans didn’t believe it, but they were good friends, even if they didn’t spent much time together outside of work,” you answer. Even if you were only present for that one summer, you took every piece of information and carefully stored it in your mind.

Dinner comes and goes, Carlos told many stories as you exchanged life updates before Charles kicked everyone out for a ‘strict bed time’. He just saw you falling asleep on his shoulder and took advantage of the opportunity.

“What do I even wear. What do the other partners of a team principal wear?” you rummage through your bag, stressing out.

“You could show up in sweatpants and I’d be happy. But to answer your question, the same thing as you wore when you attended my races before,” Charles reaches into your bag and pulls out a red top and white dress pants.

“People will see us together and judge, I don’t want bad opinions on day one,” you quickly change, stressing over the smallest details.

“There will be every kind of opinion no matter how you dress, but the only one that matters is mine. Your return to the paddock will be one looked upon favorably,” Charles promises.

“I love you,” you tell him for the first time since before you split. Charles pauses, running the moment back over in his head to make sure he heard right.

“I love you too, I never stopped,” Charles sweeps you into a kiss, carefully restraining himself since you don’t have much time before you leave.

The morning seems quiet to you, not quite the normal excitement that a race would bring. Maybe it’s fatigue, everyone ready to make that final push to the end of this season and the start of the next. Perhaps it’s just the time, having been among the first to arrive in order to get settled and for Charles to ensure he has time with you and Alessandra before his busy schedule. Either way, you soak it all in, not wanting to take everything for granted.

“Okay, we have a meeting with some of the development drivers. See you in a bit,” Charles presses a soft kiss to your lips, and as he pulls away Carlos walks in with two coffees.

“Have fun,” you take a seat beside Carlos, who generously offered to spend time with you.

Alessandra trails Charles into a conference room where three teenage boys around her age talk excitedly.

“I’ll be right back, stay here,” Charles looks down, realizing he forgot his computer.

“Who are you?” one of the boys asks, not bothering to state his name first.

“Alessandra, Charles is my, uh, father,” she replies, standing awkwardly by the doorway.

“Are you sure, you don’t sound confident about that,” the same guy replies.

“Sorry about that. This is my daughter, Alessandra. Alessandra, these are three of our junior drivers,” Charles sits down and Alessandra takes a seat beside him, feeling more confident. The meeting passes by quickly compared to the others, talking about targets and progress rather than times and data.

Alessandra rejoins you and Carlos, taking a snack to boost her energy while waiting for her next duty. Charles walks in with one of the reserve drivers, who is almost immediately distracted by Alessandra’s presence.

“Absolutely NOT, she is off limits to you and any other Ferrari member,” Charles narrows his eyes, the scariest he’s ever been.

“Okay, my bad,” the kid quickly apologizes, a little embarrassed.

“Charles, don’t scare him,” you chastise, leaving Alessandra with Carlos who is more than happy to talk her ear off. “She is off limits though,” you agree with Charles.

“Come with me, mon amour,” Charles takes your hand, leading you to his office. The door clicks behind you, locked for privacy.

“Don’t you have things to do?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“I have some time before qualifying,” he steps close to you, tenderly kissing you.

“Is that so?” you grin, gently pulling him closer to you. He hums lowly, letting the tension softly build between you.

“I should bring you to every race,” Charles says lowly, cherishing the quiet moment in a hectic weekend.

“You’d get nothing done,” your soft laugh fills the room, still sending Charles’ heart racing.

“Worth it,” a knock breaks your bubble making both of you sigh.

“Go, they need you,” you press one last kiss to his lips.

“I’ll see you later,” Charles swiftly exits the room, leaving you behind as he heads to the track. You follow behind a few minutes later, finding Alessandra where you left her.

“You look just as flustered as Charles,” Alessandra smirks before it falls a second later. “I don’t want to know,” she grimaces, erasing the thought from her mind.

“Oh, shush. Nothing happened,” you take a seat beside her. Ollie and Kimi’s partners approach carefully, unsure what the proper way to greet your partner’s boss’s partner.

“Hi, we think you should see this,” Ollie’s partner turns their phone towards you and Alessandra. It’s an article with a picture of the two of you and Charles entering the paddock. There’s also an old photo of you and Charles from your prior relationship.

“I didn’t think they’d catch on so soon,” you frown.

“How widespread?” Alessandra asks, mind jumping into solution mode. With only half an hour until qualifying, it isn’t the moqq as

“It’s spreading quickly. Kimi told me that Charles is in a meeting but the PR team is usually on top of this stuff,” Kimi’s partner answers, not sugarcoating it. Alessandra quickly gets on social media.

“The reaction seems positive. Not too much is known about us, so everyone seems to be congratulating Charles on a happy relationship,” Alessandra chooses to hide the speculation around her paternity.

“Hi, could you follow me?” as expected, the chief communications officer finds you swiftly. You and Alessandra follow her to a small meeting room where Charles is looking at a summary on a tablet. Carefully, you take a seat beside him, his hand immediately finding yours under the table.

“So, how do we approach this?” Charles looks into your eyes, ignoring his communications team.

“We need to be honest when asked if we are together. It isn’t that big of a deal now that it’s out there, especially since I’m not some celebrity,” you answer honestly. “We reconnected after running into one another after a long time apart, it’s pretty simple.”

“I’m afraid there is something a little more concerning than that,” the communications chief voice doesn’t match her slightly nervous expression. “There is a lot of growing speculation around Alessandra’s father, and her working under Charles this week isn’t helping,” you feel anger bubbling up, a squeeze from Charles’s hand holds you back.

“I don’t understand, why do they have a right to ask about a child who is not one of our drivers,” Charles practically seethes, wanting to protect the girl he’s come to see as his daughter.

“Alessandra has no father, there is not one on her birth certificate. She is my daughter and that is that,” your eyes narrow.

“Charles is certainly like a father to me at this point, but my mother is right. If asked, my father was never in the picture. I’d prefer that my relationship with Charles is kept between us at this stage,” Alessandra shifts in her seat, bridging yours and Charles’s statements. Alessandra has no doubt that she will be adopted by Charles eventually, but that isn’t information that needs to be known outside of the family.

“Right. We will address the press outside and quickly draft some bullet points for when you get stopped by the press,” with that, Charles dismisses himself, ending the meeting. This wasn’t how he planned the weekend on going, but he should’ve known better to plan for this. You stand up, following Charles without a second thought.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Charles runs a frustrated hand through his hair. While he’s supposed to be focusing on the race he now has the press to think about.

“They were going to find out at some point. Best they learn during the last race than the first,” you bitterly smile, walking with him.

“You’re right, you always are,” Charles lets out a deep breath.

“Hey, I trust your judgment. Whatever you say to the press, I will back you,” you gently take his hand and give it a squeeze. You aren’t used to giving up control like that, but you are partners in your relationship.

“I love you,” Charles presses a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the garage. Alessandra stays in hospitality with you, watching the television feed of Quali.

Once you return to the hotel, you sit in Charles’s hotel room to discuss your options.

“This is what the team sent over,” Charles turns his computer around to face Alessandra.

“I don’t think we should hide anything, just ignore any inquiries into the family,” Alessandra shrugs.

“I’m okay with that,” Charles agrees. You don’t speak, simply nodding in agreement. Alessandra yawns sleepily after the long day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she stands, yawning as she stretches.

“Sleep well, love you,” you hug her tightly.

“See you then,” Charles offers a small smile and a reminder of when to meet in the morning.

After a quiet morning, the three of you make your way into the paddock. Almost immediately you are swarmed. Some yell questions about the team and qualifying results, but the majority ask questions about you. Security stalwarts to break them up, but Charles seizes the opportunity to make a statement.

“My family is a private matter. Unless the questions are relevant to the team and racing, I will not be answering them,” Charles says firmly, holding you a little tighter as your grip on Alessandra’s arm is firmer. Security makes a gap and the three of you slip through, quickly moving away from the media vultures.

As you walk into the Ferrari motorhome, your mind fixates on one word. Family. You don’t know why Charles chose that to describe you and Alessandra. Convenience or his truth - that you are his family.

“You look… rattled,” Carlos greets you. Charles was pulled away as soon as you stepped foot inside. Not that you are complaining, it’s race day, of course he is busy. Alessandra went off with some interns she befriended over the weekend, needing to be around people near her own age.

“I, um, we got surrounded by the media,” you explain, a little frustrated. Carlos nods sympathetically, clearly having seen the articles about his former teammate.

“They are ruthless, they used go call Rebecca and I a PR relationship,” Carlos scoffs, relating to your frustration. You want to ask him for his insight, try to know what Charles meant by the word family, but you just can’t bring yourself to.

“It comes with the territory, I suppose,” your bitter smile matches his own.

“Well, I haven’t seen him so happy in a while. That’s what matters,” Carlos offers his support.

“Isn’t it crazy how much we all have changed?” you glance as Carlos’s lock screen, a photo of him and his son - Carlos Sainz III wearing race suits.

“We are all grown up. You three should come to Madrid. There is a nice karting track and I can show you around,” Carlos suggests. He and Charles keep in touch, but they aren’t that close. Carlos thinks it might be nice to grow that relationship, especially with his son expressing interest and talent in karting.

“I’m sure Charles would like that. We should find a time before the season starts or you won’t see Charles until summer break,” your smile is genuine, glad to have a friend in Carlos.

“Has she ever karted?” Carlos glances at Alessandra, who is eagerly saying something to one of the development drivers.

“No. She asked, but the money and being a single mom,” you trail off, unable to add another truth to why you kept her away. “Being Italian, it’s impossible to not love Ferrari and she’s always had an attraction to the sport. Karting just wasn’t an option,” you shrug.

“Charles isn’t?” Carlos doesn’t say the rest, letting the implied question speak for itself. You shake your head.

“Her sperm donor has never been in the picture, that relationship was a mistake - a rebound from Charles - and by the time I knew both were long over,” you admit.

“And how does she feel about Charles?” Carlos prods, enjoying the story session. It feels like a conversation you would have laying in your best friends dark bedroom room at 3am during a sleepover, or at brunch over a mimosa.

“She adores him. I think they see each other as a father and a daughter, but they won’t admit it yet. They’ve really taken to each other,” you feel warm and fuzzy thinking about it.

“I’m glad, you deserve that. Having someone to support you for once and to care for you, it’s nice,” Carlos still sees you and Charles as the energetic carefree couple that you were twenty years ago, so sure that you had an endless amount of time together. He never asked why you broke, but he is sure that would cause too much pain to bring up. Carlos has overheard bits and pieces, but he doesn’t know the whole story. It wasn’t his place to ask.

“I’m glad to have you as a friend,” you tell Carlos who smiles warmly at you.

You spend the rest of your day and the race with him. Charles joined you for a few minutes while he had time to spare before the race. Alessandra joins you, eagerly listening as Carlos points things out and shares his experiences as a driver. And when Kimi and Ollie cross the line taking a 1-2, you practically jump into Carlos’ arms hugging him.

Carlos guides you towards the podium when the time comes, joining Charles and the team to celebrate the championship and win.

“Mon amour!” Charles pulls you into his arms, squeezing you tight.

“You did it, just like you did as a driver,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Congrats, Charles,” Alessandra says as you pull away, allowing her to hug him as well.

“Thank you, piccola,” Charles says softly, not thinking about using the nickname he’s only ever said in his head. Charles’ hand finds yours as you stand beside him proudly. Alessandra stands at the other side of him with Carlos, happy in the family she’s gained.

As you sing among your compatriots and the team, you don’t know how it could get better than this moment.

#f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader

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