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its-avalon-08 · 2 months ago

Note

Could you write something where reader and Lando have been in a relationship and reader has a heart condition and she never told Lando so he didn’t stress about her and to focus on racing, and Lando and her brake up because he stupidly told her he wants to focus on racing this year and after she left he realised his mistake as all the little things reader did for him before a race are all gone and everything just feels wrong and when he tries to contact her he can’t find her until a few weeks later he gets a call from the hospital that reader has fallen unconscious and when he gets there he then learns about her heart condition and that stress is not good for her heart. But happy ending.

heart flutters (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, heart condition

The morning sun slipped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Lando’s bedroom. Y/N was lying beside him, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and steady. Lando felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

He couldn’t quite remember when his mornings had become this perfect, but he knew Y/N had something to do with it.

She shifted, blinking awake, and her sleepy smile met his gaze. “Good morning, love,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he replied, kissing her forehead. "Did you sleep okay?"

“Always do when I’m with you,” she replied, snuggling closer. “Although I could do without you hogging the blanket,” she teased, giving him a playful poke.

Lando laughed, pulling her closer. “Alright, alright, I’ll work on it.”

These mornings together, the lazy Sundays and cozy, laughter-filled moments, were Y/N’s specialty. She seemed to know exactly what he needed, especially on race days. She’d wake up early with him, helping him calm his nerves and making sure he had everything he needed. And every time, he’d find some new way she was taking care of him, even if it was something small—like hiding a little note in his helmet, wishing him luck.

“Hey,” Y/N said, watching his thoughtful expression. “You okay?”

Lando nodded. “Just thinking about how lucky I am,” he admitted, his voice soft.

Y/N blushed, rolling her eyes a little. “You’re getting sappy on me, Norris.”

“Just telling it like it is,” he replied, smiling as he watched her try to hide her smile.

They went about their morning, with Y/N humming along to the soft music playing in the kitchen as she made breakfast. She slid a plate across to Lando, along with a steaming cup of his favorite coffee. He took a sip, sighing in contentment. She’d even managed to get his coffee just right.

"Alright, mister," she said with a smirk, sitting down beside him. "What's the game plan today?"

"Game plan?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you were the expert at making my plans.”

“Maybe,” she replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But I like to think I’m just the support. You’re the superstar here.”

Lando rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re more than support, Y/N. You’re… you’re my everything, you know that?”

Y/N smiled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, something he didn’t notice, too wrapped up in the moment. She covered it up with a quick laugh, brushing it off. “And you’re mine. Just… try not to get too cocky on track, alright?”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. “Can’t make any promises.”

Their relationship was filled with moments like these—easy, natural, just them being themselves. Y/N grounded him, kept him steady, especially when the world of racing felt overwhelming. She never burdened him with anything else, always making sure his focus was on the track. And she always brushed off his attempts to give back, saying his happiness was all she needed.

But it was Lando who felt like he needed her more than he’d ever admit.

As they finished breakfast, she reached out, taking his hand. "You'll do amazing, Lando," she said quietly. "You always do."

"I only do so well because of you, you know that?" he replied, squeezing her hand.

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes again, but there was warmth there, too. “Alright, alright, enough with the sweet talk. Go focus on your race and be the best you can be out there. That’s all I ask.”

Lando leaned in, kissing her softly. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Norris,” she replied, grinning as she kissed him back.

As he left for the track, he felt a familiar sense of calm wash over him. Y/N had this way of making everything feel right, grounding him no matter what lay ahead. He knew, deep down, that he’d never be able to thank her enough for everything she did for him.

And for Y/N, watching him walk out the door with that smile, she knew that was exactly how she wanted it to be.

It was late, and the rain was tapping against the window of Lando’s apartment as he paced back and forth, hands tangled in his hair. The 2024 season had been brutal, every race pushing him to his limit, the pressure of a potential world championship win weighing on him like a mountain. He could practically taste the victory, but the stress of it all had made him someone he barely recognized.

Y/N was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as she watched him pace. She’d noticed it for weeks now, the way he was shutting her out, snapping at her for even the smallest things, as if she were just another distraction.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice sharp. “Lando, can you stop pacing for two seconds and talk to me?”

He stopped, sighing heavily as he turned to face her. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?” he muttered. “That I’m exhausted? That I can’t focus with all of this going on?”

“All of this?” she echoed, hurt flashing across her face. “What’s ‘all of this,’ exactly? Because I thought we were a team, Lando. I thought I was helping you!”

“Helping me?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I have to focus. Every race, every lap, every second counts right now. I can’t… I don’t have time to be dealing with you—”

“Dealing with me?” Her voice was sharp, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Lando, I’ve done nothing but support you. Every single time you’re struggling, I’m here. And now you’re telling me I’m… I’m a distraction?”

He clenched his fists, too frustrated to back down. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Every time I’m around you, I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. I need to focus on racing, Y/N. I need this championship.”

“And what about us, Lando?” she demanded, standing up, her own anger now matching his. “Do I mean anything to you anymore, or am I just some inconvenience? Because that’s exactly how you’re making me feel.”

He looked away, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Maybe it’s just not working anymore.”

Her eyes widened, the pain in them unmistakable. She took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. “So that’s it? Just like that? You’re giving up on us?”

“Maybe I am,” he snapped, though even as he said it, something twisted painfully in his chest. “Maybe I need to focus on my career. I can’t have anyone holding me back right now.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Holding you back? I’m holding you back, Lando? After everything I’ve done? The sacrifices I’ve made, the nights I stayed up worrying for you, the races I watched, praying you’d come home safe… that’s ‘holding you back’?”

“You just don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “You don’t get the pressure I’m under, Y/N. I have a chance to win this championship, and I can’t be thinking about anything else.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she replied, her tone cold. “You’ve let this championship turn you into someone I barely recognize. The Lando I knew would have never pushed me away like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said, the words hitting her like a slap.

She swallowed hard, the hurt on her face plain to see. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with this. “You’re right,” she replied, her voice trembling with anger. “Maybe I don’t know you anymore. Because the man I fell in love with would have never treated me like this. He wouldn’t have thrown away everything we have because he’s too blinded by his own ambition.”

“Fine,” he spat, his anger still raging. “Maybe you should just leave, then.”

Silence fell between them, the weight of his words settling like a stone in the room. Y/N stared at him, her eyes filling with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

She turned toward the door, but stopped just before leaving, looking back at him one last time. “I hope it’s worth it, Lando. I really do.”

And with that, she was gone, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in the silence of the apartment.

Lando stood there, the anger that had been burning inside him now replaced by a hollow ache. He’d gotten what he’d wanted—he was free to focus on his racing. But as he looked around the empty room, he realized just how empty his life felt without her.

Lando sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the silence pressing in on him like a weight he couldn’t shake off. It had been two weeks since Y/N had walked out. At first, he told himself he’d done the right thing, that he needed to focus on racing, that he couldn’t afford any distractions. But now, all he could feel was the aching void she’d left behind.

Race weekend had come, and the pre-race routines—the moments that had once been so seamless, so comforting—now felt cold and empty. His helmet was sitting on the counter, untouched. There were no little notes tucked into his bag, no reminders to stay safe, no lucky charm slipped into his hand just before he left for the track. Y/N had always known what to do, how to make him feel like he could conquer the world. Now, everything just felt wrong.

He leaned against the counter, clutching the edge, his heart pounding as he stared down at his helmet. The knot in his chest tightened with each passing second, a harsh reminder of how badly he’d messed up.

“Lando?” Max entered the room, noticing his tense expression. “You alright, mate? You don’t look yourself.”

Lando managed a hollow smile, waving him off. “I’m fine.”

But Max wasn’t convinced. He took a seat across from him, eyeing him carefully. “You’ve been off these past few weeks. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah, just… racing stress, you know?” Lando muttered, though he knew it was a lie. It wasn’t racing stress—it was Y/N. She’d been his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he was more than just a driver. Without her, he felt like he was falling apart.

Max raised an eyebrow, skeptical but respectful enough not to push further. “Alright, well… if you need anything, let me know. You know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Lando replied, trying to keep his voice steady. But as Max left, the emptiness clawed at him even more fiercely. He glanced back down at his helmet, the silence in the room growing louder, deafening.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He slumped down onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as memories flooded him. He remembered the way Y/N would look at him with those warm eyes, her voice filled with gentle reassurance.

The more Lando went through his days, the more he noticed just how much Y/N had been woven into every corner of his life. Each time he stumbled over a small moment they used to share, it was like a painful reminder of how deeply he had messed up.

Race Day Routine

When he sat down for breakfast the morning of his next race, he instinctively reached for the small bag she’d usually leave out for him—one filled with his favorite snacks, electrolyte packets, and a note in her neat handwriting that usually said, “For that extra boost, love. You’ve got this.” Every race day morning, she’d make sure his essentials were perfectly packed, knowing how easily he’d forget them in the rush.

But the counter was empty, and so were his hands. There was no note, no bag, no encouraging message. He’d scoffed at how overprotective she’d been, thinking he could handle it himself. Now, as he fumbled to prepare for his race on his own, the empty counter felt like a gaping hole in his chest.

Before the Race

In the paddock, he felt it again, the silence louder than ever. Y/N would always make sure to slip away with him for just a moment before he stepped into the garage, giving him a quiet pep talk when he needed it most. Her words, so full of calm and warmth, used to steady him, keeping the pressure from crushing him. She’d take his face in her hands, look him straight in the eyes, and remind him, “It’s just you and the track. Nothing else matters. Drive like only you can.”

He’d rolled his eyes at her sometimes, told her he didn’t need the cheesy encouragement—but she’d insisted anyway, saying, “Well, too bad, because you’re getting it.” Her words were like armor, a shield she’d wrapped around him before every race.

Now, standing alone by his car, he could feel the pressure creeping in, gnawing at him, and there was nothing to keep it at bay. He glanced around, almost expecting to see her in the crowd, but of course, she wasn’t there.

Late Nights in the Simulator

Back at the team facility, he spent more time than ever practicing, pushing himself harder, trying to keep his mind from drifting back to her. But even here, she’d left her mark. On the long nights, Y/N used to bring him coffee, perfectly made just the way he liked it, and sit beside him, giving him quiet company. She wouldn’t say much, just enough to keep his spirits up, occasionally throwing him an encouraging smile as he took lap after lap in the simulator.

And when he’d get frustrated, when he’d curse and slam his fists on the table, she’d place a calming hand on his shoulder, reminding him, “You’re Lando Norris, you can do this. Don’t let the tough laps get to you. Breathe.”

Now, he sat there, tense and alone, his coffee lukewarm and forgotten. No hand to steady him, no quiet reassurance. The simulator felt cold, and so did he.

At Home, Late at Night

Even the nights felt wrong. Y/N had always insisted on turning on the small night light for him, a tiny habit she’d developed when she realized that he hated stumbling around in the dark after a race, too exhausted to find his way. He’d teased her about it, saying he didn’t need it, but she’d laugh, saying, “Well, one of us does.” She’d make sure it was on for him every night she stayed over, like clockwork.

Tonight, he sat in the pitch-black room, the silence pressing in, the absence of the warm glow almost suffocating. He clenched his fists, swallowing against the ache that was rising in his throat. He missed her laugh, her teasing, the tiny acts of love she’d filled his life with.

Flashback

“You’re going to be amazing today, Lando,” she’d whisper, holding his hand just before he stepped onto the track. “Just remember, it’s not about winning or losing to me. I love you just the same, no matter what.”

And he’d feel his nerves melt away. She had a way of making him feel like he could face anything.

Now, without her, the fear crept back in, gnawing at him from the inside.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, a shaky breath escaping him. “God… what have I done?”

Every little thing she used to do, every act of kindness, every word of encouragement—he’d taken it all for granted. He thought he could focus better without her, that his life would be easier. But instead, all he felt was the emptiness of her absence, like a cold shadow in every corner.

His phone buzzed on the counter, and his heart jumped, a surge of desperate hope flooding him as he reached for it. But it was just a message from his manager.

Frustration tore through him, and he tossed his phone down, clenching his fists. He could still hear her voice in his head, her words from their last fight haunting him.

Flashback to Their Argument

“Don’t worry, Lando,” she’d said bitterly, her voice cracking. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your precious championship.”

He remembered her eyes, red and tear-filled, as she looked at him one last time, filled with a pain he’d caused. He remembered thinking he was doing the right thing, choosing his career, telling himself he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.

Everything felt different without her. The things he used to love—the rush of the track, the thrill of competition—they all felt meaningless now. He was pushing himself harder than ever, but it wasn’t out of passion. It was to numb the ache she’d left behind, to keep himself from falling apart.

But no matter how fast he drove, how hard he pushed, he couldn’t outrun the realization.

Race Day Morning

He stood in front of the mirror, suit half-zipped, his hands gripping the sink as he stared at his own reflection. His face looked drawn, the shadows under his eyes deep. The loneliness, the guilt, the regret—it was all written there, plain as day.

“You look terrible,” he muttered to himself, voice hollow.

He remembered the way she’d stand beside him, fixing his collar, laughing as she reminded him to keep his head cool. And now, all he had was his own reflection staring back at him, mocking him with his own emptiness.

Finally, the weight became too much, and he grabbed his phone, his fingers shaking as he typed her number. He didn’t know what he was going to say, didn’t know if she’d even answer. But he couldn’t keep going like this. He needed to apologize, to tell her how wrong he’d been, how much he missed her.

The phone rang, each ring feeling like an eternity. Just as he was about to give up, her voicemail clicked on.

“Hey, it’s Y/N… leave a message.”

He swallowed hard, the sound of her voice hitting him like a punch to the gut. Taking a shaky breath, he spoke, his voice breaking.

“Y/N… it’s me. I… I don’t know if you’ll ever listen to this, but I just… I’m so sorry.” His voice trembled, each word spilling out like a confession. “I was wrong, okay? I thought I needed to focus, but without you… everything’s falling apart. I miss you. I miss… us. Please… please just… call me back.”

He hung up, feeling the weight of his own words settle over him. But there was nothing else he could do now, except hope—hope that somehow, she might still care, might still give him a chance to fix the mess he’d made.

Lando had tried everything. He’d called, texted, even reached out to her friends, hoping someone could tell him where she was. But no one had any information; she’d slipped away completely. Days turned into weeks, and with each one, the realization sank deeper: she might never come back.

One night, Lando sat alone in his apartment, drained and unfocused, his phone resting on the coffee table. His mind was restless, jumping between regret and desperation, reliving their last fight, the look in her eyes as she’d walked out.

Then, the phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it without thinking, not even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Is this Lando Norris?” a calm, professional voice asked.

“Uh… yeah, this is him,” Lando replied, his heart pounding.

“This is Dr. Kapoor from St. Thomas Hospital. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

Lando’s stomach dropped, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes, yes, that’s me… is she alright? What happened?”

“She was brought in unconscious a few hours ago,” the doctor explained. “We’ve stabilized her, but we’d like you to come in as soon as possible.”

Lando didn’t need to hear anything else. He muttered a frantic “I’m on my way” before grabbing his keys and running out the door.

The drive to the hospital felt endless, each passing second stretching painfully as he sped down the empty streets. His mind raced with possibilities, the worst scenarios creeping in, twisting his insides. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they were white.

By the time he burst through the hospital doors, he was gasping for breath, his heart pounding as he frantically searched for her room. A nurse pointed him down the hall, and he bolted, not caring how he looked, just needing to see her, to know she was alright.

He found her room and stopped, momentarily frozen by the sight before him. Y/N lay in the hospital bed, pale and fragile, wires and monitors surrounding her. The steady beep of her heart monitor filled the room, grounding him slightly, but the sight of her like this tore at him. Slowly, he stepped forward, his throat tight, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Just as he was about to speak, the doctor entered.

“Mr. Norris?” Dr. Kapoor’s voice was gentle, sensing his distress.

Lando nodded, barely able to manage a word. “What… what happened to her?”

Dr. Kapoor took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Y/N has a heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a condition that can be exacerbated by stress, which could lead to fainting or, in severe cases, even heart failure.”

Lando’s face fell, his voice barely a whisper. “She… she never told me.”

“She might not have wanted to worry you,” the doctor said. “It’s common for patients with this condition to keep it private, especially if they think it might place a burden on others.”

Lando’s heart twisted, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realized why she’d never mentioned it. She hadn’t wanted him to stress, to worry, especially during the season when he’d been under so much pressure. She’d always put him first, even to the point of hiding something so serious.

He took a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “Can I… can I see her?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s stable now, and she’ll likely wake up soon. But remember, keeping her calm is crucial. She’ll need rest and minimal stress to recover.”

Lando swallowed, nodding quickly, but he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “I’ll… I’ll take care of her. I swear.”

Dr. Kapoor offered him a small, understanding smile before leaving the room, giving him a moment alone with Y/N.

Lando stepped closer, reaching out to gently take her hand. His thumb traced over her knuckles, and he noticed how cold her hand felt in his.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have known.”

He sat beside her, the weight of everything hitting him all at once. “I was so… so stupid. I thought I needed to focus on racing, but… God, I was wrong. I was so wrong. You’re… you’re everything, Y/N. None of this means anything without you.”

He stayed like that, holding her hand, his head bowed as he let himself cry for the first time in weeks. All the pride, all the anger—it had melted away, leaving only the raw, aching regret of having pushed away the one person who truly loved him.

After a few minutes, he felt her fingers twitch slightly in his hand. His head shot up, hope flooding his chest as he saw her eyes slowly blink open.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering across her face before her gaze settled on him, and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “Lando…?”

He took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. “I’m here. I’m right here, love.”

She tried to sit up, wincing as the monitor beeped slightly faster. Lando was quick to place a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “Hey, don’t… don’t push yourself. Just… just rest.”

She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you here, Lando? I thought… you wanted to focus on racing.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he forced himself to face her, to let her see the remorse in his eyes. “I was wrong, Y/N. I was so, so wrong. I thought I needed to do it alone, that I couldn’t let myself get… attached. But all I did was ruin the best thing in my life.”

Her expression softened, and he saw her blinking back tears. “You really hurt me, Lando. I didn’t ask you for much. I just wanted to be there for you, and you… you made me feel like I was a burden.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “And I hate myself for it. You did everything for me, and I didn’t see it until you were gone. I love you, Y/N… I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he reached up, brushing it away with a tenderness that spoke of all the things he wished he’d done sooner. “I’m here now,” he continued. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, and finally nodded, her hand squeezing his. “You hurt me, Lando. But… I still love you, too.”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, Lando felt a spark of hope, knowing he had a chance to rebuild what he’d nearly thrown away. And as he sat beside her, holding her close, he vowed never to let her feel alone again.

Lando had been the perfect caretaker ever since Y/N was discharged from the hospital. He took her straight back to their apartment, rearranging everything in his life to ensure she was comfortable and safe. Every morning, he’d bring her breakfast in bed with a ridiculous grin, complete with heart-shaped toast and fresh orange juice. He filled her day with little surprises—flowers by her bedside, a new stack of her favorite books, and even a fuzzy blanket he’d bought just for her.

One night, Y/N woke up in the middle of the night, instinctively reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty. Confused, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t heard him get up, and her heart skipped slightly as worry bubbled up, wondering if something was wrong.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding softly as she went to look for him. She found him in the living room, seated on the couch with his laptop open and a small notebook by his side. His hair was tousled, and he had a focused, almost determined expression on his face as he typed something into the search bar.

“Understanding Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy” appeared on the screen, along with several videos, articles, and patient forums. Lando had a pen in his hand, and as he clicked on a video, she watched as he jotted down notes on a page, his handwriting a messy scrawl but full of sincerity. The video’s audio was soft, and she could hear the narrator explaining symptoms, risk factors, and the importance of a low-stress environment.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him, realizing just how much he was trying to understand, to do anything he could to protect her.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, tapping the pen on the notebook. “Avoid stress… maybe I can start doing a weekly meditation with her or, like… yoga? Yeah, that might help. And… maybe I should keep her work stuff organized so she doesn’t feel overwhelmed.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back any longer. She quietly stepped forward, and Lando jumped slightly when he felt her curl up on his lap, but he immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice tender as he brushed a hand over her hair. “What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were soft, full of gratitude and love, and Lando’s heart swelled.

He gave her a sheepish smile, glancing at the open notebook. “I… I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. I know I’ve messed up before, and I want to be the best I can be for you now. So, I figured… I’d do my homework.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “You’re really… reading up on my condition?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his voice warm but serious. “I need to know how to keep you safe. How to make sure you’re not stressed out or worried, and…” He swallowed, his voice breaking just a bit. “I just want to make everything perfect for you, love.”

She buried her face in his neck, her heart aching in the best way possible. “Lando… you’re already doing more than enough. Just… being here with me, caring for me… it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“But it doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m never going to let you feel alone or unimportant again. You’re my world, Y/N. I want to make sure you’re as healthy and happy as you can be.”

She pulled back, looking at him with watery eyes, a small smile on her face. “Lando, I don’t need perfection. I just need you.”

His expression softened as he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Well, you’re stuck with me,” he said, grinning. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m gonna keep studying this and doing everything I can to make sure you feel safe and loved.”

She laughed through her tears, leaning into his hand. “You already make me feel so loved. I don’t think you even realize it, but you do.”

Lando’s smile turned gentle, and he bent down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I just want to be the person you deserve.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his kiss settle over her, and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re already that person, Lando. You always have been.”

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her as he held her close. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until I see that smile on your face every single day.”

As Y/N nestled closer into his lap, her attention shifted to the laptop screen, where a doctor was speaking in a calm, measured tone.

“Managing stress is crucial for patients with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” the voice on the video explained. “Avoid situations that may induce high emotional stress. For instance, hostile conversations, arguments, or other confrontational exchanges can increase strain on the heart.”

Lando stilled, his gaze fixed on the screen as those words sank in. She could feel him tense beneath her, a flicker of regret passing over his face.

“That… makes sense,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I’ve been so selfish. I didn’t realize that my own stress… my own words… could actually make things worse for you.”

Y/N put her hand on his cheek, urging him to look at her. “Lando, it’s okay—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, meeting her gaze with a deep, remorseful look. “It’s not okay. I didn’t just make things stressful; I let you feel like you couldn’t even tell me what was going on with you. I was so wrapped up in myself… I can’t believe I was so blind.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she watched him, the depth of his regret written all over his face. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “We’re here now. That’s what matters. You’re here, and I know how much you care.”

He exhaled slowly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “I’ll never let stress come between us again, love. I promise.”

They sat together like that, wrapped up in each other, as the rest of the world faded away. Lando continued to stroke her hair, murmuring sweet promises of the future he envisioned for them. And for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a calm settle over her, knowing that Lando was there, exactly where he wanted to be, and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

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whorekneecentral · 1 year ago

Text

The Flash Of The Camera

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: photographer/husband!dan, recording/filming consensually, boudoir shoot of sorts, stripe tease, masturbation (fem), oral (f!receiving), fingering, nipple play for a few seconds, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie + softness at the end.

Word Count: 1,617

Author's Note: okay so this one was an idea from pooks, all of you that are groaning about that - shut up. this one fucks tho if I can say so myself

merry smutmas series

You enlist Daniel to help you with your Christmas gift for him.

That stupid camera was with him 24/7 - the only time he put it down was to shower, work out or sleep. Even then, you're certain he dreamt of it.

Daniel had somehow ended up on a photographer kick, thanks to Lando. As you two got ready for the holidays, Daniel spent more time taking pictures than helping you. You were a bit annoyed but you had an idea, a way to get him to put the camera that he so desperately wanted to be behind.

You had mentioned to Daniel that you wanted to take a few photos for a Christmas card, just some stuff for your family to send over the holidays.

He was more than happy to take the photos for you, bouncing around the house all day waiting for you to be ready.

"Are you ready?" He shouts from the bottom of the staircase.

You were just about ready, your hair curled and tossed over your shoulders, makeup done perfectly and you took one last look in the mirror to check your outfit.

"I'm coming!" You shout back, making your way downstairs.

Daniel was waiting for you in the living room, smiling at you as you sat yourself on the couch. Blue jeans and a silky white button up, "you look pretty," he smiles, fiddling with the settings on his camera.

"Yeah?" you smiled, glancing down at your outfit. "Thanks baby."

"Yeah," he nods, holding up his camera. "Ready whenever you are, superstar."

You nodded, sitting comfortably on the couch as you smiled for him, Daniel's camera flashes a few times before he directs you; move this way, lay that way, put this hand there etc.

"You wanna try another spot?" He asks as you stand, you shake your head.

You smiled, hands lifting to undo the buttons of your shirt. "I have a different idea,"

His brows furrow, watching as you toss the shirt onto the other shirt. "What- I'm not sure these are family friendly," Daniel mumbles, watching as you undo your jeans, stepping out of them.

"Mhm I know," you smiled, sitting yourself back on the couch.

The set was red, lace and silk covered your body and Daniel smiles to himself, watching as you make yourself comfortable on the couch.

"C'mon mister camera man, don't leave me waiting." You sit on your knees, fluffing your hair. Daniel smiles, nodding as he lifts his camera again.

He takes a few pictures, you smile at him, moving around a bit. It wasn't until a few moments later that you pulled the straps of your bra down, leaning forward; your hands on your knees as you smiled at the camera.

There's a twinkle in your eyes, something mischievous and Daniel can't quite place what it is but it makes his cock twitch. He watches, the camera flashing every few seconds and you unhook your bra, letting it fall off the couch.

"Wh-Babe.. what are you doing?"

"Just keep going," You flip over, laying on your stomach.

You look over your shoulder at him, Daniel moving around to get pictures of you. You smile sweet at him as if you weren't half naked, posing for him like a playboy bunny.

Now you're on your back, lifting your hips as your manicured fingers hook around the side of the lace panties you had on. "Y/n," he trails off and you look at him.

"Keep going, Daniel." You smile to yourself, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

His eyes fix on you, not moving even an inch. He watches your every moment and listens to every single sound that slips out of your mouth.

"Are you sure you want this on camera?" His words are hesitant but his movements aren't; moving closer to you as your fingers slip lower, exactly where he wished his fingers were.

You look over at your husband, his name slipping from your lips as your fingers go exactly where he wants them to. You don't miss the way he clears his throat, shifting a bit and the bulge on his shorts beyond obvious.

"Put the camera down, baby. C'mere, come join me."

There's a look on Daniel's face, one used by him many times before; the look that he gets when he's got some sort of mischievous idea, spinning around that big head of his.

"Why put the camera down?" He hands it to you, dropping to his knees.

Your eyes fixed on the man between your legs who settled himself between your legs, looking at him in awe. Something about Daniel always fascinated you; you could never put your finger on it but he was always an object of fascination, of desire.

He can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor. He shifts to sit on his knees between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt.

Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking; he wants you to look at him.

The camera in your hand clicks then flashes, taking a picture of your husband between your legs.

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping his curly hair.

Daniel knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more and he gives in.

Two fingers pushing into you, he glances up to see your head tossed back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering shut and your free hand groping your tit.

Daniel pulls away, earning himself a pout from you along with a groan but he moves up, kissing from your hips to your stomach, up to your chest.

He shifts a bit, dropping down against your side when his lips wrapped around your nipple. You can feel the way his tongue moves, how gentle he is. Daniel's tattoo covered arm slips under you when your back arches. There's a half smile on his face, watching as you lift the camera to take a picture of him.

“Hands and knees,” Daniel tells you, take the camera from you to give you a chance to re-situate yourself.

You're on all fours, face buried in the couch cushions with your back arched. The slightest clicking sound reaches your ears, followed by a smack to your ass and then another clicking sound.

"Did you just smack my ass so you could get a picture of your handprint?" You glanced over your shoulder at your husband.

The man smiles, lipped pressed together as he shakes his head. "Definitely not. I would never do that, babe."

You laughed, the giggle is cut off by a moan when Daniel pushes his cock into you. Your back arches, the curve of your spine evident when he comes up behind you. His hand rubs down your back, resting on your tailbone as he takes another picture.

The camera is set on the coffee table, both of Daniel's hands rest on your hips now.

Daniel pulls out and pushes into you again, his name falling from your lips. “God, Danny, like that,” the words tumble out, begging your husband for more as he fucks you.

His hands squeezing your hips, nails digging into your flesh. Your hand reaching under you, fingers barely reaching to rub your clit.

He pulls you up, his arm wrapped around your middle, your back pressed to his chest. His fingers dig into your side for a moment, squeezing you a bit.

He whispers in your ear, "all mine hm?"

"Yours," you mumbles, holding onto him as he fucked you from behind.

“I love you, I love you so much.” He whispers to you and you smile, a hand reaching back to touch his jaw.

“I love you.”

Daniel's cock twitches when you clench around him, “oh fuck,” he breathes, forehead against your shoulder. “This pussy was made just for me, hm? Take me so well, my pretty girl.”

You can feel your heart skip a beat, no matter what this man always makes you so happy and feel so loved, even when his cock is buried in you.

“Come on sweetheart,” Daniel whispers, letting you drop back into the couch and it’s like you read his mind. You knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Mhm,” you breathe, “almost.”

It takes a few more sloppy thrusts and Daniel's orgasm follows yours. Your husband still buried in you when he drops down onto you, landing with an oof. You let out a giggle and whisper, “thank you.”

Daniel lifts himself up a bit, moving to lay beside you before looking at you. "What for?"

You shrug, at a loss for words. “For being you, for this.”

"No need to thank me, baby. What else is a husband for?"

"Uh.. a lot?" You laughed, resting your head on his chest.

Daniel smiles, reaching for the camera to click through the pictures. He shows you the ones you had taken at first, with clothes on - he points out his favourites as they become a bit more scandalous.

"What brought this on?" He asks, looking at you and you shrug. "Just an early Christmas gift, I suppose."

He turns the camera to face the two of you; you're pressed to his side, the throw blanket over the two of you, all dazed and in love. The flash makes you squint a bit, the two of you have sleepy smiles on your faces.

"What was that one for?" You asked.

"A final addition to the gift." He smiles, kissing you.

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#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 smut #merry smutmas xoxo

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goblinontour · 2 months ago

Text

Mister Superstar

we didn’t want each other, we wanted so much more

series masterlist

warnings: smut, phone sex, facetime sex, actual sex, threesome (brief), oral (both), cockwarming-ish (a bit), cheating, alex.

word count: 9.5k

Far away to Los Angeles, 2018

You could see your reflection in the small corner of the screen, but you barely gave it any attention. The little square with your face, your parted lips, flushed cheeks — none of that mattered. It was the bigger picture that had you captivated, to say the least. The rest of the screen, where he was displayed, bathed in the dim light of his room. Barely in focus, but God, that didn’t matter. Every now and then, the camera would wobble, shifting the angle ever so slightly, but each time it stilled, your eyes would find their way back to what mattered. And that sure as hell wasn’t tiny.

It had been going on like this for a while now. Both of you so close, and yet so far from the finish line. Every time one of you seemed on the brink of tipping over, the other would say something. A sharp inhale. A gasp. A word. An interruption. And suddenly, it was back to the start. Again. And again. You weren’t even frustrated by it anymore. Not with him. Not when you both knew that you’d drag it out, let the tension stretch until it felt unbearable, because that was half the fun.

But your body…your body was starting to protest. Your fingers, slick and aching, had been working in steady rhythms that you couldn’t seem to break — back and forth, round and around, pressing and stroking where it felt best. Your muscles were tired, your skin sore from the constant pressure and friction, but every time you thought you might ease up, you’d hear him.

And that sound. Fuck. That sound is why you couldn’t stop.

His angle wasn’t nearly as carefully curated as yours. You had positioned yourself with precision, making sure the frame captured exactly what it needed to — just enough to drive him wild. A glimpse of skin, the motion of your fingers, the rise and fall of your chest. But him? He held the phone loosely in his hand, probably not even caring much about where it pointed, only that it stayed steady enough for you to see. Still, you could make it out, the way his hand moved over his cock, slick with his own spit, the sound of it almost drowned out by the ragged edge to his breathing. The soft, guttural moans that escaped him whenever he lost focus. He wasn’t quiet, not in the slightest.

And you didn’t know what did it for you more — the sight of him, the way his fist glided smoothly along his length, or the low, gravelly moans that interrupted his half-formed sentences. Every few strokes, he’d try to speak, say something to you, but it always came out broken, as if he could barely get the words out before another shiver of pleasure stole his breath.

“Fuck, I-” he’d start, but then a deep groan would tear through his voice, and you’d see him tense, shoulders tightening, head falling back. It was hypnotic, the way his body reacted, how he seemed to unravel just as much as you did.

You couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t.

“Jesus Christ, Alex-” you muttered, your fingers faltering for just a moment as his moan sent a bolt of pleasure through you. The tension in your core was building again, spreading, coiling tighter, and you knew this time it would be impossible to delay the end any longer. Not with him like this.

He laughed breathlessly, the sound rough and wrecked. “Don’t stop now, love.” His voice was low, shaky. “We’re nearly there.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. You pressed your thumb to the spot that always made you lose it, circling in time with his breathing. His eyes flicked back to the screen, and for a second, his gaze locked with yours. That look — dark, hungry, desperate — was enough for you.

The pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and then finally, it broke. It stole your breath as you came on your fingers, back arching off the bed, head tipping back. But even in the haze, you still had control over that final sound you let out, the moan you knew would be for him — long, low, and perfectly pitched, deliberate in its effect.

It worked.

On the other side of the screen, you watched him tense. His breath caught in his throat, and then a strained “Fuck-” slipped from his lips as his body jerked. His hand, still wrapped around himself, pumped one, two more times before he completely lost control. His hips bucked forward as he came hard, his cum spilling over his fingers and dripping down his stomach, maybe even splashing onto the sheets below him — not that either of you cared where it landed.

His phone wobbled as he tried to hold it steady, but in the rush of his release, it slipped from his hand. For a second, the screen spun wildly before the image went black.

You lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling while you listened to the muffled sounds of him scrambling to grab it again. It only took a moment before his face came back into view, the angle awkward and unflattering, catching him mid-swipe as he tried to clear some of the mess from his chest. There was a pause as he stared at the screen, eyes half-lidded, his lips parted and still glistening from where he’d licked them in between his moans.

“God.” he muttered, a breathy laugh escaping him. He wiped his hand on something off-camera, perhaps a crumpled shirt or towel or anything he could grab without thinking too much, and tried to gather himself. “You- uh, you alright there?”

His voice was softer now, the husky roughness from before fading into something more intimate. It was like the post-orgasmic haze had brought him back down to earth, and for a second, he almost seemed shy. You couldn’t help but smile, catching the hint of embarrassment in his voice. He glanced at the camera and then away again quickly, as if he wasn’t quite ready to look directly at you.

“I’m more than alright.” you replied, your voice still breathless, your fingers ghosting over your stomach where your own release was leaving a faint sheen. You shifted slightly, the stickiness between your thighs now a reminder of just how hard you’d come. “I think you made quite the mess, though.”

At that, his gaze flicked back to the screen, a sheepish grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, whose fault d’you think that was?” He ran a hand over his hair, sitting up a bit, but his movements were lazy, like his body was still heavy from the aftermath. “Jesus, that noise you made…What’re you tryin’ to do, kill me?”

“Just wanted to make sure you got there. Looked like you were struggling.”

He let out a playful groan, covering his face for a moment before dropping his hand, letting the camera catch his slightly flushed cheeks. “Struggling? Love, you’re the one who kept dragging it out. Thought you were trying to torture me or something.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, still a little shaky but grinning at his half-hearted attempt to deflect. “And yet, here you are, still alive. A little shy, maybe, but alive.”

He made a face, one eyebrow arching. “Hey, I’m not shy. I just dropped the bloody phone, that’s all.” But there was a hint of colour on his cheeks, and the way he avoided your gaze for just a second longer told you otherwise.

You didn’t press him on it. Not when he looked like that, all relaxed and unguarded in the soft light of his room. His posture had slumped a little, his head resting back against the headboard, the tension gone from his body. He ran a hand over his chest, wiping away the last of the mess he’d made, and gave you a smile.

“Still,” he said after a moment, “that was…fuckin’ incredible.” His eyes softened, and this time, when he looked at you, there was something unspoken lingering in his gaze. “You’re…God, you’re somethin’ else, baby.”

You felt your heart skip at his words, the way he said them so simply, like it was just a fact he couldn’t help but acknowledge. It wasn’t just the sex anymore, wasn’t just the physical connection that had you both coming back to this, again and again. It was something neither of you ever seemed willing to put into words.

“Same goes for you, Turner.” you said softly, your tone matching his.

The air felt heavier, as if the silence carried more than just the aftermath of what you’d done. It was that tension, the one that always settled in after the pleasure faded. The one that hinted at something deeper you both felt but never quite said.

But like always, he was the first to break it.

“Right then,” he said, “I should probably clean myself up before this gets worse.” He gestured down to his stomach, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, you probably should.”

He winked at you before setting the phone down, propping it up somewhere so you could still see him as he disappeared off-screen for a moment. The sounds of him moving around in the background made you smile, the everyday normalcy of it. And then he came back into view, wiping his hands dry.

“So,” he said, settling back into bed and pulling the covers up over his lap, “same time tomorrow?”

Your heart fluttered. “If you’re lucky.”

He blew you a kiss, his lips curving into that cheeky grin of his that always managed to melt away any tension. And just like that, with a simple “See you, love.” he was gone. The screen went black, the connection severed, leaving you alone in the dim quiet of your room.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the now-empty screen, still catching your breath. But as the adrenaline began to fade, something else crept in.

Jesus…what the fuck were you doing?

The question hit hard, the sharp edge of it cutting through the post-orgasmic haze like cold water. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the mess between your thighs, the lingering slickness on your fingers. You grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and wiped yourself off, it didn’t go away. It was like no matter how much you cleaned, that sticky, uncomfortable feeling wouldn’t leave.

Because it wasn’t the physical mess that bothered you. It was the guilt. The reminder that always came rushing in the moment you were alone.

He has a girlfriend now.

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back against the headboard, the words echoing over and over in your mind. You’d been repeating them to yourself for weeks, trying to let them sink in, trying to convince yourself it mattered. But it hadn’t stopped you. It hadn’t stopped him either.

No, you two hadn’t stopped. Not when he got with her. Not when things between them started getting more serious. Hell, he didn’t fly you out to see him anymore — that had stopped — but somehow, this was worse. It was just video calls now. Just phone screens and breathless moans, but it felt even dirtier. Like some twisted secret you both pretended wasn’t real because it wasn’t technically crossing a line. As if the distance made it more acceptable.

But it didn’t.

You didn’t know if it was worse because of her, or worse because of how it had shifted between you and him. Before, when you’d met in random cities, it had been thrilling, exciting in a way that made you forget everything else. The unspoken nature of what you had kept it light, kept it on the surface. Just something physical.

But now? Now it was different. More intimate. Somehow, the distance had made it more intense, more personal. Seeing him on that tiny screen, vulnerable, unguarded in a way he never was in person, it felt like you were crossing a line you hadn’t even realized existed. Like you were seeing a side of him she wasn’t seeing. Like you were still holding a piece of him that she didn’t even know he was giving away.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging them as you stared at the phone in your lap, the screen now dark and lifeless. It was a twisted situation, and yet you kept letting it happen. Every time his name lit up on your phone, your heart still skipped. Every time he smiled at you like that, it was like the guilt didn’t exist. But the moment he was gone, the reality came crashing down on you again.

You were still tangled in something that should have ended a long time ago.

And now, no matter how hard you tried to justify it, it just felt wrong.

“Hi.”

Your voice echoed through the line, softer than you'd intended, but it reached him. And of course, you didn’t stop. You didn’t even think you would.

“Hey.” he said, his voice thick with that low rasp, a bit softer, maybe even tired. “Where are you?”

“Bed.” you replied, sinking further into the pillows. The late morning light was muted behind thick clouds, casting a gray haze over everything. “You?”

“Balcony. Los Angeles…home.”

You blinked at that, reminding yourself where he was. “Oh right, you’re-”

“I can’t sleep. Just wanted to talk to you for a bit. Is that alright, my love?”

Silence. The word hung in the air like a spark, catching you off guard. My love? You stared at the phone in your hand, your brain still spinning. What time was it even in LA? He must’ve been up late, too late. And yet, there he was, calling you. Saying things like that. Saying that.

How could he just say that?

The pause stretched, and it felt like the world outside your window was holding its breath with you. You clutched the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to chase warmth that never quite came - until now. Until he gave it to you with that one careless word.

“You still there?” His voice cut through the fog in your head.

“What?!” You said it louder than intended, the shock bleeding into your tone. Your heart raced, beating too fast, and you didn’t know if it was from what he said or the way he said it, so casually, like he hadn’t just tossed a grenade into the middle of your chest.

“Hey, don’t jump at me like that. It’s too late, early, whatever.” His tone was playful, a little reprimand wrapped in a sleepy grin you couldn’t see but could easily imagine. “Christ, what time even is it here?”

“Sorry.” Your voice came out quieter, more cautious now, still processing. He had a way of shaking you up and smoothing you over in the same breath.

Through the soft static of the call, you could hear the faintest sounds of the city behind him — muffled car horns, the hum of traffic, a distant siren. You pictured him leaning against the railing of his balcony, the city lights stretching out below him, the LA night still heavy with heat even at this hour. And him, shirtless, of course — because you knew how he got when it was hot, the way his skin would glisten faintly with sweat under the night air.

You could almost see it now. The soft glow from the streetlights casting shadows over his bare shoulders, the tendrils of smoke curling up from the cigarette he held loosely between his fingers, the way his chest rose and fell as he exhaled. He was calm, unhurried, while you sat tangled up in your bed, blankets pulled tight around you, craving warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. LA might have been hot, but where you were, the day was still wrapped in a cool, overcast morning chill.

But the heat you wanted, the heat you needed — it came now, seeping into you from a single word. From him. From the way he’d said it like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just shattered the unspoken rules you’d clung to for so long.

“So,” you said, trying to regain some sense of control, but the question felt hollow, a distraction from the larger, heavier thing hanging between you. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah.” he muttered, and you could almost hear the lazy smirk in his voice as he took another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing briefly before fading. “Not much of that happening tonight. Thought I’d call you instead.”

You shifted beneath the blankets, trying to stop the racing thoughts swirling in your head. “And…that helps?”

He exhaled, the sound of his breath catching slightly before he spoke again. “Yeah. You help.” There was a slight pause, as if he was considering something, then his voice dropped lower. “Always have.”

It hit you like a punch, his honesty, the way he just laid it out there without hesitation, as if the fact that he had a girlfriend wasn’t a reality for either of you in that moment. Like nothing else mattered except the space between his words and how they reached you.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Alex…” you started, but you didn’t know where the sentence was going. How could you? There was so much you wanted to say, but none of it came out right, none of it could untangle the mess you were both in.

“I know.” he said softly, as if he could read your thoughts through the silence. “Don’t think too hard on it, alright? Not now.”

Not now. The way he said it made you wonder if there would ever be a right time, a moment when the weight of what you had — what you still had — would catch up to both of you. But for now, it seemed easier to let it go, to let the conversation drift back into safer waters, even if you were both just trying to pretend.

You closed your eyes and sank further into the pillows, the phone still pressed to your ear, the sound of his steady breathing filling the space between you. It was late, and you should have been up already, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hang up. Not yet. Even though you knew this was getting dangerous, that this whole thing had already gone too far.

You stayed quiet, listening to the faint crackle of his cigarette, the deep hum of his voice as he spoke to you about nothing in particular. And somehow, despite everything, it still felt like the only place you wanted to be.

Even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Fuck, that was good.” His voice was a low, ragged whisper, barely audible over the soft static of the call, but you heard every word. The mic must have been pressed right up against his lips, and the intimacy of it — the sheer closeness — made your pulse quicken.

You didn’t need to see him anymore, didn’t need the visual to get lost in this with him. Just hearing his voice, feeling the rhythm of his breath in your ear, was enough to set every nerve in your body alight. One sense was enough now, more than enough to fulfill the others.

But you weren’t done yet.

“I haven’t finished.” you whispered back, your voice catching slightly, almost breathless. The gentle hum of the toy still buzzed between your legs, its vibrations steady but relentless, pushing you right to the edge without tipping you over.

He knew, of course. He always knew. The sound of it was unmistakable, that faint buzzing, a sweet torment that filled the silence between your words. You could hear the shift in his breathing, the way it deepened as he imagined you there, still needy, still chasing that final release.

“Good.” he murmured. “Keep going. Don’t stop. I want to hear everything, love.”

You whimpered softly, your hand trembling as you pressed the vibrator harder against yourself, the pressure building, unbearable now. Your body was already aching, but his voice was all you needed to keep going. He had that effect on you, even with just words, guiding you through it like he was right there with you, his breath hot against your skin.

“Come on.” he coaxed, the edge of command in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I know you're close. Let me hear it, yeah? I want to hear you fall apart for me.”

The desperation in his voice pushed you further. Every word felt like a touch, like the heat of his hand between your thighs, coaxing you toward that final plunge. Your breath hitched, your thighs clenching as the pressure mounted, winding tighter and tighter inside you.

“I-” your voice cracked, the tension unbearable, your body quaking beneath the relentless rhythm. “Alex, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” he cut you off, his tone rougher now, demanding. “You can. Don’t hold back. I want you to come for me, baby. Right into my ears.”

His words hit you like a surge of electricity, sending you over the edge before you could even process it. The orgasm crashed through you, raw and overwhelming, your entire body seizing up as the pleasure ripped through your core. You gasped, the sound breaking into a sob as you came, tears spilling from your eyes as the release took everything from you, left you shaking, vulnerable.

“That’s it.” he whispered, softer now, but still firm, steady. “Good girl. Fuck, you sound so beautiful.”

You cried out, the intensity of it too much, tears mingling with your breathless moans as you pressed the phone closer to your ear, like you needed his voice to hold you together through the storm.

He didn’t say anything else, just listened to you, the sound of your soft, broken sobs filling the space between you, echoing into the tiny microphone like a confession. It felt like you were giving him a part of yourself you hadn’t even meant to, something more than just pleasure.

When it finally subsided, when your body went limp and your breath evened out, there was a pause. A silence so thick it almost felt like you were both trying to process what had just happened. You wiped at your eyes, embarrassed at how emotional you’d gotten, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Fuck.” you whispered, your voice hoarse, raw.

His laugh was quiet, warm. “Yeah. You alright?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, clutching the phone to your ear like a lifeline. “Yeah.” you breathed. “I’m…yeah.”

“Good.” he said, and there was something almost tender in the way he spoke now, like he was still holding you in that moment, even though it was over. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”

Your chest ached at his words, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his voice again. Even after everything, it was still all you needed. Just him.

“Gotta head on stage soon.” he said, his voice coming down from that intimate space where it had been all hushed and rough, still raw from listening to you fall apart just moments ago. You could hear the background noise creeping back in — muffled conversations, footsteps, the distant hum of pre-show chaos.

You still felt the remnants of your orgasm lingering in your limbs, a dull thrum of satisfaction mixed with exhaustion. “How soon?” you asked, not really ready for him to go yet.

“Eh, twenty minutes maybe. Just long enough to catch my breath.” he teased, a soft chuckle following his words.

You smiled, settling deeper into your pillows. The conversation drifted from there, casual and light, the kind of banter that was easy between you both now. Little jokes, comments about his setlist, the usual back-and-forth that felt so familiar. But then, out of nowhere, he hit you with something that left you completely off balance.

“Have you ever had a threesome?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?”

“You heard me.” he said, a playful lilt in his voice now, as if he was enjoying your sudden hesitation. “Come on, answer the question.”

You swallowed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself. You hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

“Don’t ask me questions.” he replied, his tone teasing but with just enough command to make you listen. “Just answer. Have you?”

You hesitated for a second longer, your fingers gripping the edge of your blanket. “Yeah.” you finally admitted, your voice quieter, shyer than before.

There was a brief pause on his end, then “Oh yeah? Have you?” He sounded both surprised and entirely too intrigued. “How many times?”

“Once.” you said, biting your lip. You didn’t want to get into details, but you knew he wouldn’t let it go now. “Two guys.”

His laugh came through the phone, low and delighted. “Oooh, dirty.” he teased, dragging out the word in a way that made your face burn. “Did you take both at the same time?”

“Alex-” you stammered, feeling your pulse quicken. “What?”

“Sorry, sorry- couldn’t help it.” He chuckled, clearly not sorry at all. But the way he said it was disarming, and even though you felt embarrassed, there was something about his tone that made you want to answer. Made you want to keep playing along.

You exhaled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I did.”

There was a moment of silence on his end, and then he made this low sound, something between a hum and a laugh, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. “Well, then.” he finally muttered, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Look at you, all adventurous.”

You smiled despite your embarrassment, your heart still racing. “Have you had a threesome?” you asked, hoping to turn the tables on him a little, to put him on the spot for once.

“Maybe…technically.” he replied, the words casual but laced with something more. “But I don’t count it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Eh, long story.” He brushed it off like it wasn’t important, but you could tell there was more behind it. “Why’d you ask?”

“Why’d you ask?” You shot back, deflecting the question as easily as he had.

There was a pause, then, with a grin in his voice, he said, “Wanna try?”

Your heart skipped a beat, caught between excitement and disbelief. “What?” You laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious or just teasing you again.

“I’m just saying.” he continued, his voice low, almost daring. “Might be fun, yeah?”

Your breath caught, the sudden shift in the conversation leaving you a little breathless. You didn’t know what to say — if you were supposed to laugh it off or take him seriously. But knowing him, maybe it was a bit of both.

“Come to LA.”

You blinked, staring at your phone in the dim light of your room, rubbing your eyes. “Alex, it’s like 5 in the morning.” You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, your voice heavy with sleep, but he didn’t seem to care about the time difference.

“Come to LA, come on.” he repeated, his voice insistent, but not pushy. Just playful enough that it made you smile, even though you were groggy and half-buried under your covers. “You could be here by tomorrow. Think about it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” he said, but there was a smile in his voice, like he knew you’d hesitate, and he already had an answer for every one of your excuses.

You hesitated, the question bubbling up in the back of your mind. “What about-” You didn’t finish the sentence, but he knew what you meant.

He cut you off before you could say the words aloud. “Won’t be a problem, love.” His tone was breezy, almost dismissive, as if you were worrying about nothing, but you knew that wasn’t true. Still, the way he said it made it sound like it didn’t matter, like she didn’t matter — not right now, not to him.

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. It was like this every time — the strange guilt that nagged at you but never seemed to reach him. He had a way of brushing it off, making it feel like what you were doing existed in a different space, separate from his life with her. But you couldn’t ignore it forever.

Instead of pushing it, you let the moment pass, your heart still fluttering a little at the thought of him on the other side of the world, wanting you there, wanting you.

“What are you doing up so late, anyway?” you asked, changing the subject. You could hear the faint sounds of clinking dishes in the background, the unmistakable scrape of a fork on a plate.

“Eating dinner.” he replied through a mouthful of something. “Just got back from rehearsal.”

“What are you eating?” you asked, smiling at the fact that you could actually hear him chewing, like you were there with him, even though you were worlds apart.

He paused for a second, and you could almost hear the smirk forming on his lips. “I’ll show you.”

There was a shuffle on his end as he propped the phone up, the faint sound of a bottle clinking against the coffee table. You could hear him moving around, then the camera flickered, and there he was. The screen was a little dark, but you could make him out — shirtless, his hair a bit messy from the day, sitting on the couch with a plate of food balanced on his lap. The phone was perched on top of an empty wine bottle on his coffee table, and he was hunched over a bit, angling himself so he could still see you.

“Ta-da.” he said, gesturing to his plate with a grin, like this was some grand reveal.

You laughed softly. “What is that?”

He tilted the plate toward the camera. “Steak. Some weird salad thing. Not my best effort, but it’s food.”

You rolled your eyes, settling back against your pillows, watching him through the screen. It felt oddly intimate, seeing him like this, in the middle of the night, halfway across the world, eating dinner while you lay in bed. “You’re such a man.”

“This is a fine meal, thank you very much.” he protested, stabbing a piece of steak with his fork.

You smiled, watching as he took another bite, chewing thoughtfully before he swallowed. “Well, I’ll give you points for the presentation. Wine bottle stand and everything.”

He leaned forward, closer to the camera, his face now filling the screen. “This is a dinner date, you know. Technically.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at you, even through the tiny screen. “A dinner date?”

“Mmhm.” He sat back again, stretching his legs out on the couch. “Just me and you. Across the world.”

The thought of it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t quite understand — something warm, but also bittersweet. “Is that what this is?” you teased softly, trying to hide the way his words tugged at something deeper inside you.

“Yeah.” he said, his voice softer now. “Feels like it, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, your gaze lingering on him as he took another sip of wine, his eyes flicking back to the camera every now and then like he was checking to make sure you were still there, still watching. He hunched a little more, getting closer to the screen, adjusting the phone so you could see him better, his face illuminated by the dim light of his living room.

“So, what’s for dinner on your end?” he asked, his tone casual but affectionate, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Nothing. It’s 5 a.m.” you reminded him with a laugh. “But I’ll pretend I’m eating steak with you.”

“Perfect.” he murmured. “We’ll call it a proper date, then.”

And just like that, the distance between you shrank. You talked more about nothing, about everything, trivial things that made you both laugh. He’d take bites of his food between sentences, telling you stories from rehearsal or complaining about the heat in LA, while you curled up under your blankets, half-asleep but not wanting the call to end.

It felt normal, like you were just two people on a date, no complications, no mess. Just him, and you, halfway across the world, falling a little deeper into something that neither of you could quite name.

“Who is she?” you whispered into his ear, your voice barely audible as you stood close to him, the air thick with tension.

“A friend.” he whispered back, his breath hot against your skin. His hand rested on your hip, his thumb brushing softly along the fabric of your dress.

“A friend?” you repeated, your eyes flicking over to her, sitting on the edge of his bed, already there, waiting. She was relaxed, confident, her body half-reclined like she was used to being in this room, like she knew exactly how this was going to go. It made your pulse quicken.

He nodded, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered again. “We’re doing a threesome with your friend?”

“Do you like her?” His question was a tease, but the intent behind it was clear.

“I mean-” you started, but the words faltered in your throat as your gaze lingered on her. She was gorgeous, with soft curves and this way of looking at you that made you feel both seen and wanted, like she was waiting for you to set the tone, to give her permission to proceed.

“You do, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing your earlobe. There was something knowing in his voice, something that made your breath hitch. And he was right. You did like her. You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks flush with heat as you nodded slightly, almost embarrassed by how much you did.

His hand slid from your hip down to your thigh, fingers curling around the hem of your dress, his touch firm but gentle, guiding. He turned toward you, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment, before his gaze shifted, catching hers, and the silent agreement between them was palpable.

Then, without a word, he stepped back slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head in one fluid motion. His bare chest gleamed under the dim light of the room, his skin warm and flushed. Every movement was deliberate, slow, as if he was letting you both take your time, drinking him in.

You watched as he undid the button of his jeans, his eyes flicking up to meet yours again, searching your face as he slipped the denim down his hips. There was something unbearably intimate about it — watching him undress for both of you, knowing where this was going but still feeling that rush of nerves, that flutter of excitement.

He kicked his jeans aside, standing there in just his boxers now, his confidence in every line of his body. The bed creaked softly as she shifted, watching him too, her lips parting just slightly as her gaze trailed down his body. You could feel the heat of her eyes on him, the tension between you all growing thicker and heavier.

“Do you like her?” he asked again, this time louder, for her to hear too, his eyes darting between you and the woman on his bed. His tone was knowing, a bit teasing, like he was enjoying this dance you were all doing. The way his hands moved to his waistband told you everything you needed to know — he was setting the stage, stripping away any last pretences, letting the heat of the moment take over.

You glanced at her again, your heart pounding in your chest as her eyes met yours, a slow smile spreading across her lips. You swallowed, feeling your nerves twist, the unspoken invitation clear in the way she looked at you. You took a step closer to the bed, drawn toward her, feeling the heat from his body behind you and the magnetic pull from hers in front of you.

“Well?” he murmured, his voice low as he slipped off his boxers and stood completely bare before you both. The weight of his question still lingered in the air, but it was no longer just about her. It was about all of you, together, in this moment, waiting for the next move.

You licked your lips, your breath quickening as you took it all in — the three of you, this shared anticipation. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about what you all wanted, what you were about to share.

He moved with purpose, his hands sliding under the hem of your dress as he stood before you, the fabric slipping off your shoulders, down your body, pooling at your feet. He didn’t rush it. His fingers lingered on your skin as he undressed you, a touch that was both tender and possessive, like he was savouring every inch of you as he revealed it. His lips brushed your collarbone, then down, before he took a step back to take in the sight of you, standing there bare before him.

Behind you, she had already undressed herself, her eyes flicking between the two of you, watching, waiting. But there was no jealousy in her gaze, no tension. She knew her place here. And as you watched her sit back on the bed, her legs parting as her hand dipped between her thighs, you could feel the heat rising between all of you.

But his attention was still on you. He dropped to his knees before you, his hands trailing down your legs, his grip firm as he pulled you closer to the bed, positioning you just where he wanted you. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and hungry, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the physical. It was more than just the heat of the moment — it was the connection, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Behind him, she began to touch herself, her soft moans filling the room, but his focus was entirely on you. His fingers dug into your hips, bruising but steady, guiding you onto the bed. And then he laid back, his body stretching out beneath you as he pulled you toward him, his breath hot against your thighs.

“Sit.” he commanded.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you did what he asked, your knees on either side of his head, your body trembling. The second his mouth found you, your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your lips as his tongue moved against you with practised precision. He knew exactly how to unravel you, how to make you lose yourself in the sensation.

His grip tightened on your hips, pulling you down harder against his mouth, his tongue relentless, his lips dragging over your most sensitive places in a way that made you want to scream. But you couldn’t. Your breath was caught in your throat, your fingers gripping the headboard for support as the pleasure built inside you.

His eyes found yours, locking onto your gaze even as he devoured you, and it was like the rest of the room faded away. She was there, yes, her soft moans blending with yours as she took him into her mouth, her head bobbing between his legs. But to him, she was background noise, an accessory. The way his hands gripped you, the way his eyes never left yours — it was clear where his attention was.

Every time your gaze met his, his moans grew louder, more desperate, vibrating against you as he pushed you closer to the edge. Her lips wrapped around his cock, her tongue flicking over him, but still, it was your body he was focused on, your pleasure that made him groan, that made his grip on your hips tighten as he pulled you down harder, his mouth working you over with an intensity that left you breathless.

You could hear her, the wet sounds of her mouth on him, the way she moaned softly around his length, but none of it compared to the way he looked up at you, his eyes soft yet burning. He worshipped you with his mouth, his tongue sending you spiralling as the heat in your core built and built until it felt unbearable.

He moaned again, louder this time, as your hand reached down, your fingers searching to tug through his hair, but there was nothing to pull on, so you just kept it there, nails scratching his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, savouring your touch, but when they opened again, they were focused, locked onto yours, as if he wanted to watch every second of you coming undone.

And when you finally did — when the pressure inside you snapped and you cried out his name, your body trembling above him — he held you through it, his mouth never stopping, his grip keeping you steady even as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

She was still there, still moving on him, but he barely seemed to notice, barely seemed to react, except when his gaze found yours, except when he could hear your moans. To him, there was only you.

Later that night, the room was a haze, the remnants of heat still hanging in the air between you. She’d left. The buzz from the drinks had settled into a soft, pleasant warmth, mixing with the afterglow of everything you’d just done. You were wearing his robe, one that smelled like him, the fabric heavy against your skin, and you hadn’t even thought about putting on real clothes. Why bother? You knew there wouldn’t be much need for them.

He, on the other hand, was draped in a robe too — his girlfriend’s, unmistakably. The soft floral print clung to his frame in a way that would’ve been laughable under any other circumstance. But right now, in this drunken, hazy moment, you didn’t care. He looked absurd, yes, but it was easy to ignore with the heady mixture of the buzz and the way he was sprawled out next to you, a lazy grin on his face, his hand absentmindedly tracing circles on your leg.

You shifted, pulling your feet into his lap. He started massaging them, his thumbs pressing into the arch of your foot with slow, deliberate strokes. It felt good, more than good, and you let your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself melt into the sensation.

“You’re good at this.” you murmured, your voice soft, almost slurred from the alcohol.

He chuckled, his fingers kneading deeper into the sole of your foot. “I’ve had practice. Long tours, lots of tired feet.”

You laughed softly, opening your eyes to look at him. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and there was a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He looked adorable. “So you’re just a professional foot masseuse, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Mm, I’ve been called worse.” he teased, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze lingered, and for a moment, the playful air between you shifted, something quieter settling in its place. His fingers continued their slow, rhythmic movements, the pressure just right, easing away the tension from earlier. “Feel good?” he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.

You nodded, watching him. “Yeah.”

He smiled, his fingers sliding up to your ankle, massaging the muscles there, his touch lingering. You could see the glaze in his eyes, the alcohol working through him, making him looser, more relaxed. “You’re wearing her robe.” you blurted out, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t accusatory, just…an observation.

He glanced down at the floral fabric and let out a low, lazy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah…didn’t even think about it.” He tugged at the sleeve, pulling it up to look at the pattern more closely, like he was seeing it for the first time. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s comfy.”

“I bet.” you said with a smirk, though your mind wandered, unable to help but think of her for a moment. How she wore this same robe, how different the context must be when it was her in his lap instead of you. But you pushed the thought away, focusing on the feel of his hands on your skin, the soothing motion of his touch.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured, his thumb pressing into a particularly tight knot in your foot, making you wince, then sigh as the tension released.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” He tilted his head back, resting it against the couch as he looked at you, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. “I can see it all over your face. What’s going on in that head of yours, hm?”

You shook your head, trying to play it off, but the way he was looking at you — like he could see straight through you — made it harder to lie. “Nothing. Just…this.”

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers still working their magic on your feet. “This? What, the robe? It’s just a piece of fabric, love.”

“Yeah, but it’s hers.”

He shrugged. “It’s not like she’s here.” You bit your lip, knowing he was right, but the words still felt heavy between you. He was too far gone to care, though, his eyes drifting down to your legs as his hands slid up your calves, massaging there now, his touch more deliberate, more intimate. “I don’t want you thinking about her right now.” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Not when it’s just us.”

For a moment, the reality of what you were doing tried to push its way in. But then his hands pressed into your skin, pulling you back into the moment. You let out a soft sigh, leaning back again, letting him take the lead.

“I’m not.” you whispered, though part of you knew it wasn’t entirely true.

He smirked, his fingers trailing back down to your feet, his touch gentle now. “Okay.” he murmured. “I don’t think we’ll need these robes for much longer anyway, do you?”

You laughed. “Probably not.”

“Thought so.” He leaned in a little closer. “You look better in mine, anyway.”

As his hands continued to knead into your skin, the playful atmosphere between you began to shift, slowly, imperceptibly at first. His touch softened, and he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, the faint smile on his lips dimming as a more pensive expression took its place. The buzz of the alcohol still hummed between you, making everything feel a little looser, a little more vulnerable.

You noticed the change in him almost immediately. His movements slowed, and he became quieter, as if the weight of the night and the drinks had caught up to him. He let out a long, tired sigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along your ankle. You sat up a little, your senses sharpening, trying to read him as he stared off into the distance, his brow furrowed slightly.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the silence that had settled between you. His hands paused, resting against your legs, but he didn’t answer right away.

He shook his head, a small, bitter laugh escaping him. “Just…been thinking too much, I guess. Too much for someone who’s supposed to be having fun.”

You shifted a little closer, sitting up straighter as you watched him, your own fingers reaching out to brush against his hand, trying to coax him out of whatever was weighing on him. “What are you thinking about?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze still distant. Then he sighed again, heavier this time, and turned his head slightly to look at you. His eyes were glassy, almost sad, though he tried to hide it behind a crooked smile.

“Do you ever feel like…no matter how much you get, how much you have, it’s never enough?” he asked.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond at first, but you knew this was more than just a passing thought. This was something that had been sitting with him for a while, something that was starting to spill out now that his guard was down.

“Sometimes.” you admitted quietly, your fingers brushing his as they rested on your leg. “But why do you feel that way? You’ve got so much…”

He shook his head again, that same bitter laugh escaping his lips, but this time it was edged with something sharper, something more painful. “Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I’ve got everything anyone could ask for. The career, the money, the…the- everything . And yet…” His voice trailed off, and he stared down at his hands, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep himself from saying too much. You stayed silent, sensing that he needed space to find his words.

“And yet…I still feel empty sometimes. Like I’m missing something.” he continued, his voice barely audible now. His thumb stroked over the top of your foot absentmindedly, a small, grounding gesture as he spoke. “I don’t even know what it is that I’m missing, but I feel it. This…ache.”

Your chest tightened at the rawness in his voice. You wanted to reach out, to tell him something that would make it better, but you didn’t know what to say. Instead, you stayed close, your presence a quiet offer of comfort as he struggled with his thoughts.

“Alex…” you whispered, feeling the walls between you crumbling.

His eyes flicked up to yours, and for a brief second, the mask he wore — the confident, unflinching version of himself — slipped away. What you saw was someone who was tired, someone who carried a burden even he couldn’t name, and for a moment, he looked almost…scared.

“I shouldn’t be saying this.” he muttered, his voice thick with the alcohol and the emotion he was struggling to keep at bay. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not.” you said quickly, leaning forward and reaching for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not fucking anything up. Just…talk to me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around yours as if you were the only thing holding him together. “It’s just…when I’m with you, it feels different.” he admitted, his words slow and deliberate, like he was walking a tightrope, careful not to tip too far into dangerous territory. “Like I’m not missing anything. For a moment, I’m not hollow.”

Before you could respond, he kept talking, his voice getting more and more unsteady. “I know I probably shouldn’t be saying this, and fuck, I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but…when I’m with you, everything feels…right.”

The confession hung between you, and you could feel the air grow thick with the gravity of it. He wasn’t saying it outright, but you could feel it in the way his eyes searched yours, in the tremble in his voice. He was almost telling you that he loved you.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you tried to process what was happening, what he was saying without really saying it. Part of you wanted to stop him, to tell him he was drunk and emotional and that this wasn’t the time, but another part of you — a deeper, more selfish part — wanted to hear him say it. Wanted to believe that what you had between you was more than just stolen moments and hidden desire.

You swallowed hard, and when you finally spoke “Alex...”

But before you could say more, he shook his head, squeezing your hand as if to ask you to stop. “No, don’t. I don’t want to mess this up. I just…I just needed to tell you that, even if I shouldn’t.” He dropped his gaze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he struggled to pull himself back from the edge. “I shouldn’t have said that.” he muttered, his voice thick with regret, but his grip on your hand never loosened.

You shook your head, squeezing his hand in return, your heart pounding as you looked at him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise.”

As if he’d run out of words, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that made your heart stammer. It wasn’t like before — hungry, reckless. This was different, slower, like he was afraid of shattering something fragile between you when there wasn’t even a you.

He kissed you gently, his mouth lingering as though he needed this closeness to steady himself, to ground him in the moment and pull himself away from whatever lay beneath his words. His other hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his fingers tangling softly in your hair, holding you close but not pressing you, as if he were asking rather than taking.

You leaned in closer, letting the robe slip off his shoulder, exposing more of his skin to the soft, dim light. He shivered slightly at the sensation, his gaze never leaving yours as his hands found your bare waist, his fingertips pressing lightly, anchoring himself as his touch skated across your skin. You felt his breath hitch, as though this tender intimacy had surprised him, as though he hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

His lips brushed down your jaw, trailing softly across your neck as his hands roamed your back, his touch steady and grounding. You could feel his reluctance in the way he moved, his own hesitations cloaked in every caress, like he was trying to ward off what he’d just confessed. But here, with his hands against your skin, with the warmth of you pressed close, it was easy for him to let it all blur, to deflect, to let action say what words couldn’t.

You tilted your head back, drawing a slow, deep breath, feeling the last barriers fall away as he leaned down, his mouth pressing gentle, careful kisses along your collarbone. The robe slipped lower, leaving you bare under his gaze, his fingers skimming over your skin with the kind of reverence that felt like an apology and a promise all at once.

For him, this was a way to escape what he couldn’t put into words, a way to quiet the ache inside him without breaking the fragile equilibrium between you. And for you, it was enough just to be here, his hands on your skin, the silent understanding building between you in every touch, every sigh, and every look exchanged in the dim light.

He pulled you onto his lap with a gentle urgency, his hands steadying you as he guided you down. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself inside, and when he was fully there, he stilled, his breath catching as he held you close. Neither of you moved.

He rested his forehead against your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin, soft and unhurried. You could feel his breath tickling along your collarbone, his mouth pressing featherlight kisses. His arms tightened around you, holding you in place, his fingers tracing gentle circles against your back.

The stillness held something fragile and profound, as if you were both suspended in a space where words didn’t need to be spoken, where it was enough just to feel. His lips moved along your shoulder, his breath hot and his kisses lingering. You shivered as he reached your neck, brushing his mouth against your pulse, each touch a silent confession.

He exhaled, a low, shaky sound that seemed to hold more than just desire but something he was reluctant to let show. His grip on you softened slightly, his hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck, guiding your head down so that your foreheads rested together, eyes closed, breaths mingling.

You stayed that way, connected, still, letting the silence speak where words had no place. You felt his hands wander up your spine, his fingers tracing gentle paths over your skin. And without moving, without a single thrust, the closeness between you grew thicker, heavier, a feeling that lingered in every sigh.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, looking at you with a gaze that felt like an unspoken promise, one you both knew might go unfulfilled. But for now, with his body beneath yours, his touch lingering on your skin, it was enough. You could feel him tremble faintly, a silent surrender as his lips returned to your shoulder, pressing a single kiss that seemed to say everything he couldn’t.

a/n: kinda digging it, not sure if it makes perfect sense (heh) with the rest of the parts cause it’s been a while but I think it’s okay, this would fall sometime after Dublin In Ecstasy (obviously) and before Mister Midnight.

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #once upon a time

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paddockletters · 4 months ago

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racing hearts | lando norris ft. jude bellingham

paring: lando norris x reader jude bellingham x reader summary: Mia, a sports analyst caught between the worlds of football and F1, finds herself drawn to both Jude Bellingham and Lando Norris. Amidst the excitement of their glamorous lives, a pivotal moment forces her to confront her feelings, leaving her future uncertain and filled with possibility. author's note: Hope you liked it, teel me if you want a second part maybe... Well, as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

Mia sat in the bustling café near the stadium, nursing a flat white as she scanned the latest highlights from the football matches on her phone. A sea of fans swarmed outside, their cheers echoing through the streets of Birmingham, but her mind was far from the beautiful game—or so she told herself. She had an important interview with Jude Bellingham that afternoon, and deep down, she wasn’t quite sure how it would go.

As she scrolled through her feed, a message dinged in from Lando Norris, her recently acquired contact via social media. "Fancy a catch-up? Just finished practice and could do with a laugh. Let’s grab a bite!"

Mia grinned, recalling their effortless banter from the charity event a few weeks back. "Absolutely! How about that café by the stadium?"

Within moments, a new message appeared: "Deal! Just don’t spill your drink this time, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to drown on me."

She chuckled, recalling the time she’d nearly snorted coffee when he showed her a video of his latest racing antics. Lando had a way of making every conversation feel like a joyride—safe but exhilarating.

Having finished her drink, Mia slipped her phone into her bag just as a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Oi! Mia!” Jude's voice was as warm as the sun peeking through the clouds outside. Dressed in a casual tracksuit, his presence was magnetic. Her nervousness melted away as he approached.

“Mister Bellingham! Thanks for meeting me,” she replied, standing to embrace him with a light hug. “You know it’s not every day I get to chat with a superstar.”

“A bit of an overstatement, isn’t it?” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, an endearing nervous habit. “But I’m chuffed to have you here! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

As they settled into a booth, Jude leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, are you going to tell me how close you are to Lando Norris, or should I be worried?”

Mia felt her cheeks heat up, but she brushed it off. “What? We’re just mates! He’s a laugh, you know? Good vibes all around!”

“Right, of course.” Jude raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Just keep your lips sealed about my dodgy free kicks, and we’re golden.”

They moved on to chatting about football, with Jude discussing his goals for the season and Mia sharing her experiences dissecting games for the network. As she listened, she was struck by his sincerity and genuine passion for the sport.

"Honestly, it’s not just about the glory, you know? It’s about the love for the game,” Jude said, his eyes gleaming with fervour. “Every time I step on that pitch, it’s like I’m living my dream.”

“I get that completely! You can see it in how you play, Jude. It’s inspiring,” Mia replied, feeling a sense of awe wash over her.

Just then, the bell above the café door jingled, and in walked Lando, all energy and charm. He spotted Mia and Jude instantly, making a beeline towards them, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Look who it is! The lovely Mia and Mr. Bellingham!” Lando said, sliding into the booth with the confidence of a man who knew he belonged. “What’s the secret meeting about? Planning world domination or just scheming how to beat me in a race?”

“Beat you in a race? I’d rather stick to football, thanks,” Jude quipped, grinning back as he leaned back, clearly at ease.

Mia watched the two banter back and forth, their easy camaraderie adding to her internal conflict. She felt a tug between their worlds—Jude's grounded seriousness and Lando’s lively and flamboyant spirit.

“Come on, Mia, you should ditch the footie for a day and give racing a go,” Lando insisted, playfully nudging her shoulder. “I’ll take you for a spin. Just try not to scream, alright? My driving’s top-notch.”

“And your humour is bottom-tier,” Jude interjected, but there was no bite to his words. They all laughed, but Mia noticed the intensity in Jude's gaze as he looked at her. It was surprising and new, igniting a flutter in her stomach.

“You should, though,” he said softly, turning serious for a moment. “It’s thrilling. You’d love it. The adrenaline is like nothing else.”

Just then, a flare of tension filled the air. Mia felt the atmosphere shift as she glanced between both of them—two incredible athletes with undeniable chemistry, each vying for more than just friendship.

Mia shifted in her seat, her heart racing with the unspoken tension between Jude and Lando. The café's vibrant atmosphere seemed to fade as she focused on the exchange unfolding before her.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday,” Mia said, attempting to lighten the mood. She looked at Lando, who still wore his characteristic grin. “But I think I’m better off sticking to my day job—at least until I’ve had some more practice.”

“Fair enough,” Lando said with a wink. “But remember, I’m always here for a joyride if you change your mind.”

Jude cleared his throat, his tone turning more earnest. “And if you ever need a break from racing or football, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a chat or a quick kickabout.”

Mia smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She admired both men for their dedication and passion, but the emotional stakes of their unspoken feelings were beginning to weigh on her.

“Thanks, both of you. That means a lot,” Mia said, her voice slightly trembling. “It’s not often I get to hang out with two of the most amazing athletes in their fields.”

They continued their conversation, but Mia’s mind was preoccupied with the growing realization of her feelings for both Jude and Lando. The way Jude’s eyes softened when he spoke, the genuine support he offered—he was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner, but there was also Lando, whose spontaneous charm and zest for life had quickly captured her heart.

As the afternoon wore on, Jude and Lando’s playful banter persisted, but Mia’s thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. It wasn’t long before they had to part ways, each with their own commitments and schedules.

“See you around, Mia,” Jude said, giving her a friendly hug. “And good luck with everything. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Jude,” Mia replied, her heart aching slightly at the thought of parting from him. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

Lando approached next, offering a mischievous grin. “Don’t let Jude scare you off football too much. And remember, there’s always a seat in my car if you need a break.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mia said, feeling a pang of regret as she returned his hug. “Take care, Lando.”

As she watched them leave, Mia felt the weight of her dilemma settle heavily on her shoulders. Her feelings for Jude and Lando were genuine, but the intensity of their emotions and the complexity of her own heart made the situation increasingly challenging.

She stood by the window of the café, watching the crowd outside, her mind awash with thoughts and feelings. The choice she faced wasn’t just about choosing between two incredible men but also about finding her own path in this tangled web of emotions. The football season and F1 calendar would continue, and so would the world of sports, but for Mia, the real race was against the growing confusion within her heart.

Mia took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. She knew she needed time to figure things out—time to understand her own heart and desires. As she walked away from the café, her steps were lighter, her mind clearer, even as her heart remained caught in the exhilarating whirlwind of racing hearts.

The following weeks were a whirlwind for Mia as she juggled her work responsibilities with the emotional turbulence of her personal life. Between analyzing game footage for football matches and covering F1 races, Mia found little time for herself. Yet, the ongoing saga of her feelings for Jude and Lando was never far from her mind.

One crisp autumn morning, Mia was at the edge of her seat, covering a crucial football match. Jude's team had a major game, and she was busy preparing her pre-match report. Her phone buzzed with a message from Lando:

"Race day tomorrow. Let’s catch up before I hit the track. I’ve got something special planned."

Mia’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing Lando. She hadn’t seen him since their café meeting, and his playful promise of something special intrigued her.

She replied, "Sounds great! Where should we meet?"

“Meet me at the paddock early. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you,” Lando’s reply came swiftly.

The next day, Mia arrived at the F1 paddock, the excitement of race day palpable in the air. Lando greeted her with his usual exuberance. “Hey, Mia! Ready for the surprise?”

“Absolutely. What’s the plan?” Mia asked, trying to hide her anticipation.

“Just follow me,” Lando said with a grin.

He led her to a private area near the track, away from the hustle and bustle. A sleek, custom race car was parked there, its colors dazzling under the sun.

“This is for you,” Lando said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I thought you might enjoy a spin in one of these beauties before the race.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” Lando replied, laughing. “It’s all safe. I promise.”

As they drove around the track, the speed and adrenaline were exhilarating. Lando’s presence beside her was both comforting and thrilling. They shared a few moments of laughter and awe, the world outside the car blurring into a streak of colors.

When they returned to the paddock, Mia felt a mix of elation and nervousness. Lando’s charm had rekindled her earlier feelings, making it harder to focus on her work.

Later that evening, as Mia prepared to cover the football match, she spotted Jude in the stadium’s VIP section. He was watching the game with intense focus, and Mia’s heart did a little flip. She took a deep breath and walked over to greet him.

“Hey, Jude!” she said, trying to sound casual despite her racing heart.

“Hey, Mia,” Jude responded warmly. “How was the day? I hope Lando didn’t drive you too crazy.”

“Not at all,” Mia said with a smile. “He gave me an unforgettable ride.”

As the match went on, Mia found herself caught between two worlds. Jude’s passion for football was magnetic, and his presence was comforting. She admired his dedication and the way he spoke about the game with such love and enthusiasm.

At the end of the match, Jude walked with Mia to the stadium’s exit, his hand lightly brushing against hers. “You’ve been working so hard. How about we grab a drink sometime soon, just the two of us?”

Mia hesitated, feeling the weight of her feelings for both Jude and Lando. “I’d like that,” she said softly. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

Later that night, as Mia lay in bed, her thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions. The thrill of the racetrack and Lando’s infectious energy contrasted sharply with Jude’s sincere and grounded nature. She felt torn, unable to fully embrace either relationship without feeling guilty or conflicted.

As the weeks went by, Mia began to realize that she needed to take a step back and focus on herself. She continued to enjoy her time with both Jude and Lando but knew that her decision would come in time.

In a heart-to-heart conversation with a close friend, Mia admitted her confusion.

“I care about both of them, but I need to figure out what I really want. It’s not fair to them or to myself if I don’t.”

Her friend nodded in understanding. “Sometimes, the best way to make a decision is to listen to your own heart and take a step back. You’ve got to find what truly makes you happy.”

With that advice in mind, Mia decided to embrace a period of self-discovery. She focused on her career and passions, allowing herself the space to understand her own desires without the pressure of choosing between Jude and Lando.

As time went on, Mia’s clarity grew. She realized that her journey was about more than just choosing between two incredible people. It was about finding herself and her own path in a world filled with excitement and uncertainty. And while her heart was still intertwined with both Jude and Lando, she knew that the future held possibilities she was eager to explore—both in love and in her own life.

As the winter months settled in, Mia’s internal struggle began to weigh heavily on her. Her career was flourishing, and she had become a respected figure in the sports world, but the personal turmoil involving Jude and Lando remained unresolved.

Jude and Mia’s friendship grew more complex. Jude had been patient and understanding, always present and supportive. Their conversations often lingered on deeper topics, and Jude’s gentle affection began to take on a more romantic tone. His heartfelt gestures and considerate actions made it increasingly difficult for Mia to ignore the feelings that were developing.

On the other hand, Lando’s presence was a whirlwind of excitement. He continued to charm her with his spontaneous adventures and infectious laughter. His adventurous spirit and playful demeanor had become a refreshing escape from the pressures of her daily life. Yet, the intensity of their interactions was unmistakable, and Lando’s occasional hints about their future together left Mia feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed.

The tipping point came during a major sports gala in London, where both Jude and Lando were in attendance. Mia had been invited to cover the event, and the evening promised to be a glamorous affair. She arrived early to prepare, her thoughts occupied by the weight of her decisions.

As she mingled with guests and conducted interviews, Jude approached her with a serious look in his eyes. “Mia, can we talk?”

“Of course,” Mia replied, her heart racing as she followed him to a quieter corner of the venue.

Jude took a deep breath, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I know things have been complicated, and I respect that you need time. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being friends. I care about you deeply, and I want more. I need to know where you stand.”

Mia was taken aback by his honesty. “Jude, I—”

Before she could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin replaced by a more somber expression. “Hey, Mia. Can I have a word with you too?”

Jude looked at Lando, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Sure, Lando. Go ahead.”

Lando led Mia to the edge of the gala hall, away from prying eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I know I’ve been a bit of a whirlwind, and maybe I didn’t give you the space you needed. But I really care about you, Mia. More than I’ve let on. I know this is probably the last thing you need right now with everything going on, but I had to tell you."

Mia’s head spun as she looked between the two men. Both Jude and Lando had laid their feelings bare, and the pressure felt overwhelming. She had been avoiding this moment for weeks, trying to focus on her career and navigate the swirl of media attention, but now she had to face it head-on.

Rumors about her relationships had been flying for some time. Tabloids were constantly speculating, printing photos of her with Jude at a café, or Lando sneaking her into the paddock for a quick joyride. It was getting harder to ignore. The attention had shifted from her work to her personal life, and it was affecting her more than she liked to admit.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” Mia admitted, her voice wavering as she finally spoke. “This whole situation has been a lot, and I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. The media, the rumors... it’s been so intense. I care about both of you, but I’ve been struggling to even think clearly.”

Jude’s face softened, his usually confident demeanor giving way to concern. “I had no idea you were feeling like that. You don’t have to decide anything right now, Mia. But just know that whatever happens, I’ll respect your space and your choices.”

Lando shifted uneasily, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked away for a moment. “Yeah, same here. I didn’t mean to add pressure. I just wanted you to know how I feel. We can take it slow—whatever you need.”

Mia felt her eyes welling up as the weight of the situation finally hit her. “Thank you, both of you. I just need some time to think about what’s best for me.”

Jude nodded, stepping back to give her space. “Take all the time you need, Mia. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Lando gave her a small smile, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced with something softer. “I’ll be around, too. And hey, no matter what, we’re mates first.”

Mia let out a shaky breath, feeling both relieved and conflicted as she watched the two men walk away. The media could say what they wanted, but this decision was hers to make, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy.

With that, Mia felt a mixture of relief and sadness. She knew that her decision would not be easy, and the road ahead was uncertain. As the gala continued around them, she watched Jude and Lando walk away in opposite directions, each carrying a piece of her heart with them.

As she left the gala that night, the city lights shimmering in the distance, Mia knew one thing for certain: before she could choose between Jude and Lando, she had to choose herself first. And that was going to take more than just a headline or a rumor to figure out.

In the days that followed, Mia took a step back from both Jude and Lando, focusing on her career and personal growth. The break allowed her to gain perspective and eventually led to a deeper understanding of her own desires and needs.

Months later, at a quiet café where it all began, Mia sat alone, sipping her coffee. She looked out the window, reflecting on the tumultuous journey she had experienced. The thrill of the racing tracks and the passion of the football fields had left their marks on her, but it was the time she spent finding herself that truly shaped her path.

As the café door chimed open, Mia saw a familiar face—Jude. He approached her with a warm smile, and they exchanged a simple, heartfelt greeting.

“Hey, Jude,” Mia said, her voice steady and genuine. “It’s been a while. How are things with you?”

“Hey, Mia,” Jude replied, his smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “Things have been good, just keeping busy with the season. I’ve been thinking about you. How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing well,” Mia said, feeling a sense of calm. “I’ve been focusing on my work and taking some time for myself.”

Jude nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and regret. “I’m glad to hear you’re finding your balance. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk or need anything.”

Mia smiled, appreciating his words. “Thanks, Jude. That means a lot.”

As Jude turned to leave, Mia’s phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Lando.

“Hey, Mia. I hope you’re doing alright. I know things have been complicated lately. I’m in Monaco, but I’d really like to catch up when I’m back. Maybe we can figure things out over coffee? Just let me know.”

Mia read the message and felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She was touched by Lando’s sincerity, but also felt the weight of her own unresolved feelings.

Sipping her coffee, Mia gazed out the window, contemplating the paths before her. Both Jude and Lando had made a significant impact on her life, each in their own way. She realized that no matter which direction she chose, it would come with its own set of challenges and opportunities.

With a thoughtful sigh, Mia responded to Lando’s message, “I’d like that. Let’s talk when you’re back. Thanks for reaching out.”

As she sent the message, Mia knew that the future was uncertain but full of possibilities. She was ready to explore what lay ahead, with the potential for new beginnings and meaningful connections. The decision of who to pursue—or whether to pursue either—was still to be made, but for now, Mia was open to whatever the journey would bring.

The café bustled with activity around her, a reflection of the vibrant life she was living, and Mia felt a renewed sense of hope and curiosity about the future.

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