#title: summer in the city | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forkingandcountry-if · 2 months

Text

For King and Country is an 18+ period low fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.

But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.

Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?

Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.

You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.

Features

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.

Romance one of seven ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.

Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.

Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.

Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.

Study at Pyrenne University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.

Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.

Don't lose your head.

Critical Lore*

Talent

Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.

Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.

Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Pyrenne Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.

Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:

Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.

Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.

Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.

Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.

Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.

Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.

The Second Civil War

The Second Civil War, sometimes known as the Revolution is recognized as having commenced approximately ten years ago and concluded two years later with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd. The conflict was precipitated by a series of critical events and widespread discontent among the populace throughout the entire reign of the King Wulfric I Wynd regarding the laws of his government and his conduct as monarch.

The Second Civil was notably ignited by the previous monarch's decision to disinherit his eldest daughter and legitimise his illegitimate children thus making them heir presumptive. This controversial move generated significant unrest among the yeomanry and laborers, who perceived the monarch's actions as unjust and contrary to ecclesiastical teachings. Particularly in redeemist cities across the Empire, widespread protests ensued, leading to the deposition and, in some instances, the defenestration of local officials such as Lord Mayors, Sheriffs, and Governors who supported the king and a state of national emergency being declared with martial law being invoked.

A general, Walthe Courtney, who had previously fought in the unpopular Eleven Years' War on behalf of the crown, emerged as a pivotal leader of the revolution. Utilizing strategic peasant uprisings and sieges, Reval's forces delivered decisive blows to the royalist regime. The revolution culminated in the fall of the capital during the Siege of the King's Seat.

Following the war, a great council of all the great houses instituted several significant reforms. While the monarchy was retained, it was now bound with the monarch being bound by the Grand East Code. In accordance with the written will of the disinherited princess, who died on the battlefield during the conflict an exception was made to place her youngest brother, Edmund, then only 17 years old, on the throne.

The bicameral parliament was replaced by a unicameral national assembly with expanded suffrage of yeomanry and labourers with certain amounts of land. The sole eligibility criteria for parliamentarians are citizenship, attainment of the age of majority, no debt owed to the crown with elections held every eight years.

General Walthe Courtney was appointed as Lord-Protector of the Realm with extensive powers throughout Edmund’s reign and continued as Commander of the Armies for the duration of their tenure. Furthermore, the Pyrenne University was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, not limited to the children of nobility.

Under the new provisions, all children from great houses or those vassal houses with an annual income exceeding 1,300 libre must receive training and serve in the King's Army and live as wards of the king upon reaching the age of eighteen. The official language of the proclamation declares it to be in the national interest that the next leaders of the regions and nations of the Empire know personally their king and capital but the aim is considered to be preventing another war.

The King's Council is required to be include the Premier elected by the eligible electorate. The Premier recommends people to be members of the King's Council although the King is not bound to accept. The King retains the authority to appoint cabinet members from outside parliament, early precedent set by King Edmund I Wynd suggests that he will appoint those recommended by the Lord-Protector.

The King's Army and Pyrenne University

The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.

During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.

Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete four years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.

Pyrenne University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Tristan of Pyrenne, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.

Pyrenne admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.

Pyrenne has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.

Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Pyrenne University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.

Situated in the capital city, Pyrenne University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.

The Empire

The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."

From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.

Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Cruller (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).

Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.

*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.

Romances

When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?

The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?

Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?

Alas who is to know?

Name: King Edmund I Wynd

Age: 21

Height: 6'5

Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.

(he/him) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues

Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?

She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.

Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.

Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd

Age: 36

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.

(she/her) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: scary hot, masc women

Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.

In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.

Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.

Name: Walthe Courtney

Age: 43

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.

(he/him/they) solo-route

Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Pyrenne University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her pale green eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

Additional

Demo: out now!

Pinterest: not yet available

Art: not yet available

Feedback Survey: not yet available

All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!

ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.

#current wip #interactive fiction #status: wip #choicescript #for king and country #forkingandcountry-if #if demo

792 notes · View notes

novemberheart · 2 months

Text

{overview} The two alphas in the pack are warming up to you and you can't help but feel the same

{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, fem reader, a bit of reader backstory, poly 141 x reader

Chapter 7 <- Chapter 8 -> Chapter 9

“Sweetheart, I want you to promise me two things.” John began as you started your walk back home. “Number one, if there's a question on this thing-” he nearly growled, holding up the envelope he was carrying for you. “that you don't want to answer, don't. Nobody's business if you don't want it to be, understand?”

“Yes, Alpha.” the title slipped from your lips out of instinct. You were so focused on your own embarrassment to notice the sudden rise in his body temperature, or the way he began holding the envelopes lower. “I’m sorry-”

“Don't be,” he insisted. “You can call me whatever you want, whatever feels comfortable to you,” he assured, causing your heart rate to slow. The title ‘alpha’ certainly fits the Captain. It also felt more personal- more intimate than John. You hoped the outside air would be enough to waft away the growing sweetness in your scent.

“What was the other thing you wanted me to promise?” you reminded.

“That you'll seriously think about getting chipped. If it's a hard no, I'll understand, but it's important to me- to all of us that we set you up to be safe should anything happen.” he requested.

The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around at lightspeed. The alpha was close to you as you walked. The overwhelming urge to just tuck yourself under his strong arm so he could make good on his promises. A whine left your throat at the understanding that you couldn't touch him yet.

Alpha's were built to keep their omegas warm. Your omega was throwing a temper tantrum at the denial.

“I’ll stop pressing you, sweetheart. I apologize.”

You quickly realized he was referencing your whine. The sound made his stomach flip.

“No- I wasn’t whining at that. I'm not sure where that came from, to be honest.” you lied. “It's probably a good idea actually. It'll help me feel safer too.” you didn't know who had taken over your mouth. Maybe it was desperation. If you got chipped that would be one step closer to being his.

“Come on, pup.” You poked your head outside your door, peering at Simon as he shut the TV off and stood up from the couch. He winced a bit as he tested how much weight he could put on his leg. He stood still watching you with dull eyes. You quickly got up and trotted over to him.

“Do you need something?” you pondered.

“Time for your walk,” he smirked down at you, making his way over to the kitchen, where he grabbed his key card and a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer. He then grabbed a black balaclava and tugged it over his head. Your brows furrowed at the tease in his voice, but you complied heading back towards your room to grab a pair of shoes. “Need to get you walking shoes.” he ‘tsked’ eyeing your flats. There was a subtle limp in his walk and you could tell he was trying to downplay it.

“Do you need a cane or something?” you poked. He shot you a look, but his hand reached up and rested on the back of your neck, causing you to erupt in goosebumps.

“This’ll do.” he shot back, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You like being outside don't you?” he observed, watching the way your breathing deepened and a glow appeared on your face as the sun hit it. You nodded your head.

“I grew up in a crowded city. Every summer break my parents would take me to the countryside to be with the rest of our pack,” you explained.

“Split pack?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you affirmed softly.

“That’ll serve you here.” Simon commented. “You already have experience being away from the majority of your pack, along with knowing how to manage the emotions that come with it.”

“For when you guys have to do your jobs?” you clarified. He sucked air through his teeth, then hummed in agreement. When you were at the Omega house you would lie awake thinking about it, growing anxious even though you had no relationship with them. Now the thought of them leaving wasn't an entirely negative one. You hoped that they wouldn't all leave at the same time. It would give you a chance to bond with those who stayed and miss the ones who left. “How often do you leave anyways?” you questioned.

“Eager, huh?” he gave the back of your neck another squeeze. “We never know. Sometimes we’ll go a few weeks without being called away, other times we’ll just be here a few days out of the month.”

“Do you all leave at the same time?” you held your breath.

“Sometimes.” he drew out. “That might change with you though, at least in the beginning.” he sighed. He guided you behind a large building, releasing your neck. He leaned against the side of it, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, rolling his mask up, and placing the cigarette between his lips. “You don't smoke do you?”

“No.” you nearly spat.

“Good, nasty habit.” he praised, lighting it. All was quiet between the two of you and you focused on trying to listen to the birds between the distant sound of gunfire, whirling machines, and shouting. “How’d you end up in an omega house?” he asked suddenly. He watched as you frilled up like a spooked cat.

“When I was fifteen my mom left us.” you began. You avoided Simon’s gaze even though you could feel the burn of it. “My dad reclaimed shortly after and along with that came a new pack. I didn't adjust too well.” you trailed off.

“Their fault or yours?” he questioned. You paused for a long moment mulling it over. You finally lifted your eyes from the tree line, merging with Simons. Cold and unreadable.

“I'm not sure. Mix of both,” you whispered. He got the last bit of cigarette he could before putting it out against the lid of a trash can.

“Tell you what.” he started. The grip on the back of your neck returned, as he headed back towards the pavement. “I’ll let you know whose fault it is after I get to know you a bit better.” he offered. You rolled your eyes, ignoring the slight sting in your chest at the memories.

“Hey, Peaches.” an instant smile appeared on your face at the familiar voice.

“Hi, Johnny.” you smiled up at him. You had just gotten back from your walk with Simon when John and Kyle came back to swoop you up for lunch. After they dropped you back off you were determined to finally finish unpacking.

“Need any help?” He asked, taking a seat in your doorway.

“Not really.” you sighed, looking over your horrible wrinkled clothes. “Thanks though, Johnny.” You smiled. He smiled back, getting himself comfortable by leaning against your doorframe. “Can I ask you something?” you asked hesitantly.

“Course, bonnie,” he replied instantly.

“How come you don't have an omega yet?” his smile remained on his face as he shrugged.

“I always wanted one, and I know Kyle has been thinking about it a lot lately, well, ever since Laswell had brought it up. I think the Captain was putting it off because he's a worrier. Simon is just a prick.” he whispered the last part, his eyes snapping over to the couch where Simon had passed out. You giggled, following his gaze. “I hope we didn't hurt your feelings, bonnie. I know Laswell wanted to pair you up with us sooner and we”-

“Rejected the idea?” You finished for him. He nodded his head- regretfully.

“Didn’t know it would be you though.” The smirk returned to his face, as his eyes drifted up and down you playfully.

“I don’t think Simon’s a prick.” You defended softly, wanting to change the subject. “He’s been quite nice to me. Well- all of you have.” You sighed happily.

The words he wanted to say were at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. The truth was you seemed rather oblivious to your impact. The closest way he could describe you was addictive. Your scent, your eyes, even the way you scowled when you didn’t approve of something. You had flipped a switch in the brains that had been dormant their whole lives. It wasn't just him either. He watched the way John eyed the clock and practically sprinted out the door when it was time to pick you up for lunch. He noticed the way Kyle picked out a deep, forest green shirt today because you had absentmindedly shared you had liked the color. Just the idea that you had been chosen for them. You had been selected with the intention to be theirs. And even though you still hadn't bonded with them or been marked, the prideful beta in him rumbled at the thought.

Instead of saying all that he settled with:

“Give him some time, Peaches. He’ll come around.” he snickered.

“If you say so.” you huffed.

“We should throw your things in the dryer, Bon. Can't have you walking around like nobody’s takin’ care of ya.”

It was dark out before you knew it. You had already eaten dinner, orange chicken with white rice. They didn't have a dessert, but Kyle quickly raced to the vending machine to get you a candy bar. You smiled, curling yourself deeper into your blanket.

All of you were together, for the first time since you had arrived. John is at the very end of the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. Kyle lying next to him, his feet nearly on his lap. Johnny was also sprawled out, he and Kyle sharing a pillow. Simon sat stiffly next to him. His pain meds must be starting to wear off. You could always tell because an annoyed scowl would appear on his face. You were curled up on the other side of Simon, and you took it upon yourself to slowly inflate your scent. You weren't sure if he knew you did it on purpose, but you felt giddy when you saw his tense muscles begin to relax.

It was John's turn to pick what to watch- although he offered to forgo his turn if there was something that caught your eye. You politely shot him down, already feeling your eyelids grow heavy. He had settled on a ‘How It's Made’ episode about kayaks, safety boots, electronic signs, and cereals.

All in all, it was the perfect recipe for sleep. A pack that you were beginning to feel comfortable with, a calm voice on TV, a full stomach, and a soft blanket.

John watched as your eyelids began to droop. You were comfortable. He was pleased with how easily you had adjusted to their pack. He knows the first day wasn't easy- or what you had hoped for. If he could do it all again, trust him, he would. But here you were drifting in and out of sleep, the smell of warm peaches and vanilla filling the air. It made his own restless mind slow, and the ache in his temples dissipated.

“She asleep?” Johnny whispered. It was then he realized the show had ended. “Should we move her back to her room?” The Scot questioned, peeling himself off of the couch. He stretched, his back popping loudly.

“Best leave her out here with me,” Simon said all too quickly. Three heads snapped in his direction. “Fuck off,” he growled. “You want me to get better or not?” he reminded. They all agreed, not voicing any other theories about why he wanted you there with him.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you in two days for chapter 9! 🧡

#novemberheart #captain john price #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #poly141 #price x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #a/b/o dynamics #call of duty #as needed

471 notes · View notes

fallinallincurls · 2 months

Text

home is just another word for you

here is my entry for the summer fic exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston !! thank you for doing this as always demi. this fic is for the lovely @puckology101 ! i had so much fun writing for nico again and hope you love how this turned out!

title is from "you're my home" by billy joel and you can find the entire playlist for this fic here!

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 4.9k+

“Jack, it’s not that simple. I can’t go.” You say for what feels like the millionth time, but your best friend either hasn’t been paying attention or is blatantly ignoring you.

“Yes you can! Look, you just spent months working yourself to the bone over that huge project at work which, if I have to remind you, was a major success. You don’t just deserve a break, you need one. And this is the perfect opportunity!”

“An entire summer in Switzerland with your captain?”

“Yes!” Jack repeats with excitement, happy you’re finally understanding what he’s been trying to get through your head since this whole idea came to be. That bright, beaming smile of his blossoms across his lips and he has that childlike wonder in his eyes. “Switzerland is beautiful and there’s no one better to go with than Nico. He obviously knows all the best places. Plus, he invited you so I don’t see the problem here.”

Although you would love to spend the entire summer in a gorgeous country with an equally attractive and charming man, the problem is that you’re in love with Nico Hischier and no one knows it.

At least that’s what you thought.

An entire summer with him sounds like a dream because it means endless time with him away from hockey and in his element at home. But at the same time, an entire summer with him sounds like torture because he would be that much closer to you at all times and still not yours.

“I’d love to make a full vacation out of it, trust me a break sounds absolutely perfect after finally finishing the project. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’d be intruding. You guys already rarely get to go home and see family during the season, even worse for players like Nico whose family is much farther away.”

“Y/N,” Jack says, silencing your rambling. Without hesitation you meet his gaze and wait for what he has to say. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Nico wants you there. He invited you for a reason and going on vacation is a normal thing good friends do together, you know.”

“I’ll think about it.” You decide, promising that you will put thought into it before telling Nico what your decision is. That’s seemingly enough for Jack as he drops the subject after that, but you are oblivious to his giddy grin. It would’ve been a dead giveaway that he knows your secret.

~~~~~

In the end, you decide to turn your trip to Switzerland with Nico into a European summer extrusion. After spending the first two months with him, you are going to visit all the other countries and cities that have been on your bucket list for years. That way you’re not in his way when his training ramps up again for the new season while getting the chance to explore parts of the world you’ve always wanted to see before going back home to Jersey.

Nico, of course, was ecstatic when you accepted his offer to come back home with him. Two months of uninterrupted time with his favorite person in his favorite place is a dream come true.

Everything was set and going perfectly according to plan until you both headed towards the right gate in the airport.

No matter where you’re going or how long the trip, you always make sure to pack comfy clothes as it makes you feel more at ease when traveling. There was nothing different this time, except you put the worn and well loved hoodie in your checked luggage, not your carry-on.

As the realization settles in, a pout appears on your face. Nico, ever observant, notices the change in your demeanor right away.

“What’s wrong?” Nico asks softly, nudging you a little with his elbow as you both shuffle forward in the line for coffee. You shrug in response, not wanting to come clean about something so silly. Before Nico can push any further, you’re the next up to order so his insistence at finding out what the problem is has to wait a few minutes.

But the moment you both have your drinks in hand, Nico cuts right to the point.

“Okay, spill. What is it?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips because 95% of the time, your best friend looks like the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Which means when he uses his “captain voice” and is all business, it’s almost hard to take him seriously.

“I packed my comfy travel hoodie in my actual luggage instead of my carry-on so I can’t wear it on the flight like I usually would. That’s all.” You haven’t even finished speaking before Nico stops walking, plops his backpack down on a nearby seat and pulls something out. “What are you-”

“You can wear mine,” Nico cuts you off, the sweetest smile gracing his lips as he holds out his favorite black Kith hoodie. “I packed it as an extra for you anyway, just in case this happened.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. Nico is always looking out for you in the little ways, he has been since you became friends, but this has your heart softening like never before. It also confirms that spending the next two months with him is only going to make your feelings for him grow, not disappear.

“Thank you, Nico. That’s so sweet of you.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the shy smile on his face gives away how proud he is to be there for you.

"How do you always know exactly what I need?" You wonder aloud, snuggling into the warm fabric of Nico’s beloved sweatshirt as you both settle into chairs next to each other in front of the correct gate. A moment of silence passes and you don’t expect Nico to respond until three soft words slip past his lips.

"I pay attention."

The way your heart seizes right then is enough evidence that you’re madly in love with your best friend, but in an effort not to reveal your emotions, you just look up and give him the softest smile full of gratitude.

Nico squeezes your knee fondly before you both settle in, anticipation and excitement for your flight to his home country growing with each passing second.

~~~~~

Switzerland is gorgeous. Pictures don't do it justice at all. From the moment you stepped out of the airport a few weeks ago to where you are right now, sitting at a table with Nico and his family in the backyard, you haven’t stopped being amazed that somewhere this beautiful exists.

Over the last three weeks or so, you’ve spent almost every waking moment with Nico. You met his family, who all instantly loved you, especially his older sister, Nina. Days have been filled with visiting tourist attractions and some of Nico’s favorite places all over the country. Nights are usually spent snuggled up for a movie or around a fire, laughing with Nico’s siblings and friends. You have tried so many new things from experiences to foods and everything in between.

Although you hate to admit it, Jack was right. Going home with Nico was everything you needed and more.

A soft smile blossoms across your lips as you filter through all the memories you’ve already made on this trip. Your heart is full of nothing but happiness and you owe that to Nico.

“What are you thinking about?” Nico’s deep voice suddenly snaps you back to the present. A quick glance around the table confirms that no one but your best friend noticed the dreamy expression that was probably on display on your face.

“Nothing,” You shake your head in response, but your smile doesn’t budge and that’s when you realize Nico’s hand is resting on your thigh. “I’m just really happy to be here. It’s been amazing.”

Nico’s pretty brown eyes light up at your answer and that sweet smile you love so much appears on his face, dimples and all. God, how can someone be this perfect?

“This is easily the best summer I’ve had in a long time and that’s because you’re here.” Nico admits, each word full of vulnerability. That same feeling of hope and adoration rush through your veins again even though you know he’s just being honest. You can’t deny how that one sentence makes you the happiest person in the world.

There have been more times than you could count throughout this trip where it seemed like Nico was hinting at something more. He’s been extra attentive to you from the moment you both left New Jersey, always making sure you’re okay and have everything you need. His gaze has lingered on you for longer than necessary on several occasions, causing you to blush like never before. But those small touches that have become a constant in your friendship is what makes you realize that it might be possible Nico feels the same way as you.

When you met his closest friends from home, his hand rested on your lower back in almost a protective manner. He never hesitates to hold your hand when moving through a crowd so he doesn’t lose you. Every time you both eat dinner with his family, like this very moment, he always has a hand on your thigh under the table or he’s tracing little shapes on the inside of your wrist.

But despite all the signs, you’re still too scared to admit your feelings and Nico hasn’t made any move to confess anything either. So you take note of every little thing he does for or around you, hoping that deep down it leads to what you’re hoping for.

You’re not the only one who notices though. Nina is just exceptionally good at schooling her expression before you or her younger brother can see she’s aware something is going on between the two of you.

“Next summer we’ll have to make sure the Cup comes back with us and then it’ll be the best summer of your life.” You giggle, but Nico’s brows raise in surprise.

“Already making plans to come back next summer?” He asks with curiosity. Of course, he would love to spend these precious months with you again next year. It just catches him off guard that you’re thinking about that too.

“Yeah, of course I am, but with the Cup. That’s your end of the deal to hold up.” You respond with a playful poke to his chest, not picking up on how much that simple sentence means to him.

“I think I can manage that.” Nico chuckles, eyes twinkling with happiness as he pulls you closer to his side before you both rejoin the conversation that’s happening around you.

“Nico, what do you two have planned for this week?” Nina asks while reaching for her glass of wine. You completely miss the way Nico shoots silent daggers at his sister from across the table, but you catch the sweet smiles both of his parents are sporting.

“We’ve got a chocolate tour booked, a few days to cover everything in Zurich and finally going to bring Y/N to one of my favorite places nearby.” Nico recites, mentally ticking off the activities that he planned for both of you to do throughout the upcoming week.

“Oh! Make sure you go to some of the museums in Zurich. They’re all so interesting.” Nico’s mom chimes in with excitement. You nod and make a mental note to look up some of the museums that are in the city so you and Nico can visit a few.

“We definitely will! I remember reading about some of them when I was doing research for the trip. Do you have any favorites?”

As Nico’s family begin debating the best museums to visit in Zurich, the sun continues to set and you find yourself leaning more and more against Nico’s shoulder, the exhaustion of another busy, but well spent day catching up to you.

“Sleepy?” Nico asks in a teasing, but soft tone. He rubs a hand up and down your back in a soothing way that relaxes you even further.

“A little,” You admit, glancing up at Nico through your lashes and catching sight of that gorgeous smile of his. Butterflies erupt in your stomach again. You can’t deny how happy you are right now.

While stuck in your dazed thoughts, Nico must’ve told his family you’re both heading in for the night because all of them are saying goodnight as Nico gently nudges you to stand before leading you inside.

And as you settle in for bed in the guest room where you’ve been staying since arriving in Switzerland, nothing but excitement about the upcoming week rushes through your veins while the soft warmth of love fills your heart.

~~~~~

“Something is up, Jack. I’m telling you. And it’s not just in my head because I have a crush or whatever. I don’t think he could make it more obvious without saying anything.” You say quietly into the phone while pacing the boat dock on the lake behind the Hischier’s house.

“I’m not going to act surprised because I’m not. Anyone who knows Nico knows that he has a thing for you. It’s probably just easier for him to show you how he feels back at home with no pressure on his shoulders, you know?” Jack replies with actual logic for once even though you can’t see the huge grin on his face since he’s on a whole other continent.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Exasperation is clearly evident in your voice. “All these things seem like signs but what if I admit how I feel and it’s not what I have been thinking this whole time?”

Jack lets out a small sigh, but tries to figure out a way to steer his two best friends to each other once and for all.

“Just give him some more time. You have two weeks left there before you travel to Italy, right?”

“Yup.”

“He’ll say something before then. Trust me, it’s Nico. You and I both know he does things in his own way, but he knows what he wants.” Jack reassures you with a small chuckle and that’s enough to put a smile on your face again.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I’ve gotta go. We’re supposed to be going to one of his favorite spots that he’s been dying to show me and I have to get ready. But thanks for the advice, Jacky.”

“Anytime. Bring me back a Toblerone will you?”

You’re shaking your head as goodbyes are exchanged before the call ends. As soon as you turn around to head back towards the house, you spot Nico on the deck waiting for you. He gives a goofy wave and that stunning smile of his is easy to see even from where you are.

“Ready to go soon?” Nico asks when you step up next to him, not hesitating a second to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Want to make sure we get there at the perfect time to catch the sunset since that’s the best part.”

“I’ll be all ready to go in ten minutes, tops.” You say with a smile, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him. A million thoughts race through your mind again, but you push them all away to soak in this simple moment.

“Was that Jack on the phone?” You don’t miss the hint of laughter in Nico’s deep voice.

“Who else would be calling me? I gave him the rundown of how amazing Switzerland is and he wants me to bring back a Toblerone for him.”

“Of course he does.” Nico chuckles, that beautiful sound bringing you a kind of happiness you can’t find anywhere else.

As you change into a comfy, but flattering outfit, you can’t help but wonder again where Nico is bringing you today. The only hint he’s given about the destination is that he’s loved the place since he was little and it’s special to him. A mixture of excitement and nerves rush through you as Jack’s words repeat through your head at the same time.

Anyone who knows Nico knows that he has a thing for you.

Do they really?

But it’s then that a collection of moments come back to you. The way Jack started insisting you get a ride home from Nico after games instead of riding back with him. How Nina looks at you with a glimmer in her eyes that looks like joy despite the fact you just met her this summer. The nights you’ve spent talking to Nico’s mom while looking through photo albums and watching his cheeks become rosy with blush when she pointed out the embarrassing snapshots. The way all his teammates just started to assume you’d be his plus one to any event the team had to attend after you accompanied their captain to one gala.

Ohmygod. Somehow, Jack was right again. Nico’s feelings for you have been obvious to everyone else but you this whole time.

Taking a deep breath, you push the life-changing revelation to the back of your mind before grabbing your bag and heading downstairs to meet Nico for his planned adventure that remains a mystery.

A dimpled smile blossoms across Nico’s lips the moment he sees you, making him look impossibly handsome. He’s wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt but somehow he still has your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

“Hi,” As soon as the single syllable leaves your lips, you’re mentally face palming. There are a thousand things to say, yet that’s what you went with?

“Hi, sunneschii.” Nico responds, slipping into his native language for a second to use his favorite term of endearment for you. Sunshine. The blush that spreads across your cheeks is unstoppable which just makes Nico even happier. He’s so in love with you and he still doesn’t know how you can’t tell yet. It’s obvious to everyone else but the one person who matters. “Ready to go?” With a nod acting as your reply, Nico holds his hand out for you to take and leads you to the car.

As Nico’s playlist flows from the speakers and the warm summer air fills the car thanks to the windows being rolled down, you both get lost in conversation together. Nico points out places along the drive that hold any kind of significance to him and that fuzzy feeling is present in your heart again. For a brief moment, you can picture this being your life every summer. Coming back to Switzerland to spend the offseason with the brown eyed sweetheart who happens to be a professional ice hockey player and the man you love. But as much as you’d like that, it can only stay a dream for now.

Without even realizing how much time has passed, Nico is parking the car in a small lot that is blanketed in shade from the enormous but breathtaking castle sitting atop a small hill.

“Wow,” You whisper in shock, which makes Nico chuckle.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Come on,” He teases, quickly getting out of the car and rounding the hood to open the passenger side door for you.

As you step out of the car, hand in Nico’s, you gaze up at the beautiful building. There’s nothing like this back in Jersey and you’re struck by the absolute beauty of the place that Nico gets to call home. Then another strike of emotion hits you because this is somewhere that he’s made clear is special to him and he brought you here.

“Nico, this place is-”

“Gorgeous?” He finishes your sentence, smiling at you while still leading you to the courtyard in the middle of the castle. “Yeah, I know. I had to make sure you saw it before you continue on the rest of your trip through Europe. Nothing else in the world compares.”

You nod in silent agreement, still too in awe of your surroundings to say much else. Except when the courtyard comes into view, the sunset framed beautifully between the columns that face out over the countryside, your breath hitches.

There has never been a sight so stunning as this.

“Ohymygod,” You murmur, at a total loss of words. Nico’s sweet laugh fills the air at your amazed reaction and that’s when you realize how close the two of you are. He’s standing right next to you, arm brushing against yours with each little movement and you can feel his gaze on you without even looking over. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Take a picture. It won’t do it any justice, but at least you’ll have proof that this is real.” Nico suggests softly, watching as you pull your phone out to capture the breathtaking view in front of you. After you take a few photos and turn back to admire the sunset, Nico nudges you playfully before holding his phone up in position for a selfie.

“Neeks,” You giggle, leaning into him. “The view is that way!”

“Yeah, right.” He teases back, snapping bursts of photos that capture the two of you smiling and laughing together and even one of Nico pressing a light kiss to your temple. The blush that spreads across your cheeks is undeniable and he definitely notices the effect that small act has on you.

After Nico puts his phone away again, a moment of comfortable silence settles as he keeps you close thanks to his arm being wrapped comfortably around your waist.

“Y/N,” Nico whispers so gently you almost don’t hear him.

“Mhm,” You respond, pulling your eyes away from the sun sinking in the horizon to look at the man next to you.

“I have to tell you something. I’ve already waited too long to say and can’t wait any longer.”

Immediately, your heart starts to race but you try to stay calm. A mixture of nerves and excitement rush through your veins as you nod in encouragement for him to keep talking. He reaches for your hand, giving it a little squeeze, before taking a deep breath and flashing that dimpled smile you love.

“I’m in love with you.” Nico says simply, his voice heavy with emotion. His brown eyes are full of adoration as he looks at you and it’s impossible to explain the feeling of elation you’re experiencing right now. “I have been for years, but haven’t told you because I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we had. But having you here, at home, with me has made it clear that I can’t keep telling myself that being friends with you is enough anymore. Because it isn’t. I want to start and end every day with you by my side. I want to see you in the crowd at home games wearing my last name and the number 13 proudly on your back. I want to do life with you, Y/N. All of it.”

In the few seconds it takes for you to process his confession, the words you’ve been waiting to hear for months, Nico gets nervous. What if the two of you are only destined to be friends and he just ruined everything? But before his thoughts can spiral any further, the most beautiful smile blossoms across your lips and Nico feels his heart soar.

“What if I told you I feel the exact same way? And all I want to do right now is kiss you?”

You catch a glimpse of the huge grin on Nico’s face before he scoops you up in his arms and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and passionate, a silent exchange of all the words that have been left unsaid over the years. You melt into him, feeling at home more than ever before, with nothing but pure happiness surrounding the two of you.

Finally.

When you both reluctantly pull away, Nico cradles your cheek in his hand, eyes never leaving yours. Nothing else in the world matters right now except for the man in front of you.

“You have no idea how happy I am.” Nico murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose and then your lips again.

“I think I do.” You giggle, trying desperately to remember every detail of this very moment. The picturesque sunset painting the castle in a warm orange glow, the pure unfiltered joy on display across Nico’s face, how right it feels to be held in his arms.

It doesn’t take long for the sun to fully disappear on the horizon and with another kiss, because now Nico can’t help it, he leads you back to the car to head back home. But this time as more than friends.

~~~~~

When you arrive back at the Hischier's house, it’s quiet. Either everyone is already asleep or in the backyard around the fire like usual, but you and Nico don’t give it another thought. With your hand in his, you both head upstairs with giddy smiles and hearts full of adoration.

“Go get what you need from the guest room.” Nico says with a nod towards the door of the room you’ve been staying in for the last month and a half. The silent implication hangs in the air, giving you that jolt of excitement all over again.

So you do exactly that. You grab the necessities for the night, which includes the comfy hoodie Nico gave you at the airport that you somehow haven’t given back yet, and pad down the hall to his childhood bedroom.

Both of you partake in the quiet dance of getting ready for bed with a sense of nerves knowing that the confessed emotions are still new, but you catch glimpses of trophies, medals and pictures that capture the years and years of his hockey career scattered all across the room. A soft smile tugs at your lips at just how stuck in time this one room feels, yet somehow that makes your love for him grow infinitely more.

Nico settles in the bed, opening his arms wide for you as a small yawn escapes past his lips. You giggle at the sight and after pulling his hoodie on, you don’t have a moment of hesitation in joining him. His embrace is strong and comforting, a feeling you could get used to. Nico drops a tender kiss to the top of your head as you settle in against him, his warmth completely enveloping you.

“Thank you,” You whisper, the words full of meaning as you look up with wonderstruck eyes and brush that one stubborn piece of hair off his forehead. He’s so undeniably perfect it’s hard to believe he’s real sometimes. “And I’m going to wash this hoodie and give it back to you as soon as possible.”

“Oh, please keep it. I like you wearing it.” Nico murmurs back, one hand beginning to rub up and down your back.

“Really? I thought it was your favorite one.”

“It was. Before I saw you wearing it. So it’s yours now.” He says so easily, voice steady and confident with a touch of cheekiness.

With your heart full to the brim with love and nothing but pure happiness running through your veins as sleep pulls you under, you realize this is the last place you expected to be during your trip to Switzerland with Nico. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

~~~~~

You wake in the morning to the familiar sound of muffled conversation and bright summer sunlight filtering through the windows. Nico’s head rests on your chest with his arms wrapped around you. His hair is tousled and his lips are parted a tiny bit as he continues to sleep peacefully. The cozy moment is like a dream, one you never want to end.

But of course, the time to return to “real life” comes after Nico wakes up and greets you with that adorable smile. That’s when the slightest fear sets in about how to greet his family downstairs as if nothing drastic has changed between the two of you in the last 24 hours.

Lucky for you, Nico makes the decision himself. With a few sweet kisses and reassuring words, he intertwines his fingers with yours before leading you down to the kitchen. As the voices grow louder with each step, you calm yourself and focus on the man in front of you.

He’s yours now. After all this time.

When you both enter the kitchen, hand in hand, no one bats an eye. At first you think they don’t notice, which seems impossible especially when Nico kisses your temple, but you realize as Nico’s mom pushes a mug of coffee towards you and when that signature smirk never falls from Nina’s face that they all saw this coming. They were simply waiting for the two of you to finally get together just like Jack has been.

“Danke, meine liebe." Nico’s mom murmurs softly in her native language while pulling you in for a hug as everyone else is focused on making breakfast. Thank you, my love. “He’s always deserved to be happy and I know he will be with you. Whether that’s here or in New Jersey or anywhere else. You’re his home.”

And when you look at Nico whose smile couldn’t be any brighter than it is right now as he admires you, you realize that at some point over the last few years, he’s become your home too. The place where you feel safe, the most like yourself and loved unconditionally.

A place you never have to leave now.

#nico hischier #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fics #nico hischier x reader #summer fic exchange 2k24 #nico hischier imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nico hischier fluff #nhl imagine

538 notes · View notes

rabbitcruiser · 7 months

Text

The title of a city was granted to Dalías by King Alfonso XIII on February 12, 1920.

1 note · View note

leclsrc · 1 year

Text

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish.

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink.

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance.

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs.

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath.

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening.

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close. The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously.

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea.

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs.

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?”

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most.

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder.

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood.

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt.

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face.

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you.

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?”

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick.

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader

6K notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 2 months

Text

Dreamland (ln4) - Part Five

↳ A/N This part is so dang long it had to be broken into two. Whoops. But I'm also super pumped about who we (and Lando!!) are going to meet in the next two parts! Strap in, though. It's not going to be smooth sailing.

↳ Inspired By: 'Grapejuice' by Harry Styles

↳ Summary: George and Alex visit Lando in Monaco for a week that summer. Their visit seems to align perfectly well with the week where yours and Lando's situationship is tested the most

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 20.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, angst and less than ideal ways of solving problems, talks of virginity, hints of dom/sub dynamics and possessiveness, name calling/degradation, spanking, spitting, borderline exhibitionism, oral sex (m & receiving), cumplay, [kinda rough] unprotected sex.

PART FOUR || PART SIX

You had insisted that he go by himself. In all honesty, there should have been no reason why Lando was nervous but there was something so menacing about the Nice airport in mid afternoon on Friday that didn’t help to ease his anxieties over finally meeting his two internet friends after nearly years of talking. He didn’t put up much of a fight when he asked you to come and you said he would be just fine on his own - he didn’t want to look like a baby in front of you - but as he stood in the arrivals gate with his heartbeat in his ears, he was slightly regretting not pleading with you just a little bit more.

Lando, George, and Alex knew each other better than anyone else in the world, it was just unfortunate that they lived in different parts of the country and therefore could never see each other in person. Thanks to you, that was going to change. At least for a week. With Lando living in Monaco for the summer and working alongside you and your team at your publishing company, you had arranged for his two closest friends to fly down to spend a week with him. It was yet another reminder that your relationship was something more than just something casual. A title yet to be determined between you, Lando was just happy that he was able to live out his dream of having something with you.

Lando had probably paced the arrival gate a few times over since arriving at the airport that afternoon, trying to calm himself down in this uncharted territory. He was an avid overthinker and worried if his friends would think he was boring in person or weird or if they would find someone better in the sparkling city of Monte Carlo and drop him. Lando tried to breathe. On the outside, to onlookers, he looked simply neutral. On the inside, he was completely panicking.

The large screen above the arrival doors indicated that the flight from Norwich International Airport had landed.

George had arrived first.

The moment he emerged through the arrival gates, Lando was straightening up in the crowd, his mind whirling as George scanned the faces of strangers to find him. Working up his courage, Lando raised his hand up and when George caught his gaze, he smiled widely and started over towards him. Lando bit back his grin as excitement grew in his chest to offset the nervousness that was still lingering in the pit of his stomach.

“Lando!” George greeted happily with a handsome smile and reached out a hand as they approached.

Lando took his hand and they both went in for a smooth one armed hug and a pat to each other’s backs before stepping away again. There was a moment's pause as they just stared at each other with content smiles and their slightly awkward silence had them sharing little chuckles.

“This is unreal, mate.” George said with a heavy sigh, “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Lando shuffled his weight in front of him, “Monaco of all places.”

“I know!” George reached out to nudge his arm, “Who’d have thought it, huh?”

“I mean…I dreamt it.” Lando mumbled.

“I guess manifesting works.”

“Guess so.” Lando smiled lightly.

There was another pause.

“How was your flight?” Lando asked casually, trying to make conversation until the last of their trio would arrive.

George shrugged, “It was good. Were you waiting here long?”

“Not really. Maybe twenty minutes.” Lando assured him.

George checked the time on his phone, “And when’s Alex landing?”

“Maybe forty-five?”

“Perfect. Enough time for a coffee run.” George hoisted the straps of his backpack up his shoulders and adjusted his Tommy Hilfiger jacket - that he spent an entire paycheque on last year - as he scanned the busy airport, “Which way?”

“Uhm,” Lando looked both directions before pointing in the way of the cafés, “that way, I think.”

“Great. Lead the way…and tell me all about your lady.”

“You already know everything.” Lando chuckled as they started off down the bustling airport hallways, “We text literally every day.”

“Yeah, but I wanna hear it all in person.”

Right on time, forty-five minutes later, the arrivals screen announced that the flight from Heathrow International Airport had landed.

Alex had arrived.

George still had his coffee in hand - half finished - and Lando had his hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t get anything from the café mainly because he still felt like throwing up from nervousness but he played it off that he had a big lunch when George asked if he could buy him anything. Their conversation had flowed pretty well as Lando grew more confident being face to face with someone he had only ever talked to through a screen but with Alex’s impending arrival, his slight anxieties were back.

When the final member of their trio stepped through the arrival gates, George wasn’t even hesitating a minute before waving to him.

Spotting him easily, Alex grinned ear to ear and raised one hand up in return, calling across the crowd excitedly, “My boys!”

The three hurried to meet up and excited hugs were shared over jackets and backpacks, standing beside suitcases and within the depths of the crowd. Alex had a way of making everything feel a little lighter - a little easier - and Lando found his nervousness melting away faster than before since familiarizing himself with George and now being completed by Alex’s arrival.

Standing in a little triangle, Lando frowned, looking between Alex and George with a playful scowl, “My God, I never thought of myself as that short but why am I the shortest right now?”

Alex laughed and George just smiled, offering him a reassuring, “You’re not that much shorter than us.”

“Are you kidding? I look like your kid.” Lando tutted.

“I’m also the oldest so it makes sense that I’m the tallest.” Alex countered, giving him a nudge too.

“Oh, older than me by, like, barely two years.” George scoffed. “Besides, is age Lando’s excuse then? He’s the baby of the group after all.”

Both George and Alex looked at him and Lando opened his mouth to say something but his words failed him and he simply held his hand over his face with a shy laugh.

“The youngest out of the three of us and the only one who’s not a virgin.” George pressed teasingly, “How’s that fair?”

“Oh my gosh!” Lando blushed, hurriedly giving George’s shoulder a shove as his two friends snickered between themselves.

“You’re so shy in person.” Alex pointed out, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulders, “You’ve literally sent us a picture of your scratched up back and detailed descriptions of how you fuck the girl of your dreams and here you are barely being able to word a ‘hello’ without blushing.”

“Okay,” Lando dipped out from under his arm bashfully, “No need to be bullying me like this.”

“Hey, you’re like…our youngest triplet brother. It’s only fair we get to bully you a little.” Alex said.

“And it’s hardly bullying.” George added.

Lando pointed an accusatory finger at the both of them, “You be nice to me or I’ll have my wealthy and insanely successful and attractive woman ship you back home.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” his friends laughed teasingly and the three guys shared cheeky smiles and playful tugs to each other’s sweaters.

“There he is!” George patted Lando’s shoulder, “That’s the Lando we know.”

Lando just laughed and shoved his hand away, “Come on. The car is waiting outside.”

“Monaco, baby, let’s go!” Alex clapped once and then rubbed his palms together and the three of them grabbed any and all bags and suitcases and headed towards the exit of the airport, ready to face the sunshine and their week ahead.

George and Alex wouldn’t shut up about the black SUV that picked them up from the airport and took them to the hotel. Just as Lando had only a month or two before, they were just as thrilled about the mini fridge inside and the sleek leather seats that deserved nothing less than absolute gushing reviews. A personal driver to their multi-star hotel. The full Monte Carlo experience.

“You got yourself a real sugar mama, Lan.” Alex tisked through his proud smile as they stepped out of the car and onto the pavement at the front doors of the luxury hotel.

Landscaped with palm trees and coloured flowers, the hotel was in the heart of Monte Carlo and was sculpted as one would imagine a modest five-star hotel to be. In the late afternoon, the flood lights streaked up the front pillars and lined the pathway towards the sliding glass doors into the lobby. The driver started to take their suitcases from the trunk.

“Hardly a sugar mama.” Lando snorted.

“I mean, she is giving you sugar after all.” George smirked over at Alex.

“She is?” Lando scoffed, “Please. I’m the one giving it to her.”

His friends burst into laughter at his smooth response and the driver - already half sick of their rambunctiousness as twenty-something-year-old boys - set their suitcases with them and closed the trunk. They called their thanks as he returned to the driver's seat and drove off, leaving them to their own devices.

Lando led the way into the hotel and past the two-storey entryway and curling staircase towards the elevators and his friends followed eagerly, already talking his ear off with questions they wanted to hear to answers to in person that they didn’t have a chance to ask in the super cool car.

“So how often do you actually stay in the hotel?” George pressed as they all piled into the elevator and Lando hit the button for the eighth floor.

“Maybe half the time.” Lando shrugged proudly as the doors slid closed.

“My boy!” Alex shook his shoulder from his other side.

“Although we can’t really go out properly because it’s Monaco and I’m supposed to just be some interning fan at the company…kinda just feels like half-strangers with benefits but…”

His friends looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

Lando broke into a grin, “The benefits are so good.”

“How often a week?” Alex pried. “Come on. We gotta live vicariously through you!”

Lando smiled bashfully to the elevator numbers that approached eight. He shrugged, playing it cool, “Maybe five times a week? Sometimes more if we can go a second round.”

“Jesus.” George groaned, running his hands over his face.

On Lando’s other side, Alex was merely gaping and he shook his head, “Unbelievable.”

“Although,” Lando countered just as the elevator reached their floor and the doors slid open, “we’re mostly using condoms now which fucking sucks.”

The two middle aged women who were waiting for the elevator on the same floor gave him a weird look as they so clearly heard what he said as their groups passed each other. Lando went red and nearly rushed down the hallway in embarrassment as Alex and George roared with laughter and hurried after him.

“Have you told her about your little breeding kink?” George teased as Lando unlocked the room door.

“No.” Lando hushed him quickly. “It’s not something she’d be into…not right now. She’s so busy with work and writing her fifth novel…she’d probably be completely turned off of even the idea of a baby right now. I don’t want to weird her out or make her uncomfortable.”

Alex and George exchanged little changes behind his back and then followed him into the hotel room. The afternoon sun warmed the patterned carpet and pristinely made white linen sheets over the two queen beds, guiding them farther into the room and past Lando’s suitcase that was tucked empty in the corner as he had his belongings packed away in drawers and the closet. He was to be staying there all summer and living out of a suitcase would not be ideal.

“Dibs on sharing with George.” Alex dropped his backpack onto the bed closest to the window, “I don’t wanna sleep in a bed that Lando probably fucked in.”

“Hey!” Lando glared over at him and George just laughed, “First of all, the sheets are cleaned every day. And secondly, we do it at her house, not here. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, right.” George piped up, flopping backwards onto the bed that Alex claimed for the both of them and he tucked his hands behind his head, “Then say that we don’t want to sleep in a bed that you probably wanked in.”

“You guys are fucking disgusting. Have you always been this gross over message?” Lando rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you made us this way.” George argued.

“You corrupted us.” Alex added.

“With all your filthy fantasies about this author girl you were drooling over.” George finished.

“We have the receipts if you need proof.” Alex offered.

Lando shuttered lightly despite his light chuckle, “No thanks. They’re probably so cringey.”

Alex unzipped his backpack and took his headphones from around his neck to tuck away, “Too good for our thirsting hours now that you got the girl, Lan?”

“Never.” Lando chuckled with a shake of his head and he sat himself on the end of his own bed.

George was texting away in his own world and when a silence settled, both Lando and Alex looked over at him expectantly. A few seconds later, George felt their staring and looked up, glancing between them.

“What? I’m just texting my mum that I arrived.”

“Shit!” Alex pulled his phone from his pocket, “I need to do that too.”

Lando sat on the end of his own bed and rested his hands behind him, smirking proudly over at his friends, “Imagine having overprotective parents? Couldn’t be me. I’m living alone in Monaco…on my own schedule…”

Alex snorted without looking up from his text messages, “Yeah, okay. Says the twenty-one-year-old who got grounded a week before he left because he didn’t take out the trash.”

George chuckled from behind his phone.

“Wow. Lot of smart talk today coming from a virgin.” Lando clapped back.

“Oh shit!” George laughed.

Alex gaped over at Lando who just smirked sweetly and peaked a brow at him.

“That’s cold, mate. That’s cold.” Alex shook his head, although they all knew it was just in good fun.

“Hey, I dunno about you, Albono, but I plan on losing mine while on this trip.” George said proudly and tucked his hands behind his head.

“Not in our shared bed, you’re not.” Alex sassed.

“It’ll be like we’re all roommates in college!” George laughed, “We’ll put a sock on the door when one of us has a girl over.”

Lando answered quickly, “Speak for yourself. I have a million dollar penthouse to escape to when I need privacy away from you two old men.”

Alex shook his head, “Are we really just going to bully each other this entire week?”

“Maybe. It’s kinda our brand.” George chuckled.

There was a pause and at that moment, Lando’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He casually took it out to see who was calling, expecting his mother, but your name instead was across the screen, paired with your contact photo of a picture Charles had taken of you on one of the days your little work group went out for lunch. You didn’t have many private pictures just the two of you for extra privacy’s sake but Lando was okay with that - the real thing was much better than photos.

The sight of your incoming call had him jumping up from the end of the bed in surprise, gasping before alerting his friends, “It’s her! Everyone shut up!”

Alex looked over at George and they shared amused little expressions before Alex snorted quietly, “We weren’t even saying anything but okay.”

Lando answered the call and raised his phone to his ear, keeping his wide wondering eyes on his friends as they would witness their first real-life interaction between the two of you, “Hey.”

“Hey, you.” you greeted through the phone. “Just called to check in and make sure George and Alex got there okay and the driver was good for you.”

“Yeah, the car was great.” Lando answered, slightly off topic, earning a thumbs up from both of his best friends, “And we all just got to the room now.”

“Good. I gotta admit it’s a little lonely at work without you…”

“Really?” Lando answered proudly, “Do you miss me?”

“Of course. You’re coming in on Monday, right?”

George and Alex exchanged smirks that had Lando holding his hand up to them as if to get them to stop distracting him.

“Monday. Yeah.” Lando answered.

Then his friends started with the kissing faces, mocking him annoyingly with ridiculous sound effects, and Lando turned away from them to try and focus on what you were saying.

“And are we still thinking lunch tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

From behind him, Alex and George were snickering together and it made Lando nervous again, feeling so watched even if it were only by his best friends. He didn’t want them to embarrass him in front of you.

“Good. I’ll text you the details and you can let me know if that fits into your touristy schedule, okay?”

“Yeah…that…” Lando glanced back at his smirking friends. “That’s good.”

“Okay.” you could tell he was distracted so you wrapped up, “And the room is on my card so you guys can order room service or something if you want.”

“Oh…are you sure?”

“Yeah! You guys have fun. I can’t always have you to myself.”

“I don’t mind when you have me to yourself.”

Your sweet laugh through the phone had him grinning adoringly and you told him honestly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, lover.”

“See you tomorrow, baby.”

Lando hung up and took a second to stare at your contact picture with a bashful grin, almost half forgetting that his friends were even there for a second. He was all too enamoured by you.

Suddenly, Alex’s mocking had him startling back to reality, “See you tomorrow, baby.”

George joined in with a, “I love you so much I want you to have my children.”

Lando turned around to face them again but he was grinning nonetheless, shushing them modestly, “Okay, okay.”

His friends laughed teasingly and Lando drifted over to the desk across the room to grab the leather covered menu.

“So she said we can order room service if we want.”

“Oo.” George jumped up from the bed and came over to join him, peering over his shoulder at the menu. “Let’s order steak!”

Alex took to Lando’s other side, “Or caviar!”

“Do you even like caviar?” George retorted.

Alex shrugged back, “There's a first time for everything.”

“Okay…how about, like, chips?” Lando pitched, “I seriously don’t want to max out her credit card.”

“Burgers then?” Alex offered, pointing it out on the menu in Lando’s hand.

The other two agreed.

“Burgers and chips all around.” Lando reached for the chorded hotel room phone.

The next morning was Saturday and between jet-lag and excitement, the three guys were up before 8am. The hotel served breakfast and by 9am, they had eaten, been dressed, and were waiting outside for their Uber to get their adventures started. Lando had already been familiar with most of Monaco since he had lived there for a few months at that point so he was excited to be acting tour guide for his friends.

He had planned a whole day - definitely not earlier that week at his desk when he was supposed to be doing real work - and had their destinations written in his phone, leaving a section free for lunch where you would meet them to take the three of them out. Most of their morning was spent around the Monaco Grand Prix routes - dreaming about their motorsports lives that could have been - and touring nearby locations of stars, artsy stores, and any locations that caught their interest along the way. Alex and George stocked up on Monte Carlo merch and George even blew a good chunk of his money on a pair of genuine Hermes loafers that he wore proudly through the square outside the Casino.

When noon came around, it was time for them to meet you at the restaurant where you would be waiting. As Lando led the way - with some help from his phone maps - he found himself growing nervous again. So nervous in fact that he kept taking wrong turns until they ended up a few minutes late. Alex and George didn’t speak to it though because it was clear that their best friend was turning into his usual shy over-thinking self and they didn’t want to embarrass him further - especially not in front of you. Their friendship might have thrived on lighthearted banter, but they knew their limits.

You were waiting outside the restaurant when they walked up, your car parked on the street with the parking meter already running and you were leaning against the passenger side door. Lando broke into a grin at the sight of you and you pushed yourself off your car with a smile that matched his own once you saw him approaching. George and Alex - only slightly starstruck at the reality check that was the fact that you were really truly there - followed slowly behind Lando as he hurried over to you.

“Hey, you.” you held your arms out and Lando slid right in for a close hug.

“Hey, yourself.” he smiled, holding onto you just a second longer than necessary. You didn’t mind.

Lando shifted to stand right at your side as he introduced you to his friends, starting with Alex who had to shift his bags of Monaco merch into the other hand so he could shake yours. When Lando went to introduce George, he was simply gaping at your car.

“Quit staring, GR.” Alex elbowed him teasingly, “It’s rude.”

“Sorry, sorry.” George held out his hand to you just as Alex had, slightly nervous himself to know if he should go in for a hug and especially under Lando’s watchful eye from your side. He looked back at your car and let his eyes scan it greedily, “This is yours?”

“Yep.” you reached back to pat the roof.

“Jesus.” George breathed. “Mercedes-AMG…C 63 S…the silver. Shit, this is literally my dream car.”

“Keep your tongue in your mouth, dude.” Alex snorted.

You laughed lightly and Lando watched you carefully as you stared at George’s obvious drooling over your shiny silver car. He just wanted to touch you so badly…to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in and nuzzle into your neck…so he stuffed his hands in his pockets instead.

Proudly, you unlocked your car and opened the passenger door so George could look inside and you pointed out all the cool little features that had him completely fangirling over it. You kept it so perfectly clean that it was almost as pristine as new and George was almost afraid to touch any of it. Lando and Alex, waiting on the sidewalk with you and George both leaning inside your car, exchanged little expressions of half-amusement and half-concern.

But Alex ended up smiling and nudged Lando’s arm as he mouthed with a whisper, “She’s real.”

“Yeah?” Lando whispered back with a surprised expression like anyone wouldn’t believe him.

“It’s a little crazy…surreal?” Alex shrugged.

Lando looked back at you and tried not to stare at the curve of your ass in your jeans as you bent over into the front of your car. He tilted his head to the side habitually and licked away his shy smile, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you stood back up with a laugh and when George returned to Alex’s side with a blissed out smile, you closed the door again and locked the car, “shall we head in?”

“Thanks for that.” George took to your other side as Alex led the way into the restaurant. “I’ve only ever been able to see those cars online…never in person.”

George was only being friendly but Lando caught himself dusting his hand over the small of your back almost protectively as you all entered and made your way towards the host stand for your reservation. You let his hand linger there for a few seconds, thinking he was just being polite, but when he didn’t move it, you looked back at him.

“Okay?” you asked.

He smiled tightly, “Yeah.”

You discreetly guided his hand away from your waist and then took the lead of your little group towards your table. Lando stayed close behind you and when the host set your menus down and then left, he was jumping into the booth seat beside you.

“Dibs on sitting here.” he said with a little nervous sing-song to his voice.

George and Alex sat on the opposite side of the table from the two of you and as you smiled down to your menu at Lando’s claim, his friends just snorted and shook their heads.

Alex tisked, “No one was going to fight you on that, mate.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed pink and he hid behind his menu so no one would call him out.

Under the table, you set a reassuring hand on his thigh and he reached down to tuck his fingers around yours, giving your hand a squeeze. No one noticed. You both pulled away again and continued skimming your menus without so much as a glance towards each other. It was almost as if you were too comfortable sneaking around.

The waiter came by not long later and introduced himself and pitched the offer of drink orders. George and Alex ordered soda’s and Lando gestured to you to order first.

“A bottle of red, please. Do you have Cabernet?”

“Yes. Glasses for the table?” the waiter asked.

You glanced across to the other two who shrugged dumbly, having never had wine before.

You smiled back to the waiter, “Yes, four glasses, just in case. Thank you.”

“Since when do you drink wine, Lan?” Alex asked once the waiter had disappeared.

Lando shrugged with a bashful smile, “Since a few months ago when I took this woman out for dinner and we shared a glass.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours playfully and you shared little grins.

“I guess it’s kind of our thing now, huh?” you said.

Lando’s eyes dropped to your lips for a brief second before he was meeting your gaze again and answering coolly, “Yep.”

Oh how he craved to kiss you.

The waiter returned not long after with your drinks and he poured all four of you a glass before setting the bottle on the table. With food orders placed, your little group was permitted some time to chat before it would be time to eat.

You asked George and Alex about their college careers and where they have been since graduation. Alex spoke to his degree and how he had worked part time at a cat café in London but was still at home with his parents, making sure to spin it like it was a choice rather than a necessity. George took his turn next to explain his degree and goals, how he really wanted to try his hand at motosports but his parents never had the funds to put him into it growing up.

Lando sipped his wine and paid close attention to your expression, how obviously interested you were in everything that they were saying, and he couldn’t help but see similarities in your face from the way you looked at him on the first day you met. He was overthinking again. Between your connection with George over your car to your pitch in conversation with Alex about your favourite animals, Lando was squirming for a conversation switch.

Lando set his glass down and cleared his throat nervously. You glanced over at him and nudged him gently with your elbow, urging him to look back at you. Sitting side by side, you were quite close, and although neither of you made any sort of romance-infused move, your closeness and your eye contact still had Alex and George keeping extra watch.

“So,” you started, setting a dramatic hand on Lando’s knee under the table, “I don’t think you have ever told me about how you three started talking.”

“Oh, really!” Alex’s eyebrows raised and the two best friends looked over at Lando with amusement.

“Did you not?” George pressed, his tone just as infused with teasing as Alex’s.

Lando turned his head away from you to look to the table top with a blushing smile, “Guess not.”

“Oh no.” you giggled, “I made him shy. This must mean it’s a good story.”

“You wanna tell, Lan?” Alex offered.

Lando contemplated the offer and realizing that it could have been a perfect opportunity for his best friends to exaggerate and make him sound terribly creepy, he took it upon himself, “Well…I had this little…pointless…not a big deal blog a couple years ago.”

Alex corrected him smoothly, “Two years ago.”

“And,” Lando pressed on, “on this blog I reposted your Instagram pictures and stuff and wrote little reviews about your novels and little journal entries and stupid stuff like that.”

“Aw,” you grinned and leaned into him for a moment, “That’s so cute. Like a true little fanboy.”

“Yeah and these two were my most avid followers so don’t blame it all on me.” Lando nodded to the two across the table.

“So they were fans of you being a fan of me.” you teased.

“Hey!” Alex and George laughed.

“No way were we fans of Lando.” George tisked.

“Yeah, that guy sucks.” Alex gave a thumbs down to the table.

“Okay, fuck you.” Lando chuckled bashfully.

“I dunno,” you pitched, “I think he’s pretty great to be honest.”

George hummed, “I think you might be a little biased.”

Lando’s wide eyed glare and a stiff warning shake of his head had his friends shutting right up.

“Why biased?” you pried, ready to stir the pot and see what they had to say. Lando tried to read your expression but he couldn’t, torn between whether you were teasing them or genuinely concerned. He had never confessed to you just how much he shared with his best friends regarding your little strange relationship.

“Uhm,” George tried to get himself back out of the hole he dug, “because…you know…”

“He’s your intern…and stuff…” Alex jumped in.

You licked away your little smirk and you nodded, “I see.”

“Yep.” George nodded too.

Lando held his breath.

“No other reason?” you tried.

George and Alex looked at Lando’s stricken expression and then back to you. They both shrugged.

“Oh, come on.” you tisked, “I know that you know. I’m not dumb.”

There was an array of relieved sighs from around the table.

You gaped at them, “What did you think I was going to do? Ship you all home? Like, damn, if I can tell my best friends all the tea, I think you guys should be able to know too.”

“I dunno, we never talked about it.” Lando shrugged, slightly defensively.

You bumped his shoulder again with a smile, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Says you.” Lando bumped you back.

You turned back to his friends, “Did he say I was good?”

Lando spoke your name in exclaimed surprise at your blunt question but his friends just laughed.

“We’re not ratting our boy out that easily, nice try.” Alex wagged a finger at you across the table.

“I mean not like he has anything to compare it to.” George countered.

“Wow.” Lando shook his head while you just giggled proudly and leaned into him again for a moment.

Your eyes met and the two of you kept your eye contact for a few lingering seconds, sharing sweet smiles side by side as the reminder of the history of your strange little relationship hovered in your mind. You leaned your head against his for a second before turning back to the table like there was nothing going on between you. Lando reached for you under the table and you let him hold your hand, only known by his hawk-eyed best friends but no one else in the restaurant around you. You allowed it.

The two of you acted so unexplainably platonic otherwise that George and Alex were racking their brains trying to figure out if you were even into each other or you had been pulling their legs the entire time. Even as goodbye hugs were shared at the end of lunch and you and Lando barely exchanged more than a three-second embrace with no drifting hands or sloppy kiss with it, George and Alex were utterly perplexed.

When the three guys waved you off as you drove away from the curb in your shiny car, George and Alex were turning to Lando, waiting for answers.

Lando was too apparently as he asked them excitedly, “Well? What did you think? Isn’t she amazing?”

“I mean, yeah, she’s awesome.” Alex agreed, “But, fuck, bro, I’m more affectionate with my sister.”

George nodded in easy agreement, “Yeah, I was ready for some serious PDA the way you talk about her.”

Lando just rolled his eyes, “My God…what’d you think was going to happen? We start sucking face at the table?”

“Maybe.” George and Alex both answered in unison.

Lando scoffed despite his smile.

Alex countered quickly, “You talk like you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

George repeated Lando’s confession from the previous day, “Fucking, like, five times a week.”

“And then you barely touch her! Not even a kiss goodbye!” Alex finished, gesturing towards the street that you had disappeared down.

“Guys,” Lando stopped them calmly, “seriously, I want to literally jump her every second of every day but we can’t. Her job is so public and even everyone at the office apart from her three best friends don’t know about our…relationship…thing.”

“Can’t she just tell the public that she’s dating you?” Alex crossed his arms over his chest almost defensively.

“I dunno if we ever are dating.” Lando shrugged.

“Based on the way she was looking at you?” George scoffed, “She definitely at least wants it.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Lando reminded them.

“A fake one.” Alex countered.

“The public doesn’t know that.”

“So tell them.”

“We can’t. It’s in her contract.” Lando pressed. “Believe me, I’ve asked many times. You know I can’t fucking stand that guy. But she insists that she’s not with him and that it’s just PR and I believe her…it just doesn’t make it easy. It’s nearly fucking impossible to not kiss her every second I see her.”

“Personally, I’m not going to believe you until I see you two kiss with my own eyes.” George shrugged.

“Okay. Then you might be waiting a while.” Lando chuckled as they started to walk back down the street towards Casino Square and the rest of their touristy afternoon together.

It wasn’t until Monday that Lando was going to see you again when you were scheduled to pick him up at the hotel like usual to bring him to work. Although he had the week off, you both thought it would be fun for George and Alex to see the office and to meet your friends, especially since Lily - your illustrator - had taken a liking to Alex through social media. Maybe you couldn’t be publicly romantic together but it wouldn’t stop you and Lando from being undercover matchmakers when you could.

At 8:30 Monday morning, the guys emerged from the hotel lobby to find your Mercedes parked out front waiting for them. George nearly had a skip in his step as he followed closely behind Lando towards the car and when he opened the back door, he sent a disbelieving grin back to Alex. Lando took to the passenger seat - of course - and you greeted him with a brief over-the-console one armed hug like every morning. George and Alex were tucked in the backseat and George was peering around the sleek black interior of your car with his mouth nearly hanging open like a kid in a candy store. Alex gently nudged his jaw shut.

“Morning, boys.” you greeted them with a smile through the rearview mirror.

They replied just as warmly and politely as you pulled away from the curb, letting your engine pull you towards the road with such pep that George was beaming and grabbing onto the window ledge of the backseat. Alex rolled his eyes at his dramatics.

“Are you sure I can’t help out today?” Lando asked you.

“Nope. You three are visitors only today.” you assured him, “You’re there for a tour and then you’re gone. No way I want you to be doing boring work on the week you guys have finally met.”

“We’re the office VIPs.” Alex grinned.

“Pretty much.” you chuckled, guiding your little group through the lanes of early morning downtown Monaco traffic. “Although this is a one time thing and I twisted a lot of arms to allow you guys to pop by so just try not to be too too distracting, okay?”

Alex spoke up jokingly from the seat behind you, “Yes, mom.”

Lando turned over his shoulder to send Alex a weird glare all while you just laughed. George and Alex snickered.

Just like you had when Lando had first stepped foot in your office, he now accompanied you on showing around George and Alex. The four of you walked the lap of the office from meeting rooms to the lunchroom and the printing room and everything in between and all the while, Lando was just smiling proudly at you. He kept glancing at his best friends just to make sure they were still listening as you explained everything you were proud of when it came to your little office sanctuary. Finally, you ended your walk at the main open space of the office where most of the employee’s desks were laid out.

Lando flopped into his chair, “And this is my desk. Where the magic happens.”

George snorted, “Okay.”

Although everyone was working diligently - most with headphones on - you pointed out each important person from your team, ending right down by the desks where you were closest to your office, introducing your three best friends; Oscar, Lily, and Charles.

Oscar, who had been trained to nearly follow your every move, was already at your side once you approached the area and he held a few files in his hands, insisting that you prepare for your afternoon media interview. You spoke to him quietly for a second, leaving the guys to busy themselves.

Both Charles and Lily were at their respective desks with their headphones on and their minds busy with their work. George was sitting on the side of Lando’s desk and staring at everything he could possibly stare at, just taking it all in.

Alex, on the other hand, was pacing slowly, skimming the busy office and the dedicated workers that took it up. Lily’s desk was somewhat close to Lando’s and, being the next person nearby, he approached her quietly with his hands behind his back. She was clicking and typing away on her laptop as she edited one of her mockups; she knew your taste well after so long of working together. Alex watched from over her shoulder for a few seconds, going unnoticed by her, and when his gaze shifted from her screen, he scanned her desk. It was busy with some of the work she needed to have on hand but still quite organized and a few trinkets littered the corner.

He smiled at the sight of the little golfer figurine and he stepped closer casually to poke its bobblehead, making the head with the visor sway to and fro. The sudden close presence had Lily startling out of her zone and she literally jumped at the movement of his hand into her space.

“Sorry!” Alex took his hand back quickly.

She pulled off her headphones and turned to him, “What are-”

Her words halted.

“Sorry.” Alex repeated. He cleared his throat and then gestured to the golfer again, “Just liked your little dude there.”

Lily followed his point to the bobblehead and then she looked back up at him, “I…thanks.”

He glanced over his shoulder towards Lando and George who were watching him casually and he turned back to her, “I’m just here with Lando…he’s my best friend.”

Lily nodded with a small smile, “I know.”

“Right.” Alex chuckled. “Of course you know.”

There was a pause.

Lily looked back to her golfer bobblehead that had been gifted to her by yourself on her one year anniversary of working with you. She directed a casual question to the handsome young man who had somehow helped himself to her desk, “So you like golf?”

“Yeah.” Alex answered easily, “But I’m so shit.”

The shared light laughter.

“That’s so cool.” Lily replied, “I love it too. Have you given the Monaco course a try?”

“No, not that I could even afford a round.” Alex snorted, suddenly realizing how uncool he sounded.

Lily offered him a sweet smile and a little shrug, “I mean, you can always come with me sometime. I have a membership.”

Alex gaped, “Really?”

“Yeah, definitely! I’m in desperate need of a golfing partner. None of my friends ever want to come.”

“Seriously. I’m so down.” Alex offered honestly.

“Alright then.” Lily shared in his grin.

“Lily!”

Your call from a few metres away had them both looking over at you as if they had been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. Their shocked expressions had you peaking a brow.

“Was gonna ask if you wanted lunch? Oscar’s gonna order something.”

Lily nodded, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“And our guests have to get going…I have to prep for that Zoom later.”

Alex quickly shoved his phone at Lily, “Can I have your Instagram or something? We can keep discussing this later if you want?”

She laughed lightly, “We already follow each other.”

“Oh.” Alex could have mentally punched himself in the face, “Right! Yes, I knew that. Sorry.”

She simply giggled and set her gentle hand on his forearm as if to reassure him with a soft, “I’ll message you.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Alex took a step back, “And sorry again for scaring you.”

“That’s okay.” she smiled bashfully and turned back her laptop.

Lando, George, and you were already heading for the elevator and he followed after you quickly with a beaming smile across his face, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Was wondering how quickly you and Lily were going to find each other.” you chuckled knowingly as your little group waited for the elevator to arrive.

Alex just licked away his smile and took one last glance over his shoulder towards the row of desks across the office. George nudged him as the elevator doors slid open.

Stepping inside, the four of you had a moment away from the looming public and Lando slid his hand into yours easily as if the four walls of the office elevator had already seen enough of your secrecy before. You smiled over at him, letting the presence of his two best friends on his other side fade away as they fell into quiet discussion over two of your friends.

“You have a good week, okay?” you told Lando gently, “Enjoy not having to work. I’m jealous.”

“But does this mean I won’t see you all week?” he pouted slightly, keeping his gaze on your face.

“You can see me whenever you want…but I want you to enjoy yourself with your friends too.” you replied, reaching over to rest your hand against his chest. “Okay?”

Lando nodded, speaking quietly to your lips, “I know. Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome.” you smiled.

He leaned in towards you naturally and your hand slid up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck as you met each other halfway for a soft kiss. Lips locked softly, you both lingered there for a moment as the elevator beeped past floor after floor. Only a few seconds later, you were moving back for a lick to your lips and the gentle sound of your kiss had Alex and George whipping their heads around to look, their conversation immediately dropped.

Lando could feel their eyes on the back of his head and he smiled proudly as he leaned back in towards you and captured your lips with his own. Sharing a few more gentle kisses, you were soon leading him away by your hand back against his chest and you grinned to the elevator screen as the ground floor approached. Lando leaned in once more to kiss your cheek and then you had to let go of each other’s hands to face the public reality once more.

George and Alex were deer in headlights next to the pair of you, startled by the sudden display of affection you shared and the fact that you had shared it literally right beside them. Meanwhile, Lando was walking on air and as you said your goodbyes and they headed for the bus stop, he was literally radiating.

Once you were out of earshot, his best friends nearly jumped on him, tugging at his shirt and cheering dramatically for such an innocent kiss. Lando wasn’t totally sure what the big deal was - you had done plenty more than that - but he basked in the attention with pride over the fact that he had you and his best friends held the proof.

Monday moulded quickly into Tuesday, the days speeding by with trips all over the Principality and the South of France. As Tuesday ended with a tennis match for the guys and an Uber back to the hotel from the game after a long day, Lando found himself missing you more and more. Laying alone in his hotel room bed, he added up the days it had been since he had been able to fall asleep with you and he dramatically came to the conclusion that he hadn’t gone that long without you sleeping beside him since before he came to Monaco. He didn’t necessarily appreciate that discovery.

So, to take matters into his own hands, he let his friends keep themselves busy on Wednesday morning as he insisted that he visit the office for lunch. Alex and George didn’t put up much of an argument and they made a plan to meet Lando after at a location to be determined.

Under the sunny Monte Carlo sky, Lando took the bus farther into downtown to locate the street where the office building was located and he got off a bit early in order to make a pitstop on his way. He first stopped by a florist that housed the most vibrant arrangements of flowers along the sidewalk with chalkboard signs and billowing awnings that reminded him of France and he took his time walking along the rows of water filled pots to find the perfect little bouquet.

With a bunch of pink peonies in hand and wrapped prettily in paper and cellophane, Lando continued a few stores down to a small bistro. He ordered your favourite pasta that you would always get when you went there - he always paid attention to every little thing about you…you were his dream girl after all and he would take any and every chance to impress you - and then he skimmed their wine list.

“Anything of interest, sir?” the waiter asked when he returned from punching in the pasta order.

Lando, who had virtually no experience in ordering wine, hesitated, “Uhm…I want something red.”

“Aged?”

Lando bit his lip, “Yes…old?”

The waiter smiled knowingly at the inexperience of his customer and leaned over the counter to look at the drink menu with him, “Our house wine is good to start off with.”

“Oh, it’s not for me.” Lando said, deciding to chance his invisibility in public without you at his side and therefore not being associated with him, “It’s for my girlfriend.”

The word tasted too good on his tongue and he looked back down at the menu to hide the rouge that dusted his cheeks, a red that burned as deep as the wine he was ordering.

“I see. She enjoys red?” the waiter asked.

“Prefers it.” Lando nodded.

“Then how about our Cabernet Sauvignon? Grown just outside Nice in local vineyards. Aged to perfection.”

Lando shrugged, convinced, “Sure. If that’s what you think is best.”

So he ended up with a bag of take out pasta, a bottle of red, and a bouquet of flowers in his arms as he took the elevator in the office up to the familiar floor. Maybe it looked suspicious that he was bringing you lunch when he had a week off but he missed you too much and he was willing to risk it for a romantic gesture as such. It had him brushing off the slightly confused smile in greeting from the secretary as he walked past and towards your office. He stopped outside the glass wall and peeked inside, only to find your desk empty.

“Lando.”

The sharp whisper had him turning around to see Oscar hurrying over to him. A few of the other employees were glancing at him from their desks, probably just as confused over his appearance with a strange combination of items.

“Hey, Osc.” Lando smiled coolly.

Oscar grabbed his arm and yanked him into your empty office, shutting the glass door behind the two of them.

“What are you doing here?” he spoke quietly but sternly, eyeing the items he was carrying.

“I brought her lunch.” Lando answered softly, “And flowers. Because I missed her.”

Oscar glanced back out to the office, his arms folded over her chest.

Lando followed his gaze, “Where is she?”

They looked back at each other.

“She’s in a meeting.” Oscar answered.

“Okay. I can wait.”

“That’s not a good idea. Not with all this.” he gestured to the flowers, “What were you thinking? What kind of message does this send?”

Lando pouted, “A nice one?”

Oscar sighed, “Yes, it’s nice but not for the office. This is so risky. Especially today.”

“Why especially today?” Lando frowned.

His obvious pout had Oscar pausing, staring at the sweet blush on his cheeks and the pleading look in his green eyes, his arms full of caring gifts for Oscar’s best friend. Oscar huffed and dropped his arms into a shrug.

“It’s not my place.” he admitted in half defeat, “You’re right, it’s a nice gift.”

“I just wanted to bring her lunch.” Lando mumbled.

“I know. That was nice of you.”

“I won’t get in the way.”

“I know.”

“Is the meeting almost done?”

Oscar glanced back at the analog clock on the wall above your desk and then answered him, “Momentarily probably.”

“Can I wait here?”

“Sure, but I have to tell her that you’re here.”

“That’s fine.”

Oscar brushed past him and he turned to watch him go, only finding the reason behind his slight panic the moment his eyes caught sight of the subject oncoming down the hall. Lando had to grip tighter onto the items in his arms as the slender brunette figure walking at your side had a fictitious knife jamming itself right into Lando’s heart.

He had only ever seen pictures of your PR boyfriend, suffered through months and months of watching through social media and news coverages of your dates, your sickening comments on each other’s posts, and everything in between that made him feel his lunch in the back of his throat. Now he knew it was all a facade now but the mere sight of him had Lando’s fight or flight triggering.

Oscar couldn’t get a single word out before you had already spotted Lando through the glass wall of your office. He had never seen your face fall at the sight of him before that moment. He swallowed. The man at your side locked eyes with him.

Lando turned away from the hallway as he took a deep trembling breath, “Shit.”

The office door opened and in you came. Lando glanced back to the hallway and Oscar could barely send him a pitied glance, Charles with wide eyes beside him, staring back at him, before you were in his line of vision.

“Who’s this?” the brunette asked, standing almost protectively right at your side, his words laced in a pristine French accent. Lando could have vomited on his brown designer boots.

“Oh…this is Lando,” you introduced as calmly, coolly, as you could. “My intern.”

The fictitious knife twisted in Lando’s chest.

You unknowingly dug it deeper as you gave skewed context to the man beside you, “Y’know…the fan I flew out for the summer?”

“Ah, that’s right.” he snapped his fingers as if it all came back to him. He then held out his hand to Lando with an honest smile, “Nice to meet you. I’m Pierre. I’m her boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” Lando exhaled shakily but he didn’t have a hand free to take his. The cellophane that the flowers were wrapped in crinkled under Lando’s white knuckled grip.

You spoke to him plainly, “What are you doing here? Isn’t it your day off?”

Lando’s eyes searched yours. He wasn’t prepared for this…what it all meant…what he was allowed to say.

“I…just picked you up lunch.” Lando tried.

“Right.” you played it off expertly, shooting a smile to the slender Frenchman at your side, “I forgot I had sent for it.”

Lando pulled a tight smile as you took the take out bag and the wine from him.

“Thank you.” you said, drifting past him to set them on your desk.

Pierre gestured to the flowers that Lando still held, “The flowers?”

“I asked.” you grabbed them right out of Lando’s hand and barely gave him a second look, your own heart hammering in your chest, as you hurried back across your spacious office to set the bouquet in the empty vase on the table by the window, “Just kinda…brightens up the place.”

“They’re nice.” your boyfriend smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.” you turned back to Lando, “Thanks.”

Lando’s voice wavered as he answered, “You’re welcome.”

“Anything else?” you asked him, although your eyes nearly begged him to leave.

Pierre drifted over to you again and draped his arm around your back.

Lando swallowed back the lump in his throat and he took a step back, “Nope.”

“Okay. See ya.” you said.

“Yep.” Lando nearly walked right into the glass wall before his shaking hand found the door handle. He yanked it open and hurried out into the main office space, sniffling casually as his hands jammed into his pockets and he bit his lip so hard it hurt. Lily, Charles, and Oscar watched from their desks as he hightailed it towards the elevator.

But, as your door closed slowly behind him, he caught your boyfriend speaking to you softly, “It’s cute…you can tell he’s a fan; his voice shakes when he talks to you.”

Lando didn’t wait around long enough to hear your response.

It wasn’t until Lando reached his hotel room that the reality of the situation settled in and - just his luck - his best friends weren’t there. Struggling to keep his breathing controlled as his eyes burned with tears, he pulled out his phone as he started to pace up and down the length of the carpeted room. The fact that he had no message from you only made him more upset and he opened the group chat with his friends.

landonorris: Where r u georgerussell63: We’re eating lunch at this place a few streets down from the hotel georgerussell63: You’re done already?? landonorris: No landonorris: It went really shitty landonorris: Are you almost done landonorris: Can you come back georgerussell63: I mean our food JUST got here…do you wanna meet us here? Tell us about what happened and maybe eat? landonorris: No I can’t landonorris: I’m losing my shit rn I can’t be in public georgerussell63: Fuck mate that bad?? georgerussell63: Wtf happened?? alex_albon: George is a horrible texter when he’s speaking for the both of us alex_albon: We’re coming Lan just hold tight a few minutes landonorris: k

Lando sat himself down on the end of his bed and exited the group chat, being faced with some fan account’s repost of Pierre’s story. It was a picture of you - of course - as you ate your pasta at your desk with the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers just barely visible in the side of the frame. The caption on the repost was something from the fan expressing her excitement over how ‘cute’ you were and how ‘perfect’ he was for bringing you lunch and flowers. Lando wanted to throw up.

He opened up his message thread with you, ready to send you some angry note but his thumbs hovered over the keyboard without pressing a button. The last messages stared back at him; your exchange of hearts and kissy emojis and Lando had to rub his hand over his chest from the ache in his heart that lingered.

The sound of the hotel room door opening startled him - not having expected his friends so soon - but Lando jumped up from his bed to meet them, his face a mix of emotional and pathetic expression. George and Alex were just as wide eyed and not knowing what they were going to be walking into, take-out bags in hand. Lando’s bottom lip trembled over the fact that his friends skipped their lunch for him and the emotions that overtook him from the last hour and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to try not cry in front of them.

“Fuck.” he said through his teeth.

“Shit, mate, what the fuck happened?” Alex set his takeout bag on the counter and George did the same, the two older friends hurrying over to tend to the obviously distraught youngest.

“He was there!” Lando said loudly, dropping his hands. He had to explain but your boyfriend’s name always tasted bitter on his tongue so he settled for the codename that he and his two best friends had made back when your relationship went public, “Fuckin’…guillotine.”

George and Alex’s eyes only widened more.

“Oh-“ Alex stumbled out.

“Did he say something?” George pried.

“H-He was nice but he clearly doesn’t know who I am and she didn’t bother telling him!” Lando continued loudly, “I brought her her favourite lunch and favourite flowers and even a bottle of red wine and she…she played it like she had told me to pick it up for her. She introduced me as her intern. As the fan.”

“I mean…was the entire workplace listening?” George offered an excuse.

“No!” Lando answered, “It was just the three of us in her office and he was just…he was looking at me! I wanted to punch him in the face! Putting his arm around her…talking to me like I’m a kid! ‘Oh he’s definitely a fan…how cute’. Shut the fuck up. I’d like to hear him try and call me cute again after he finds out the way I fuck her.”

George and Alex smothered their shocked laughter over Lando’s quick snap back.

Alex spoke first, “She was probably just surprised that you were there and didn’t know what to do.”

Lando only continued in his emotional tangent, “If their relationship is fake then why does she have to hide it from him? Not like she’s cheating. He’s not the public. What’s it to him?”

“That’s valid.” George agreed.

Alex nodded.

“And!” Lando wasn’t done, “He posted a picture of her eating the lunch that I bought her! Now all the fans are taking it out of context because they don’t know and thinking he bought her all that. ‘What a great boyfriend!’”

His voice broke at the end as he struggled to hold back his tears. George and Alex exchanged nervous glances while Lando waited for their life-changing words of wisdom.

George sighed, “Jesus, Lan, we hate seeing you like this. We’ve always been a little apprehensive that you’d get hurt through all this and, well, here it is.”

“It’s always good.” Lando assured them easily with a sniffle, “It’s just…not good today.”

“It’s part of that Monaco life, huh?” Alex pressed, “Like you have always said. It’s fucked up but it’s all just part of this balancing act?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. It’s so fucking hard to stay afloat.”

“She’ll message you soon to clear today up…I’m sure of it.” George assured him with a gentle pat to his shoulder, “When she does, tell her how it felt today…being a little trapped like that. She’ll understand, I’m sure. Just give her the evening. We can tell she’s super into you so try not to get too in your head about it.”

Alex concluded easily, “And try not to read shit online. People are dumb.”

“Yeah.” Lando rubbed his hands across his in exasperation.

George stepped closer to pull him into a hug first and Alex quickly joined, the three of them lingering in a group hug for a moment. Lando let out a heavy breath as he found his momentary comfort in the presence of his friends that had once only been able to reassure him with online messages. But now, sharing a hotel room together in Monaco, the three best friends sat down to divide up the two take out bags of lunch just to make sure that Lando had something to eat too.

Lando didn’t hear from you all afternoon…all evening…and even well into the following morning. Sitting by the hotel pool that Thursday afternoon, Lando was simmering in his constant state of stress with his phone resting impatiently, screen up, on his thigh. His notebook was open on his lap and he was scribbling notes down in messy lines across the pages as a way to let his anxieties out rather than the less than ideal alternative of sending you emotional paragraphs in your dms. It had been all too long since you had messaged him and not only was he missing you but he was upset with you all in the same.

On the lounge chair on his right, Alex was bragging to the other two about his nearly daily messages with Lily where they filled the times discussing travel, their families, and their shared appreciation for golf. Lando tried not to be envious - what was there to even be envious of, he would silently tell himself, he was the one who had his girl in bed after all - but the green eyed monster wasn’t kind. Even right there, lounging by the pool, Alex’s shared stories were interrupted a few times by a ding on his phone to which he would make a point to pause his entire train of thought to answer Lily’s message. If it was any other time, Lando would have been elated for his best friend. Because it was right then, he was sure that if he rolled his eyes any farther back he would see his brain.

“Anyway, where was I?” Alex put his phone down again and tucked his hands behind his head as he stared up to the Mediterranean sun with a smile, “Ah, yes. Lily was saying that she wants to take me to the Golf Club before I leave. She said it’s the most famous one in Monaco…views of the ocean. We might make a day out of it…if she was serious. Maybe she was just being hypothetically nice. Shit, do you think she was just being hypothetical?”

“No way!” George answered easily from Alex’s other side, scrolling aimlessly through his phone although he was still completely listening. He glanced over, “You gotta hold her to that, mate.”

“I know, I know.” Alex agreed. “We only have a few days left…maybe I should make a plan for tomorrow. Were we going to do anything tomorrow?”

George shrugged, “Nothing specific.”

Lando answered from Alex’s other side, “Just hating my life.”

Alex reached over and snatched the notebook out of Lando's hand, “What are you even writing in here?”

“Mate.” Lando huffed and tried to grab for it but Alex held it out of his reach as he skimmed the lines.

“What is this? A poem?” Alex flipped the page.

“Maybe. I dunno. I’m just scribbling random shit.” Lando mumbled, twirling his pen between his fingers anxiously as his private words were read by the eyes of his best friend.

“It’s really good.” Alex told him. “You always tend to do your best work when you’re emo.”

“Yeah, well…” Lando faded out as his notebook was passed back to him. He skimmed a few of his own lines before taking his pen and scratched out a large chunk.

“Hey!” Alex frowned, reaching over to smack his arm, “What are you scratching out?”

“It’s shit.”

“It is not.”

Lando slouched farther back against his lounge chair and continued writing without another word. Alex sighed and picked up his phone from his lap again to answer his messages from Lily that he had missed while reading Lando’s notebook. As he typed his response with a smile, a notification popped down from the top of his screen.

georgerussell63 sent a post

Glancing to his right in slight confusion, George was already staring right back at him, his expression flat. Alex tapped the notification to open his private chat with George to see what he had sent in such secrecy. The post that was revealed had his eyes going wide.

alex_albon: Oh fuck georgerussell63: Right?? georgerussell63: Wtf do we do alex_albon: We need to tell him georgerussell63: Do we? He’s already so down after yesterday. This will just make it worse alex_albon: Yeah but he’s going to find out somehow regardless. Better he hears it from us georgerussell63: True…

In unison, both George and Alex looked over at Lando on their far left. Sensing their sudden stares, he looked back at them. Glancing between them, Lando frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“We’re gonna show you something and you’re going to hate it.” Alex warned.

Lando’s face fell, “What? Then…don’t show me.”

“We have to because it’s going to be everywhere in a bit and we need to rip off the bandaid.”

Lando nibbled at his bottom lip, “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“What is it?” Lando’s voice was wavering already.

Alex passed over his phone.

Lando took it cautiously and glanced at the Instagram post that was on the screen. Posted by paparazzi was last night’s footage of you and your boyfriend walking hand in hand to a date venue. Lando scrolled to the next slide and the next, witnessing photograph after photograph of you in a short black dress being touched and swooned over and kissed by this man. Lando zoomed in on the last picture, right up close, so he could stare at the way you were leaning into him with your smiling lips pressed to his and an expensive glass of red wine in your hand.

Lando had spent all night virtually waiting by the phone for you to call and you weren’t even thinking of him. You were busy getting dressed up and going out with your fake boyfriend; not a care in the world to the way you hurt him that very same day. He never once received a message from you or a warning or any sort of reassurance that it was nothing.

Lando gave Alex his phone back, letting it go before wiping his hands on his towel beneath him like the news was physically disgusting. He closed his notebook. His two best friends watched him carefully, worriedly.

“What are you thinking, mate?” George asked.

Lando didn’t answer as he took a second to stare across the glimmering pool into space, trying to collect his whirling thoughts enough to make a cohesive sentence.

“Lan?” Alex pressed.

Lando took a breath and then grabbed his notebook and pen and phone, “I gotta go.”

“Where?” Alex started to get up too.

“Not you.” Lando stopped them both quickly as he stood up. “Just me. I just…need a fucking second.”

“Are you sure?” George asked.

“You don’t have to be alone right now.” Alex added.

“Yeah.” Lando barely offered them a response before he was walking off down the side of the pool area and back into the hotel.

Alex and George watched him go.

Lando was burning with heartbroken anger as he approached the elevators and pressed the call button a few times in impatient desperation. He didn’t feel like crying over it anymore - he was so numb to the sight of you with Pierre over the prior year - but now that everything was made more complicated by your situation-ship, Lando was just angry. Hurt and angry made for a cruel emotion stewing in his chest.

Up in the hotel room, Lando was muttering unpleasantries to himself as he dressed into street clothes, leaving his phone on his bed as he did so. The screen lit up with a response from Oscar to the message he sent on his way up in the elevator,

-She’s working late at the office tonight. Why do you need to know?

Lando didn’t bother replying as he snatched his phone from the bed, his wallet from the dresser, and was out the door in a flash.

The late afternoon welcomed Lando out onto the street and he took the usual bus route farther into downtown, leaving his clueless best friends behind without a word of warning. His heart was absolutely hammering in his chest despite the fact that he had no plan ahead of him. Running on emotion was a dangerous thing to do but he needed to do it. He had only spent the last few years chasing you and he wasn’t going to let one useless, irrelevant guy get in the way of that.

It was past 5:00 when Lando arrived at the office building and it was perfectly silent on the floor when the elevator doors slid open. The reception desk was empty and the logo on the wall behind the desk was dark and Lando hurried right past it and into the just as quiet office that was laid out behind it.

The only light that was on - countering the fading light from the horizon outside - was the one in your glass framed office. It felt surreal as Lando made his emotional run to you without the slightest clue what he was going to say to you or expect of you once there. Regardless, he stopped right outside your office and took a second to stare at you as you sat at your desk, typing away at your laptop without a care in the world. You were wearing your usual work attire of a skirt and blouse and your hair was free flowing over your shoulders, still hanging onto the shape of the curls that you had styled last night for your date. The pink peonies sat on the corner of the desk across from you.

Lando pushed open the glass door and helped himself to the room, startling you slightly from your silent writing bubble you had placed yourself in. You looked across your spacious office to where he stood in the doorway.

“Lando…” you breathed in surprise. “What are you-“

He wasn’t willing to let you speak first. He wasn’t willing to give you the upper hand that you always had on him since the very start.

“Don’t.” he snapped. “Don’t act surprised because I know you’re not that fucking dumb.”

You shut your mouth in utter surprise over his sudden out of character hostility towards you without even so much as a hello.

“I know that this,” he gestured between the two of you as he took a step farther into your office, “is really confusing and unlabeled and made so much more difficult because of your work and I get that - I really do - but I am also not a fucking emotionless rug you can walk all over and expect nothing to come of it.”

“Lando-“ you tried.

He kept going, his words obviously emotional, and his expression screwed up in an angry mix of sadness and frustration, “We never spoke about what we are and maybe that was stupid but in case you didn’t know, I really fucking like you. My entire goddamn life revolves around you. I uprooted my entire summer to come out here not just to help your team but to be with you because I care about you and I want to spend every second of every day with you because I like you more than you clearly know. You took my fucking virginity for God’s sake, how do you expect me to act after that?”

You sighed softly and closed your laptop, “Lan-“

He cut you off again, “So sorry if I’m not another emotionless shell like everyone else in this stupid fucking city but I thought you’d at least have the decency to tell me when shit was going down. Like, I dunno, when he showed up?”

“Pierre?” you questioned.

His name made Lando literally flinch.

“You know he’s just a PR stunt. It’s not real-“

Lando jumped in easily, speaking loudly through your office, “Then why did you introduce me as your intern? Just some stupid fan? If he’s that meaningless then why can’t you tell him about us? Or do you have something you want to tell me?”

You stood up from your desk, “I don’t have anything to tell you. You know more than a lot of people already.”

“Maybe so but you don’t care! Because if you cared you would have told me that he was going to be here! Or that you were going out last night! Instead I had to find out on Instagram about your date night and see pictures of you touching him and kissing him like you’re supposed to be touching and kissing me.”

“It’s for promotion, Lando, I promise you-“

“I don’t give a shit!” Lando shouted.

It was the first time you had heard him yell and it startled you into wide eyed silence. As he took a step towards you again, you could see the way his eyes nearly shimmered with tears but he kept them back almost expertly.

“I don’t give a shit what it’s for and who tells you to do it! I deserve to know!”

“Why?” you pushed back.

“Because you’re mine and I hate this!” Lando yelled.

“Oh, I’m yours?” you pressed.

“Yes!” Lando was right on the other side of the desk from you, pressing his finger to his chest purposefully as he spoke directly to you, “You’re mine. You are literally part of my heart and I deserve to know when things happen in your life…things that affect me!”

You leaned your hands on the glass desk in front of you and his eyes dropped to the open neck of your blouse for a split second before meeting your gaze again as you countered him expertly, “What happens in my business world is honestly none of your concern.”

“Didn’t know being a slut for paparazzi cameras was such an important part of your sales.”

You stood back up straight and crossed your arms over your chest with a rush of rouge to your cheeks so you could only stumble out a, “Oh fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” he snapped right back, turning his index finger towards you next, “Don’t even try to paint me as the bad guy here.”

“You called me a slut!”

“Fine! Not like it bothered you before but then pick a better word!” Lando threw his hands up, only growing in volume with each second and each slow taunting step he took around your desk towards you, “What were you being, huh? Selfish? Ignorant? A stupid bitch who likes flaunting her money and her body around this fucked up city for any sliver of male attention because apparently having a genuine every-day guy from the middle class is too goddamn boring for you.”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” you snapped back, “Because there is no way in hell that you are the same guy from that book signing…the one who brought me flowers-“

“Oh so you finally acknowledge that the flowers were from me! Nice!” Lando checked his imaginary watch, “Only took you almost two fucking days.”

You let out a scoff in exasperation.

“Sorry that I’m being a bit intense right now but I’m not going to apologize for being hurt.” Lando continued. “Because I’ve been sitting in my hotel room nearly crying since you completely blindsided me yesterday-“

“I blindsided you?” you gaped. “You came storming in here with a romantic lunch for two like it's our goddamn honeymoon while knowing full well that no one can know about us!”

“What about Pierre? Why can’t he know about us? Are you still involved with him? Are you still sleeping with him and that’s why you couldn’t tell him the truth?”

“Listen to yourself!” you shouted at him desperately, “You’ve gone fucking insane! I’m not sleeping with Pierre! I don’t lie to you! I didn’t feel comfortable telling him everything right there because if you weren’t aware, my entire fucking staff was sitting there with only a piece of glass between us! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Hard to believe when you were sucking face on your date later that night!”

“It’s our job, Lando! Fuck!” you raked your hands through your hair in exasperation, “It was a complete set up! We anonymously tipped the paparazzi to be there and everything for the publicity! We had to play the part! It wasn’t more than a few kisses, a few drinks over dinner, and meaningless hand holding to and from the car. I certainly didn’t enjoy it!”

“A text wouldn’t have been too much to ask!”

You slammed your hand down against your desk with frustration, telling him sternly right to his face as he stood only a foot or two to your right, “If you can’t handle the responsibilities that come with my job then maybe this position isn’t right for you.”

“I’m not here for the job!” Lando answered loudly.

You responded quickly with a step closer, matching his volume perfectly with your upset expression staring right into his, “Then maybe being with me isn’t right for you!”

Lando’s hand was on the back of your neck before you could even flinch and he yanked your mouth to his effortlessly. Your lips met a little off centre and you stumbled a bit closer to him as he forced you into a kiss. Almost nervous to touch him, your hands hesitated in midair between you for a beat as your lips locked with his in fiery passion that burned your skin.

The heat from your intense argument had his heart racing in his chest, thudding against his ribs, and his clothes felt suffocating. He was desperate for air - a release that only you could give him - and your empty threats just made him crazy for more.

Lando’s hand slid around from the back of your neck to grab you by the throat, guiding you through your shared open mouthed kisses in your silent vacant office. Both breathing heavily from your borderline screaming match only seconds before, the silence rang in your ears and your fingers dusted over the front of his t-shirt, still hesitant to touch him. But Lando just tugged you closer by your throat, taken over by some other force that pulled him out of his shy spell, and his sudden dominance was making you weak at the knees.

You moaned softly as he guided you back against your desk and your ass hit the edge, your hands falling blindly onto the tabletop behind you, lips still taken by his.

With a strong bite to your bottom lip, Lando was pulling away from your kiss and his hand around your throat kept your gaze on his as he spoke lowly to you, “Don’t you ever say that to me again. Being with you is and always has been my life’s entire goal.”

You stared at each other for a moment and as the honesty of his words settled in, you reached up to the back of his neck and pulled his lips to yours once more. Lando took a step closer to you, trapping you back against your desk as your arms slung around his shoulders and your body moulded against his. His cautious hands found the dip of your waist and he held you securely as he leaned farther into you, almost bending you backwards slightly as his lips locked with yours.

The heat of your argument was still lingering in the colour on your cheeks and the sudden flip from anger into passion had your heart thudding in your ears. Your ten fingers pressed into the back of his neck, holding his mouth on yours through desperate emotional kisses that left you dizzy. When you tilted your head to kiss him deeper, Lando’s hand slid back up to your throat and he eased you away with one more nip to your bottom lip.

“On your knees.” he ordered lowly.

You had to physically bite your lip to hide the smile that threatened to come to your face at his growing dominance and he stepped away from you just enough to allow you to sink to your knees in front of him. Right away, you were pushing up the bottom of his shirt and popping the button on his pants and tugging down the zipper.

“Fuck.” Lando breathed in near shock, trying his damndest to keep his composure, knowing he had the upper hand there. He grabbed your wrists to stop you before you could strip him down and you peered up at his face expectantly, the sweetest expression on your face that for a second he forgot why he was so mad at you. But he recovered quickly, “Who’s the only one you're getting on your knees for?”

“You, sir.” you responded easily.

“Yeah?” Lando let go of one of your wrists so he could push his thumb past your painted lips. “Why’s that?”

You hummed softly around his thumb, sucking gently as you stared up at him from your spot on your ground. You let him pull it from your mouth with a wet pop so you could answer him, “Because I’m yours. Only yours.”

He almost believed you just by the look in your eyes.

The concept of you submitting to him was invigorating and he shuffled down his pants and boxers to his knees and then slid his hand into the back of your hair to pull you closer impatiently. Your hands rested against his bare thighs and your mouth opened gladly, letting him guide his semi-hard dick in against your waiting tongue. You wrapped your lips around him and suckled softly around the head of his cock, humming at the feeling of him growing harder in your mouth with each passing second.

Lando brushed your hair away from your face and over your shoulders, wrapping it messily around one hand so he could get a good look at you as he slowly eased you closer, his other hand holding up the bottom of his shirt. His dick disappeared into your mouth inch by inch and the warm wet confines that welcomed him in had his mouth falling open silently, burning with desire for you. You had a way of pushing his emotions to the edge time and time again; good and bad. He wanted all of you.

“That’s it.” he breathed, pulling you deeper until your nose touched the warm smooth skin of his pelvis, “You wanna lie? Keep stupid little secrets from me? Should punish this mouth of yours.”

You moaned around him, choking slightly as he stiffened completely by then and nudged at the back of your throat. He would never admit that he learned a lot from your novels - especially after hearing from you that you only wrote what you yourself were into - and only more so from firsthand experience in your bed. He only wanted to be good for you. And he wanted you to know just how much you meant to him. He only wanted you.

On your knees for him, you held yourself steady by your hands on his thighs, starting to bob your head along the length of his dick until he was gripping tighter to your hair and starting to thrust into your mouth. Gagging loudly around him, you dug your nails down into his flesh but took what he gave you, letting him fuck your throat. You shamelessly had craved it since the first week you had met him, wanting him to get rough with you. There was no better time than that mid-argument make-up sex.

You tapped out on his thigh, letting him know you needed air and he let you sit back for a second. You gasped out of it, watching how strings of spit connected your glistening lips to his swollen dick in front of your face. Blinking away tears that blurred your eyes, you looked up his body to the lustful expression on his face, shadowed by the dim lighting of your office and the sunset lights through the floor to ceiling windows only steps away. Lando set his hands flat on your glass desk, standing strongly in front of you. He impatiently dropped one hand back down to tangle in the back of your hair and pulled your mouth back down on his dick.

“Fuck.” Lando hissed quietly, greedily starting to thrust into your mouth shallowly.

The little gags that he fucked from your throat nearly made his eyes roll and he slammed his hand back down on your desk, leaving you to take what he gave you without guidance. You did, of course, holding onto his thighs with your manicured hands as he towered over your body and helped himself to your heavenly mouth and beautiful throat.

He could have finished himself off right there, dizzy on the perfect sensations of your mouth and the lewd sounds of your throat constricting around him with each thrust he gave you. Standing behind your desk with a clear view of your pristine office surrounding him, Lando was sure it was a dream. It couldn’t get much better than that. Even as he slowed his hips down to a stop, you raised a hand up to keep yourself going instead, moving hand and mouth in quick steady time around his slick cock.

Lando dropped his hand down to grab your hair and pull your mouth off him again, scolding down to you, “Did I say you could keep going?”

Your soft grip pumped his dick a few more times, coughing out a, “No.”

“Guess you really are a cockslut, huh? Just fucking desperate for dick?”

“Oh my God.” you groaned at his words, “Yes.”

Lando forcefully guided you to your feet by your hair, “Get up.”

You grasped onto his shirt for balance, gasping against his kiss as he tugged your lips on his again. He was filthy with it - choking you with his tongue until you were arching into his body hungrily and your fingers were pulling at his shirt for more. Oh how he had learned so much over the summer so far…

Lando spun you around and shoved you forward against your desk and you caught yourself with your hands flat on the table top. He flipped up your skirt and slapped his whole palm down against your ass, forcing a sharp gasp from your chest as the sound echoed through your glass framed office.

“Whose are you?” he asked.

“Yours.” you breathed.

He spanked you again, “What was that?”

“Yours, sir.”

Another spank, “Are you?”

You arched your back a little more so your ass was sticking out farther for him, “Oh my God, yes.”

He groped the flesh of your ass in one hand and jiggled it, “Does anyone else get to touch you like this?”

“No, sir.” you answered softly, licking away your eager smile.

“Why’s that?” Lando slapped your ass again.

“Oh, because I’m all yours.” you rushed out, pushing back against him desperately.

Lando’s hands caressed your ass and your waist as you ground back against his body until his cock was pressed between your cheeks and against the thin lace of your skimpy little panties.

“I’m your pretty little slut.” you promised.

Your words and your insistent touch had him groaning lowly, his eyes focused down to your ass and he linked one finger around the lace of your panties and pulled them to the side, allowing himself room to teasingly angle the head of his cock between your cheeks. You shuttered at the feeling, hands flat on your desk and just waiting for him to take you, any hostility immediately vanished from your mind at that moment.

“Please.” you breathed.

Lando nudged the head of his cock against your pussy, smearing it between your slick folds, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you answered easily. “Please, sir, I’m all yours.”

Lando brought his hand up to lick across his three fingers so he could smear it between your legs to get you just a bit wetter. He then had to take a silent anticipatory breath before easing steadily inside you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as your body gripped around him so tightly. Your stiff whimper at the stretch had his hand raising to wrap around your throat and his other grabbed a handful of the back of your skirt that was bunched up around your waist and he slipped deeper into you.

“Holy shit.” you exhaled shakily, “You’re so fucking big-“

Lando didn’t bother giving you a second to adjust before he was starting to thrust into you, tightening his hand around your throat. Your tight whimper and the snug grip of your pussy had his jaw clenching and his rhythm growing faster. His hand smacked down hard across your ass, making you squeak.

“You like this, don’t you? Dirty slut.” Lando growled from behind you, letting his lingering anger out on your welcoming body.

“Yeah, I’m your dirty slut. Your dirty little fucking slut.” you cried out, trying to fuck yourself back on him.

He spanked you again to stop you and then took his hand from your throat to push you down by the back of your neck, forcing you to bend at the waist over your glass desk. His tight grunt as he sped up had your mouth dropping open, slouched forward onto your forearms on either side of your closed laptop and your body took his quick strokes as deep as he could reach. It just made it easier for his balls to clap wetly against your pussy, making you arch deeper for him until they were hitting your aching clit with each thrust.

“F-Fuck-“ you choked out.

His hand grabbed a fistful of your hair to tug your head back as he had his way with you, fucking you over your desk until your moans were filling the glass framed room just how he had always dreamt. He spanked you across the ass again, leaving a blushing pink handprint on your skin in the light of the desk lamp that rattled with the rhythmic shuttering of the desk beneath. He wanted to claim you as his forever.

Dizzy with lust, he let it speak for him, “Whose is the only cock you’re taking? Hm?”

“Yours, sir.” you choked out and reached an arm out to grasp the opposite edge of your desk for something to hold onto. “Fuck, it feels so good!”

“Yeah?” he tugged your hair harder, making you cry out loudly through the office.

“Oh, God, Lando!” you sobbed out, struggling to keep the smile from your face, “Just like that!”

Wide eyed at his unknown ability to have you so pleading and responsive, Lando was burning with energy. He had enough practice with you over the summer that he wasn’t going to come so early anymore but he knew that wasn’t going to last long if you kept crying out for him like that. Even then, he definitely didn’t want you to stop.

You only grew wetter as the seconds passed until you were streaking his cock in slick arousal right down to the base, dripping down his balls, and the sound of him fucking you over your desk just grew louder. His hand in your hair prevented you from dipping your face down against your desk, forcing you to keep your eyes up and across your spacious corner office, staring right out the floor to ceiling windows opposite with a view of dusk painting the city. But with one more sharp spank across your ass, Lando was leaning down over top of you with one hand flat on your glass desk and the other moving from your hair to your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs as he fucked you faster, deeper, his blue eyed gaze watching how your expression moulded into pain and pleasure all in once. It was erotic.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” Lando groaned. “I better be the only one getting to see this face…looking so screwed up with pleasure for me.”

“Only for you.” you promised quickly, struggling to get words out with the way he pounded you over your desk. Even still, you arched your back for him the best you could to help him deeper, squeaking out a tight, “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Lando mumbled, his warm breath falling against your temple, “Good little slut.”

“Oh my God, s-sir- I’m gonna cum-“ you choked out, whimpering under his hand around your throat and your toes only curled in your red bottom heels against the floor.

But before you could, Lando stood up and pulled out quickly, leaving you shuttering through the sudden emptiness and gasping as his hand left your throat. You slumped forward onto your desk until you were laying across your laptop, writhing with how close he had gotten you before leaving you throbbing with desire. He grabbed you by the back of your shirt and bunched up skirt and tugged you up, holding you in front of him like that, trapped between his body and the desk. You reached a hand back to try and pull his lips on yours by the back of his neck but he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Do you think you deserve kisses?” he asked lowly, right to your face.

“I just want you to touch me.” you pleaded sweetly, grinding back against his body.

Lando responded right against your ear, “I think I need to hear an apology before you are allowed to cum.”

You licked away your smile as you stared back at him, “Sorry.”

He slapped his hand down against your ass, “Not enough.”

You whined softly for him, trying to pull his hands to touch you. Lando stepped away.

He kicked off his shoes as he gave you your order, nodding to the narrow table against the wall behind your desk, “I want you up on that console table there. Legs spread.”

He was so demanding it made you drip and you didn’t argue before hopping up onto the finished wood console, watching as he dropped his pants and boxers completely and kicked them to the side. His shirt came off next and you licked your lips at the sight of his naked body standing before you, your legs draped open wide over the edge of the narrow table, waiting for him. Your shirt was next as Lando pulled it up and over your head to let it drop to the floor with his clothes before he was following, getting on his knees in front of you.

He barely gave you a second to process before he was prying your thighs apart wider and dragging his tongue up your pussy. You exhaled shakily and dropped a hand down to his hair as he moved right back in with strong purposeful licks to clean up the messy wetness that had smeared all over your skin from the way he fucked you only moments before. He had grown so addicted to the taste of you over the summer that it was almost rare when he wouldn’t go down on you. Even when you made him the angriest, the saddest, the most worried, he always wanted a taste. It was still you after all; his dream girl.

“Lando…” you called sweetly, dazed with lust, and you reached down between you to link a finger around your soaked panties that were still just pushed to the side, “please take these off.”

He couldn’t say no to that and he took hold of the bunched up waistband and dragged the lacy material down your legs and to the ground. He then grabbed one of your thighs and pushed it up to hold you open for him, letting his tongue push inside you greedily to lick you out properly. Your hand in his hair only held him closer as your head fell back against the wall with a string of heavenly moans and whimpers that he forced from your chest. He only knew your body and no one else's so everything he learned was catered to you, meaning that every single thing he did was enough to make you breathless.

Lando’s tongue toyed with your clit soon after, his eyes staring up at you from between your legs as he flicked a steady rhythm only increasing with speed consistently. Your hips ground against his face as you whined and moaned through your office, your head falling gently back against the wall between your two framed literary awards that hung proudly behind your desk. Lando was in complete heaven, all-encompassed by your taste and sounds that only proved to him that he was always the one for you.

He suckled at your pussy with wet lips and tongue until his mouth was glistening and you were draping your leg over his shoulder, your heels falling from your feet one after the other until they hit the ground with two dull thunks. Writhing under his touch, you were moaning to the darkened ceiling, tugging at his hair, and blessing your office with the sound of his name on your lips.

But then Lando was pulling away again and standing up, forcing a displeased cry from your throat that he silenced with his mouth on yours. Your hands grasped the sides of his neck as he kissed you strongly and you worked to keep up with his insistent pace of lips and tongue. You couldn’t think of anything else but him, not ever, but especially not when he was situating himself between your legs and pushing your thighs apart farther until they burned and he swallowed your strained whimper with his pillowy lips.

In seconds, he was gliding his dick between your folds and then pressing it inside you again, watching how your head dropped back to break your kiss with the most erotic expression spread across your face. Lando could hear his heartbeat in his ears, burning at the sight of you giving into him. He grabbed your hips for stability and right away started to fuck you again, letting the filthy slick sound of your soaked pussy taking him in again and again fill your silent office.

“Oh my God, Lando.” you cried out softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders tightly to keep him close as you propped the heels of your bare feet up on the edge of the console table to keep your body spread for him.

“Whose are you?” he tried, his breath falling against your cheek in jagged pants from the rough way he was fucking you.

“Yours.” you answered melodically.

“Whose?” he pressed, wrapping his fingers around your throat again.

You groaned beautifully under his hand, staring into his eyes, “I’m yours, Lando.”

“Uh huh-” he licked his lips, staring at how your breasts were pushed up nice and full in your bra, “No one else’s.”

He used his other hand to grab onto the bunched up material of your skirt so he could fuck you hungrilly, keeping his eyes on your face as he did so. That way he could see every flash of expression that grazed your face, framed in the background by your awards that he himself had magazine cut outs of back in his bedroom at home. Now he was fucking you in front of the real things…having you as his own…life was a dream. A dream of just him and you.

You could feel that overwhelming warmth building inside you again, your toes curling over the edge of the table with how you were spread for him, and your fingers dug down into his shoulders pleadingly. His hand tightened around your throat, choking your moans, and he kept his dick ramming into you in quick precise strokes that had your muscles fluttering around him. He was going to lose it.

So he pulled out.

“Oh fuck you!” you gasped out sharply, the growing pleasure withering away into nothing again. You dropped a hand down to rub pleading at your pussy but he shoved you away, determined to stay completely in charge.

“You are not the boss of me, you hear me?” he spoke sternly to you. “Just because you’re pretty and rich and successful does not mean you can walk all over me.”

“No, sir.” you hurried out, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and pull him into you again.

“No, sir.” he mocked you gently, squeezing your cheeks in his hand. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You dropped your tongue out expectantly. He spit strongly into your mouth.

“Hold onto me.” he ordered quietly.

You tightened your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders and he anchored his hands under your ass so he could hoist you up off the console table and into his arms. He wasn’t insanely strong but it was still impressive and you dipped down to kiss him messily as he walked you across the office and over to the closest floor to ceiling window. Your back hit the cool glass first and you moaned into his mouth as the evening soaked city lay beyond you, threatening with sights of strangers if it weren’t for the unrecognizable height you were at in the building.

He took you so confidently like he had experience from the start and the sudden switch in his demeanor was completely arousing to you. You held his lips on yours by a gentle hand holding his jaw as your other arm was slung securely around his shoulders, breathing between your filthy wet kisses that only made you drip down your thighs.

“Lando…” you exhaled shakily, “Please.”

Despite the way you were magnetized to his lips, his eyes were open and lingering on your sweet face, holding your angelic body in his arms right up against the glass window to show you off as his own. He licked his way into your mouth, hungry, lost in the way you begged for him.

“Please, baby.” you pleaded against his mouth, tugging gently at the roots of his fading blonde dyed hair, “Please fuck me. I want your perfect cock inside me, please.”

“Only mine?”

“Only yours, yes, sir.”

Lando hoisted you up a little higher against the window and when he was sure you were secure, he moved one hand from supporting you to angle his dick between your spread legs.

He opened his mouth to speak but you were one step ahead of him, giving him exactly what he expected of you with a breathy, “I’m yours.”

“Oh my God, good girl.” Lando groaned, rewarding you with the fullness of his dick sheathing inside you once more.

Your head fell back against the window with a gasp, “Fuck!”

Lando was sure he was running on adrenaline, buzzing with desire for you and the way you submitted to him so easily. He was hungry for you and completely dependent on the sound of your moans and how you begged for him, barely giving you a second to adjust before he was fucking you against the window, his eyes focused on your face.

“Fuck!” you squealed again, clinging onto him tighter, “Yes!”

His arms were aching slightly with how he needed to hold you up but your body wrapped around his made it impossible for him to stop. It was slightly clumsy the way he held you up with both of his arms around your waist and he would have second guessed his ability if it weren’t for the way he nearly had you sobbing. Your hands in his hair only tugged harder as he fucked you faster, grunting lowly against your cheek as the warmth of lust washed over him.

“Oh my God, please don’t stop!” you cried out, body bouncing against the window as he had his way with you.

A thing right out of his fantasies.

He had you pinned right back against the glass and with every thrust he was pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back into you, making you feel every inch of him in such quick succession that your mouth was hanging open in near awe, struggling to keep his eye contact. The sounds you made were filthy and he couldn’t get enough of them, paired so perfectly with the wet slap of your skin. Lando’s left hand landed heavily against the window, leaving his arm around your waist since the way you clung onto him was support enough, giving himself the support to hold himself up.

“Yes, just like that!” you pleaded, curling yourself into his neck in pleasurable overwhelm and your arms went right around his body. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, yes, yes-”

“Fuck, baby-“ Lando moaned right up against your ear.

Your nails raked across the skin of his bare back, painting him in red scratches that only expressed the way he brought pleasure to your body, clinging onto him desperately. He was overwhelming and the moans that spilled from your lips were uncontrollable, all thanks to the way he fucked you like you truly were all his.

“Please-“ you sobbed into his neck, “Please- I’m gonna cum-“

Lando didn’t flinch, “Tell me you’re sorry and then you can cum.”

You answered easily, loudly, “I’m sorry!”

“Mean it.”

He still hadn’t stopped fucking you in that same addicting pace and you struggled to put together words to create a coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!” you stumbled out, your words only made jagged by your messy moans and whimpers that he forced out of your body. “I’m sorry! I’m only yours - I promise! I promise!”

Lando’s proud smile was directed out the window as your body was clinging onto him and your face was buried in his neck. You obediently waited for his permission but holding yourself back was almost unbearable.

“Please.” you whimpered.

“Cum for me.” Lando ordered.

“Oh my God.” you gushed in relief, letting yourself so quickly fall into pleasure that he brought you.

Your nails pressed tighter into his back and your teeth sunk into his neck, needing some way to let out the intense feeling that rushed within you and bubbled to the surface. You tensed up in his arms, your pussy squeezing the life out of his dick as he fucked you into your orgasm and he groaned tightly to the window as he forced himself through it.

Shuddering in his arms, he had to take his other hand from the glass to wrap around you again, holding you close as you gasped out his name and a pleasurable tear escaped your eye and fell onto the flushed skin of his neck.

“Lan-do- fuck-“ you choked out of it, only having your easing out interrupted by the first thick spurt of him coming inside you. “Yes-“

His moans were loud and beautiful and you shut your eyes to focus on every inch of him, right down to how he shoved deep into you and gave you every last drop of warmth. All for you.

Your hand raised to the back of his neck and you blindly pulled his lips to yours, sharing a few breathless off-centred kisses as he finished inside you, leaving his throbbing cock deliciously in place for a few more seconds. You gave each other little moans and sighs as your pleasure tapered off and after a few seconds, Lando had to pull away from your lips to catch his breath.

“Gotta put you down.” he whispered.

“Okay.” you permitted, carefully removing your wobbly legs from around his waist so he could pull out and help you stand on the floor properly. But your arms stayed around his neck and his hands rested on your waist, letting your heavy breathing fall in steady time as your noses brushed. Your lips nudged onto his next, sharing a few soft chasté kisses in the quiet light of your office, darkened by the sunken sun as he held you against the window.

You pulled away with a lick to your lips and gently ran your fingers through the back of his hair, “You hungry?”

Lando let a small smile play at his lips, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” you rubbed his shoulders and dragged your hands down his chest, “I’ll order something and we can eat and talk for a bit.”

Lando nodded, his pride suddenly exchanged with nervousness, “Okay.”

You shimmied your skirt back down and Lando drifted across the spacious office to retrieve his discarded clothes and he pulled on his underwear and tossed you yours, trying not to let his mind stew over what you wanted to talk about.

You grabbed your phone from your shifted desk and opened up an app to find something to order in, sitting yourself down on the small couch opposite your work space in only your skirt and bra. Lando drifted over to join you and he - almost nervously - sat himself down on your left.

“Anything you’re craving?” you asked.

He just stared at you, “Nope.”

“Burger?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

With your food ordered and waiting for its delivery, you were left to the silence of your empty office and the comfort of your private little lounge area despite the glass wall that stretched in front of you. The employees’ desks and meeting rooms were dark and vacant. Lando was staring at you as you stretched forward to set your phone on the coffee table and then you rested back again.

You looked back at him. When you saw the expression on his face, you reached out a hand to rest against his bare chest and feel the thudding of his heart under your palm. A tiny smile came to your face, “What’s got your heart racing?”

“You.” Lando answered easily, his voice gentle as if the dim lighting of the office required it.

“And fucking me all over this room?” you teased.

He laughed lightly despite the nervousness that rose within him, “Yeah.”

Teasing him just a little, you caressed the side of his neck, “You did well. You’re learning lots, young Padawan.”

“Shut up.” Lando looked away from you with a small smile and a gentle shake of his head.

There was a pause between you, tense silence lingering, and Lando kept his gaze on the coffee table with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

You rubbed the back of his neck tenderly, “Can you look at me please?”

He took a small breath and looked back at you.

“I’m sorry.” you said, “I really am.”

Lando dropped his gaze to his lap, picking at his fingernails anxiously.

Your hands framed his face and gently pulled his head up to get him to look at you again, “That was really shitty of me to not tell you what was going on.”

“Yeah.” he breathed, barely audible.

“I promise that you’re my only one. You’ve captured my heart in ways no one else has, I told you that.”

He nodded.

“You’re the only thing that matters.”

You leaned in to kiss him, locking your lips with his in slow sensual kisses that had nothing but the strongest devotion behind them. Lando slowly lifted his hand to the back of your neck, melting into your lips and touch as he followed your lead until the gentle passion made him dizzy. You felt the same as he had a way of sending your heart and soul spiraling and you shifted a little closer to him on the couch so you could feel more of his heavenly presence.

After a few long seconds, Lando’s words were suffocating him at the back of his throat, desperate for more reassurance, and he had to pull away from your kiss for a moment. You almost didn’t let him but you brushed your nose against his adoringly as he licked his lips and worded his question, “And Pierre?”

Dizzy on bliss with a mind only taken by the man in front of you, you hummed out a, “Who?”

Lando smiled lightly, “Good answer.”

You giggled with realization and pushed your lips back on his once, twice, and then you were sitting back.

“He’s nothing. He’s work.” you rehashed, petting your hand through his messy hair, “I’ll tell him about us, okay?”

Lando, suddenly feeling a bit of shame, replied, “You don’t have to.”

“I do.” you nodded, “You made some good points when you came in here yelling at me.”

You shared small smiles and Lando scoffed lightly with a shrug, speaking to your lips since looking into your eyes felt like too much sometimes, “I will never let you push me away.”

“I’m not…pushing you away.” you spoke as casually as you could but the words held some sort of realization on your tongue and you faded quietly. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze as he stared at you so intently right beside you.

Lando whispered his gentle notice, “You were pushing me away.”

“I…” you didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t even realized it. You turned to face forward on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in thought as you reminded yourself of your actions from the last week.

“I don’t know why you don’t think you deserve to be treated nicely. Even every time I compliment you it’s like you can’t ever accept it.” Lando continued softly, “You are my dream girl…woman…both inside and out and I’m not just saying that. You really are unbelievable to me…you take my breath away all the time and I still can’t believe that you want some random guy like me. Maybe sometimes that makes me a little paranoid and scared…maybe we’re kinda the same like that.”

“Unable to accept the niceness of each other?” you chuckled.

Lando smiled and shifted to sit forward on the couch too, “Yeah?”

You sniffled although you weren’t crying and you looked at him at your side, “Yeah.”

“Nothing you could do could ever put me off.” Lando promised. “Unless you lie to me and hide things from me…then I’ll be a little upset but nothing we can’t work out, okay?”

You nodded, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” he leaned in to kiss you once.

You smiled softly and chased his lips for one more kiss. Your hand reached for his on his lap and you slid your fingers between his, “And I’m not going anywhere so don’t keep thinking I’m going to find someone better because I’m not.”

Lando leaned into you, “Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

You rested your head against his and, hands holding each other’s, you sat there in peaceful silence for a moment. Lando even closed his eyes, cherishing the warmth of your presence. He really wanted to tell you he loved you.

Your phone lit up from its place on the coffee table and you reached forward to retrieve it, skimming the notification before announcing, “Our food is here!”

Lando held onto your hand a little longer even as you stood up from the couch and you dipped down to kiss him once.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?”

You smiled widely and kissed him again, “Promise, lover.”

He let you go.

You tugged your shirt on and slid into your heels while on your way out the door of your glass framed office and you hurried to the elevator to meet the delivery driver on the street. It was only then that you realized you were dripping cum down your inner thighs and you did your best to keep your legs together under your skirt as you shuffled across the vacant building lobby to the front doors. The driver was waiting on the other side and you pushed them open to grab your bags with a polite thanks and a wish good night. There was a handsome man waiting for your return upstairs after all; no time for small talk with strangers.

When you were walking back down the hallway towards your office, you stopped outside the glass wall to watch as Lando - in only his boxers - arranged a little set up for the two of you on the rug. He had pushed aside the coffee table and set the two throw blankets and few decorative cushions on the floor in front of the couch, leaving the room still dimmed to only the light of the desk lamp. Despite the faint lighting, the emergency lights that lined the main hallway allowed a bit more visibility and enough so that you could make out the red scratches down his back.

Smirking proudly, you lingered in the doorway just to stare at him for a moment, “Those pretty red scratches down your back do you wonders, baby.”

Lando glanced over at you in surprise at your appearance but he broke into a bashful grin, “Glad you think so.”

He then grabbed something from the couch and tossed it over to you. Your panties landed at your feet.

“You forgot something.”

“I know.” you chuckled, kicking them back towards him with the toe of your heel, “I was kinda leaking down my legs the entire way downstairs. My thighs hurt from clenching them together so tightly.”

“You know, when I passed them to you, that meant put them on.” Lando tisked lightheartedly as you set the takeout bags on the coffee table and he stood close at your side.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied casually as you started to unpack your food, “I like feeling you drip out of me.”

Lando’s little shuttering gasp made you smirk and he gave your bum a gentle smack, “Dirty girl.”

With your food spread out on the table and the bottle of red wine you ordered sitting prettily in the middle, you left Lando to get situated as you retrieved two glasses from the bar cart by the window and once you passed them to him to fill, you kicked your heels off and pulled your shirt back over your head. You couldn’t let him be the only one half bare.

You joined him on the rug and cuddled up close to his side with you both leaning back against the bottom of the couch. In your close proximity, you gently clinked your wine glasses together with your eyes focused all on each other as if you couldn’t get enough.

“To us?” Lando asked.

“To us.” you agreed with a smile and you took your first sips.

As close as possible on your office floor, you shared your late dinner for appetites that had only grown substantially since he had helped himself to your desk more than an hour earlier. It was quiet for the first little bit as you focused on eating and drinking but as you slowed down, your focus was turned back to each other.

Lando’s arm was around your shoulders and you were leaning into him happily, sharing fleeting feather soft kisses between feeding each other french fries. After almost two days of lows, Lando felt on top of the world again. You had a tendency of doing that to him.

It was the way you always wanted more of him as you chased his kisses with one more, two more, pulling him in by the back of his neck to taste the rich red wine that stained his lips. Lando always seemed to swoon over how you silently showed how you craved him just as much as he always craved you.

You rested your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry my work is shitty.”

“It’s not shitty.” Lando answered easily.

“I don’t like that we have to be so cautious all the time.” you confessed, gently swirling your last few sips of wine around the bottom of your glass absentmindedly, “I want to be normal with you.”

“What’s normal?” Lando asked.

“Where we can go out for dinner without speculation…hold hands…look at each other for more than five seconds even around the office.”

Lando smiled to himself at the thought of those simple acts that were off limits for the two of you but he gave you a gentle squeeze, “That’s okay. It’s moments like this that make up for all that.”

You looked at him, “You sure?”

He nodded, his eyes drifting between your lips and your eyes, “Totally sure. I don’t mind being your little secret. It’s kind of thrilling sometimes.”

You smiled back at him, “It is, isn’t it?”

He slid his arm from around your shoulders and gently pulled at your bottom lip, “Mhm.”

You leaned in towards him so you were almost resting against his chest and you caressed his cheek with the back of your finger, “I’m so thankful that I met you…that you waited in that lineup…stayed until the very end…and convinced me to come to dinner with you.”

Lando rubbed your back, staring deeply into your eyes, “I’d do anything for you. Always have. Always will.”

You leaned in to press your lips to his, lingering there a moment or two before pulling away again.

“Mm mm.” Lando hummed, raising his hand to the side of your neck to pull you back in for more.

You smiled happily into his kiss, sharing a few closed mouthed innocent kisses as the last few french fries grew cold in their takeout containers. But as you both melted into each other and your lips locked deeply, kisses growing stronger, warmer, your leftovers were the last thing on your mind. It was like a dance between the two of you that had been only perfected over the summer right down to the way your tongues matched each other’s motions precisely until you were feeling those perfect butterflies in your stomach. Lando knew if it went on any longer, he’d definitely get hard again - that was so easy for you to do to him.

But it wasn’t long before you were pulling away slowly, leaving both your lips pouted naturally out of it as your eyes fluttered open to meet each other’s gaze. You caressed his chest with your hand that wasn’t claimed by your glass and you requested of him breathily, “Come home with me.”

He would never say no to you.

Tag List: @black-fireproofs @k3nmakyan @m4rt10ne @strawberryy-kiwii @herebereblogs @arieslost @ophcelia @cmleitora @saachiep81 @piceous21 @poppyflower-22 @annie115 @lewlew44 @jexxy04 @gazelle-des-pres @norrisfr @younxii @chezmardybum @russelscherry

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

383 notes · View notes