#totally based off of Chappell roan casual

[eclrrtwo]

Amberprice turning me evil

[idkwhatever580]

I would die happy

Pairings: teen!Natasha Romanoff x teen!reader

Song Inspiration: very loosely based off of the songs Casual by Chappell Roan and Ashley by Zolita (They’re good to listen to before hand but not necessary. I’ll link them)

Prompt: what happens when “good girl” y/n breaks it off with “bad girl” Natasha and Natasha realizes she needs y/n more than she thought?

Warnings:mentions of sex, angst then fluff, mentions of death? (From the song).

Pronouns: unspecified (one use of ma’am but in a silly way)

A/N: No this is not an actual songfic. I just took inspiration from the songs so there might be a line or five in the mix. I have had these songs stuck in my head the past few days and I kept imagining like a teen romance coming out of it? Idk. Hopefully I write this better than the last one 😭

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Y/n’s pov

I am in my room doing my homework when I hear tapping on my window. I look up from my neat desk to see Natasha.

My instinct is to smile and open the window up but I freeze.

Natasha Romanoff.

Bad girl. She vandalizes things. She doesn’t participate. And she dresses like a fuck boy.

Some call her a player. Some call her a cheater.

Whatever they think there’s one thing everyone can agree on. Natasha romanoff does not do relationships.

She’s usually the one night stand type of girl but then she met me. And that’s when everyone says she went soft. She never fucked another girl other than me.

But that’s all. For half a year. All she’s ever done is sex, aftercare, leave, repeat.

Another set of tapping falls upon my ears and I zone back in. I open the window and whisper

“What are you doing here?”

Natasha crawls in and says

“Wanted to see you. You alright there? You zoned out for a sec”

I nodded my head and my eyes fall upon her necklace. It’s silver with a little arrow.

I hate myself when I think of it. I nod my head and say

“Yeah. Totally fine. Just doing some homework”

I sit back down at my desk even though I know why Natasha is here.

After a whole 6 months of this it’s hard to not know what her routine is. But I don’t want it anymore.

Obviously I caught feelings. Who wouldn’t catch feelings for her? I just thought that I would get over it. I thought that having some of her is better than none of her at all right?

Wrong.

I cry so much now. All I want is for her to love me back. But that’s not reality. She doesn’t do love. She doesn’t do relationships. And I can’t do it anymore.

Natasha walks up behind me and rubs her hands down my arms and starts kissing my neck. My body lets her do it but then I think about it and take her hands off me.

“Not tonight. I have to study”

She doesn’t let up. Because usually I like playing hard to get. So she doesn’t know. And that’s okay. It’s my fault she doesn’t know.

“I can help you relax baby”

I roll my eyes at the pet name and say

“Natasha. Can we talk?”

She stands up straighter at my use of her full name and says

“Yeah. Sure”

I can tell she is a bit surprised at me but she nods her head nevertheless.

She sits down at the foot of my bed and I roll my chair over to her.

I sigh and look at the ground.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t do this anymore Natasha”

She furrows her eyebrows and says

“You can’t do what?”

“This Natasha,”

I point at her and myself

“I hate myself for letting this drag on so long because I know you. I know you don’t want a relationship. But I lo- I like you Natasha. And I want you. All to myself. I want labels and I want to go to the pier together and eat popsicles and I want you to tell your friends and I want a future with you.”

I can tell I’m overwhelming her with this information but I keep going

“But you don’t want that. And that’s okay! I understand that some things aren’t meant to last. But I can’t keep hurting myself for some fun okay? I need to heal and move on. And you can go find another toy to play with and that’s okay. I just can’t be the one you go to anymore. It’s not what I want. And our ideals clearly do not align. I thought maybe I could do it and be able to handle all of this but I can’t.”

I tear up a bit

“I can’t be casual with you. I want feelings attached and I want you to myself but you don’t want me like that. So I need to cut it off.”

I finally finish my rant and I look down feeling embarrassed.

“I’m sorry”

I apologize and she shakes her head

“Don’t apologize. I get it.”

We sit there for a minute of awkward silence and she sighs and says

“I guess I should go then”

I nod my head and sniffle a bit. She lingers like she has something to say but she ultimately leaves and on her way out of my window she says

“I’ll see you at school I guess”

I nod my head.

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It’s been a week since I cut it off with Natasha and I look rough. My friends are worried about me but I tell them I’m fine.

Even some of my teachers have asked if I’m okay. Of course I lie to them. But it’s nice to know someone cares.

I have avoided Natasha at all costs. But I still find myself thinking about her.

Her arrow necklace. God I hate myself when I think of it. Because then I think of her. And then I start crying. Or I just shut down.

Yes. I may or may not have almost said I love you the night I cut it off with her. But I didn’t want her to have to hold all of my baggage. It’s not fair. She doesn’t like me like that. And she doesn’t deserve to feel guilty for what I feel.

My friend Emerald walks up to me during a free period and she says

“Hey did you see Natasha today?”

I shake my head and say

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

She shakes her head and says

“Well you’re gonna have to listen. She is the talk of the school right now so either you hear it from me or someone else.”

I roll my eyes and say

“What Em? Does she have a new toy hanging on her shoulder?”

Clearly I’m a little ticked off about having to hear about her.

But em shakes her head and I look at her and wait for her to continue

“She’s wearing your hoodie”

I look at her and say

“My hoodie? She doesn’t have any of my clothes, except for that bra that I’ll probably never get back”

She takes out her phone and shows me my favorite hoodie. It’s the pink one that I got from the thrift store. They all knew it was mine because it has em’s name on the sleeve. And a duck on the front.

I remember now. I forgot it at her house one time after she fucked me in her beach house. That was the day everyone found out and started talking about how I’m just a girl she fucked on her couch.

I cried so much that I forgot about it. And of course she just came over to make me forget about all the things people said.

I look at her and say

“Why would she ever wear that?”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me and says

“She obviously likes you y/n”

I roll my eyes and say

“She doesn’t like me Em. From the beginning everyone has known she doesn’t do crushes.”

Em shrugs her shoulders and says

“People can change.”

I roll my eyes and get a little frustrated and say

“Leave it Em. I don’t want to talk about it.”

She puts her hands up in surrender and leaves it at that.

The rest of the day goes by slowly. But I catch a glimpse of Natasha at the end of the day. She is wearing my hoodie. She looks good in it. But she shouldn’t be wearing that. I’m not hers. And she’s not mine.

I quickly leave so she doesn’t see me. Even though we definitely made eye contact. But it’s whatever.

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It’s about 8 pm now and I’m studying again. This final is about to make or break me so I can’t let myself loosen the reigns even though it’s only a midterm.

I have my headphones on and I’m listening to classical because it apparently helps people study. I’m honestly doing anything to help me.

A hand taps my shoulder and I jump up quickly but thankfully I don’t yell.

I turn around quickly and see Natasha standing there.

I immediately get frustrated and say

“What are you doing here?”

I take a second to actually look at her and she looks like shit. Honestly she is looking at me like a lost puppy. Like she hasn’t been in my room for six months. Her hair is a mess, shes still in my hoodie, and the bags under her eyes indicate that she hasn’t been sleeping well. I almost feel bad for her. Then I remember I can’t let my feelings get in the way. She says

“I um… I wanted to talk to you”

I sigh and say

“Well what is it? I’m listening?”

I feel bad for being so short with her but I can’t do it any other way or else I’ll break down.

She kind of stands there for a second and I sit down on my bed and pat it. I might as well be nice to her. She’s not a horrible person anyways.

She shakes her head slightly and keeps standing. I look at her and say

“You wanted to talk?”

She nods her head and says

“I don’t know how to say this but… I- I need you y/n”

I have never seen Natasha cry once. But she immediately breaks down in front of me

“I can’t do this without you. I need you so bad I just want all of you. I thought that if I convinced myself that it was for the better, that if I said I wanted this it would come true. But it’s not true I- I love you and I know you are probably over me by now and that’s okay I just need to tell you that I want you and only you. I know I’ve never done anything like this but I want to I want to change. I want to be good. For you. I want to take you on dates and tell everyone about you. And I don’t think I can do this without you because life is like a bad dream without you and I didn’t even realize what I had until I lost it!”

She starts crying. I start tearing up at her confession and I say

“Stop it. Stop it Natasha.”

It’s short and snippy because I’m about to cry.

“You can’t just say those things and pull at my heart just to get into my pants okay? I’m sorry that nobody wanted to get with you but I cannot just go crawling back to you if you just lie to me to get me back”

She looks at me and she shakes her head aggressively and says

“No. No I don’t. I don’t want to get into your pants I actually love you. I didn’t even know it because I’ve never felt love before y/n. Please you have to understand me I love you. I love you so much and I want a future with you. I was just scared but I’m not scared anymore I want you!”

She drops to her knees and tries to calm down a bit and says

“I understand if you don’t want me but I want you. I want to be your girlfriend. I want to introduce you to my friends and family. And- and I know my past doesn’t help anything. My reputation is probably your biggest fear but I can’t imagine my life without it. I’ve never been the sappy type but I’m telling the truth. If loving you kills me then I will die happy y/n”

I look at her from my bed and I see the genuine look in her eyes. I tear up again and the I get down from my bed and she looks down. It’s like she’s worshipping me. Like if she doesn’t she might lose me.

I envelope her in a hug and she starts crying into me. And I say

“Tell me that you love me and you won’t leave me.”

She looks at me with tears running down her face and her nose is sniffly and she says with such confdence

“I love you y/n. Nothing can change that. I won’t ever leave you. Not even if I could. I want to be yours”

I smile at her as she waits for me to answer and I grab her head and lean into her. I kiss her.

This kiss is different than any other kiss I’ve ever shared with her. It’s soft and tender. And full of love. I don’t even care that her tears and boogers are getting on me.

I don’t care. I just love her. I pull away and giggle and she kind of sits in criss cross. And I say

“Natasha. I love you too. I’ve loved you for a while now. I was just scared to say it.”

She sends me a dopey smile. I’ve never seen her smile at me like that. I like it. So I boop her nose and say

“Cute.”

She scrunches up her nose and says

“I’m everything but cute right now.”

I shake my head and say

“You’re always cute.”

I kiss her again after she wipes her face off and it’s sweet. I pull her into my lap and she says

“I don’t like this.”

Normally I guess she would be more comfortable with me on her lap. But I don’t care.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

We sit on my floor for a bit and I say

“Oh shit! It’s late.”

I check the time and say

“It’s nine o’clock already! You have to get home baby”

She stops at the nickname and says

“Wait. So… are we?”

I giggle and say

“After all of that? There’s no way we’re not dating. So yes. I’m gonna call you baby. But you need to go home and I need sleep”

She smiles and says

“Can I have a hug before I go?”

I nod my head and pull her in for a long hug.

I kiss her head and then her nose and then her lips and say

“I love you. Now go. I’ll pick you up for school tomorrow?”

She usually walks to school and I drive but I want to pick her up now. She nods her head and I stop her before she leaves my window and I say

“And I want my hoodie back.”

She laughs softly and says

“No way. It’s mine now.”

Then I pull her back in to me and distract her with a kiss. I say

“Well then. I guess this is mine now”

I swiftly pull the hoodie she has on right now off of her and she pouts and says

“Aw man. That’s a good hoodie.”

I smile and say

“Only the best for me right?”

She smiles finally and nods her head and I say

“Text me when you get home okay?”

She nods her head and says

“Yes ma’am”

I giggle and shake my head. I watch as she walks off into the night and I hop onto my bed and cuddle my stuffed animal with a bright smile on my face.

All of that heartache must have been worth it.

She was right. If loving her kills me, then I would die happy.

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A/N: I actually kind of like how this one turned out. I know I pulled from the songs a lot but at least it was built into the words and not like a normal songfic lol. Because I’ve heard that many people do not like songfics :)

[theonottsbxtch]

hiiii i loved ur CL fics sm I was wondering if you could write angst of LN inspired by the song Casual by chappel roan?😭 feel free to ignore this req though!!💕 love u

CASUAL | LN4

an: this is TOTALLY not based off personal experience and TOTALLY didn't make me cry writing it, i poured two years worth of bullshit into this i hope you enjoy it. one of these scenes actually happened try and guess which one AND TO MAKE IT WORST I WAS THE JOURNALIST AND HE WAS THE SPORTS PLAYER ANYWAY

wc: 10.2k

Present Time

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window of the sleek black cab, each droplet a reminder of how tonight had unravelled into something far too complicated. She sat back against the worn leather seat, her fingers unconsciously tapping the small notebook resting in her lap. She hadn’t written a word.

She shouldn’t have agreed to this interview. That much was clear now. But when her editor had mentioned his name, her chest had tightened. It had been a year—no, closer to two—since the last time she’d seen him in person. But when you cover Formula 1, you don’t escape the shadow of Lando Norris for long. Especially this season. And here she was, his shadow pulling her back in, as if those tangled months had never happened.

The cab slowed, pulling up to a luxury hotel that had never seemed like Lando’s style—until it did. The polished, impersonal grandeur, the kind that screamed you were too famous, too fast to belong anywhere at all. The driver mumbled something about rain, but she barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the figure that had just appeared through the entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly leaning against a pillar, Lando’s expression was hard to read, even from here. His trademark black leather jacket hung off him like a second skin. She remembered that jacket. She remembered far too much.

He spotted her through the rain, those piercing green eyes locking onto hers with the same intensity that had once sent her world spinning. For a moment, time seemed to slip backward, to late nights and whispered arguments, to hotel rooms where neither of them had belonged.

She swallowed hard and pushed the car door open. She wasn’t here for that. This was just work now. An interview, a piece for tomorrow’s newspaper. Nothing more. Lando had made it clear a long time ago that they were nothing more.

She stepped out into the rain, the cool drops on her skin grounding her just enough. Lando didn’t move, but his gaze followed her like a predator’s, waiting to strike.

"Long time no see," he called out as she approached, his voice low and edged with something she couldn’t quite place. 

She flinched at his voice, directed towards her. Like it had all been some fleeting game, some disposable moment. The thing was, she had been the one who’d tried to keep it light, who’d pretended she didn’t care. But Lando had always seen through her. And now, she wondered if he could still see what a mess she was beneath the practised professionalism.

"Yeah," she forced a tight smile, trying to pretend that his voice didn’t sting. "Just work, Lando. Let’s keep it that way."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “If you say so.” He said it like a challenge, like they both knew this wasn’t just a story for either of them.

She held her breath, her heart pounding far too hard for someone who had promised herself she was over this. Over him.

But deep down, she already knew the truth: there was nothing casual about Lando Norris. There never had been.

Two Years Ago

It had been a suffocatingly hot afternoon at the Austin Grand Prix. The sun hung heavy in the sky, the smell of burning rubber thick in the air as engines roared, and tension crackled around the circuit. But none of that had mattered when she was with Lando.

Just minutes before, she’d been in his driver’s room, his body tangled with hers, skin still warm from the way their desperation had collided. It had been fast, rough—like all the moments they’d stolen in between races. And for a fleeting second, she had believed that maybe this time was different. Maybe this time, he’d let her in.

But as she stepped into the paddock, adjusting her shirt and fixing her hair, she heard his voice, sharp and careless, coming from around the corner. She should have walked away. But curiosity, or maybe the sick need to hear, pulled her closer.

"I don't know, man," Lando’s laugh broke through the air like glass. "It’s casual. She’s just another girl. You know how it is."

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight, the words slicing through her. Just another girl.

She heard the other driver—was it Pierre? Or maybe Charles—murmur something back, his voice muffled, like it didn’t matter. Nothing anyone else said mattered after that.

All she could focus on was Lando. The way he spoke about her as if the last hour hadn’t happened. As if they hadn’t just been in his room, their bodies and hearts closer than they had ever dared admit out loud.

Her stomach twisted violently, shame and anger rising in her chest. How could he act like that? Like none of it meant anything? Like she didn’t mean anything?

She pushed herself off the wall, her heart hammering. She had to leave, get out of here before the flood of emotions swallowed her whole. But just as she turned the corner, she came face-to-face with someone who could unravel her even more.

Lando’s mother, Cisca Norris, stood in front of her, a soft smile breaking across her face the second she saw her .

“Darling, it’s been too long,” Cisca’s voice was warm, so achingly kind, as she pulled her into an embrace.

She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to run, but instead, she wrapped her arms around Cisca and tried not to let the tears fall. Cisca held her like she was more than just another journalist, more than just another girl passing through Lando’s life. The woman had always been good to her, always treated her with affection that felt too close to motherly.

She couldn’t break now. Not in front of Cisca.

“Yeah, it has,” she managed, her voice thin as she pulled back and forced a smile. Her chest was burning, her throat tight. Cisca’s eyes searched her face with that kind of intuition only mothers had. She must’ve known something was wrong, but she didn’t ask.

“You should come by later,” Cisca continued, still holding her hands in hers. “Dinner with the family. It’ll be nice.”

She nodded, her vision blurring as she made some excuse, something about needing to finish a story. Cisca finally released her, her touch lingering as if she could sense the storm brewing inside her.

The second Cisca was gone, her composure cracked. She made her way to the bathroom, her legs unsteady as the pain crashed over her in waves. She locked herself in a stall, her back pressed against the cold tile wall, and finally let out the breath she had been holding.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of Lando’s smirk, the sound of his voice when he had so casually discarded her like she was nothing.

She had always known it couldn’t last, that Lando wasn’t the kind of man to settle down, least of all with someone like her. But hearing it like that—hearing him reduce everything they had been to something so meaningless—tore something inside her she hadn’t even known was fragile.

She thought of Cisca, of the warmth in her embrace, and it only made the ache worse. There was no pretending now, no saving face. The line between Lando’s world and her own was more jagged than ever. She didn’t belong, not here, not with him.

She had barely pieced herself together by the time she left the bathroom stall. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign, hollow-eyed and shaky, her hands gripping the counter as if the world beneath her feet might give way. But she didn’t have time to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

The media pen was bustling with the usual post-qualifying chaos—drivers weaving between journalists, cameras pointed in every direction, reporters asking the same rehearsed questions. She’d done this a hundred times, and today should have been no different. But today, every movement felt like it was being held together by string, and she was one breath away from snapping.

As soon as she arrived, her producer, Mark, waved her over, holding up the microphone with a nod. She forced a smile, plastering on the face she always wore when the cameras were rolling. She could do this. She had to do this.

Lando was already there, standing with a few other journalists, casually leaning against the fence like he hadn’t just torn her heart in half an hour ago. He looked almost too relaxed, that signature smirk playing on his lips. When his eyes met hers, something in them flickered—like he knew. Like he could see how fragile she was, and he wasn’t about to make it any easier.

"Hey," Lando drawled as she approached, his voice low and smooth. He flashed her a grin, the one that used to make her stomach flip. Now, it only twisted the knife.

She kept her face neutral, gripping the microphone a little tighter. "Lando," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "You had a solid qualifying. What are your thoughts heading into tomorrow’s race?"

He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "Oh, you know," he said, his tone almost playful. "Feeling good. Always do when I’ve got the right motivation." He winked, just subtle enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, but she caught it. And she hated that her heart still skipped at the sight.

She fought to keep her composure, swallowing hard as she moved on to the next question, doing her best to keep it professional. But every answer Lando gave was laced with innuendo, his eyes lingering on her in ways that felt too personal. Too raw. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop playing games, to stop acting like everything between them was fine when she was barely holding it together.

"Alright, thanks for your time," she said, ending the interview with a tight smile as the camera finally cut. Her hand was shaking, the adrenaline rushing through her veins like fire. She needed to get out of here. Fast.

But before she could move, Lando stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so quiet no one else could hear. "I'll meet you at the hotel later?"

She stiffened, her entire body tensing. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, disbelief flooding her chest. How could he be so casual, so careless? Did he really think she’d just meet him after what she overheard? After the way he’d reduced her to nothing?

Lando’s fingers brushed against hers, and for a split second, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, just like it always did. He kissed her hand gently, like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just broken her in two.

She yanked her hand away, her breath catching as the pain clawed at her chest. She couldn't do this. Not again. She forced a small, tight-lipped smile, nodding as if she was agreeing, but inside, her heart was shattering all over again.

"I’ve got to—" she started, her voice cracking slightly as she turned back to Mark, her producer. "I need to go. Tell them I’ll be back later."

Mark frowned, concerned. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," she lied, her throat tightening as she backed away, already feeling the tears pressing against her eyes. "Just… something came up."

Without waiting for his reply, she slipped through the crowd, moving faster now, desperate to get out of the media pen, away from the cameras, away from him. She barely made it around the corner before the sob hit her, choking her breath, her chest heaving as she pressed her back against the wall, her hands trembling.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears spilled over, hot and heavy, her body shaking as she gasped for air. How could he do this to her? How could he look at her like that, touch her like that, after treating her like she meant nothing?

She tried to steady herself, wiping furiously at her face, but the more she tried to hold it together, the more everything crumbled.

"Is that you?" A familiar voice cut through the fog, and she looked up, blinking through her tears to see Oscar standing just a few feet away. His brow furrowed in concern, his normally playful demeanour replaced by something much more serious.

"Oscar," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to pull herself together, to stand up straighter, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now.

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he realised what was happening. "Hey, hey, it’s okay," Oscar said gently, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Come on, let’s get you out of here."

She shook her head, embarrassed, ashamed that anyone had to see her like this. "I’m fine, I just—"

"You’re not fine," Oscar cut her off, his voice kind but firm. "Let’s get you somewhere quiet, okay? You don’t have to pretend with me."

She nodded, her vision still blurred with tears as Oscar guided her away from the chaos of the paddock, his arm around her shoulders, his presence steady and warm. She didn’t have the strength to protest, not now.

For once, she didn’t have to hold it all together. And maybe, just for a moment, that was enough.

Oscar’s arm was strong around her shoulders, a steadying force as he led her away from the paddock, away from the media pen, and away from the chaos of her unravelling thoughts. She didn’t resist, couldn’t find the energy to argue, not with the weight of everything crashing down around her. She was barely holding herself together, her body trembling, her breath hitching with every step.

They walked in silence through the back corridors of the paddock, Oscar casting glances at her every few moments, his brow furrowed with concern but not pushing her to speak. When they reached the quiet of his driver’s room, he opened the door without a word, guiding her inside gently.

She wiped at her face again, trying to compose herself, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She felt exposed, like her heart was laid bare for anyone to see, and the shame of it was almost as painful as the heartbreak itself.

“Sit down,” Oscar said softly, leading her to the small couch in the corner of the room. “You don’t have to talk. Just breathe, okay?”

She nodded, sinking into the couch, her hands still trembling in her lap. Oscar crouched down in front of her, his gaze soft and full of something like understanding.

Before either of them could speak, the door to the room opened again, and she looked up to see Oscar’s girlfriend, Lily, stepping inside. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene—her  tear-streaked face, Oscar’s protective stance—and immediately crossed the room to join them.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Lily’s voice was full of sympathy as she sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What happened?"

She shook her head, her throat tightening, unable to form the words. She didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit that Lando still had this kind of power over her.

Lily didn’t press her, just held her closer, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Oscar sat beside them now, his gaze serious as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Lando?” he asked quietly, and her silence was enough of an answer.

She sniffed, trying to hold back another sob, but the pain was too sharp, too fresh. She’d overheard Lando brush her off like she was nothing. And then he had the audacity to act like everything was fine, like they could just pick up where they left off—like it didn’t matter that she was breaking.

Lily exchanged a look with Oscar, her eyes narrowing in frustration. “Darling,” she said gently, turning toward her, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself. He’s… he’s not good for you.”

She swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier. Knowing didn’t stop her heart from racing every time she saw him, didn’t stop the ache she felt when he touched her, when he looked at her with that smug confidence that twisted her insides. She had told herself so many times that she needed to stop. But every time she tried to pull away, she got sucked back in—into the whirlwind that was Lando Norris.

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s using you, mate. You deserve better than this. Better than him.”

She flinched at the words. She had thought, once, that Lando could be more than what everyone said he was. She had thought, in those stolen moments between races, when it was just the two of them, that he felt something for her, too. But she couldn’t ignore it any longer. He didn’t. Not the way she wanted him to.

Lily squeezed her hand gently. “You need to end it,” she said softly but firmly. “For good. Before he hurts you any more than he already has.”

She knew they were right. Oscar and Lily had always been kind to her, more like family than colleagues. They had seen it from the outside—the way Lando toyed with her emotions, the way he pulled her close only to push her away when it suited him.

She inhaled shakily, her heart still aching, but there was a flicker of something else now. A quiet, growing resolve. She couldn’t keep letting Lando tear her apart, not like this. She couldn’t keep waiting for him to change, for him to see her the way she wanted to be seen.

“He’s not worth this,” Oscar added, his voice gentle but firm. “I know he’s my teammate but you deserve someone who’s actually going to be there for you. Not someone who makes you feel like you have to hide how much you care.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting their words sink in. She knew they were right. She had known for a long time, but it was easier to lie to herself, to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. That Lando would show up for her, the way she had always shown up for him.

Lily’s arm tightened around her shoulders, her voice soft but steady. “Darling, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ve got you.”

She nodded, her throat tightening again, but this time it wasn’t from the heartbreak. It was from the quiet understanding, the sense that maybe, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t as alone as she had felt.

She sat there for a while, letting Lily and Oscar’s presence anchor her. They didn’t push her to talk more, didn’t force her to explain everything. They just let her breathe, let her fall apart without judgement.

And for a moment, she felt the weight on her chest lift just enough to see things clearly.

She knew she shouldn’t go meet him in that hotel room. She knew it had to end. For good.

But she went back.

She went back to the hotel room, even though every part of her knew she shouldn’t. She told herself she was just going to tell him it was over, that she couldn’t do this anymore. She told herself that she wasn’t going to let him pull her back in.

But the second she walked through the door and saw Lando standing there, leaning casually against the desk with that damn smile—like he’d been waiting for her, like she was exactly what he wanted—her resolve crumbled.

“Hey, you,” he said softly, his voice warm in that way it always was when they were alone. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room in a few easy strides, pulling her into his arms before she could even think about saying no. “Missed you.”

She froze for a moment, her body tense in his arms. She wanted to believe him, wanted to sink into the comfort of his touch. But her mind was screaming at her to remember, to think of what she had overheard in the paddock. She’s just another girl. His voice echoed in her head, sharp and cruel, even as he held her close now, as if she was anything but.

“I thought about you all day,” Lando murmured against her hair, his lips brushing her forehead. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she couldn’t help but shiver under his touch. He had always known how to touch her, how to make her forget everything else.

She wished it was enough.

He tilted her chin up, his green eyes searching hers, and for a second, she saw something there—something real, something that made her heart ache with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant it this time.

But then the words he’d said to his mates resurfaced, slicing through her like a knife. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her throat tightened, but she forced a small smile. She had come this far, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t she just leave now?

Because you want him to care, a voice in her head whispered. You want to believe he’s different when it’s just the two of you.

Lando pressed his lips to hers, slow and sweet, like he wasn’t in a hurry, like he could take all the time in the world with her. And for a moment, she kissed him back, letting herself get lost in it, letting herself pretend that maybe the things he said didn’t matter. That maybe this was the real Lando—the one who held her close, the one who kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But the more he kissed her, the harder it was to silence the voice in her head. The harder it was to ignore the truth that was gnawing at her.

You’re just another girl. It’s casual.

His hands slid under her shirt, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin, and she shivered again, but this time it wasn’t just from his touch. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he had reduced her to nothing more than a fleeting moment in his life, something disposable. It didn’t matter how tender he was being now. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to believe that this was something real.

“Lando,” she whispered, pulling back slightly, her chest tightening. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she needed to say something—anything—to stop herself from falling deeper.

He smiled at her, that lazy, cocky grin that always made her knees weak. “What is it, baby?” he asked, his hands never leaving her, like he couldn’t bear the distance between them for even a second.

She wanted to ask him. She wanted to confront him, to make him explain why he could hold her like this but talk about her like she was nothing when she wasn’t around. But the words stuck in her throat, too heavy, too painful.

Instead, she let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to read her, but then he kissed her again, deeper this time, and any chance she had of stopping this slipped away. His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her flush against him, his breath hot against her neck as his lips moved lower, kissing along her jaw, her collarbone.

And for a second, she let herself get lost in it, let herself drown in the sensation of his touch, the way his hands felt on her skin, the way he knew exactly where to kiss her to make her forget everything else.

But the words kept creeping back in, no matter how hard she tried to push them away.

Just another girl.

Lando’s hands were working their way under her shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her waist, and her heart pounded in her chest, but not in the way it used to. Now, it was pounding with fear, with the knowledge that this would never be enough.

He was whispering something against her skin, something low and sweet, but she couldn’t hear it over the roar of her own thoughts. She felt his hands tugging at the hem of her shirt, and she let him pull it over her head, let him kiss her again, harder this time, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

But she wasn’t really there. Not fully.

In her mind, she was back in the paddock, hearing his laugh, hearing him reduce her to nothing. The way he talked to his friends—so casual, so careless.

Her body responded to him, the way it always did, but her mind was miles away. She was too distracted, too hurt to fully give herself to him the way she always had before. She wanted to be here, wanted to feel that connection again, but it wasn’t working. Not this time.

Lando didn’t notice. He never noticed when she was pulling away, not really. He was too focused on what he wanted, too caught up in the moment to see the cracks forming in her resolve.

As he pushed her back onto the bed, his lips trailing down her stomach, her heart twisted painfully. She should stop this. She should say something. But she didn’t.

Because as much as she hated it, as much as it hurt, part of her still wanted to believe in the version of Lando that was in front of her right now. The version that kissed her like she was the only girl in the world.

Even if she knew it was a lie.

The hours passed in a blur, a mixture of whispered words, shared breaths, and touches that felt both familiar and distant at the same time. She lay beside Lando afterward, her body nestled against his, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped lazily around her. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, like this was where she belonged. Like nothing outside this room mattered.

But it did.

The silence between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of everything she wasn’t letting herself say. She listened to the steady rhythm of Lando’s heartbeat under her ear, trying to ground herself in the moment, trying to make it feel real. But her mind kept drifting back to his words—just another girl—and no matter how close he held her, it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

For a moment, it almost felt peaceful, lying there in the quiet of the hotel room, their legs tangled together under the sheets. Lando’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns on her arm, like it was second nature to him now. She wanted to hold onto that feeling, wanted to believe that this, at least, was real.

But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the stillness.

Lando sighed softly, shifting beside her as he reached for it. She felt the absence of his warmth immediately, and the hollow ache in her chest returned.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb swiping across it before he answered. "Hey, mate," he said, his voice low, casual. Like the moment they’d just shared didn’t change anything, like nothing had shifted.

She stared up at the ceiling, her breath catching in her throat as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah, I’m at the hotel,” Lando continued, his tone easy, unconcerned. “What’s up?”

There was a pause, and she felt Lando shift again, his hand brushing absently against her bare skin of her hip as if he wasn’t even fully aware of her presence anymore.

"Alright, yeah," he said after a moment. "I’ll come down in a bit. Dinner sounds good." He laughed softly, the sound sending another pang through her chest. "Tell Max not to leave without me."

When he hung up, Lando turned his head to look at her, flashing her that easy, crooked smile. "That was the guys," he said, already starting to untangle himself from the sheets. "We’re heading out for dinner."

She forced a small smile, trying to keep her voice steady. "Right. Yeah. Sounds fun."

Lando leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before climbing out of bed. He moved with the same casual confidence he always did, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

"I won’t be long," he said as he pulled on his shirt. "Maybe I’ll bring you something back."

She just nodded, unable to find the words. She watched him button his jeans, the same knot of confusion and hurt tightening in her chest. How could he act like everything was so simple? Like she was just… there, waiting for him whenever he decided to come back.

Lando tossed a quick grin her way as he grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I’ll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The room felt so much bigger without him in it, the space beside her cold and empty. She stayed there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning, trying to make sense of everything. But the more she tried to piece it together, the more it felt like everything was unravelling.

The sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced over, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name flash on the screen: Cisca Norris.

She hesitated for a moment before swiping open the message.

Hey, darling! We’re heading out for a little shopping trip tomorrow. Just me and Flo. Thought it might be fun to have some girl time—want to join us? xx

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes stinging as she read the message. Cisca had always been so warm, so welcoming, treating her like she was part of the family. She had this way of making her feel like she belonged, like there was a place for her in Lando’s world.

But it only made everything harder now.

She could still hear Lando’s voice in her head, so clear, so dismissive. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her hands trembled as she typed out a response, her fingers shaky on the keys.

Thanks, but I don’t think I can tomorrow. Hope you all have fun though xx

She hit send before she could change her mind, before she could give in to the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on her chest. She knew Cisca didn’t mean to make it harder, didn’t know what was really going on, but it felt like a cruel reminder of everything she wasn’t—a real part of his life. She was just someone he kept in the shadows, someone he could pretend to care about when it was convenient.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless, blurring her vision as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. She’d tried so hard to hold it together, to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time. But it wasn’t different. It was the same as it always was.

Lando would leave, and she would be left behind.

She lay there, her body still against the cool sheets, the emptiness of the room pressing in on her. The tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled down her cheeks in silent waves, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t even try to hold them back. The room felt too quiet without Lando’s presence, without the pretence of connection he so easily crafted when it suited him.

Her phone buzzed again, a small ping echoing in the quiet. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to face any more reminders of what she couldn’t have. But her gaze drifted toward it, her blurry vision focusing on the screen as a new message from Cisca popped up.

That’s a shame, sweetheart. Maybe next time? You’re always welcome with us. Big hugs xx

The kindness in the message felt like a punch to her gut. You’re always welcome. But how could she ever feel welcome in a world where Lando could say one thing to her face and another behind her back? How could she fit into the life of someone who treated her like she was disposable—like she was nothing special?

She clutched her phone in her hands, her knuckles white, as her tears continued to fall. Her mind replayed the moment in the paddock, hearing Lando laugh, hearing him reduce her to just another girl, nothing more than a casual fling. And yet, here she was—back in his hotel room, back in his bed—still hoping that maybe he would see her, really see her, the way she saw him.

Her chest tightened painfully as she stared up at the ceiling, the dull ache spreading through her like poison. She had tried so hard to be strong, to keep her distance, to protect herself from this exact feeling. But it was like Lando had a hold on her, one she couldn’t break no matter how much she knew she should.

She wiped at her face, trying to steady her breathing, but the sobs kept coming. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cisca treated her like family, like someone who belonged in their tight-knit circle. It was so different from how Lando treated her—warm and genuine. It made it worse, somehow, knowing that his family liked her, that they welcomed her, while he just kept her at arm’s length. It hurt in ways she hadn’t expected.

She curled up on her side, pulling the sheets tighter around her, as if they could shield her from the truth. She had been waiting for a moment like this, where Lando would be kind, where he would hold her, and she would feel safe. But no matter how close they were, she always felt that distance. He’d given her his body, sure, but nothing else. And she’d given him everything, every piece of herself, only to be left empty.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that were choking her. Her body shook with the force of it all, the heartbreak, the shame, the overwhelming feeling of being used and discarded. She had always been so careful in her life, always kept her guard up, but Lando had slipped past her defences with such ease.

The minutes ticked by, the silence of the hotel room swallowing her whole. She stared at the ceiling, the tears finally slowing but leaving a hollow ache in their wake. Lando would be downstairs by now, laughing with his mates, carefree, as if none of this mattered. As if she didn’t matter.

Her phone buzzed again, and she flinched, afraid it might be him—afraid that any text from him would pull her deeper into this pit she was already drowning in. But when she looked, it wasn’t him. It was Lily.

Hey, just checking in. Everything okay? Xx

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it impossible to answer right away. Lily had been so kind to her earlier, so gentle, and part of her wanted to reach out, to tell her the truth, to admit that she had come here even after she knew she shouldn’t.

But how could she explain this? How could she tell Lily that, even after everything, even after Lando had made it clear she didn’t mean anything to him, she had still come back? She had still fallen for his charm, for his soft touches, for his empty words.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain of what to say. The shame felt too heavy, too consuming. She didn’t want anyone to know how weak she felt, how much she had let Lando hurt her.

Instead, she typed a short reply.

I’m okay. Thanks for checking in xx

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, the lie sitting heavy in her chest. She wasn’t okay. She hadn’t been okay for a long time.

Another tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, frustrated with herself for still crying over someone like Lando. He wasn’t worth it. He never had been.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The bed felt cold without him, even though she knew his warmth was only temporary. That was the thing with Lando—it was always temporary, always fleeting. And she was tired of pretending it wasn’t.

She pulled her phone closer, her thumb hovering over Lando’s contact. She thought about sending him a message, thought about telling him that this was the last time, that she couldn’t do it anymore. But she knew that he wouldn’t care. He’d smile, maybe say something sweet, and she’d fall right back into his orbit, trapped by the promise of something that would never come.

With a shaky breath, she dropped the phone onto the nightstand, rolling onto her back once again. The tears had stopped, but the ache remained. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, to forget, just for a few hours. But she knew that when morning came, the reality would still be there—Lando would still be Lando.

And she couldn’t keep doing this to herself.

She got out of bed and she tried.

She had tried to pack. She really had.

She had grabbed her suitcase, tossed in a few clothes, and told herself that it was over—that this would be the last time she’d let him do this to her.

But then she’d stopped, staring at the half-packed bag, her hands frozen mid-motion. She couldn’t bring herself to finish. The idea of leaving felt like admitting defeat, like walking away from the small, fragile hope she’d been clinging to. The hope that maybe, just maybe, Lando would change.

And so, she had left the suitcase open on the floor, unfinished, just like everything else between them.

The hours dragged by in painful silence. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the door. She should go. She should pick up her things and leave before Lando came back, before he could draw her in again with his soft smiles and casual charm.

But she stayed.

She stayed because part of her wanted him to come back. Wanted him to kiss her, hold her, make her feel like she wasn’t just another girl, like she actually meant something. Even though she knew it was a lie.

Her phone buzzed a few times on the nightstand, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to deal with anyone else right now—didn’t want to answer Lily’s worried texts or face the concern in her friends’ voices. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what it felt like to be caught between wanting someone and knowing that they would never give you what you needed.

The sound of the door clicking open snapped her out of her thoughts, her heart jumping into her throat. Lando stepped into the room, the faint scent of alcohol and laughter clinging to him as he kicked off his shoes. He looked relaxed, like he’d had a good time, like the night out had done exactly what it was supposed to—take his mind off things.

“Hey, you,” he said with a smile as he spotted her still sitting on the bed. He held up a brown paper bag, a familiar logo stamped on the side. “Brought you something to eat. Thought you might be hungry.”

She stared at him, her stomach twisting at how easy it was for him. A quick thought passed her mind, wondering what he had said to his mates when he brought home some takeaway. He acted like nothing had happened, like everything was fine. She wanted to be angry, wanted to ask him how he could do this—how he could come back here, act so normal, after everything he’d said about her.

But she couldn’t. The anger was there, buried deep inside her, but it was swallowed by the familiar pull of Lando’s presence. She hated how he could disarm her with something as simple as a smile, hated how even now, after everything, part of her wanted to reach out and take the food he’d brought, to thank him, to let herself believe that maybe this was him showing that he cared, in his own way.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice hollow.

Lando crossed the room and set the bag on the nightstand before sitting down beside her on the bed. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her temple, his hand resting on her knee as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath hitched at the contact, her heart betraying her as it fluttered in her chest. She thought of the highs, the way Lando could make her feel so alive, so wanted. She thought of the times when it was just the two of them, when he would hold her and everything else would disappear. Those were the moments that kept her here, that made her stay, even when she knew she shouldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with just enough concern to make her believe, for a second, that he might actually care.

She forced a smile, nodding even though she felt anything but okay. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

Lando’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers gentle as they traced her skin. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to remind her of the connection they shared. And for a moment, she let herself get lost in it. She let herself believe that this was real, that Lando’s touch meant something more than just the physical.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Lando said after a few seconds, pulling away with a lazy grin. “I won’t be long.”

She nodded, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the water starting up a moment later. She stayed where she was, her mind racing. The kiss had been warm, familiar, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the doubts, the pain that had been building inside her all night.

With a sigh, she glanced toward Lando’s phone, which he had tossed carelessly onto the bed before heading into the shower. The screen lit up with a notification, and despite herself, her eyes flicked over to it.

It was a text. From one of Lando’s friends.

You’re staying with her? Has she not got the hint yet?

Her blood turned to ice.

The air seemed to leave the room all at once, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The message stared back at her, mocking her, confirming everything she had been trying so desperately to ignore.

Has she not got the hint yet?

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes again as the words sank in. Lando’s friend was in on it—on this twisted game Lando was playing. He knew. They all knew. And still, Lando had brought her back here, kissed her like she meant something, only to laugh about it with his mates behind her back.

Her hands trembled as she set Lando’s phone back down, her vision blurring with fresh tears. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that this was okay, that she was okay. Lando didn’t care about her. He never had.

The sound of the water running in the bathroom felt distant, like it was coming from another world, another life. She sat there, her mind numb, her heart breaking all over again. She should’ve left. She should’ve finished packing her bag and walked out of that door the moment Lando left for dinner. But she hadn’t.

And now she was paying the price.

Lando emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. Water still clung to his skin, the dim hotel light casting a glow across the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked every bit like the Lando that had drawn her in from the start—effortlessly attractive, with that air of confidence that always seemed to follow him.

She couldn’t deny it. He was beautiful. Anyone would fall for him at first glance, and she had. But now, as he stood there, looking every bit the part of the man she had once thought she could love, the attraction didn’t hold the same weight it used to.

Sure, he was magnetic, the kind of person who could pull you into his orbit with just a smile. But what had that really gotten her? A heart that was constantly breaking, and a life lived on the sidelines, waiting for scraps of affection. The price she paid for being with Lando wasn’t worth it anymore—not when every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise felt like it was laced with lies.

Her chest tightened as she picked up her phone from the nightstand, her fingers curling around it like it was her lifeline. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t sit here, pretending everything was okay, pretending that she didn’t see that message, didn’t know exactly what Lando’s friends thought of her. What he thought of her.

“I’m just going to get some cutlery from downstairs,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to move toward the door, away from him.

But Lando’s hand shot out, gently pulling her back before she could make her escape. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she could feel the warmth of his skin, the way his touch still made her heart stutter despite everything. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“You’ve been off lately,” he said, his tone soft but probing. “Is it work?”

Her heart raced, panic flooding her veins. He was looking at her like he was genuinely concerned, like he cared. But she knew better now. This was part of the game, part of the act he played so well. And she had to lie—because the truth would only expose just how far she’d fallen for him, how deep this had gone for her, and how little it had meant to him.

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Work’s just been a lot lately.”

Lando’s grip on her wrist loosened, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft, almost affectionate. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she fought back the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him how he could ask her that after everything—after the lies, after the way he’d treated her like she was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

But instead, she did what she always did. She lied.

“Of course I would,” she said, the words tasting bitter as they left her lips.

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he let go of her wrist, his hand dropping back to his side. He smiled, that same easy, careless smile he always wore, and for a second, it almost felt like he believed her.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing a quick kiss against her temple before stepping back. “I’m glad.”

She nodded, her heart heavy in her chest as she forced herself to stay calm, to not let the cracks show. “I’ll just be a minute,” she mumbled, slipping away from him and heading for the door before he could stop her again.

As she stepped into the hallway, the air felt cooler, sharper, like a small relief from the suffocating warmth of Lando’s presence. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her phone still clenched tightly in her hand, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her mind was spinning, her heart aching with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

She had lied to him. Lied to protect herself, to protect whatever was left of her dignity. But deep down, she knew the truth. She couldn’t keep doing this.

Not anymore.

She didn’t make it far before the tears started. Her steps slowed as the pressure in her chest became too much, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. She turned a corner in the hallway, eyes blurry and throat tight, searching for somewhere—anywhere—she could hide.

She spotted a door slightly ajar, marked with a plain “Staff Only” sign. Without thinking, she slipped inside, closing it behind her. It was a cramped janitor’s cupboard, the air thick with the smell of cleaning supplies and stale mop water. But it was quiet, dark, and, most importantly, away from Lando.

Her back hit the wall, and she slid down to the floor, curling in on herself as the sobs broke free. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle the sounds, but it was no use. The tears came in waves, the pain too raw, too overwhelming to control.

She hated herself for coming back, for believing, even for a moment, that things would be different. For letting him touch her, kiss her, knowing deep down that none of it meant what she wanted it to. And now, sitting alone in a janitor’s cupboard, hiding like a child, all she could think about was how foolish she’d been.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her phone, barely able to see the screen through the tears. She scrolled to Lily’s contact, hesitating for only a second before pressing the call button. It rang twice before Lily answered.

“Sweetheart?” Lily’s voice was soft but immediately laced with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The floodgates broke, and she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, her voice a broken, shaky whisper. “I hate myself,” she sobbed, choking on the words. “I hate that I let him do this to me. I keep going back, Lily. I hate it. I hate me.”

“Where are you?” Lily’s tone shifted, calm but urgent. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming to you right now.”

She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath enough to speak. “I... I’m in some janitor’s cupboard. Down the hall from Lando’s room. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m coming, okay? Just stay there. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded even though Lily couldn’t see her, clutching the phone to her chest as she waited, her sobs quieting but still leaving her body shaking. She felt so small, so utterly broken. The seconds felt like hours, each one dragging by in painful silence.

It wasn’t long before there was a soft knock on the door, and she heard Lily’s voice. “Darling? It’s me. Can I come in?”

She reached up, her hand trembling as she unlocked the door. Lily slipped inside, her face full of concern as she quickly closed the door behind her, blocking out the world. Without saying a word, she knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

She broke all over again the moment Lily held her. She clung to her friend, burying her face in her shoulder as the sobs wracked her body. Lily didn’t say anything at first. She just held her, her hand gently stroking her hair, her presence a quiet reassurance in the small, dark space.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “I keep... I keep letting him hurt me, and I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. I hate myself for it.”

“Hey, no,” Lily said softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re not the one who’s wrong here. He’s the one messing with your head, making you think this is normal. But it’s not your fault, okay? It’s not.”

She shook her head, the tears still falling. “I just feel so stupid. I saw a text from his friend... asking if I hadn’t gotten the hint yet. They know. They all know, and I’m still here, like some pathetic—”

“You’re not pathetic,” Lily interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “You’re strong, darling. Stronger than you think. And I know it hurts right now, but you don’t deserve this. You deserve so much more than what Lando’s giving you.”

She tried to breathe, but her chest still felt tight, her mind spinning with shame and self-doubt. “I don’t know why I can’t just leave.”

Lily squeezed her hand, her eyes softening with understanding. “Because when someone gets into your head like that, it’s not easy to just walk away. He made you feel special, even if it was for the wrong reasons. But you’re not alone, darling. You’ve got me, you’ve got Oscar, and we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be here with you until you’re ready to leave, whenever that is.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, grateful but still lost in the ache that Lando had left behind. Lily’s words were like a balm, but the pain still sat heavy in her chest, raw and unresolved.

Lily leaned back, adjusting so that they were sitting side by side, their backs against the wall. She kept holding her hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles over her knuckles. “We can stay here as long as you need. You don’t have to face him right now. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she leaned against Lily, her body still trembling from the tears. “But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” she murmured, trying to convince herself, even as the words tasted bitter. “He just... he just doesn’t know how I feel.”

Lily pulled back slightly, her gaze intense as she looked into her eyes. “Yes, he has. Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. It’s not just about what he’s done; it’s about how he makes you feel. And right now, you’re hurting, and that’s not okay. You deserve someone who cares about you, not someone who’s playing games.”

She bit her lip, frustration mixing with sadness. “I know, but...”

“No buts.” Lily interrupted, her voice steady. “You’re worth more than this. You don’t have to keep accepting less than you deserve. You know that, right?”

She nodded, but the ache in her chest remained, a stubborn reminder of the tangled mess of emotions that Lando had stirred inside her. She felt like she was being pulled in two different directions: her heart yearned for the connection she had with Lando, while her mind screamed for her to walk away, to protect herself from more pain.

“What if I just... went and got my things?” she whispered, almost to herself. “I could just—”

Lily shook her head firmly. “You shouldn’t have to do that alone. I can call Oscar and ask him to pick up your stuff from Lando’s. He’s supportive, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help.”

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly, the thought of involving Oscar making her heart race. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Lily said, her voice soothing. “It’s what friends do. You need to take the first step in reclaiming your space. Let’s get your things, and then we can figure out the next steps together. You don’t have to face this alone, and you don’t have to keep putting yourself through this.”

She nodded again, feeling a flicker of gratitude for Lily’s unwavering support. It felt good to have someone in her corner, someone who believed she could do better, even when she struggled to believe it herself.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice steadier now. “Let’s do that.”

“Good,” Lily replied, squeezing her hand tightly. “I’ll get Oscar to come over. And remember, you’re stronger than you think.”

Present Time

Now, standing in front of him in the rain-soaked street, she wondered if he even remembered that day. If he had any idea how much it had gutted her. The memory felt like a ghost, haunting her thoughts, each painful recollection mingling with the cold raindrops cascading down her cheeks.

“Should we get started?” she said, her voice a little too sharp. The rain was mixing with the ache in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there, looking into those eyes that had once made her feel seen. Once. She hated that feeling of vulnerability he inspired, but even more, she hated the way it was fading.

Lando tilted his head, studying her with that signature smirk tugging at his lips. It was the same smirk that had once made her heart race, ignited her passion, and made her forget her own worth. But now, it only deepened the resolve she had built since their last encounter. There was a flint in his eyes, a spark that had once drawn her in, but she refused to let it affect her anymore. Those flames of desire he ignited had left her burnt before, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Yeah. Let’s get started,” he echoed, his voice smooth but tinged with a hint of something darker lurking beneath. She could sense it—an undercurrent of his charm that was both magnetic and dangerous.

They both knew this wasn’t just another interview. Not for him. Not for her.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She wouldn’t let him see her fall apart again. Not this time. Each raindrop felt like a reminder of her strength, a symbol of her resolve to stand firm against the tides of emotion that threatened to wash her away. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the moment, and steeled her gaze against the storm brewing in her heart.

“Let’s talk about the last race,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “You seemed to be struggling with the new tires. What do you think the team could do differently moving forward?”

Lando's brow furrowed, momentarily surprised by the shift in her tone. It was almost like he was used to her fawning over him, allowing his charisma to overshadow her professionalism. But not today. Not anymore.

He responded, launching into technical details, but she could see his focus drifting, his smirk slipping just a little as he searched her expression for any trace of the girl he had once known—the one who had been captivated by his every word. But he wouldn’t find her here, not today.

As he spoke, she fought to keep her expression neutral, not letting the echoes of their past seep into her demeanour. The way he moved, the way he gestured—there was still an effortless charm to him, but it was fading, like a sunset after a long day. She wasn’t here to be dazzled; she was here to reclaim her narrative, to make sure he understood that she had grown.

“Uh, sweeth-” he said suddenly, cutting himself off from finishing the per name she used to love, his tone shifting as he leaned closer, invading her personal space. “You seem… different. What’s going on?”

The intensity of his gaze was like a spotlight, and for a moment, she felt the familiar stir of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But she clung to the memory of that cramped janitor’s cupboard, to the warmth of Lily’s embrace, and the strength it had given her. She wouldn’t let him in, wouldn’t let him see her falter.

“Just focusing on the questions, Lando,” she replied, her voice crisp and steady, eyes locked on his. “I’m here to do a job.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly thrown by her tone. The playfulness he often relied on was nowhere to be found, and for the first time, she saw uncertainty flash across his face. It was intoxicating, seeing him taken aback. It reminded her that he wasn’t invincible.

“Fine,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of a confident driver. “I can handle a little professionalism. I admire it, actually.”

“Then let’s keep it professional,” she shot back, her heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration. There was something liberating about standing her ground, about showing him that she wasn’t afraid to push back.

As they continued their exchange, a storm raged on outside—water pouring down in sheets, thunder rumbling in the distance. But here, away from the rain, she felt the weight of her past begin to lift. She wouldn’t allow Lando to pull her back into his world of uncertainty and heartache. She was building her own life now, with friendships that mattered, goals that fueled her, and a vision that didn’t include him.

With each word, she drew a line in the sand, reminding herself that this was her moment, not his. She had reclaimed her voice, and she was ready to use it.

the end.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ɪs ɪᴛ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚

♡ ft. choso, nanami, toji, higuruma, gojo, geto ♡ total wc: 5.3k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: afab reader she/her pronouns, reader referred to as "girl" in geto's, some of these are cute and some are horny and some are angsty, refer to the icons in front of their names for happy ending or not, shit's not as nasty as i normally am ngl, basically wrote each of these based on a lyric from casual ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

♡ wrote a part two bc all u lovelies screamed in my inbox 🥺 ♡

-୨୧ ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) aka how long fwb lasts & who breaks first (｡•́︿•̀｡) ୨୧-

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴄʜᴏsᴏ [ 8 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒�� 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 / 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑤?

“baby?” ᴄʜᴏsᴏ breathes, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs and you hum in acknowledgement, but you don’t ask him what he wants, blissfully content with him murmuring into your pussy instead of hearing whatever he has to say; there will be time for that later. 

he picks his head up, blinking at you slowly as he calls your name. you open your eyes. guess there will be time for it now. “yeah? yes, what, choso?” you ask, hand reaching to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over the mess on his jaw. 

there isn’t a single time that you’ve had sex with choso in the entire 8 months that this thing has been going on that he hasn’t eaten you out, and yet, you still can’t get enough. it’s like he was made for it, destined to be between your legs forever. it’s at least half of the reason that this arrangement has lasted as long as it has, but you’d never tell him that. 

his eyes are flitting between yours, unsettled and quick as they bounce from your steady pupils to your questioning pout to your softly knitted eyebrows. “hey, cho, what’s wrong?” you ask, coaxing him up to place a half-way caring kiss on his sheened lips. he tastes like you, so you kiss him again.

he sinks back down once your fingertips have fallen from his skin. “are we still casual?” he asks and the scene of it all has you grinning. him, between your thighs propped up on the car door and the cup holder, kneeling before you in the passenger seat of his car. 

you push his hair out of his face. “what do you mean, pretty?” you ask him, but you know exactly what he means. you’re just giving yourself extra time to think of a good answer, giving him extra space to elaborate or backtrack, whichever. a soft pink tinge blossoms on his cheeks; the breathlessness of being smothered by your thighs faded moments ago, so you know the cause of this coloring is the silly endearment that fell off your tongue. 

“just-,” he kisses the inside of your thigh once and then again and then he rests his chin there. “sometimes i feel like we’re more than that, more than just casual friends with benefits.”

“i don’t know,” you shrug, pausing. you let your hand fall down the back of his head, a soft fist of hair forming by the base of his neck. “like, friends with really good benefits?” you joke and he laughs to be nice, but he doesn’t shy away from the sentiment. 

“or like not that at all,” he tries again.

“then what?” you ask, shaking your head the smallest amount, eyes narrowing in thought. “like enemies with no benefits?” you’re still joking and you’re not sure if it’s to give yourself extra time anymore. maybe it’s just because your heart is beating out of your chest and you’re not sure the exact cause. 

the breath that leaves him now is just barely a laugh. it’s mostly dejected, somewhat frustrated. shit, you feel like you’re really ruining everything, but this is something that he’s gotten to sit on for days? weeks? months, even, maybe? this is all brand new to you. he was eating you out seconds ago and now you’re having an impromptu discussion about what you guys actually are? 

“you eat me out like you’re in love with me,” you blurt, hoping that it communicates what you want it to communicate, even though you’re not really sure what that is. when you can see the confusion forming on his face, you rush to finish a thought you didn’t know was unfinished, “that’s why i like it so much, i think.”

“oh,” he says, the blush returning in full force. “i-,” he starts, like he’s about to admit something to you, but stops because maybe this isn’t the space to do that. “so…?” he trails off. 

“sooo, no,” you shake your head, “no, i don’t think we’re still casual. i think we’re past that now.”

he grins, but you only get to see it for a few seconds. after that, you can feel it. you can feel it against you the entire time that he’s eating you out; he’s beaming. 

you’re gone in less than a minute.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 / 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑤𝑒’𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 / 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓𝑓 / 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟

you had every intention of ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ and you becoming friends with benefits. every intention. you told yourself you weren’t ready to date again, that you didn’t need to date again, that you just wanted someone to relieve stress, see on weekends and late nights, someone to call at 2 in the morning that’d be gone by 4.

when you saw nanami at an optional work bonding outing dressed no longer in business-casual, but dressy-casual, a tight sweater that went half-way up his neck and three-quarters down his arms and sleek black pants with a gold-buckled belt; when he kept throwing subtle hints your way all night like “it’s really nice to see you outside of the office finally” and “no, seriously, let me buy you a drink, yeah i know the company’s paying for everything, but let this one be on me”; when he let you lean back against his shoulder teaching you to throw darts, not letting go of the soft hold he had on your fingers even after the dart left your grip; when the two of you found solace at a small table in the corner of the bar away from any and all coworkers and he kept asking you about anything other than work, kept playing with the charms on your bracelet against your wrist, kept fucking smiling like that, like he was so interested in who you were and what was important to you and all the things he didn’t know about you yet. 

with every tiny little detail and event, you were convinced he was the one; you wanted him to be the one. and at the time, you thought, he wanted you to be too. 

he asked you so nicely if you wanted to come back to his, whispered it in your ear even though the noise of the bar was dying down anyway. you nodded, your cheek rubbing against the smoothness of his clean shave, and then you kissed his jaw without even looking to see who was watching. 

when you got back to his apartment, he let you set the pace. he kept the same distance that he did in the bar, gave the same feathery-soft intentional touches, but you kissed him first. you scooched closer to him on the couch, the two of you practically sharing a cushion. you draped your legs over the tops of his knees. you placed a hand on the back of his neck and you pulled him in for a kiss. 

every progression that night was initiated by you, not for control, but for courtesy. 

and even when you thought you had given up the role of initiator, you knew that the only reason for that was because he knew you no longer wanted it. besides, at that point there were no other boundaries to ask for permission to push past. by that point, he was inside of you, hands roaming your body, dragging across your skin before a soft grip was placed on your shoulder to pull you back onto him.

he didn’t stop kissing you all night, it’s like he couldn’t. and he wouldn’t stop telling you things like, “fuck how did i get this lucky?” and “holy shit no one’s ever made me feel this good please don’t stop.” and “you’re so fucking incredible.”now, looking back on it, you’re not sure you were ever friends with benefits. from all the way in the future, sitting on a pier with nanami’s arm flung around you and a very secure label to describe your relationship, thinking back to 2 years ago when you slept over after your first night together and he made you breakfast in the morning, you’re quite certain it was always something more.

ᯓᡣ/𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 1.5 ʏᴇᴀʀs ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟 / 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 / 𝑖’𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑠 / 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖’𝑚 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ

“ᴛᴏᴊɪ,” you call towards the front door, throw blanket clutched around your chest despite the fact that he was inside of you just a minute ago, that the evidence of that is seeping out of you and onto the fabric of the cushion below you right now. 

his shirt is already on. his pants are sitting loosely on his hips, unbuttoned, as he reaches down to grab his belt that was flung across the room. he snaps his head up to look at you, corner of his mouth tugging upward in a soft smirk. he walks towards the couch, two strides and his hand is placed on the side of your neck, thumb tilting your gaze upward at him. 

“what, mama? you really wanna go again? m’ not sure i’ve it in me right now. could come back in an hour or so, though,” he says, like it’s not even a thought that he would stick around until then. before you’ve even answered, his left hand is mirroring his right, your stomach fluttering as he presses the pad of his thumb against your lower lip, sliding it onto your tongue. “fuck,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss you. “suppose i could help ya out anyway too. god knows i probably owe ya one,” he sinks down to his knees, nudging your legs open with his chin, “or ten or twenty.” he grins like it’s funny. 

that’s not what you wanted to say, you didn’t necessarily want to go aga- fuck. you throw your head back, neck resting on the edge of the sofa, eyes closing softly as your fingers thread into his hair on instinct. “ngh, n- fuck,” you whine. “toji,” you say, trying to get his attention, but you’re very aware that’s not what your tone is conveying.

you squeeze your eyes shut hard as he spreads your lips with his thumbs. “shit, i made a fuckin’ mess of you, didn’t i, doll?” he asks, but doesn’t give you the chance to respond. he’s devouring you, tongue prodding at your hole, swallowing the mixture of your juices and his come, holding you in place two strong arms against your stomach, crossed over one another to grip into your hips, like he’s trying to pay back those debts as quickly as he can. 

“sh-shit, t-toji, wa-wait,” you say, breath heavy, not really wanting him to stop, but the longer that he’s between your legs, the more times he makes you come, the less resolve you think you’ll have to say what you’ve been trying to say for the past 3 months. 

you and toji have been friends with benefits (really good benefits) long enough to have stronger words in place to signify actually stopping while you’re fucking. wait and shit and toji are definitely not them. you had only ever used your safe word 1 other time, that fateful day when you got to experience the softest side of toji that you’ve ever seen, the one that prompted you to even want to bring this topic up in the first place, the one that made you… hopeful? maybe delusional.

“toji,” you say, more strength this time, but he still doesn’t stop. you push on his shoulder to try to disrupt him, but he doesn’t move an inch. in fact, he gets rougher, fingers pressing so hard into your hip bones that you’re sure bruises will bloom where they once were rooted before he even leaves. you squirm in his grip, but to no avail. 

in a final attempt to get his attention, you thread both hands into his hair and tug hard, forcing his gaze. “toji,” you say again. he looks up at you, half-lidded eyes settling on your lips.

the look that he’s wearing is so obscene, so fucking lewd, tongue lolled out of his shitty grin before wiping the lower half of his face with the back of his hand; you almost chicken out again. you almost bite your tongue and let him resume without another word, because for the first time tonight, you’re remembering all of the consequences you’ve previously conjured up that come with saying this thought aloud. 

“what, mama?” he mumbles, resting his chin on you as he catches his breath. “got something to say? or you just wanted to tug on my hair? what is it?”

you swear you’re silent for an entire two minutes, which doesn’t help how hard your heart is beating when you realize that toji is being nothing but patient as you try to find the courage or the words. you swallow, then open your mouth to speak, like the words will fly out on their own any second now as you look down at him.

he tilts his head, leaning his cheek against the inside of your thigh. “hey, what’s up?” he asks, “you’re scaring me. you’re never this fuckin’ quiet.”

fuck, why does he have to say things like that? why do his eyes have to show some semblance of concern? why does he have to know you enough to know that you’re acting off right now? deep inhale and then on your exhale, “do you ever think we could be more than this?”

you’ve phrased it a hundred different ways in your head. should we go out on a real date? i think i might want to actually get to know you. do you think about me after you leave? maybe we could try this out? you know me better than some of my friends. sometimes i call you just for the few minutes after sex where you stick around. 

you’re not sure if this one was the best of them all, but you think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

“shit,” he says, grumbles even, as his whole demeanor changes. he sits back into his heels, trying to figure out how exactly to respond before realizing it doesn’t matter. he stands up, shaking his head, “fuck, fun while it lasted, i guess.”

“wait, what?” you ask, sitting up straight, chest forward as you go to follow after him. you know that when the adrenaline and fear wears off, you’ll feel like a loser for the words you’re about to say, but right now, they’re crawling at your throat trying to make things right, “you don’t- it doesn’t have to be anything.”

“nah, nah, i know when something like this is done, been through it plenty of times before,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as he slips on his shoes, gathers his belt, thinks quickly about all of the things he has in your apartment and if he’d be okay with never seeing them again. “i don’t know, thought you’d be different though.”

huh, you hoped you’d have been different too.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ 10 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑙 / 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑟

“fuck,” you exclaim as you lower yourself onto him, but it’s not the normal type of exclamation that you’d usually let slip in this scenario. and ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ can tell. 

he slides his hands, splayed out on the tops of your knees on either sides of his hips, up to your waist, helping to steady you as you sink lower and lower until you’re fully encompassing him. he grunts, feeling you adjusting to him for the millionth time, but the sensation truly never gets old. “what?” he questions, holding you in place as he releases a shaky exhale. “fuck what?”

“ugh,” you say, throwing your head back. you brace your hands on the center of his chest as you begin to raise your hips. “no, i just forgot my fucking… my fucking black bra… the one with the lace and the not completely uncomfortable underwire… the one that fits perfectly and makes my boobs look insane,” you huff, “i left it back at your place. shit. i knew there was a reason i wanted to go over there instead of you coming over here.”

you think nothing of it, really, how in tune he is with the cadence and tone of your fucks and the way that he starts nodding along the second that you mention your black bra, like he didn’t even need any other descriptors to identify exactly what you were talking about. 

he brings his hips up to meet you, the sharp slap echoing in the room alongside your strangled whimper. you tilt your chin to the ceiling, fists closing around nothing, heel of your palms digging into his sternum and then dragging down his stomach as you circle your hips. “fuck, that sucks,” you say, eyes closed tight, knowing full well that you’d be much more upset about it if you weren’t in a state of bliss right now.

“might be- pant- might be easier if you don’t have to go back and forth,” he says, lifting off of the bed and letting you fall back onto him repeatedly. 

all of your movements come to a halt. your eyes snap open and you look down at higuruma who looks much too unphased for the implications he’s just set out. you ask, very quickly, in one string without hesitation, “did you just ask me to move in with you?”

he doesn’t stop moving, though, continuing to thrust up into you like nothing happened, like he didn’t just cross a line neither of you have even come close to since you started this friends with benefits stunt. “it’s closer to your work,” he exhales sharply, digging his fingers into your hips, “you’re there all the time anyways,” he grunts, “your lease it almost up.”

“i- what-,” you’re stunned. the only reason that you’re moving is because of him, because he’s acting like this conversation is completely normal bedroom talk. “how- wait- hiromi, stop.” he does, instantly. letting you settle into his lap as he looks up at you, almost confused why you made him stop. 

“how the fuck did you know all of that?” you ask once the movements have fully stopped, your furiously beating heart taking over for the previous repetition. 

“i just know you,” he says, plainly, and then he doesn’t say anything else, just waits for you to respond or to react in some way. you blink at him softly. your cheeks feel warm, but you swear you feel lighter. 

“fuck,” you exhale, one with different implications again, “o-okay.” you can’t blame your stutter on anything else. maybe you shouldn’t have made him stop.

“okay to what?” he asks, just to be sure.

“are you seeing other people?” you ask, just to be sure.

he laughs, scoffing, “i don’t have time for that.” 

“should we date first?” you ask, not because you necessarily believe it, but because you feel like maybe you should at least ask. 

“what do you call this?” he asks.

“you think we’re dating?” you furrow your eyebrows. you’re laughing now, but he’s not taking it to heart. no, honestly, there aren’t many reasons for your laughter that he wouldn’t welcome, thinks they can’t be bad if they’ve caused something that makes him feel so much comfort.

“shit, i don’t know,” he pushes himself up, wrapping his arms behind your lower back and kissing your chest. “sure, yeah, why not,” he laughs, lips making a trail to your jaw. your laughter erupts into soft giggles, because that’s exactly the level of assurance you think your situationship warrants for that question.

“fine, yeah, i’ll move in with you,” you smile, combing your hands through his hair. “if you’re gonna be all sentimental like this over a bra, geez.”

“maybe i just said it to shut you up,” he says, pushing forward, laying you down on your back, palms pressed into your hip bones as he kisses you. 

“psh,” you say, raking your nails down his back softly, “or maybe because sleeping with me is so incredible, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling in love with me.”

he shakes his head, folding it slowly until his forehead rests above your heart. he pushes into you with one leisurely stroke. “whatever, same thing,” he mumbles against your skin.

ᯓᡣ/𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑖 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 / 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 / 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 / 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑖 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠

whatever the friends with benefits equivalent was to college sweethearts, that’s what you and ɢᴏᴊᴏ were. the same intensity. the same vulnerability. the same naivety. the same notion of finding yourself alongside another person. fuck, even the same connection, you’d argue. the same air of being best friends and something more. 

you met in sophomore year when you were both past the point of freshman, like you each thought you were completely different people, completely transformed and very mature and nowhere else to grow. still, you did grow, with the help of each other and the distance from home and the fact that every time you thought you had the hang of something, life proved to you that you did not. 

very soon after you met in sophomore year, you had a strongly established, completely mutual label: casual fuck buddies. though, by the end of junior year, you had an inkling, though it was never discussed, that that label upgraded to casual fuck best friends.  

and being best friends meant that you knew that gojo was the textbook definition of unavailable, at least in a romantic sense. even if he told you straight to your face that he was, or could be, available; even if he kept flirting with you outside of the confines of your dorm room, during lunches and after classes; even if towards the end of it, he kept letting you sleep over and started keeping your toothbrush in his bathroom; even if he told you, in the heat of the aftermath of a very unforgiving night, “i can’t believe we’ve never made this thing official.”; even despite all of that, you knew that this would be all he was for you forever. you knew that.

so why did it hurt so bad when he answered so quickly that you weren’t together? was it so unbelievable to think about? it wasn’t, at one point in time, even to him, you knew that, but he answers this girl he’s invited to your lunch date from a class you don’t have with him so fast that you can feel the paper thin split down your heart in the same instant. 

“well, you guys are together, right?” she had asked, tilting her head, breeze blowing the hair out of her face so you can get a perfect view of the hope of denial scrawled all over her expression. 

maybe it was your fault for letting him answer. though, you’re not really sure how you would’ve put your relationship with gojo into words anyway. “no, we’re not-,” he laughs, “not like that, no. just friends.”

it’s interesting, really. the way that he so quickly labels you guys as just friends when there is only an 8 minute walk to his apartment off campus and a 2 minute delay from the moment you step foot through the door before his lips are on yours. his hands are on your cheeks and then your waist and then your hips and he’s stepping into you, guiding you backwards towards his bedroom, as if you needed to be led there at all. the route is practically engraved into your mind: forwards, backwards, blindfolded, crawling, carried, it didn’t matter.

it settled into your heart as sadness, the words just friends and the speed at which they left his lips. and you thought it would stay like that throughout this hookup and the next one and the next, over and over until graduation; you thought you’d just be sad forever, but the second that he kisses you on the familiar door mat in this living room that used to feel like a second home, it morphs into anger. 

after 3 years of knowing somebody so well, so closely, after yes, being together, how did he answer so instantaneously so incorrectly? 

you fall back onto his bed, remembering the softness of the sheets like it’s the last time you’ll let yourself have the pleasure of feeling them, and you say, breathy and uncertain, “why did you do that?” 

“do what?” he asks, one knee placed on the outside of your thigh, one palm placed right next to your shoulder. 

“tell that girl that we aren’t together,” you answer, swallowing harshly because a million other words are fighting to come out right now too. 

“we’re… not together?” he says, slowly and questioning, like he’s combing through every memory for the source of this miscommunication. “wait,” he pauses, standing up. “you know that we’re not together, right?”

“right,” you mumble and then scoff, “we just act like a couple and we have sex like a couple and we’ve practically been together for 3 years, but right, no, of course, we’re not together.” you push yourself up, legs hanging off the side of his bed, fingers gripped onto the edge. if you’re honest with yourself, you can’t believe this is the first time that this conversation has come up.

sure, you’ve made drunken passing comments and have laughed it off when you’ve made jokes about being a couple before, but it’s never been like this. though, he’s never blatantly denied that you were essentially anything to him right in front of you. 

“i’m confused,” he says, and he looks it. 

“shit, sato, fuck, i don’t know,” you stand up now, walking past him to grab your bag from the entry way, from the place you always leave it. he follows right behind you. you turn to face him. “i feel like if you’re confused about why i’m upset like this, there isn’t really anything left to say.”

“no, wait,” he grabs your wrist as you reach for the door handle, “no, there is.” you look at him, waiting. “i-,” he starts, eyes darting everywhere other than you. “i’m sorry that i said that.”

he lets go of your wrist. you don’t go to reach for the handle again. “but you still don’t think we’re together?” you ask. 

“we’re not together,” he answers. 

you grab the handle, flinging the door open, shaking your head. “right,” you say. “i’ll see you around, probably, i don’t know.” a soft breath of a laugh leaves your lungs, past your lips, quiet and defeated, but gojo hears it. 

it’s never felt bad, you leaving, not ever, and he’s not used to this feeling in his chest; it’s suffocating. he thinks to tell you that, to call you back in, to beg for forgiveness or apologize again, anything to stop this feeling of regret that’s sowing inside of his stomach and his heart. by the time his brain catches up with itself, you’re halfway down the street, and he feels like he has to make a completely different decision. his feet aren’t moving and by the time he finally decides to shuffle forward, you’re nowhere to be seen.maybe he just had to know what it was like being apart to notice that, huh, maybe you were together.

ᯓᡣ/𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ~ ʏᴏᴜ/ʜɪᴍ ] >> 𝑖 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 / 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒 / 𝑖 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 / 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡

three months into your… relationship? friendship? casual hook-ups? friends with benefits? situationship (you finally settle on after taking a handful of quizzes on the internet and reading an infographic on the top 10 signs that you’re in a situationship and talking to four different friends who all enthusiastically agree that that is the correct terminology for what’s happening) with ɢᴇᴛᴏ, you realize that you’re not built for this. 

you want to be, you think, or at least… you try to be. you try to train yourself to be the type of girl that wants to be. the fun girl. the chill girl. the cool girl that comes around when she wants to and when she’s wanted and it’s nothing to her, to be distant and to be near all at the same time. 

but you really are not.

because you’ve texted him every other day for the past week with no response, nothing too needy, nothing too crazy, just prospects for hooking up, and you were met with nothing each time. he texts you once and then a second time and then a third and a fourth and then he’s calling you and you’re picking up and before you know it you’re in his bed and you’re not even thinking about how stupid it is until after. 

not until you’re lying in bed, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, and he says something so fucking dumb that it reminds you how fucking stupid you should think that this is. 

“‘ve got work tomorrow early, can you lock the door on your way out?” he asks, rolling over. you swear he almost reaches for the light. but he doesn’t, what a gentleman. 

“oh my god,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. 

“what?” he says back, turning over to face you, but you don’t do the same. you bring your hands up to your face, smoothing your palms down past your chin. 

“oh my god,” you say again, laughing this time. “oh my fucking god, this is so fucking stupid.” you swing your legs off of the bed, planting your feet on the carpet below. you’re still laughing as you stand up and search the room for all of your missing clothing.

“what?” he asks again, eyebrows furrowing like he’s actually confused about what he’s done wrong. “what’s stupid?”

“you! this! i don’t fucking know, everything,” you scoff. you put your underwear on. you put your pants on. you feel gross. you slide your t-shirt on over your head, your bra in your hands. “i texted you all week and you ignored me. you text me on a random wednesday night and i respond. i come over. i sleep with you. and then you kick me out of your apartment before i’ve cleaned your come out of me. i mean, come on, dude. that’s-,” you scoff again. “it’s not even fucking funny,” you laugh. “it’s just fucking stupid.”

“hey, wait,” he says, moving to sit up, but not with conviction, no, like he’s waiting for you to tell him that it’s fine, he doesn’t need to move, like he’s only doing it because he thinks he has to, like he’s giving some half-assed attempt at saving whatever this is for his sake. 

“it’s-,” you take a deep breath, “it’s fine. i just- i don’t think i’m cut out to be with you like this.” you feel lighter now that you’ve admitted it. “besides, it’s only been 3 months, not like i wasted a year or something on you.”

“maybe we could-,” he starts, but it’s lost gumption after the first word, so you let him spare you the bullshit. you wave your hand at him, shaking your head.

“it’s… really, it’s fine,” you say. “i’m sure you’ll find someone else that is totally cool with whatever the fuck you’re expecting from them.”

“i- okay,” he says, but you don’t expect him to say more than that. you’re not exactly sure what else anyone could’ve said to that. 

you leave his room and then his apartment, making sure to lock the door on your way out.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ omg i wrote a part two