⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

#mydreamjobiscomingtomenow

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

Learning Dutch

Summary— Max finds a dirtier way for her to learn Dutch.

Warnings— smut ; riding ; creampie ; cock warming

A/N— so many more coming 🤭

Max One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— So… I thought of something good! How about a cock warming with Max teaching the reader Dutch? But the reader does so well that he decides to move on. In the end, Max breaks down and ends up taking the reader to the couch. Something playful and hard. Thanks! -🫦

Max was pretty open with his girlfriend about not knowing Dutch for the longest time, but when she came to him asking to learn it he couldn’t say no. He thought it would be easy. She was usually a good listener, but when he would try to teach her she would doze off or state into space.

“What did you learn today?” He would ask. Sometimes she would say one or two words with a mispronunciation, but other than that she would stay silent. “Well if you aren’t going to pay attention I won’t teach you.” He shrugged.

She begged and begged for him to keep teaching her and that she would listen. He told her no, until he thought of an idea to keep her focused: sitting on his dick. He proposed the idea and she blushed profusely.

“I feel like that’s the only way you’ll pay attention, stuffed full.” He teased. “Maybe if you do good, I’ll reward you.” She agreed to try it with him. When they knew they had time and didn’t have to be up early, they got comfortable.

Max sitting back on the couch with her legs straddled along side his thighs. She sunk down slowly and bounced a little to tease, before he thrust all the way in and kept her there.

“I’m going to teach you nicknames today.” He started. She squirmed a little and he groaned at her, now bruising her hip with his grip. “Schatje. What does that mean?” He had told her before, that’s her usual nickname.

“Sweetheart.” She responded. He nodded and went down the list, liefde: love, angel: engel. She was getting all of them right. He upped it and said a sentence, she paused and blinked at him. “Um.. I know there’s good in the middle..”

“Het gaat zo goed met je.” He repeated. He gave her a pat on the ass to think harder. It clicked in her head and she remembered.

“You’re doing so good?” She asked with a smile. He smiled back and nodded that she was right. He did a few more shorter sentences and she got them after thinking on them.

He got tired of teaching her and she was doing so well anyways, so he started thrusting without warning. She jerked and moaned when he did. He chuckled and continued. “This is your reward schatje.” He whispered.

She matched his slow movements and they were moaning messes. He finally sped up his hips and grounded his feet for leverage. He watched her face contort into bliss and her mouth hang open.

“Yeah? Hoe voelt dat?” He asked. Her brain short circuited for a minute before she answered.

“It feels good, fuck Max.” She moaned. She moaned and whimpered into his shoulder, chasing her climax as she weakly met his hips. He shifted ever so slightly and she screamed out. “Right there! Max please!”

He chuckled as he hit the spot repeatedly. She started hitting his chest as she was on edge. Her climax tore a scream it of her and he slowed his movements, allowing her to grind down and ride out her high, literally. “So tight, god.” Max groaned, throwing his head back.

She grinded through the aftershocks and he came inside her, his hips twitching and jerking as his cum fills her insides. They stayed locked together for a few minutes while their breathing calmed.

“What did you learn?” He teased. She deadpanned to him and moved off of his lap. He smiled and she rolled her eyes, walking to the bathroom to clean herself up.

“That fucking keeps my attention span open longer.” She said seriously. He chuckled, joining her in cleaning up the mess. She turned the shower on and he pulled her in by her waist.

“Ik houd van je.” He whispered in her ear.

“I love you more Max.” She said back with a kiss.

It’s a bit short, but I wanted something else put out 🩷

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia

Hi could you please write something about Charles Leclerc x famous reader attending the f1 75 live event and jack whitehall decided to address the fact that she's always been more famous of Charles in a funny way

i love doing charles and famous reader so much

The crystal glasses clink softly around you as Jack Whitehall's voice echoes through the venue. You're nestled comfortably in your seat at the Ferrari table, Charles' arm draped casually across the back of your chair, his thumb absently stroking your shoulder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we need to address the elephant in the room," Jack announced, pacing dramatically. "We have actual royalty here tonight - and no, I'm not talking about Prince Charles of Monaco over there." He gestured to Charles, who was already starting to blush.

From your seat, you squeezed Charles's hand under the table as he tried to maintain his composed smile.

"We have YN, global superstar, winner of literally every music award invented, and somehow - somehow - she's dating a man whose biggest achievement this year was finishing a race without Ferrari messing up his strategy."

Charles dropped his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter while you covered your mouth, trying to stifle your own giggles.

"It's fascinating really," Jack continued, "YN's last stadium tour had more attendance than the entire F1 season combined. She's got more platinum records than Charles has pole positions. When they go out, people ask him 'Oh, are you YN's boyfriend?' and he just has to nod and say 'Yes, I'm the Ferrari driver who can't catch Verstappen.'"

You leaned into Charles's shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist, both of you red-faced from holding in laughter.

"But look at them - they're adorable. She shows up to every race wearing Ferrari red, probably the only person still believing in Ferrari's strategy besides Charles himself. It's true love, people. Though I have to wonder if she wrote 'Crash Into Me' before or after watching Charles' qualifying sessions..."

Charles buried his face in his hands while you rubbed his back soothingly, both of you unable to contain your laughter anymore.

As the laughter around you settled, Charles grinned, his arm still comfortably around your waist. He leaned in closer, his voice playful but sincere. "You know, despite all the teasing, I really enjoy being your less famous boyfriend."

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. "Oh, do you now?"

"Absolutely," he said, his smile widening. "It's actually kind of nice to be the one who gets to sit in the crowd while you’re on stage, getting all the attention. Makes me feel… special, in a way."

You chuckled, nudging him gently. "I think you're just here for the perks. Free front-row seats to concerts, and I guess being in the Ferrari pit lane doesn’t hurt either."

He pretended to think it over, then smirked. "Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I just love being the guy who gets to hold your hand when you're not on stage, and be the one you turn to when you need a break from all the chaos."

You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, lucky for you, you’re stuck with me, you softie."

Charles grinned, pulling you a little closer. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

I would love to see the met gala 2025 chapter!! Sabrina looks amazing in her outfit!!

Thank you so much for the request!! 🫶 And yesss, Sabrina truly slayed at the Met Gala 😍 Here it is—just like you asked—the 2025 Met Gala chapter is up now!! I hope you love it, and let me know what you think 💖

cherry

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: At one of the most glamorous nights of the year, Lando and Amelie find themselves toeing the line between playful chaos and burning tension.

Wordcount: 6.9 k

Warnings: smut

full masterlist // request over here!

May 5th, 2020 - New York City, NY

The black SUV came to a slow stop at the end of the line of cars edging toward the steps of the Met. The chaos outside was muffled by thick glass, but it buzzed like electricity around them. Lando was sitting beside Amelie, his fingers loosely laced with hers, bouncing his leg just enough to make her raise an eyebrow.

—You nervous?— she asked, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looked unreal under the low golden light inside the car—glowing skin, the burgundy tuxedo-style bodysuit clinging to her like it had been stitched on her body, the white collar pressed crisp against her neck. No pants. No shame. Just long, tan legs and confidence for days.

Lando glanced at her, his gaze lingering too long on said legs before he groaned quietly.

—I’m not nervous about the carpet,— he muttered. —I’m nervous about surviving next to you on the carpet. Ames, you’re literally trying to kill me in that outfit. That’s not even legal. Is it legal? Jesus Christ.—

Amelie laughed, her hand squeezing his.

—Relax, Lan. Just stand there, smile, look pretty. Let the world see the hot Brit I bagged.—

Lando chuckled but still tugged a little on the lapel of his suit jacket—deep burgundy, made of the same rich material as hers. No glittery buttons on his, but a clean, tailored silhouette with subtle embroidery that caught the light when he moved. Pharrell and Louis Vuitton had coordinated them to look cohesive without being obnoxiously matching. Somehow, it worked.

The car door opened. A handler greeted them, all smiles and frantic urgency.

—Ready, guys? We’ll be in line for about five minutes before it’s your turn.—

They stepped out and the world exploded in flashes. Even in the waiting line, the cameras never stopped. People around them turned—publicists, designers, celebrities, security. All eyes flicked to Amelie first, then slid over to Lando with barely concealed curiosity.

Lando leaned in close to her ear.

—Are you sure I’m allowed here? I feel like someone’s going to ask me to valet their Rolls.—

—Shut up,— she whispered, grinning. —You look hot. Hot people don’t valet, babe.—

One by one, celebrities passed by—some stopping briefly to say hello, others calling out from a distance.

—Amelie! You look fucking insane!— Gigi Hadid, wrapped in a golden chain-mail gown, paused to hug her.

Amelie pulled away with a giggle and gestured toward Lando beside her.

—This is my boyfriend, Lando.—

Gigi's eyes widened slightly. —Oh hi, boyfriend. You clean up good.—

Lando smiled politely. —Thanks. You too. I mean... not that you need to clean up... you’re always... okay, I’ll stop.—

Amelie snorted and squeezed his hand, steering him back into position.

—You’re doing great, baby,— she said softly, leaning in to fix the tiny bowtie at his throat. He stared at her with such softness that someone passing by snapped a candid photo without even asking.

—Amelie! My God, it’s been forever!— sang out another voice, and Amelie turned just in time to catch Zendaya approaching in a white suit.

—Daya!— Amelie grinned, stepping in for a hug, careful not to crinkle the dramatic train of her own ensemble.

Zendaya’s eyes sparkled as she looked her up and down. —No pants? You’re my hero.—

Amelie laughed. —You’re one to talk. You look like you came here to conquer Earth.—

Then, with an effortless pivot, she pulled Lando closer by the arm. —This is Lando, my boyfriend.—

Zendaya blinked, surprised, then smiled widely. —Ohhh, that Lando. Hi! I've heard things.—

Lando chuckled nervously. —Only the good ones, I hope.—

—Mostly,— Zendaya said, winking at Amelie before slipping away with her entourage.

More people came and went. Anna Wintour passed them with a nod. Kylie Jenner gave Amelie a dramatic double cheek kiss. Sydney Sweeney shouted a compliment from a distance.

And every time, Amelie introduced Lando with the same warmth, the same phrase—This is my boyfriend, Lando—like she was proud to say it, like the words tasted good in her mouth.

Lando’s hand never left hers. He was getting better at it—smiling, nodding, not looking like he’d rather melt into the carpet. But his grip would always tighten just a little whenever the cameras shifted or when someone stared too long.

—You're killing it,— Amelie murmured, leaning into him between waves of flashing lights. —You look so good, babe. It’s actually not fair.—

—You’re literally wearing a leotard and heels and walking like you own the fucking Louvre,— he said, eyes darting to the camera crews ahead. —I’m just trying to keep up and not trip on your damn train.—

—You love the train.—

—No, I love you. The train’s trying to murder me.—

She laughed, and he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek just as a camera caught them—an image that would be on every fashion site and F1 blog by morning.

—Amelie, they’re ready for you,— their publicist called out, motioning to where Emma Chamberlain stood at the top of the steps, microphone in hand, flashing her familiar grin.

Amelie smiled when she saw Emma, the kind of smile that lit her entire face and made her cheekbones pop.

—Wish me luck,— she said to Lando, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before she stepped forward, careful not to trip on her train as it swept dramatically behind her. Cameras flashed like lightning. Lando stood just a few steps back, staying out of frame, hands tucked in his pockets and trying not to look too awkward.

Emma's eyes sparkled as Amelie approached.

—OH my God, look at you!— she squealed, pulling Amelie into a brief hug, mic clutched in one hand. —No pants, full power move. Tell me everything.—

—Louis Vuitton custom,— Amelie said with a grin, twirling slightly to show off the long, tailored train. —Pharrell helped design it. I told him I wanted something bold, a little ridiculous, and with buttons that could blind someone if they hit the light right.—

Emma threw her head back laughing. —Well, mission fucking accomplished. You look insane. And you brought someone this year, right? I saw him lingering in the back like a lost puppy.—

Amelie bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder where Lando stood just outside the spotlight. He smiled sheepishly, caught.

Emma didn’t wait.

—Lando! Get over here! No hiding, it’s the Met Gala, babe.—

Lando’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights, but Amelie turned and held her hand out, wiggling her fingers.

—C’mon, Lan. You can do it. I promise not to make you talk about fashion too much.—

He sighed and shook his head with a smile, then walked up, lacing his fingers with hers as he joined the interview.

Emma’s eyes twinkled as she looked between them.

—Okay, so this is officially happening. You two look fucking hot, by the way. Burgundy royalty. First Met together, yeah?—

—Yep,— Amelie said, turning slightly toward Lando as if to share the spotlight with him, even if he looked like he wanted to crawl back into the SUV.

Lando nodded. —First Met. I feel like I’m intruding on some super fancy fashion Hogwarts, but… it’s good.—

Emma snorted. —You clean up good for a racecar boy. How’s it feel dating the Met’s unofficial queen tonight?—

He glanced at Amelie and shrugged, lips tilting into a soft grin.

—Honestly? Terrifying. She’s got legs out, diamonds everywhere, and people keep staring like she’s about to fly away. But also… kind of the coolest thing I’ve ever done.—

Amelie turned pink at that, giving him a subtle nudge with her hip. —Lan.—

—What? You do look like you’d win in a fight against every other guest here,— he muttered.

Emma grinned. —I love how whipped you are. It's adorable. Do you remember when we were fifteen and you said boys were stupid and you’d marry your cat?—

—And I stand by that,— Amelie deadpanned. —But then this idiot came along with his stupid smile and Mario Kart skills and ruined everything.—

Lando turned to her with mock offense. —Stupid smile? That’s what got me here, babe.—

—And the accent,— Amelie added with a wink. —The accent really helped.—

Emma fake fanned herself. —I need a fan. This is way too much. Okay, final question... favorite part of tonight so far?—

—The train,— Lando said immediately.

—My outfit,— Amelie said at the same time.

They both paused. Then laughed.

—Okay, but seriously,— Amelie said, glancing at Lando, her eyes softening just enough to make Emma visibly melt. —Walking in with him. It’s… special. He knows how much I used to freak out about stuff like this. So being here, with him by my side? That’s the best part.—

Lando looked at her like he’d kiss her right there if it weren’t for the entire internet watching.

Emma sighed dramatically. —Okay, that’s enough. You guys are gross and I’m obsessed. Go slay the carpet. Amelie, don’t trip on your train, Lando, don’t let anyone steal her. Deal?—

—Deal,— Lando said.

Amelie just winked, grabbing his hand again as they turned to ascend the famous Met steps together.

The flashbulbs went wild.

And for a moment, it didn’t matter that Lando was a first-timer or that Amelie had no pants on.

They looked like they belonged.

Because maybe they always had.

-------------

liked by lanmelie4ever, f1gossipfan, and others

lanmelieupdates: ✨LANMELIE AT THE MET✨ Amelie Dayman and Lando Norris have officially made their Met Gala debut together tonight and YES, they got interviewed side by side on the carpet 😭🖤

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chaoticwags: not lando saying she looked like she was about to fly away 😭😭😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags he’s literally fighting for his life every time she puts a dress on → mclovinit: @chaoticwags he’s scared and turned on. duality

lanmeliecentral: "she’s got legs out, diamonds everywhere" OK POETRY

wagsupreme: he said “kind of the coolest thing I’ve ever done” while holding her hand like pls 💔 → capybaralan: @wagsupreme he’s not beating the whipped allegations and i love that for him → vroomgf: @wagsupreme no thoughts just him blinking nervously in burgundy

daymangfs: emma calling her the met’s unofficial queen was sooo real for that → paddockrat: @daymangfs and she said “custom louis, ridiculous, blinding buttons” like she ATEEEE → f1angel: @daymangfs i’m not recovering from "no pants, full power move"

lanmelie4ever: “walking in with him” STOP I’M SOBBING → ameliemami: @lanmelie4ever she really said love is real and i said yes ma’am

gridgossip: someone check on magui she might’ve just passed out → exgfupdates: @gridgossip don’t worry she’s booking a flight to saturn as we speak

norribuns: the way they LAUGHED in sync???? jail → chaoticwags: @norribuns soulmate behavior your honor → lanlanelan: @norribuns put them on a sitcom immediately

f1loveee:"stupid smile" and "the accent" lol Lando, pls, we see you 🥺 → speedyboi25: @f1loveee Lando knows that smile is his superpower and we support it 💯💘

f1gossipfan: That train is EVERYTHING. Also, Amelie literally made Lando gush in public and I’m crying. → norisimp: @f1gossipfan same, he's low-key whipped and HIGH-key proud about it.

lovedbylanmelie: He really said "the coolest thing I’ve ever done" and we all agree 😩

girlwhodreams:They’re so cute it’s painful → f1fanaticx: @girlwhodreams I swear the way they look at each other??? That’s love, ladies and gentlemen.

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Inside the grand halls of the Met, everything shimmered.

The dinner tables were laid out like a decadent dream—floral centerpieces blooming over candlelight, crystal glasses catching reflections of the chandeliers overhead, chairs upholstered in velvet as rich as the fabrics walking the carpet outside. The crowd inside was even more dazzling than the view—supermodels, athletes, actors, designers. A constellation of fame.

Amelie walked in like she owned the place.

She held Lando’s hand loosely in hers as they were guided to their table. Her train swept the floor behind her, the tailored burgundy of her bodysuit catching the golden glow of the overhead lighting. Every few steps, someone turned. Heads craned. Whispers followed.

Lando was used to attention—but this was different. This wasn’t the paddock. This wasn’t racing. This was her world. And he was just trying to keep up without stepping on her train.

They reached the table, tucked near the middle of the room beneath a massive floral arrangement that hung like a floating garden. Seated already were a few familiar faces—Lewis Hamilton in custom Burberry, dashing as ever; Dua Lipa, statuesque in Chanel; and right beside her, Callum.

Lando nearly tripped.

—Hey, you two,— Callum said as he stood to hug his sister. —Jesus, Amelie. Put some pants on.—

—You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,— she teased, hugging him before giving Dua a kiss on the cheek. —Hi, gorgeous. Look at you. You’re glowing.—

Dua smiled and pulled her in for a proper hug. —Look who’s talking. You and Lando look like you walked out of a fashion mafia. It’s illegal how good you look together.—

Amelie turned to Lando, who was busy shaking Lewis’s hand. The two exchanged quiet nods, and Amelie could practically see the respect pass between them like a secret handshake.

She slipped into her seat, pulling Lando down beside her. He stayed close, his hand resting lightly on her thigh under the table. She leaned in.

—You okay?— she murmured in his ear. —Still alive? Still breathing?—

He gave a breathy laugh, eyes scanning the room. —Barely. I need a drink.—

As if summoned by his words, champagne was poured. The soft clinking of silverware and low chatter filled the room. They ate—small, elegant dishes that Lando barely touched—and laughed at the table's conversations.

Lewis was telling a story about a past Met afterparty gone wrong. Dua was chiming in with commentary. Callum was teasing Amelie every time she adjusted her train or touched up her lip gloss.

And through it all, Lando sat quietly, watching. Observing. Every time his gaze slid toward Amelie, there was a flicker of awe there—like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

Then, the lights dimmed.

A hush fell.

A spotlight hit the center of the room, and a low bassline throbbed through the air.

—Holy shit,— Amelie whispered, setting down her champagne flute.

From the back of the room, a silhouette emerged—Usher.

The crowd gasped. And then screamed.

He started slow, crooning into the mic with his signature swagger, hips swaying, smile slick. The surprise performance took the room by storm—people standing, cheering, recording on their phones.

Then came the cherries.

The screens above lit up with visuals of deep red cherries falling in slow motion. The dancers parted. Usher grinned.

And just like every concert, he picked someone from the crowd.

—We got a cherry girl in the house tonight or what?— he drawled into the mic, looking over the guests. —I think I see one. Right there in that burgundy number.—

All heads turned.

Amelie blinked.

—Oh my God,— she muttered as a spotlight landed directly on her. A camera zoomed in.

Lando froze.

Callum turned slowly.

Usher gestured with his mic. —Come on, girl. You know the part.—

“Nice & Slow” began to play.

Usher circled her, singing right to her, pointing at the crowd like a preacher in a church of lust. Then came that moment—he plucked a deep red cherry from a silver tray handed by one of the dancers, held it up, and offered it to her like a prize.

Amelie stood with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Her smile was mischievous. Lando felt it in his bones.

She didn’t look at him. Not right away. Instead, she tilted her chin up, stepping toward Usher with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips. The crowd whistled and whooped as she met the spotlight like she’d rehearsed this in her sleep. The cherry glinted in Usher’s hand—ripe, glossy, almost sinful.

He held it out to her with two fingers.

And Amelie—God help Lando—leaned in, lips parted slightly, eyes flicking from the fruit to Usher’s face... and then, finally, to Lando.

That look.

It was brief. Barely a second. But it hit like a fucking earthquake.

Playful. Teasing. A silent watch this.

Lando’s jaw clenched. He could feel Callum beside him, entirely still. Dua, already covering her mouth in delighted disbelief.

Amelie brought her mouth close to the cherry. Then closer. She didn’t take it. Not yet.

Instead, she licked it. A slow, sultry trace of her tongue over the glossy skin, before slipping it between her lips, sucking lightly with a wink aimed directly—directly—at her boyfriend.

Lando almost knocked over his chair.

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. Usher threw his head back, grinning like a man who knew exactly what chaos he’d just incited.

—Damn, girl,— he chuckled into the mic, stepping back with a theatrical bow. —You just started a problem at that table.—

Amelie gave a little curtsy, cherry stem still poking from the corner of her mouth like it was the most innocent thing in the world. She turned to head back to her seat, heels clicking against the polished floor, hips swaying as the music continued behind her.

Lando tried to compose himself. He tried. But his face was flushed, his ears red, and his hands clenched tight in his lap under the table.

Callum turned slowly to look at him.

—You good, mate?— he asked, too casually, swirling the champagne in his glass.

Lando nodded, too fast. —Yeah. Yep. All good. Just… cherries.—

Callum raised a single brow. —Right. Just cherries.—

Dua was laughing softly beside him, one hand on Callum’s arm as if to stop him from jumping over the table.

Amelie sat down like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just licked a cherry in front of the entire Met Gala, her overprotective brother, her boyfriend, and Lewis-freaking-Hamilton. She took a sip of champagne, glancing at Lando sideways with a look that was all smug innocence.

—You okay, Lan? You look a little red.—

—You’re evil,— he muttered under his breath, jaw tight, voice low enough only she could hear.

—You love it.—

He turned, leaned in close to her ear so only she could hear. —I’m gonna remember that later. You realize that, right?—

Amelie grinned, eyes twinkling as she plucked another cherry from her plate, rolling it between her fingers. —Oh, I’m counting on it.—

Across the table, Lewis looked deeply amused. —That was bold,— he said, taking a sip from his glass. —Didn’t think anyone would outshine Usher tonight. Congrats.—

—Thank you,— Amelie said sweetly, popping the second cherry into her mouth. —Just doing my part for the arts.—

Callum gave her a look. —You’re grounded.—

—You don’t ground adults,— she replied without missing a beat, reaching over to fix his pocket square. —Also, I’m wearing a leotard at a museum, Cal. The ship has sailed.—

Lando sat back in his chair, doing his best to breathe normally. He could feel the heat of her leg against his under the table, her fingers brushing his thigh like it was an accident. It wasn’t.

He was screwed. Utterly and completely.

And Amelie? She was glowing.

The kind of glowing that came from knowing she had everyone—every camera, every eye, every breath—right where she wanted them.

But when her hand slipped back into his under the table, fingers intertwining, her thumb brushing gently over his skin… he realized she didn’t just want everyone.

She wanted him.

And she had him.

Cherries and all.

-------------

liked by lando, f1gossipfan, and others

ameliedayman: thank you Anna for such a special night🤍 @voguemagazine

and a special thank you to the incomparable @pharrell and the whole team at @louisvuitton for this amazing look that was tailored to perfection🌹

always always always thank you to my perfect team that takes such good care of me

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lando: ok but did u have to actually murder me with this → ameliedayman: @lando cry about it xx

elysiadayman: i raised her RIGHT 🔥🔥🔥 → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman thank you for passing on the legs, queen → callumdayman: @elysiadayman pls stop i’m begging

lanmelie4life: someone check on lando he looked like he was about to propose on the carpet → f1slays: @lanmelie4life he looked like HER security guard, stylist, and emotional support all in one 😭

wagscentral: body, face, attitude?? THIS is what the met is about

carlossainz55: 💀 you could’ve worn a trash bag and still outshined everyone → ameliedayman: @carlossainz55 i’ll keep that in mind for next year

georgerussell63: this is the first time i’ve ever been scared of an outfit → alex_albon: @georgerussell63 and it’s deserved

lanmeliehaterz: it’s giving try hard → sundayswithlanmelie: @lanmeliehaterz she sneezes harder than your entire existence babe sit down 💅 → babygirlnorris: @lanmeliehaterz lando literally flies across the world for her and you think she needs to try? be fr.

joshrichards: i literally almost threw my phone. pls chill. → jadenhossler: @joshrichards nah bro she left us in the dust fr

formulafreak: i know vogue editors cried when she walked in

maxfewtrell: where’s the no pants slay emoji when you need one → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell I’ll tell Apple to get on that x

f1fan4life: say what you want but she SERVES. every time.

danielricciardo: i’m gonna need a warning next time before u post like this → ameliedayman: @danielricciardo no ❤️

mrsdaymanupdates: she INVENTED walking → chaoticwags: @mrsdaymanupdates she glided. levitated. ascended.

girlwithagridthing: haters will say it's photoshopped bc they can't handle that she's real

lanmeliedefense: if loving her is wrong, i don’t wanna be right. → landoisdownbad: @lanmeliedefense same. and she’s not even my gf.

-------------

The afterparty had roared on into the early hours of the morning—an electric haze of camera flashes, dancefloor sweat, and champagne flutes tilted at dangerous angles. But now, as they stepped out into the night air and climbed into the black SUV waiting curbside, Amelie was buzzing for an entirely different reason.

She was tipsy, yes—but not sloppy. Just flushed and giggly and loose-limbed from hours of attention, flirtation, and the cherry-stained chaos she had set in motion inside the Met. And now, tucked beside Lando in the back seat of the SUV, her whole body hummed with energy that had no intention of settling.

Callum and Dua slid in first, laughing about something one of the designers had said at the bar. Lando climbed in after them, guiding Amelie in with a gentle hand on her lower back. The door clicked shut, muting the street noise. Soft jazz played low from the speakers. The cabin light dimmed to a warm glow.

Amelie immediately curled into Lando’s side like a cat, her vibrant canary-yellow faux-fur coat spilling over his lap like sunshine at midnight.

—Hi,— she whispered, smiling up at him, her lashes heavy, her lips glossy and just barely stained red.

Lando chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear. —Hi, trouble.—

And then—her hands were on him.

Not wild or messy. Just... everywhere. Fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw. One palm trailing down his chest, fingers grazing over the fine navy velvet of his coat. She leaned in to press a soft kiss to his neck, then another just beneath his ear. A content hum vibrated against his skin as she nuzzled closer.

Lando stiffened slightly, shifting in his seat. —Ames…—

She didn’t stop.

—You smell so good,— she murmured, lips grazing the underside of his jaw now, voice silked with playfulness. —Like expensive sin.—

Dua smothered a laugh in the front passenger seat, eyes flicking to Callum beside her, who was focused—too focused—on looking out the window like Manhattan’s skyline had never been more fascinating.

Lando cleared his throat. —Babe, we’re not alone.—

Amelie pouted, kissing just below his earlobe. —They’ve seen worse.—

—I haven’t,— Callum deadpanned from the front, not turning around. —And I’d like to keep it that way.—

Amelie giggled, the sound bubbly and mischievous. She pulled back just enough to look at Lando, her eyes glassy with champagne but sharp with intention. Her fingers fiddled with the black tie at his throat, tugging it loose by a fraction.

—You’re so handsome it physically hurts me,— she sighed dramatically, pressing a kiss to his collarbone just above the open top button of his white shirt.

Lando inhaled sharply, jaw clenched. He shifted again, this time subtly trying to dislodge her from his lap without being obvious. It didn’t work. Her coat had practically engulfed them both, a cocoon of faux-fur and chaos that no seatbelt could contain.

—Ames,— he muttered, low enough for only her to hear. —Please. Cal’s right there.—

—Mmm… he’s pretending we don’t exist. We should respect that.— Her hand slipped beneath his lapel, fingers flattening against his chest. She pressed another kiss to his neck. —Do you want me to stop?—

Lando exhaled through his nose, tilting his head toward the ceiling of the car for patience. His hand found hers and gently, firmly, guided it back down to her lap.

—I want you to behave. For ten minutes.—

She made a face. —That’s cruel.—

—That’s brother-in-the-car survival instincts.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but she didn’t fight it. Not really. She just leaned her head against his shoulder with a huff, mouthing a dramatic rude as she settled down. One hand remained curled in the fabric of his coat, though—clinging, claiming.

Lando glanced toward the front again.

Callum was stone-faced, still looking out the window, though his ears were red. Dua bit her lip to suppress another laugh, reaching over to pat Callum’s thigh with quiet amusement.

—They’re in love, Cal. It’s cute. Let them make poor choices,— she said lightly.

—If I hear her kiss him one more time, I’m jumping out of this vehicle.—

Amelie snorted into Lando’s shoulder. —You can’t even open the doors while it’s moving.—

—You underestimate how committed I am to escaping this nightmare.—

—We’re just cuddling!— she said, with the false innocence of someone who’d just practically given her boyfriend a hickey in a moving vehicle.

Lando was quiet, face mostly forward, though the tips of his ears were pink now too. He squeezed her hand gently in warning. She looked up at him again, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

—If we were alone…— she whispered.

—We’re not. And we’re not gonna be if you keep talking like that.—

She narrowed her eyes. —Is that a threat or a promise?—

Before Lando could answer, the car slowed, turning onto a quieter street. The city outside was still humming—yellow lights casting long shadows, doormen still posted at hotel entrances—but the energy had dipped. The afterglow of glamor settling into the stillness of late night.

The SUV pulled up to the curb in front of a sleek, modern hotel. Their hotel.

The driver stepped out to open the back door. The soft thunk of it snapped the tension like a rubber band.

—This is us,— Lando said, half in relief, half in warning.

Amelie perked up immediately, straightening with a stretch and a little yawn that managed to be both adorable and deeply suggestive. She looked down at him, eyes gleaming.

—Ten minutes is over.—

He rolled his eyes, standing and helping her out of the SUV with one hand at her waist. She stumbled slightly on the curb in her heels, and he caught her easily, pulling her close.

Callum and Dua were already heading towards the grand entrance, Callum’s shoulders still stiff with disapproval, Dua’s hand resting reassuringly on his back. Lando watched them go, then turned his attention back to the live wire in his arms.

—You are insatiable tonight,— he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear as he kept her close.

—Maybe I just missed you,— she said, her voice husky. She tilted her head back, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. —Did you miss me?—

—You know I did, mi amor.— He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. She tasted of champagne and something sweet, something uniquely Amelie.

The doorman held the door open, a polite, practiced smile on his face that suggested he’d seen far more scandalous things than a slightly tipsy couple clinging to each other.

Once inside the opulent lobby, with its soaring ceilings and hushed atmosphere, Amelie didn’t let go. If anything, she clung tighter, her body pressed against his from chest to thigh.

—Our room,— she breathed, her eyes never leaving his.

—Patience, baby girl,— he teased, his hand now firmly on her lower back, guiding her towards the elevators.

But patience was clearly not on Amelie’s agenda. As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in a private, mirrored box, she was all over him again. Her hands were in his hair, pulling his head down to hers. The kiss was immediate, urgent, a tangle of tongues and barely suppressed moans.

Lando’s hands instinctively went to her waist, holding her close as the elevator ascended smoothly. He could feel the heat radiating off her, the frantic energy that mirrored his own rising desire.

The elevator doors opened silently onto their floor. Amelie didn’t wait for him. She practically dragged him out, her heels clicking impatiently on the plush carpet as she pulled him towards their suite.

He fumbled with the key card, finally getting the door open. The room was spacious and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering cityscape. But Amelie had eyes only for him.

She pushed the door shut with her foot and backed him against it, her hands sliding up his chest, her eyes dark and demanding.

—I can’t wait another second,— she whispered, her breath hot against his lips.

—And who said you had to?— he murmured back, his hands now framing her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

He leaned in for another kiss, but Amelie had other ideas. Her lips trailed down his jawline, then his neck, her teeth gently nipping at his skin.

—You’re going to make me lose control, Amelie,— he warned, his voice thick with desire.

—That’s the point, isn’t it, my winner?— she purred, her fingers now working at the buttons of his shirt.

The memory hit him like a jolt—the roar of the crowd in Miami, the spray of champagne, the way she had looked at him that night, her eyes shining with pride and something more, something fiercely possessive. My winner. The sex that followed had been explosive, a culmination of weeks of unspoken tension and burgeoning feelings.

His shirt was open now, her hands sliding against his bare chest. He groaned, pulling her closer, his hands finding the hem of her shirt.

—You’re not behaving at all,— he teased, his voice husky.

—Maybe I don’t want to behave,— she retorted, her fingers now at his belt buckle.

With a low growl, Lando scooped her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. She gasped, a surprised laugh escaping her lips.

—Lando!—

—Consider this your punishment for being a very naughty girl,— he murmured, carrying her towards the bedroom.

The room was dimly lit by the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains. He didn’t bother turning on the lamp. He kicked the door shut behind them and carried her straight to the king-sized bed, laying her down gently.

Amelie’s eyes glittered up at him, full of mischief and anticipation. She reached for him, but he stepped back slightly, a playful glint in his own eyes.

—Not so fast, mi amor.—

Lando’s gaze lingered on her, a slow burn of desire. He reached down, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, then down her neck to the knot of her slim black tie. With a deliberate slowness, he untied it, letting it fall onto the plush carpet. Next, the buttons of her crisp white shirt, each one undone with excruciating care, revealing the delicate skin beneath.

He peeled the shirt back, letting it slide off her shoulders and pool on the floor. Her black wide-leg trousers followed, the zipper a soft rasp in the quiet room. Then the belt with its oversized LV logo, tossed carelessly aside. He paused, his eyes sweeping over her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin.

—You are exquisite,— he murmured, his voice thick with admiration.

Amelie shivered, her breath catching in her throat. She reached for him again, but he gently took her wrists, his grip firm but not rough.

—Not yet, mi amor,— he said, his eyes locked on hers. He reached for his discarded tie, the dark blue velvet a stark contrast against her pale skin.

He lifted her hands above her head, securing them gently but firmly to the ornate headboard with his tie. Amelie watched him, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and a thrill of anticipation.

—Lando…?— she whispered, her voice laced with a question.

He didn’t answer, reaching instead for the silk sleep mask on the nightstand. He gently folded it and covered her eyes, plunging her into darkness.

—Now,— he said, his voice low and husky, leaning close to her ear. —Now you need to learn how to be silent. You’ve been very… vocal tonight.—

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, then trailed lower, his lips brushing against her cheek, her jawline, the sensitive skin of her neck. Amelie shivered again, a soft moan escaping her lips despite herself.

—Shhh,— he murmured against her skin. —No noise. Not yet.—

His lips continued their slow descent, tracing the curve of her collarbone, the delicate slope of her shoulder. He lingered there, sucking gently, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

He moved lower, his hands now exploring her sides, his fingers teasing the delicate skin just beneath her breasts. Amelie shifted against the restraints, a frustrated whimper escaping her lips.

—Patience, baby,— he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. —Pleasure takes time.—

He continued his slow exploration, his lips and hands mapping every inch of her torso, lingering on the sensitive hollow of her stomach, the curve of her hips. Amelie’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body arching slightly against the bed.

Finally, he knelt between her legs, his breath warm against her inner thigh. Amelie’s thighs clenched involuntarily.

—You’re so beautiful,— he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pressed a soft kiss to her skin there, then another, lower still.

Amelie’s head thrashed against the pillow, a desperate moan building in her chest. She tugged at the tie binding her wrists, a silent plea for release.

Lando ignored her struggles, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He parted her gently, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line. Amelie gasped, her body convulsing.

He continued his ministrations, his tongue and lips working their magic, teasing and tormenting her with exquisite precision. Amelie’s moans grew louder, more frantic, her body bucking against the restraints. She fought against the darkness behind the blindfold, her senses heightened, every nerve ending screaming for release.

—Please,— she choked out, her voice hoarse. —Lando, please…—

He didn’t stop, his pace quickening, the intensity building. Amelie’s cries became more desperate, her body arching higher, her muscles clenching.

Just as she was on the verge of climax, Lando swiftly retrieved her discarded black panties from the floor and gently, firmly, pressed them against her mouth, effectively muffling her cries.

Lando maintained the pressure of the silk against her lips, his gaze intent on her writhing form. Her muffled cries echoed in the dimly lit room, a testament to the pleasure he was inflicting. He continued his ministrations, his focus unwavering, until Amelie’s body stilled, soft tremors running through her.

He slowly removed the panties, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes, though still covered, seemed to search for him.

—Good girl,— he murmured, his voice a low rasp. —You were almost silent that time.—

He stood up, his own dark blue velvet coat now discarded on the floor. He unbuckled his trousers, his gaze never leaving her. Amelie’s breath hitched as she heard the rustle of fabric.

He positioned himself between her legs, his presence a palpable weight. He leaned down, his hands framing her face, his thumbs gently stroking her wet cheeks.

—Are you ready to learn some more lessons, mi amor?— he whispered.

Amelie whimpered, a desperate sound. She strained against the tie binding her wrists, her hips lifting slightly off the bed.

—Please, Lando,— she choked out.

—Please what, baby?— he teased, his voice dangerously soft. —Please what?—

—Please… please…— she stammered, her body trembling.

He lowered himself slowly, teasing her with his nearness, letting her feel the barest brush of contact. Amelie cried out, her hips arching higher, a silent plea for him to continue.

—Behave,— he reprimanded gently, his voice firm. —You need to learn patience. You need to learn to obey.—

He continued to hover just above her, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. He could hear her desperate whimpers, the soft rustling of the sheets as she tried to move closer.

—Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?— he murmured, his voice laced with a dominant edge. —Begging for me.—

He finally pressed forward, entering her slowly, deliberately. Amelie cried out, her body clenching around him.

—That’s it,— he murmured, his voice rough with desire. —Take it. Beg for it.—

He began to move, each stroke slow and deep, drawing out her pleasure, savoring her desperate cries. He continued to dirty talk her, his words a potent combination of praise and command, fueling her submission.

Amelie’s muffled cries intensified, her body bucking against him, desperate for release. She tried to lift her hips higher, but the restraints kept her tethered.

—Be still,— he commanded, his hands gripping her hips, controlling her movements. —You’ll get yours. Just be a good girl.—

He increased his pace, the rhythm becoming faster, more insistent. Amelie’s cries reached a fever pitch, her body convulsing with each thrust.

—Faster,— she finally managed to gasp, her voice hoarse and desperate. —Please, Lando, faster…—

—Have you learned your lesson?— he growled, his own control teetering on the edge. —Have you been a good girl?—

Amelie could only whimper in response, her body writhing beneath him.

—Answer me, Amelie,— he demanded, his grip tightening on her hips.

—Si,— she choked out, tears streaming from beneath the sleep mask. —Yes, please… good girl…—

Lando’s pace intensified, each thrust deeper and more demanding than the last. Amelie’s muffled cries became frantic, her body arching against the restraints, her hips bucking in a desperate rhythm. He leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive curve of her neck, his teeth gently grazing her skin.

He moved his ministrations to her breasts, his lips and tongue teasing and tormenting her nipples through the thin silk of her unseen bra. Amelie’s breath hitched, a strangled moan escaping her lips.

—Faster, Lando,— she begged, her voice raw with need. —Please, I can’t…—

—Almost there, baby girl,— he murmured, his voice thick with desire. —Just a little more. Show me how much you want it.—

He continued his relentless assault, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Amelie’s body was a taut string, vibrating with anticipation.

Finally, with a guttural groan, Lando reached behind her and swiftly untied the knot of his tie binding her wrists to the headboard. The sudden release sent a jolt through Amelie’s body. Her hands, freed from their confinement, shot up instinctively.

Instead of reaching for the sleep mask covering her eyes, her fingers tangled fiercely in Lando’s hair, her grip surprisingly strong. She pulled his head down, pressing his face harder against her breasts, her muffled cries reaching a fever pitch.

Lando, momentarily taken aback by her unexpected action, instinctively guided his own hands to the edges of the sleep mask. He gently peeled the silk away from her eyes, revealing pupils dilated with desire, her cheeks flushed, tears still clinging to her lashes.

Amelie blinked against the sudden light, her gaze locking with his. The raw need in her eyes mirrored his own. She tightened her grip on his hair, pulling him closer as her body finally found release, her muffled cries echoing in the dimly lit room.

The tension slowly ebbed from Amelie’s body, replaced by soft tremors and ragged breaths. Her grip on Lando’s hair loosened, her fingers now stroking the back of his head with a gentle possessiveness. He lifted his head slightly, their gazes still locked, the air thick with the aftermath of their passion.

He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, his touch tender. Amelie leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed again. The silence in the room was broken only by their uneven breathing.

Lando shifted slightly, carefully disentangling himself from her. He moved to lie beside her, pulling her close against his side. Amelie snuggled into him, her head resting on his chest, her arm draped across his torso.

He kissed the top of her head, the scent of her arousal still clinging to her skin. Her heart beat steadily beneath his ear, a comforting rhythm. He held her tightly, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Amelie stirred slightly. She opened her eyes, her gaze soft and languid as she looked up at him. A small, contented smile touched her lips.

—That was… intense,— she murmured, her voice still a little hoarse.

Lando chuckled softly, tightening his arm around her. —You have no one to blame but yourself, naughty girl.—

Amelie playfully swatted his chest. —Oh, so it was all my fault?—

—Every delicious bit of it,— he confirmed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

She sighed contentedly, snuggling deeper into him. The remnants of the dominant energy that had pulsed between them moments ago now softened into a comfortable intimacy.

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. five

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐘𝐎𝐔.

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⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: The biggest night of the year. The Grammys. Cameras flash, reporters push for answers, and the world holds its breath as you and Ellie step onto the red carpet—together. But the night doesn’t end there. Somewhere between the champagne, the piled-up tension, and the magnetic pull drawing you closer, the inevitable finally happens. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 19,4k 𖥔 ݁ ˖ (i swear its worth it pls read😩)

⭒ content: smut, fluff, LOTS of tension, switch!ellie, switch! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex (ellie!receiving), praise, pet names, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MEN AND MINORS DNI, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

You took another breath. Then another.

It didn't help.

The mirror reflected back a version of you that barely felt you.

Hair sculpted to perfection—every strand smoothed, intentional, calculated. The makeup was flawless, airbrushed into looking almost surreal, every sharp line and soft curve enhanced just enough to look effortless.

But it wasn’t effortless. None of this was. It had taken hours. Layers of foundation, contour, highlight, hairspray, a meticulous blend of artistry and illusion. The kind of beauty designed to be captured in flashing lights, immortalized in high definition, scrutinized by millions.

You looked unreal. A vision. A spectacle crafted for the cameras.

And then, there was the dress.

It hung in the corner of the suite like an omen, untouched and shimmering under the golden glow of the vanity bulbs. Versace, custom-made, one of one. It was breathtaking—cinched at the waist, sculpting you like you’d stepped out of some dream, the fabric cascading like liquid metal. The kind of dress that would be studied, analyzed, labeled as iconic before the night was even over.

Because tonight wasn’t just a night.

Tonight was the night.

The moment you had fought for, bled for, lost sleep over.

Your first Grammys. Your first time stepping onto the biggest stage of your career, standing shoulder to shoulder with legends, breathing the same air as the voices you grew up idolizing.

And you weren’t just attending—you were nominated.

Five times.

Best New Artist. Best Pop Vocal Album. Record of the Year. Song of the Year. And the one that had made your hands tremble when you first saw the announcement—

Best Duo/Group Performance.

For She.

Your breath hitched just thinking about it. Thinking about how that song—the one you weren’t even sure if you wanted to record—had exploded into something bigger than either of you had ever anticipated.

And now, the Grammys were acknowledging it. The industry was acknowledging it.

But surprisingly, the thing that had you trembling with anxiety the most wasn't that.

No.

It was Ellie.

Ellie, standing next to you. Watching. Listening. Performing. Feeling.

Because Ellie wasn’t just Ellie.

She wasn’t just your fake girlfriend. She wasn’t just your partner in this beautifully reckless, industry-shattering lie the two of you had built.

She was Ellie.

And you were in love with her.

The kind of love that settled deep, burrowed under your ribs and made a home there, quiet and aching. The kind of love that swallowed you whole when she so much as looked at you.

And worst of all? It was one-sided.

The realization hit like a gut punch, sharp and breath-stealing, even though it had already settled into your bones weeks ago. Maybe longer. Maybe you had always known, in some small, unspoken way.

But knowing didn’t mean accepting. And accepting didn’t make it any easier.

This was it—the first official public appearance. The moment that would cement everything. The final nail in the coffin. The inescapable, undeniable proof of your relationship.

Your fake relationship.

Your hands clenched against the vanity, perfectly fresh manicured nails pressing into the polished wood as if anchoring yourself.

You had never been more terrified in your life.

"Breathe," Rachel’s voice cut through your quiet chaos, unimpressed but not unkind. "You’re gripping that vanity like it personally offended your family."

You forced yourself to loosen your grip. Barely.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the couch. "Alright, what’s going on in that scary little brain of yours?"

"I think I’m gonna pass out."

"Please don’t. At least not before the performance." She grinned, poking your arm. "Want me to slap you?"

"Not helpful."

Rachel ignored that, gesturing towards the dress"You do realize Ellie’s about to see you in that, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Totally forgot, thanks."

"Like, in less than an hour, she’s gonna turn her stupid little rockstar head and see you. In that dress. And she’s gonna fucking die."

Your heart pounded. Because Ellie wasn’t subtle. She never had been.

Rachel smirked. "I told you this would happen."

"What?"

"You. Her. This absolute circus you two created." She grinned. "You were always gonna take over the industry."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"You should be thanking me. I manifested this."

You groaned. "This is so fucking stupid."

"No, what’s stupid is you acting like it wasn’t inevitable."

You glared. "Still not helping."

"I’m just saying! If it were me about to own the night, win a bunch of Grammys, looking like the hottest person in the room, performing next to the girl I was secretly in love with—"

"Rachel."

"—I’d be excited. Not terrified."

"Well, but that's certainly not my case. I'm fucking terrified."

Rachel ignored that. Instead, she wandered over to the dress, brushing her fingers over the fabric like it was something sacred. Her expression softened. “You don’t even see it, do you?”

You frowned. “See what?”

She turned back to you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You’ve already won.”

Your stomach flipped. “What are you talking about?”

“The headlines. The industry. The world.” She paused. “Ellie.”

Your breath caught.

Rachel took a step closer. "Tonight isn’t just about the Grammys. It’s about you. About how you’re standing at the top of the fucking world, and no one can touch you."

She grinned, eyes sharp, like she was reading your future. “And you know what’s even crazier?”

“…What?”

“You’re not even at your peak yet.”

Your pulse stuttered.

Rachel winked, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. “Now put the damn dress on. You have history to make.”

Ellie Williams was going to die.

Not from anxiety. Not from the pressure of attending the biggest music event of the year. Not even from the seven Grammy nominations under her belt.

She was going to die because Dina wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Bro, you’re actually panicking.”

Ellie shot a glare at her, who was sprawled across the hotel couch like she didn’t have a single worry in the world. Meanwhile, she had spent the last hour pacing the length of the suite like a lunatic.

"For god's fucking sake Dina, I’m not fucking panicking!" Ellie snapped, running a hand through her hair before immediately regretting it, because of course her stylist had spent forty goddamn minutes making it look effortlessly messy instead of actually messy.

"Then why do you look like you’re about to projectile vomit?" Dina didn’t even glance up from her phone. "And don’t you dare raise your damn tone at me."

Ellie exhaled sharply, trying to calm herself down before speaking again. "I’m fine."

Dina finally looked at her, unimpressed. "Yeah. You sound real convincing."

Jesse, who had been watching the whole thing unfold from the armchair, finally sighed and set down his drink. “Dude. You haven’t even put your suit on yet.”

Ellie froze.

She looked towards the garment bag hanging by the closet. It was just sitting there, taunting her. The custom Dior was nothing short of perfect—sharp, impossibly tailored, stupidly expensive. Designed to make her look like she belonged. Like she owned the room before even stepping into it.

She hadn’t touched it. She hadn’t even unzipped the damn thing.

Jesse smirked. “You’re scared of the suit.”

She scowled. “I’m not scared of a suit.”

“You’re definitely scared of the suit.”

Dina whistled lowly, shaking her head. “Damn, didn’t realize fake-dating the hottest pop star on the planet was so hard.”

Ellie threw her a look. “Eat shit.”

“Els, I’m thriving. I'm attending the fucking Grammys. You’re the only one spiraling here.”

Ellie threw her arms up. “I hate both of you.”

Jesse clapped his hands together. “Sick. Now, put on the damn suit. Your girlfriend is waiting.”

Ellie’s entire body locked up.

Because that was the part that completely shattered whatever fragile grip she had on reality.

It was fake. The relationship was fake. But none of that mattered when she had to step out there—stand next to you, sit next to you, perform with you—while the entire world watched.

And the worst part?

She wanted it.

Wanted the cameras, the flashing lights, the screaming fans—to not be watching some carefully curated story, but something real.

But that wasn’t the deal.

Yeah.

She had never been more terrified in her life.

The elevator doors open.

And the air inside the lobby shifts.

Not just a slight change, not just a ripple—but a full, undeniable shift, like something unseen had just taken a deep breath and held it. The static hum of conversation, the controlled chaos of stylists, assistants, managers screaming into phones—it all dulled in an instant.

The cause? Ellie stepped out of the elevator.

And fuck—there was no preparing for that.

Rachel’s fingers tightened around your wrist, her breath catching. Jesse’s quiet holy shit barely registered, lost under the way the world seemed to still. Dina, for once in her life, was silent. And you—

You just froze.

The black Dior suit was a masterpiece—razor-sharp in its tailoring, draped over her lean frame like it had been stitched onto her skin. The blazer hung open just enough to catch the glint of a silver chain resting against her collarbone, a teasing flicker of warmth against the crisp fabric. Ink curled along her forearms, peeking through the rolled-up sleeves—an effortless rebellion against the suit’s precision, a contrast so sharp it sent a pulse straight through you.

Ellie carried it the way only she could—shoulders back, hands in her pockets, that faraway look in her eyes. A quiet storm wrapped in nonchalance, as if she wasn’t setting the entire room off its axis just by standing there. As if she didn’t look like she belonged on a goddamn movie screen.

But it wasn’t just the suit. It wasn’t even how she wore it. It was her.

The way her hair fell in perfect disarray, strands slipping messily over sharp cheekbones. The way the warm glow of the hotel lights cut shadows along her jaw, sculpting it almost criminally sharp. The way she walked—unbothered, gaze cast downwards, completely unaware of what she was doing to the room.

And then she looked up.

And saw you.

Ellie Williams—gritty, untouchable, rockstar Ellie Williams—stopped mid-step. The air around her shifted, something flickering behind her eyes, breaking.

And suddenly, she wasn’t a rockstar. Wasn’t untouchable.

She was just a girl.

The elevator shut behind her, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, barely even breathed. Her gaze locked onto you like she had just walked into a wall.

Her gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, like a match dragged against phosphorus. She traced every detail—the way the fabric hugged your curves, the daring slit that teased against your thigh, the way the shimmer caught the light and set you glowing. She looked at you like she was trying to commit you to memory, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to stare so much but was powerless to stop.

You finally decided to make the first move, taking a single step forward.

“Hey there, rockstar...” Your voice calm and measured, carefully testing the waters between you as you tilted your head. “Took you long enough.”

It was a bullet, hitting its mark with perfect precision.

Ellie blinked, lips parting slightly, like she had just been yanked out of a daze.

Jesse, amused as ever, let out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god! Say something Williams!”

Ellie dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

She inhaled sharply, rolled her shoulders back, and just like that—the hesitation was gone. Whatever flicker of vulnerability had been there vanished in a second, smothered under that signature grin that sent the industry into a tailspin every time she flashed it.

She stepped forward, erasing the last of space between you in a few strides, her voice dropping lower.

“Damn... and here I thought I was supposed to be the showstopper.”

It landed deep in your chest, twisting something warm and volatile inside you. Your smirk faltered—just a fraction, just enough.

Her gaze flickered downward, briefly, catching the quick rise and fall of your chest before she looked back up, smirking like she had already won.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, fighting the way your stomach twisted, fighting the way her voice curled around your ribs and settled there, heavy and unfair. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Ellie leaned in just a little, enough that her scent—expensive, strong, devastating—wrapped around you like a second skin. Her voice dropped impossibly lower, just for you.

“You started it.”

Rachel, always the voice of reason, groaned loudly, shattering the moment like glass.

“Jesus Christ, can you two save the eye-fucking for later? We’re on a schedule.”

You blinked, stepping back as if physically reminded that there were other people in the room. Ellie exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her expression neutral but her pupils still blown wide, still telling.

Dina, meanwhile, looked utterly feral as she whispered to Jesse. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You turned to Ellie, lifting an eyebrow, your voice smooth despite the warmth still buzzing beneath your skin. “You ready?”

She exhaled, flexing her fingers, shaking out her shoulders, grinning like she already knew exactly how the night was going to end.

“Let’s give ‘em a show.”

The limousine slowed to a crawl, and suddenly, the flashes of cameras outside the tinted windows became relentless—bright bursts of white light searing through the darkness.

You could hear them, muffled yet frantic, a chaotic symphony of voices and shutter clicks all bleeding together into one deafening roar. Your stomach twisted in response.

This was it.

Ellie inhaled deeply beside you, rolling her shoulders back one last time, exhaling slow as she turned her head towards you.

"You ready?"

Your breath came out unsteady. You swallowed once. Twice.

"No."

She grinned. Not the sharp, cocky grin she usually wore in front of cameras, but something quieter, something just for you. She leaned in—too close, her breath warm where it brushed against your jaw, sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

"Relax, babe" she murmured, voice soft. "I’ve got you."

The door swung open abruptly before you could even process her words.

The second an inch of your face was visible, the screams hit like a tidal wave, piercing and relentless. The flashing lights turned into a blinding, disorienting storm, a sea of white-hot bursts swallowing every movement. And in the middle of it all—you, suddenly the center of the universe.

Your designer heels met the pavement as you stand up. A mess of voices crashed over you all at once, a frantic mix of admiration and desperation.

"Over here! Look this way!"

"Who are you wearing tonight?!"

"Are you and Ellie actually dating?!"

As if summoned by that last question, Ellie stepped out behind you.

And everyone present officially lost. their. minds.

You didn’t need to turn to know the effect you both were having. You felt it. The sharp inhale of breath from fans pressed against the barricades, the stunned pause before the photographers remembered to press the shutter. The slight tremor in the reporters' voices as they called your names, eager and breathless. Desperate.

Desperate to capture you. Desperate to capture her.

Desperate to capture both of you arriving together.

The second Ellie stepped forward to pose beside you, the volume spiked—voices climbing over each other, cameras firing in rapid succession, flashes intensifying like lightning in a summer storm, rapid-fire.

You shifted, tilting your chin just right, your body angled perfectly for the cameras, letting the dress do half the work. The slit caught the light, the fabric clung in all the right places, and you heard the reactions—sharp whistles, murmured damns, the rapid clicking of shutters as they tried to capture every second.

Ellie leaned in, fingers pressing firmly against your waist, the space between you reduced to a breath. The cameras flashed, but they weren’t what sent heat crawling up your spine—it was her. Still, you held your perfect composure, even as your pulse betrayed you.

Ellie, however, wasn’t media-trained like you.

You caught it in the way she exhaled a beat too hard, the restless flick of her fingers against her cuff—an old habit you knew too well. So you turned, offering her a small, knowing smile. Just enough to steady her without a word.

And when she smiled back, her gaze dipping—lingering at your waist, at the high slit of your dress—you saw the exact moment she tried to stop herself.

Tried.

Because it was already too late.

You caught it.

And so did the cameras.

Just as the moment threatened to spiral into something neither of you were prepared for, a voice cut through the chaos—

"Ellie! Some shots with The Fireflies?"

You took a few steps away for your solo shots, moving with practiced ease—but not before glancing back at Ellie. You met her gaze, and, just to push your luck, tossed her a wink.

Ellie huffed out a breath, shaking her head with a smirk—half exasperation, half something else. But then, effortlessly, she brought two fingers to her lips and blew you a kiss.

Casual. Smooth. She didn’t even have to think about it.

The cameras exploded.

Before you could turn away, movement in your periphery caught your attention—Jesse and Dina closing in on Ellie. They both looked unfairly good.

Jesse was all sleek confidence in an all-black suit, sharp and effortless. Dina, wrapped in emerald silk that shimmered under the flashing lights, looked radiant—her curls framing her smirk as she nudged Ellie’s side.

“Didn’t take you for the PDA type, rockstar” she teased, just loud enough for Ellie to hear over the chaos.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but the pink dusting her ears gave her away.

“Over here!”

The cameras ate up the sight of the three of them standing side by side—the infamous Fireflies, rock’s favorite rebels, draped in luxury but still looking like they belonged on a stage rather than a red carpet.

“Jesse! How does it feel to be here tonight?”

Jesse grinned, reaching up to adjust his sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had set hours ago. "It’s surreal, man. We’re just some idiots making music, and now we’re here? Wild."

Dina snorted before flashing the cameras a dazzling smile. "Speak for yourself. I knew we’d be here eventually."

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Seven nominations this year! That’s huge. How are y'all feeling?"

Ellie shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders back, letting the reckless persona slip fully into place. "Feeling good. Feeling grateful. It’s crazy, you know? We put everything into this album, and to see people connect so much with it—it’s the best feeling in the world."

"Any category you’re hoping to take home?"

Jesse chimed in before Ellie could, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, we all know she wants album of the year. She won’t say it, but we know."

Ellie groaned, shoving him off. "Shut up."

Dina smirked. "He’s not wrong, though."

Ellie sighed dramatically, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Listen, if we win anything, I’ll be happy. But yeah—album of the year would be pretty fucking cool."

"Dina, you co-wrote a few songs on the album. Any personal favorite?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Oh, definitely 'Ghost Town.' That one’s special."

Jesse scoffed. "It’s because she knows that song makes people cry."

"Is that true, Dina?"

She grinned mischievously. "I mean… I’m not trying to make people cry. But if it happens, it happens."

More laughter. More cameras flashing. The Fireflies had a way of making these events feel less rigid, less scripted—something about the way they didn’t take themselves too seriously, even when the world was watching.

"Over here! One for Vogue!"

You turned, giving them the shot. A slight tilt of your chin. A slow blink, just enough to let the moment linger before moving on.

"Five Grammy nominations! How does it feel to be one of the most celebrated artists this year?"

You smiled, measured—but genuine. "It’s unreal. Truly. I still don’t think it’s sunk in yet, but I’m beyond grateful. Every single nomination is an honor, especially alongside so many incredible artists."

"Which nomination means the most to you?"

You let out a soft laugh. "That’s like picking your favorite child—you just can’t do it. But… Best New Artist? That one truly means a lot."

"And if you win it tonight?"

Your gaze flickered to the side for just a second—to Ellie. She was responding to the reporter's questions with her band, one hand raised to the back of her neck, lips pressed together like she was holding back a smirk.

"Then I guess I’ll have to celebrate properly" you teased.

"Speaking of celebrating, is Ellie your good luck charm?"

The question hit as if they had been waiting for it.

Your smile didn’t waver. You turned slightly, gaze drifting again towards the woman in question, standing a few feet away, all angles and ease and damn suit.

"I mean... she’s definitely something" you said smoothly.

A ripple of laughter, cameras flashing faster.

"Ellie, any speech prepared if you win?"

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, a dead giveaway of her discomfort. "God, no. I don’t plan that shit. I’ll probably just black out and hope for the best."

Jesse clapped a hand on her back, grinning. "Or she’ll get all emotional. It could go either way."

Ellie shot him a glare, but her mouth twitched, fighting a grin.

"Is there someone special you'll be celebrating with if you win tonight?"

Her eyes flickered to you—just for a second. And that was long enough.

"I think we all know the answer to that."

And just like that, the internet went up in flames.

"Final question—What do you think of her dress?"

The question came loud, eager. Jesse and Dina tensed, bracing for her usual deflection. But Ellie didn’t dodge. She turned toward the cameras, that infuriating smirk curling at the edges of her lips. And then, without hesitation—

“Gorgeous.” A pause. A flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “But a problem.”

A frenzy. Shutters clicking, voices overlapping, the question fired back at her from all directions.

"A problem? What do you mean?"

Ellie exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, the corner of her mouth lifting like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"No further comments."

The press erupted. If the energy had been electric before, it was nothing short of combustible now.

Ellie barely seemed to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

Because her eyes found you again, this time with no attempt to hide her ogling—taking in every inch of you. In just a second, you felt her fingers flexing against your waist. It was just a twitch, like she needed something to hold on to, something to keep herself grounded.

She leaned in. Close enough that you felt the heat of her breath against your skin, close enough that the world outside this moment didn’t seem to exist.

“Missed you, pretty girl.”

The words licked through you like a live wire, igniting something low in your stomach.

And oh, fuck her.

Yeah... fuck her...

You barely had time to collect those thoughts before you spotted Jesse and Dina waiting by the entrance. Jesse looked like he was one second away from losing it. Dina wasn’t even pretending to hold back.

The moment you reached them, she grabbed Ellie by the shoulders and shook her, dramatic as ever. "You fucking menace."

She groaned, shoving her off. "Jesus Christ, Dina—"

"Did you have to say that?!" she wheezed between cackles. "‘Her dress is a problem’?! Ellie, you’re the damn problem!"

You raised a brow, unimpressed. "You really just said that?"

Ellie scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What else was I supposed to say? It’s the truth."

Jesse slung an arm around Ellie’s shoulders, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. "You do realize you just handed them six months’ worth of headlines, right?"

Dina wiped an imaginary tear from her eye, still grinning. "No, Jesse, she might as well have just proposed."

Ellie groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head at her. "You should focus, Williams."

Ellie’s tongue flicked against her cheek, a telltale sign she was biting back something reckless. "Right. Focus. That’s exactly what I’m doing."

The look she gave you said otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged her toward the entrance. "Come on, before they shove another mic in your face."

Ellie muttered something under her breath—still pink around the ears—but she followed.

The second you stepped into the arena, the energy slammed into you.

The flashing lights, the deafening roar of the crowd, the electric tension of the biggest names in the industry all packed under one roof—it was overwhelming in the best way.

By the time you reached your table, the show was minutes from starting. The stage loomed ahead, glowing under colorful lights, and the weight of it all finally started to sink in.

Ellie pulled out your chair like it was second nature before settling into her own. She stretched an arm over the back of your seat, leaning in just enough—like she belonged there. Like this was normal. Like you weren’t about to perform together in front of millions of people in just a few hours.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to focus.

The ceremony erupted to life—blinding lights, deafening applause, an opening act that shook the arena to its core. You clapped along, laughed when you were supposed to, tried to focus on the performances, but the night moved in a blur—too fast, too loud, too big.

Every so often, Ellie leaned in—just close enough for you to feel her there, to murmur some dry remark about the show, to let you catch the faintest trace of that infuriatingly expensive cologne.

It was criminal.

She had no business smelling that good, looking that good—especially when the cameras had made it their personal mission to capture every single interaction between you.

Then she looked at you again. But this time she didn’t just look, she stared.

That sharp, cutting kind of gaze that made it really fucking hard to breathe. The kind that peeled back layers, left you bare, made your stomach flip in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your chair. “Stop staring at me like that."

Ellie smirked. Lips moving just enough for anyone watching to read them perfectly.

"Nah. You look too fucking hot right now."

And before you could even glance at her, the entire place detonated in wolf whistles.

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse and Dina damn near lost their minds.

And that's how you realized those 5 seconds of interaction were aired live. Broadcasted on the giant screens above the stage. Beamed straight into the homes of millions.

Your heart stopped. Ellie just grinned, slow and lazy.

You barely swallowed down a groan, heat rushing up your face as you leaned in, voice low and sharp. "You did that on purpose."

Ellie tilted her head, eyes glinting with pure mischief. "No clue what you’re talking about, babe."

It was ridiculous. You weren’t even trying to give them anything, but every glance, every flicker of tension, every barely-there smirk on Ellie’s lips sent the crowd spiraling into another round of shrieks and whispers.

Rachel, seated beside you, was thriving.

"You two are a headline machine" she snorted between rounds of applause.

The night raged on—but no matter how many Grammys changed hands, the energy never settled. The internet was already a crime scene. Tweets flying, reaction lives multiplying, people analyzing every frame of a broadcasted thirst scandal like their lives depended on it.

And then, it happened.

One of the hosts, a comedian notorious for dragging celebrities for sport, strutted onto the stage for a mid-show bit. The crowd buzzed, half-focused, half-drunk on the night’s chaos. But the second he spoke, the place got quiet.

“So, listen. I know we’re here to celebrate music—” He made air quotes, grinning, “—but let’s be honest, half of you are only watching for the drama.”

Scattered laughter. Some knowing applause.

The host smirked, tapping the mic. “There’s been a lot of big moments already. But I think we all know the biggest.”

You already felt it coming. That sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the one that always crept in right before you were about to be publicly dragged. Next to you, Ellie straightened like she smelled blood in the water.

A pause. A slow, menacing turn towards the camera.

“I mean, damn, Ellie Williams, way to keep it subtle.”

The arena got as loud as it could get. Laughter, cheers, people fully losing their minds.

The cameras caught Ellie letting out a slow breath, masking it with a shameless smirk—while you groaned, dropping your head into your hands in utter defeat.

The host grinned. “Oh, don’t get shy now! We all saw it.”

And then, without mercy—

The clip replayed.

Ellie, smirking, gaze trailing over you like she was seconds away from bending you across the table and ruining you beyond repair. Not even a second later, she mouthed the words—slow, crystal clear—"You look too fucking hot right now."

Screams. Someone banged their fist on a table. The most famous artists of the world clapping along like it was the national anthem.

Ellie dragged a hand down her face. You felt your soul ascend to the astral plane.

“Now, I don’t know about you guys, but that didn’t sound like a casual compliment to me. That sounded like someone five seconds away from violating FCC guidelines.”

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse was doubled over. Dina smacked his arm so hard he yelped.

The camera darted in the moment Ellie finally cracked, shaking her head as she lifted her glass. She called dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re sooo funny!”

"I know right?" The host sighed, utterly delighted, milking the moment like this was the best material he’d ever been handed. “Listen. This isn’t just a relationship. This is cinema. This is a public service. So, on behalf of the people—”

A smirk. “Keep being messy. We love it.”

"And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to…"

The presenter let the moment stretch, his pause winding the tension impossibly tight. You swore you could hear your own heartbeat over the silence. Every muscle in your body coiled, bracing for impact.

"Y/N!"

Your jaw dropped.

The world blurred.

Earlier, you had already stood twice on the stage, had already felt the weight of gold in your hands when they announced you had won Best Pop Vocal Album and Song of the Year.

Those moments had been surreal enough—standing there, overwhelmed, trying to string words together while your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

And yet—this felt different.

This wasn’t just an album or a song win. This was you. Your career being cemented in history, branded with a title that only a handful of artists had ever held before.

It hit you all at once—the deafening roar, the rush of movement around you, the sheer weight of what just happened. Rachel’s hands were on your shoulders, shaking you with unfiltered joy, her voice an unintelligible blur of triumph in your ears. Jesse and Dina were yelling, clapping, cheering like you had just won the Super Bowl.

And Ellie—

Ellie was right there, standing beside you, her expression unreadable for a second before it cracked into a grin.

"Congrats, babe," Her hand found the small of your back, her lips brushing just close enough to your ear to send something hot racing down your spine. "Knew you'd win."

Her voice was low, smooth, laced with something that wasn't just confidence—it was certainty. Like she'd seen this coming before you ever could.

Your breath caught, but there was no time to process it. You rose to your feet, hands trembling, legs carrying you up the stage like you weren’t entirely sure this was real.

The Grammy was placed into your hands. Solid. Heavy. Yours.

You could barely breathe, barely think. All you could feel was the rush—that dizzying, overwhelming realization that you had just won the biggest award of your career. Somewhere in the madness, you swore you could hear Rachel screaming your name like she was personally responsible for your victory.

You stepped up to the mic, fingers tightening around the Grammy like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away. You took a deep breath, exhaled, the music starting to lower.

"I—" Your voice cracked before you could even start. A breathless, disbelieving laugh slipped out, and the crowd responded with warm applause.

You swallowed. Steady.

"I don’t even know how to put this into words." Another pause. Another shake of your head. "God." You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the golden award in your hands. 

Your eyes flicked back up to the sea of people, searching for something—someone.

Ellie.

Still standing. Still watching.

Amusement still played at the corner of her lips, but her eyes held something else entirely. Deeper, almost reverent, like she wasn’t just looking at you now but at every version of you that had fought to stand here.

And if you weren’t so utterly oblivious, you might’ve caught it—the way her gaze lingered, soft and unguarded, completely giving her away. Hopelessly, undeniably enamored.

"...I started this journey with nothing but a voice and a dream. And for a long time, that felt like all I had. There were moments where I thought—maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe I wasn’t enough. There were nights I played to empty rooms, days I poured everything into songs no one would ever hear. I wrote lyrics on the backs of receipts, on napkins, in the notes app at three in the morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted this. How much I needed it.”

A hush settled over the room, the kind that only happens when people are truly listening.

You swallowed, steadying yourself. "I wrote in tiny apartments, on shitty couches, in the back of tour buses running on fumes. I lost sleep. I lost myself, sometimes. And I thought, if this never happens for me, at least I’ll know I tried. At least I’ll know I gave everything I had.”

You let out a shaky breath, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping. 

“And now—now I’m here.”

The applause was thunderous. A few cheers rang out. You blinked hard, feeling the burn behind your eyes.

God, you were really going to cry.

"This album—this album was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was terrifying. I put my entire soul into it, ripped myself open, laid every piece of me bare for the world to see. And you guys—” Your voice cracked. “You listened. You understood. And that means more to me than I will ever be able to say."

The cameras panned to the crowd—to fans wiping their eyes, to artists who got it, who knew exactly what this moment felt like.

You took a breath, a real, deep one, grounding yourself. "I have to thank my team—the people who held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. The ones who fought for me, believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. My incredible producers, my friends, my family, and especially Rachel, my manager, who I love very deeply and deserves every award ever for putting up me.”

The cameras cut to Rachel, who threw her hands up dramatically and mouthed, You’re a nightmare, but I love you too! The crowd erupted into laughter as she shook her head, pretending to wipe away a tear.

You let out a real laugh, rolling your eyes as the applause swelled. “And my fans. God, my fans. You are the reason I’m standing here right now. You built this with me. You made me feel like my voice mattered when I wasn’t sure if it did.”

"And to everyone who inspired this album…"

The shift was instant. The room seemed to inhale all at once, thousands of people leaning in, waiting, hanging onto your words like they were the only thing in the world.

You let the silence stretch as your eyes found Ellie’s again.

And there it was.

That look. Soft. Steady. A gleam of something warm, knowing, impossibly fond.

A smirk threatened the corner of your lips before you murmured.

"You know who you are."

She exhaled a quiet chuckle, teeth biting her bottom lip like she was actively holding herself back. Like she was resisting the urge to make things worse.

But then—

The camera darted to her as she mouthed something. Loud and clear, every syllable unmistakable.

"Say my name next time, babe."

The entire place detonated. Someone—probably Rachel—screamed so loud you swore the walls shook.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead, fighting back a laugh. “Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

Ellie just leaned back, grinning, completely unbothered, looking far too pleased with herself. And, because she was insufferable, she raised her glass in a taunting toast.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. Tried to collect yourself, to focus, to push past the way your heart was damn near sprinting out of your chest. 

“Alright, before this completely spirals out of control—” A knowing chuckle rippled through the crowd.

“Thank you to the Academy for this incredible honor. For giving me a seat at the table. For giving me this unforgettable moment. I'll never take it for granted.”

A standing ovation, a hurricane of applause, waves crashing over you, unrelenting. You let yourself feel it, let it sink into your bones, let it root itself deep inside the part of you that never thought you'd get here.

You swallowed hard, pressing the Grammy to your chest.

“Thank you.” you said one last time, voice thick with emotion.

Backstage was chaos. The kind that crackled in the air, thick with heat and adrenaline, pressing in from every angle. Crew members rushed past, earpieces buzzing, boots thudding against the concrete.

But it was the moment that solidified everything, the confirmation of what the world already knew, what still lingered in the air.

She had won the Grammy for Best Duo/Group Performance earlier that night, a victory so deafening, so inevitable, that when your names were called the entire place erupted before you even stood up.

The footage was already looping across every major network, social media imploding under the weight of it—Ellie’s stunned, breathless laugh, the way she’d grabbed your hand without thinking, the way you’d both held onto each other like you were afraid to let go.

The rest of the speech blurred in a mix of gratitude and disbelief, lost in the rush of emotions, the sheer, unreal magnitude of the moment. Even as you left the stage, Grammys in hand, cameras flashing, the words wouldn’t stop looping in your head.

But it was offstage, away from the world for just a second, were Ellie’s fingers brushed your wrist. She leaned in, breath warm against your skin, murmuring,

"We fucking won, love."

The way she said it.

The way love sat in her mouth, heavy, real, certain.

That was the moment that made your heart skip a beat.

And now, an hour later, standing under the blistering heat of the backstage lights, about to perform that song for the first time in front of the world, the weight of it settled between you.

This was history. 

And somehow, it still felt like just the beginning.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your black leather bodysuit—sleek, form-fitting, sculpted to your frame like a second skin. Silver zippers running along the sides, glinting under the dressing room lights. Fingerless gloves hugged your hands, the worn leather creaking as you flexed your fingers.

Your hair was a masterpiece of controlled chaos. Styled in tousled waves, effortlessly messy, strands falling just right to frame your face. A few loose pieces skimmed your cheekbones, adding to the sharp, untouchable edge of your look.

Your reflection stared back at you—calm, composed—but your pulse told a different story.

Ellie stood across from you, rolling her shoulders, fingers flexing over her guitar. But her eyes—her eyes were on you.

"You good?" Her voice was low, edged carefully.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. "I think so. You?"

Her lips twitched between a smirk and a promise. A fleeting brush of fingers. “Always.”

A tech shoved an earpiece into your hand. “One minute.”

Jesse and Dina flanked the stage, all sharp focus, no laughter now. The whole thing was a message wrapped in spectacle, and you all were at the center of it.

“Hey” Ellie dipped her head, voice softer. “You’re gonna be incredible.”

Your breath hitched.

The countdown buzzed in your earpiece. Three. Two. One.

A final squeeze of your hand, then the lights dropped, plunging the arena into darkness.

A breath. A heartbeat. A single second of silence stretched impossibly thin—then shattered.

A lone, drawn-out note curled through the speakers, slithering into the dark. The crowd inhaled all at once, their anticipation a living, breathing thing.

A spotlight.

It hit Ellie first.

She stood center stage, shoulders squared, guitar slung low, head bowed just enough for strands of auburn hair to shield her eyes. The soft glow of the lights carved sharp edges into her silhouette—her presence commanding, electric.

She wore a fitted black leather vest, the worn material unzipped. Underneath, a dark, sleeveless shirt clung to her frame, fabric stretched taut over lean muscle. The vest’s open sides exposed the sculpted lines of her arms—sinewy, strong, ink curling up her biceps, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her jeans, dark and low-slung, sat comfortably on her hips, belt hanging loose, silver buckle glinting under the stage lights.

She strummed once.

The note rumbled through the floor, through your lungs, through every goddamn inch of the arena, rich and deep enough to sink into your ribs.

Then came the drums—Jesse’s steady, pounding heartbeat behind it all. Dina followed, her bass humming low, sticky and intoxicating curling through the air.

The second spotlight ignited.

You.

A sharp inhale from the crowd. A deafening roar that barely registered because you weren’t looking at them.

You were looking at her.

Ellie’s head lifted, her gaze finding yours through the dim haze of stage smoke, and it felt like a click into place. Like a gun being cocked.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you reached for the mic. The metal was cool beneath your fingertips, grounding you, anchoring you against the whirlwind of sound swelling around you.

Then—your voice.

Soft at first. A whisper, stretching into the space between you.

“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kid off at school...”

Ellie exhaled, barely audible, but you heard it. Saw it. The way her grip on the guitar tightened. The way her lips parted like she was trying to breathe through something thick, weighty.

“And he's thinking of you… Like all of us do…”

Your voice dipped, teasing, stretching each syllable like elastic.

Ellie's pupils where blew wide, her fingers moving with almost violent precision, wrenching every note from the strings like they owed her money. Her jaw clenched, her body taut with restraint, like she was holding back.

The second chorus slammed into place faster than you expected it.

Ellie took a step forward.

You mirrored it.

Closer.

Closer.

Until the heat of the stage lights wasn’t the only thing licking up your skin.

Your breath hitched when she leaned in—not enough to touch, not yet, but enough that the space between you felt razor-thin, stretched tight.

Her lips parted. And she whispered.

"Sing it for me."

Not a request.

A dare.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mic, knuckles white, pulse hammering beneath your skin.

Staring straight into her, you sang with your voice steady, resounding stronger now.

“She... she's lives in daydreams with me…”

The bridge erupted, scorching through the speakers, and with it—Ellie’s solo.

She played like she was setting the world on fire.

Head tilted back, throat exposed, the column of her neck glowing with sweat. Her fingers tore up the frets, raw, unrelenting, a force of pure instinct. The way her body moved, hips shifting with each brutal strum—was hypnotic. 

And fuck, you had to get closer.

You pressed in behind her, your back flush against hers, bodies fitting together like a perfectly tuned chord. You lifted your leg slightly, letting the weight of your head tilt fully and rest against her shoulder, the heat between you palpable, searing.

From the side, the camera caught everything—the way your bodies aligned, the sharp contrast of her dark outfit against your exposed skin, the slow drag of your breath against her neck.

The scent of sweat, leather, and something distinctly Ellie flooded your senses. Intoxicating, overwhelming.

And you felt it—the sharp hitch in her inhale, the way her fingers trembled over the strings, her solo faltering for the briefest, nearly imperceptible second. No one else would have noticed.

But you did.

And she did too.

Still, she kept playing. Hands moving with lethal precision, veins standing stark beneath inked skin as she willed herself to stay focused.

Your breath ghosted along the side of her neck—just enough to make her shiver, just enough to make the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. Your lips hovered a fraction closer, as if you might close the distance, and hell, you wanted to.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, tormenting, teasing, giving her just enough to feel it everywhere.

And then—your hand. A slow, burning trail down her side, fingers grazing the hem of her vest, skating over the sharp line of her hipbone. Taunting. Dragging just beneath the thin fabric of her shirt where the heat of her skin burned against your palm.

You felt it there. Her heartbeat. Not just fast. Not just erratic.

Pounding.

Together, you were a collision of power and sensuality, raw and unrelenting. Every movement between you carried an electric tension, so thick the air itself seemed to hum, as if the very stage couldn't contain that kind of charge.

On your own, each of you commanded the stage—Ellie with her wild, untamed energy and you with the fierce, magnetic intensity of your presence.

But together?

The force you unleashed was almost unbearable, so overwhelming no one in the audience could look away, not even for a second.

Ellie’s fingers danced over the guitar, every note slicing through the air like it was meant just for you. Your movements synced in dangerous harmony, bodies aligned with ruthless precision, each touch building a storm that was impossible to resist.

The crowd was losing themselves in the performance, screams and chants rising in deafening waves, as if the entire room was pulsing with the same energy. The air crackled with raw power, each note vibrating through every soul present.

But you could feel it—the moment Ellie was teetering on the edge. Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, a storm brewing just beneath the surface, and the crowd, blissfully unaware, was urging her to let it all go.

You held her there, turning to face her and stare right into her darkened eyes, your energy pushing back like an undeniable force of nature.

The final note struck.

A breathless, stretched-out second. Suspended. Waiting.

The silence held still. The entire world watching held still.

And Ellie finally snapped.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, grip firm—possessive, like she was anchoring herself to you, like letting go wasn’t an option.

And then—

Her lips crashed against yours, shattering the space between you in an instant.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was fierce, breath-stealing—like a match to gasoline, like every second leading up to this had been waiting to ignite.

The world outside collapsed into static—flashing lights, deafening screams, history fracturing in real-time. Millions, no, billions watched, but none of them mattered.

Not here.

Here, there was only the heat of her lips, the tremor in her hands, the breathless inevitability of it all. Nothing else existed in this moment, in this single, suspended second, where Ellie Williams was kissing you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Like every lyric, every chord, every goddamn heartbeat had been leading her here. To you.

Nothing about it was controlled. It wasn’t measured, wasn’t practiced, wasn’t meant for anyone else. 

It was rough, frantic, a collision neither of you could contain any longer. Your gasp vanished into her mouth, her teeth grazing your lower lip before she deepened it, before she took more. A push and pull, a battle neither of you were trying to win.

Your fingers found her hair, twisting, tugging, needing. Ellie groaned—low, wrecked, lost to it. Her grip on your hair tightened, her body pressing harder against yours, the strap of her guitar caught between you, digging into her shoulder as if it was the only thing holding her to reality.

The kiss wasn’t that long.

But It didn’t have to be.

Because in those reckless, unscripted seconds, everything else ceased to matter.

The lights dimmed, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness. The deafening screams of the audience blurred into white noise. Still, neither of you moved. Neither of you even dared to breathe.

Ellie lingered, forehead pressed against yours, her breath mixing with yours—uneven, ragged. Her fingers didn’t leave your hair. Your hand fisted the collar of her shirt, holding her there, refusing to let go.

Then, with maddening slowness, her lips brushed yours again. Just once. Just enough to send a fresh wave of heat through your body.

And then—

She bit down her bottom lip, smirking, eyes half-lidded, ruined.

The screen behind you cut to black.

A sea of voices drowned the arena, the sheer force of them shaking the ground beneath your feet. Artists at nearby tables howled, clapped, banged their hands on the table like they were watching history unfold. Because they were.

It was chaos, hysteria, the internet already imploding, the moment already immortalized in the camera of the biggest stage in music.

But you weren’t thinking about that.

Because Ellie was still looking at you.

And you were still burning.

The performance had left the world in ruins.

The stage still pulsed with the aftershock, smoke curling in lazy ribbons toward the rafters, echoes of the storm you’d just created. Ellie’s skin still glistened with sweat, fingers twitching, as though the strings of her guitar had burned into them.

You hadn’t even spoken since. You’d both just gone backstage, mechanically peeling off the layers of the performance—Ellie changing back into her suit, you changing back to your gown, both gazes distant.

There was no triumph in the air between you, just an unspoken weight that neither of you was ready to acknowledge.

Sitting in the table, Jesse kept cracking his knuckles, each pop a reminder of the nerves winding tighter around all of you. Dina had kept her distance, eyes darting between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

Rachel, ever the instigator, shot a teasing comment your way. “Well, that was an interesting little moment, wasn’t it?” she’d muttered, though you didn’t even look her way. You couldn’t. Not when the only thing on your mind was Ellie.

She continued to make jokes, though no one was really listening. Jesse and Dina exchanged glances every second, but it was clear that nothing was really being said about what had just happened—what the fuck was actually happening between you and Ellie.

At least not yet.

But somehow, that moment wasn’t even the peak of the night.

This was it. The most important award. The one that meant everything.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the final award of the night... Album of the Year.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the presenter slowly opened the envelope. Every second stretched longer than it should, and you felt the weight of it bearing down, thick and suffocating.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

She dragged it out, eyes skimming over the sealed envelope, making everyone in the room lean forward in anticipation. Finally, the words everyone was waiting to hear came crashing through the silence.

“Louder Than Fate—The Fireflies!”

For a second, Ellie didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her brain short-circuited, thoughts crumbling before they could form. The roaring applause, the screaming, the flashing lights—it all blurred into a deafening wave of static.

Then your hands were on her. Tugging her up, shoving her happily towards the stage. But she didn’t let go. Instead, Ellie grabbed you, pulling you into her arms with a force that nearly knocked you off balance. 

Her arms locked around you, face buried in your shoulder, and you felt it—her breath, shaking, the way her heart was slamming against her ribs.

“We fucking won!” she choked, half laughing, half gasping. “We won!”

“You won Els!" You grinned, squeezing her back with pure joy. She deserved this more than anyone. "Now go! Get that fucking Grammy!”

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze—eyes wild, cheeks flushed, looking more alive than ever. And in that moment, you felt something tight in your chest. It wasn't just being proud of her. It wasn't just admiration.

It was sharp, deep and inescapable.

It was love.

But before either of you could fully grasp the warmth spreading between you, she pressed a quick, burning kiss to your temple.

And then she was gone, practically sprinting towards the stage, Jesse and Dina right behind her.

This wasn’t just another Grammy. This was the Grammy. The one that cemented legends.

Joel sat in the leather armchair of his mansion, the soft glow of the television screen casting flickers of light across his weathered face. He had a whiskey in hand, untouched for the moment, his eyes glued to the screen. The Fireflies had just won the Grammy for Album of the Year. His daughter’s name—Ellie’s name—echoed in the air like a bittersweet symphony.

It had been a year since they’d truly spoken, their relationship frayed by time and distance, the kind of tension only a father and daughter could understand. He wasn’t sure when it had all fallen apart, but now, sitting there in the quiet of his home, he felt a pang in his chest. Ellie had always been something extraordinary, even from the first time he’d heard her sing. The way she commanded a stage, the way her music bled raw emotion—it was all her, and yet, he felt like he had missed so much.

He’d won that same award long time ago, before his life had taken a turn. But watching her now, so alive with success, it felt like he had lost something more precious than an award. The distant ache of their fractured bond settled deep in his bones, but there was something else too. Tender, almost imperceptible. Pride.

Watching her up there, winning it all, made him realize he had underestimated her—hadn’t really seen the depth of the woman she’d become. And in that moment, Joel let himself feel it. Just for a second, he allowed himself to believe she was still his little girl, the one with the wild dreams, the one who made him proud.

He swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat as the camera panned to the group rising to the stage. Ellie’s face—elusive, yet radiant—flashed across the screen, and he finally brought the glass to his lips, taking a long sip, trying to drown the swell of emotions that had quietly crept up on him.

Jesse grabbed the mic first, running a hand over his face like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a fever dream. “Holy shit.”

Laughter rippled through the audience. Dina shook her head, eyes already tearing up as she pressed her hands together.

“I swear, I blacked out for a second. This is—God, this is unreal. Six out of seven? We—” She exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. “We grew up watching this. Watching our heroes stand here. And now we’re here. With this.” She lifted the golden award, her voice trembling.

Ellie shifted, her fingers white-knuckled around the mic. She looked out at the thousands of faces staring back at them, the flashing lights, the cameras—the weight of it all pressing into her ribs. Her voice came slow, measured, but full of something real.

“We made our first album in Jesse’s garage,” she said, shaking her head. “We had a shit drum kit, a borrowed mic, and no idea what the hell we were doing. We fought for everything. We didn't receive handouts. We almost quit. More than once.” A small chuckle escaped her lips. “And somehow… somehow, we didn’t.”

Jesse nudged her. “Somehow.”

“It’s funny how some people think everything comes easy. Like success just lands in your lap because of… I don’t know, circumstance.” She shrugged casually, the corner of her mouth lifting in a subtle smirk. “But no, we did it the hard way. Built this from the ground up with no silver spoon involved, believe it or not.”

Her gaze wandered for a moment, distant, as the weight of the words sank in. All those times people had talked shit about her, calling her a nepo baby because of her dad, because of Joel. She could almost hear their voices now, the constant judgment, the assumption that she’d only made it because of who she was related to.

Ellie’s jaw tightened as the thought lingered. She’d proven them all wrong, of course.

But even now, in the midst of everything, part of her couldn’t help but miss him. The man who had shaped her, the one who’d once believed in her in ways no one else did. She wished he was here—just for a second, just to see her now. To see that it wasn’t about him, not anymore. It was about her.

But that was the way of things, wasn’t it?

There was always more left unsaid than spoken.

She shook the thought off with a breath, a smile tugging at her lips once more, focusing on the crowd again, ready to move forward.

“We just had a dream, a shit ton of hard work, and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears. That’s it. We kept going, even when it was hard. Even when the industry told us there wasn’t space for a band like us. Even when it felt like we were screaming into the void. We kept going.”

She exhaled sharply, blinking at the crowd.

“And now we’re here. And it still doesn’t feel fucking real.”

The applause rumbled through the room, crashing over them like a wave. Ellie hesitated, her fingers tapping absently against the mic stand, as if searching for her next words.

And as Ellie spoke, all you could do was watch her, your chest swelling with so much love it almost hurt. It was overwhelming—this ache that crept up on you, filling every part of you until it felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t focus on the lies, the half-truths, not in this moment. All that mattered was the way she stood there, alive with passion, her eyes scanning the crowd, completely unaware of the effect she had on you.

For just a few seconds, you let yourself sink into that love, letting it fill you up as you watched her from a distance, knowing that this was the closest you'd been to the truth in a long time.

Then, her gaze shifted, locking eyes with you. The instant it happened, everything around you seemed to blur. Ellie’s focus softened, just for a moment, and you could see her breath hitch in her chest, her expression flickering between surprise and something else—deeper.

You were watching her, eyes wide, shiny with unshed emotion.

And without even noticing, it was a reflection of everything you felt but couldn’t say.

“But before Jesse and Dina get into the thank-yous, there’s something I need to say,” Ellie spoke, her tone now softer, eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, it was like she wasn’t speaking to the crowd at all, but to you alone.

“There are people you meet who change you. Who rip you apart and put you back together in ways you never saw coming.” She paused, her lips curling just slightly. “And even when they drive you crazy, you know, deep down, you’d be lost without them.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. The weight of them pressed into your chest. Your breath caught in your throat as the room seemed to shrink, the noise from the audience fading into a distant hum. Ellie’s gaze didn’t waver.

“And you’re that person for me.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. The cameras darted between you and Ellie's face, your shocked expression and glinting eyes displayed in the big screen.

Ellie's grip on the award was tight, knuckles white, but there was a tremor in her hand—a barely perceptible shake. She swallowed hard, a flicker of something in her eyes before she steadied herself again.

“You inspire me,” she continued, voice now steady, almost intimate. “You inspire me every damn day. Hell, you inspired this whole album... and I just wanted to say that…”

The floor beneath you seemed to slip away. The room felt smaller. The world felt smaller. You were frozen in place, watching her, feeling the weight of her eyes on you like she was unraveling something deep inside you.

And then the words came, quiet yet impossible to ignore. Her voice wavered, just barely, but she didn’t look away. And when she spoke, it was like everything she had just built up finally fell into place.

A confession wrapped in certainty.

“…That I love you.”

The room surged with cheering and screams again, but this time, you didn’t hear it. You didn’t even feel it. You were trapped in a quiet storm, the impact of her speech unraveling the last threads of control you’d been desperately holding onto.

You wanted to move, to do something, but everything was frozen. And as Ellie stood there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just changed everything.

The afterparty was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, pulsing bass, and bodies moving in a haze of champagne and sweat. It was loud. Chaotic. The kind of place where reality blurred at the edges, where the night stretched endlessly, threatening to swallow you whole.

Somewhere between the high of winning and the rush of being pulled from one congratulatory hug to the next, you had changed. The gown was gone, replaced by another custom made Versace dress that clung to you like a second skin, the short silky fabric skimming over your curves with every movement. It was dangerously low at the back, exposing the smooth line of your spine.

Rachel dragged you in with the momentum of celebration, her excitement infectious, but your mind was splintered elsewhere—fractured between the weight of what had just happened on that stage, the burn of alcohol as you downed another drink.

The Fireflies had just won six Grammys. You had four in your name. The entire room revolved around you, shifting in waves of congratulations, camera flashes, and clinking glasses. Industry giants, celebrities, people you barely knew but whose faces were familiar from screens and headlines—they all gravitated towards you, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of victory.

People stopped you every step, hands on your shoulder, flashing smiles, toasting to your success. Someone handed you a drink. You took it. Someone else pulled you into a picture. You smiled. It was autopilot at this point, the buzz of alcohol smoothing the sharp edges of your thoughts, but not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Because Ellie was there. Somewhere.

Your chest was still a war zone, torn between the weight of her words and the gnawing doubt that followed.

You hadn’t spoken since the speech. You hadn’t even had the chance to. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Ellie hadn’t acted any different after stepping off that stage. No grand follow-up, no explanation.

So you drowned it in alcohol.

But some minutes after, you felt her before you saw her, an electric current crawling under your skin, an awareness that set every nerve ending on edge. When your eyes finally found her, she was leaning against the bar, whiskey in hand, gaze flickering over the crowd but never quite landing on you. Not directly.

But she was aware of you.

You could tell in the way she shifted, restless. The way her grip tightened around the glass when someone got too close to you. How her jaw clenched every time you threw back another shot, like she was silently daring you to stop.

She had changed too. The suit jacket from earlier had been abandoned in favor of a dark button-up, the sleeves rolled up –as always– to reveal the ink on her forearms. The fabric stretched across her shoulders in a way that made something inside you tighten. She had swapped the slacks for black jeans that sat low on her hips, her belt loosely fastened, like she couldn’t be bothered to care.

That outfit was nearly identical to the one she wore the night you first met—so much so that the sight of it sent a shiver through you, your insides twisting, almost unbearable. A rush of memory, of déjà vu, of the moment all of this disaster began.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, Jesse chuckled beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Alright, pop princess. You’re celebrating a little hard, don’t cha think?”

Rachel smirked, tipping back her own drink. “Nah, let her. She just got love-bombed on international television. If I were her, I’d be drinking too.”

The words were meant to be playful, but they sank their teeth deeply into your feelings.

Love. 

What the fuck even was that?

That made the next shot go down easier than the last.

The crowd shifted, bodies pressing closer as the music swelled, bass rattling through the floor. People were dancing now, energy buzzing through the air, and before you could process it, hands were pulling at you—Dina, Jesse, Rachel—dragging you into the current of movement.

Your pulse stuttered when Ellie moved too. Not towards you, but close enough. A phantom touch in a sea of strangers. Your body moved on instinct, swaying with the beat, the vodka humming through your veins, but your mind was still stuck on her.

And then—her hands.

Light at first. A graze at your hip as she passed. Fingertips at the small of your back, testing.

Then firmer.

A hand splaying against your waist as she leaned in, the scent of whiskey and that something so distinctly her curling around your senses. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn. Didn’t face her.

Couldn’t face her.

“You tryna drink yourself unconscious?” Her voice was low, rough. Close enough that you felt the words more than heard them.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

No, I’m trying to forget the way you looked at me on that stage?

No, I’m trying to figure out if you actually meant that ‘I love you’ and everything else that came before?

No, I’m trying to stop loving you?

Instead, you laughed, sarcastic and bitter.

“Yeah. Guess I have a lot to celebrate.”

Ellie hummed, a quiet sound lost beneath the music. But she didn’t move away.

The room pulsed around you, neon lights catching on the sweat-slick skin of bodies pressed too close. Jesse and Dina had lost all semblance of control. Jesse had taken to spinning in slow circles with his arms out, eyes shut like he was ascending to another plane of existence. His drink sloshed wildly with every rotation, soaking his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to care. Dina, meanwhile, had climbed onto Rachel's back at some point, shrieking in laughter as she staggered under her weight.

You couldn't help but wonder…

When did my manager, Rachel, become so close with the Fireflies? Maybe she was undercover and didn’t tell me.

Ellie exhaled, shaking her head at the sight of them. "They’re gone."

You hummed, lips quirking. "They’re celebrating."

Ellie’s fingers flexed against your waist. "And you?"

You turned to her then, properly turned, and the shift in air between you was immediate. Her gaze dropped to your lips long enough to make your breath catch.

"I’m celebrating too." you said, voice heavier.

How much time had passed? 

Seconds? Minutes? Hours? 

You didn’t know what the hell was happening anymore.

More drinks pressed into your hand.

Whiskey, tequila, champagne, something that burned but went down too smooth. The world tilted, blurred at the edges. The pulse of the music, the flicker of lights, the heat of bodies moving—it all felt distant, hazy, unreal.

Every time you lifted a glass, it was like the world slowed down just enough for the chaos to settle into a haze, a blur of flashing lights and slurred speech.

Except for Ellie.

Somewhere in the same room, her presence was the only thing keeping you from slipping under.

Jesse had become a blur of limbs, his laughter ricocheting off the walls as he wobbled towards Rachel, trying—and failing—to lift her into a ridiculous dip. Dina, still draped across Rachel, was far too gone to notice. Every time she tried to speak, her words came out in a string of nonsensical giggles.

But you were beyond them now.

Your feet barely knew where the floor was, your body swaying alone with the pulse of the room. The shots had come in quick succession, the tequila numbing whatever had been left of you, blurring everything that happened—what Ellie said, what Ellie did. What the hell you were doing.

You hadn’t even realized how close she was until she was right next to you again, her shoulder brushing yours as she caught her breath. Her hair messy, few strands sticking to her cheek as she wiped a hand across her face. She was drunk.

But so were you.

The world tilted once more as you tried to steady yourself on her, your arm reaching out for balance, but her body was already against yours, both of you teetering on the edge.

She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with you. There was something in her gaze—a hazy, distant look that wasn’t quite her usual sharpness. It was like she was still here, but not really here, lost somewhere between the alcohol and the weight of everything unsaid.

“You’re... still here.” you mumbled, the words slurring slightly as they slipped out, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?” she asked, her voice low, thicker than usual. There was more behind her tone—frustration mixed with something else you couldn’t quite name.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your brain, but it only made things more blurry. “We’re both a fucking mess.”

She let out a laugh, but it came out too harsh, too wry. “Aren’t we all?” she muttered, her eyes flickering away from you for a moment, as if she was trying to hide from your gaze.

The alcohol was starting to hit you harder now. Everything around you felt like it was spinning, but you couldn’t stop drinking. You couldn’t stop focusing on her—the way she was so close, the way her presence anchored you in a way you didn’t understand. The words from earlier were still in your head, cutting through the fog.

What had she meant by them? What had you meant?

Ellie’s voice was at your ear again, low and teasing. “Why aren’t you joining them? Thought you wanted to celebrate.”

You squinted, trying to focus on her face, but everything was softening at the edges. “I—yeah, I do,” you slurred, struggling to keep your voice steady. “But you—”

“I know,” she interrupted, cutting you off with a soft chuckle. "I get it."

Her words hit you, hard. The way she said it—like she understood, like she knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

Her hand brushed the small of your back, warm against your skin, and before you could pull away, her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You inhaled sharply, the air thick between you as your pulse quickened.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the side of your cheek, her breath hot against your skin. “We don’t have to talk about it, but... we can drink about it.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow, filled with bitterness. “Is this your big plan? To just forget it all with more whiskey?”

Ellie’s laugh was reckless. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her voice dropping to something more serious.

“Because, you know... it’s working.”

She took another long sip from her glass, her fingers tightening on your waist as she pulled you even closer. Her touch was daring now, almost possessive, and it was too much. You shouldn’t have let it happen. You shouldn’t have let yourself get lost in the heat of the moment. But you did.

And for a moment, all that mattered was the way she held you.

Until the music changed, the beat dropping low, heavy. Bodies around you surged forward, people dancing even more recklessly now. Ellie pulled you with her, a tight grip on your wrist, and before you could even catch your breath, she was dancing with you—bodies pressed together, moving, swaying, too close.

She was intoxicating.

She was a disaster.

But so were you.

Jesse and Dina had collapsed onto a couch, giggling hysterically at some private joke only the alcohol could explain. Rachel was still upright, her face a mix of amusement and disbelief. They were far beyond drunk now.

And you and Ellie? You both were spiraling together, floating in that heady space where nothing mattered except the feel of the other’s body, the rhythm of the dance, the pull of the alcohol.

Neither of you were talking about what had happened earlier, about the weight of those words, about the things you both wanted to forget.

Instead, you drowned in each other, desperate to escape the weight of reality.

And yet, even as the night wore on and everything blurred into a mess of laughter, touches, and sweat, that feeling—that unbearable tension between you both—lingered. Unspoken. Waiting.

The last thing you remembered was the cold night air biting at your skin as Ellie steered you out of the club. Her hand was firm against your back, guiding you through the crowd with a force that felt almost possessive. You were stumbling, barely keeping your feet under you, the world spinning around you like a dizzying blur.

Then, before you could even register what was happening, her arms were around you, lifting you with ease as she tossed you over her shoulder. Your body felt weightless, and though everything seemed slow and dreamlike, her grip on you was steady.

You mumbled, too drunk to care about the mess of words. “Ellie... what are we doing? Where... where are we going?”

Her voice cut through the haze, rough and unsteady. “Shh... Just let me get you to the room, okay? You need to rest.”

But even in your fog, you couldn’t let go of the questions gnawing at your mind. “I don’t... I don’t get you, Ellie. You act like you don’t care, but then... then you do stuff like... like this," you slurred, trying to lift your head enough to look at her.

Her grip tightened slightly, a grunt escaping her as she adjusted you. “Don’t start with that now, okay? You're drunk as hell.” There was an edge to her voice, one that made you feel like you’d crossed some invisible line.

“No... no, I’m serious,” you murmured, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t get it. You don’t... you don’t say things, but you do them. And then you just... leave me hanging.”

Ellie paused for a moment, her pace slowing. You could feel her tension, like she was trying to work through something herself, her body shifting uncomfortably.

She muttered. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Let’s not... Let’s just not do this right now.”

Your head lolled against her shoulder as she carried you towards the elevator. The motion of the lift made your stomach turn, and for a split second, you felt the world tilt beneath you.

Ellie adjusted you again, tightening her grip, almost like she didn’t want to let go, but there was still something distant about her. Like she was trying to hold you close but keep herself guarded at the same time.

You tried to speak again, but the words came out jumbled, not quite fitting together.

“Just sleep it off, alright?” Her voice softened, but there was something else beneath it—Frustration? Guilt?. You couldn’t place it, but it made your chest ache, made everything feel even more confusing.

You blinked slowly, the alcohol in your system starting to wear off as your mind began to swirl with thoughts, anger bubbling up from the pit of your stomach.

Did she think you were stupid?

You were no longer floating in a hazy blur.

You were sharp, aware, and pissed.

The elevator door slid open with a soft ding, and Ellie stepped forward, carrying you towards the hotel room. She was trying to keep everything under control, to keep things quiet, but the tension in her movements was palpable. It told you everything you needed to know.

You were both walking on eggshells now.

As she pushed the door open, the soft click of it closing behind you felt like a weight crashing down, marking the threshold of everything that had been left unsaid. The room was heavy with silence, and you could feel the gap between you both stretching farther.

You were awake now—more awake than you’d been in hours—and everything that had been foggy just moments ago was now painfully clear.

Ellie walked you further into the room, but before she could adjust her grip to steady you again, you yanked yourself away from her. The move was harsh, almost frantic, and the shock of it hit both of you. You didn’t care if you stumbled or if your legs barely held you—there was too much rising inside you.

The alcohol had faded enough to let your frustration burn bright, and you couldn’t take the way she held you anymore, like you were a problem she needed to fix. 

You needed space. You needed answers.

Your feet hit the ground with a solid thud, but it was nothing compared to the force of your emotions crashing against you. The distance felt impossibly more wide as you took a few steps away from her.

“Why do you do this to me?” 

The question left you before you could stop it, your voice trembling with frustration as you broke silence. You clenched your fists at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

Everything inside you was breaking, and you couldn’t keep it in. Not anymore.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She froze, her body stiffening as her gaze met yours. For a moment, you saw something in her eyes—raw and vulnerable—but it quickly disappeared, replaced by that cold, distant mask she always wore. 

She sighed, voice low and defensive. “Don’t start with that now. I’m not having this conversation like this.”

But you couldn’t let it go. Not now, not ever. Not when it felt like everything was unraveling in front of you. 

"No, Ellie," you bit back, voice harsher than you intended. "I can't fucking take it anymore. We need to talk. And we need to do it now."

Ellie’s gaze shifted then. A quick flash of annoyance, then that cool, detached mask slipped into place as she crossed her arms.

"Fine, you wanna talk about it? Then we’ll fucking talk about it," she snapped, voice biting with cold frustration. 

"You think I don’t know what this is? You think I don’t get it?" Her tone was venomous, each word like a lash across your chest. "We both agreed from the start—this was nothing but a PR strategy. No feelings. No strings attached. And don’t pretend we didn’t set up those rules together."

Her words were like a slap in the face, and it made the anger inside you swell even more. 

She still hadn’t answered your question.

She hadn’t said anything real, anything that would make sense of this mess you were in. So, you pushed again. You had to. You couldn’t let her off the hook. 

"So that’s it? It was all just a game to you?" You growled, the bitterness lacing every word, the anger and hurt burning through you. "Just for the cameras, and none of it ever meant a damn thing?"

“Don’t twist it and act like you didn’t play along," she shot back, her voice tight with frustration. "We both knew what we were getting into. It wasn’t just me."

She wasn't answering any of your questions.

"Yeah, we did," you shot back, stepping closer, the space between you suffocating. "But I need to know if you ever felt anything."

Ellie’s eyes flickered. She seemed to hesitate for just a second, her fingers twitching by her side like she wanted to reach for something—anything—but she stayed frozen. 

"I already told you," she muttered, fire draining from her tone. "This was never supposed to get so complicated."

The words hung there between you, thick with everything you couldn’t say out loud.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to face whatever truth was buried under Ellie's defenses, but it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t backing down.

"Then why the hell did you kiss me on that stage?" The question tore through you like fire, your voice breaking at the end. "Why did you make it feel real when we’ve both agreed it wasn’t?"

"It’s not like I wanted to—"

"Then why the hell did you say all that?" you interrupted, voice rising again.

The memories of the speech, the way she had looked at you, the weight of her words in front of everyone—it was all too much to swallow. 

"You said you loved me, Ellie! Right there, in front of the whole damn world! Don’t pretend like that was a mistake. Don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything."

She shouted, her voice sharp with panic now. "You were down there, looking at me like that, and I didn’t know what the hell else to say! I-"

Ellie’s face twitched, and for a brief moment, it looked like she might crack. But instead, she took a step back, as if she was trying to pull away from the weight of her own emotions. 

"So instead, you keep me at arm's length and make me feel like I don’t matter. You kiss me on stage, say you love me, act like you care, and then you pull away before things actually get real. What the hell is that, Ellie? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You could feel the rage inside you growing, but now it was a mix of anger and heartbreak, and you could barely breathe with how tight your chest felt. 

Her eyes softened for a split second before they hardened again, and she rubbed the back of her neck, frustration spilling over.

"You wanna know the truth? The truth is I didn't want to hurt you," she snapped, but her tone was shaky. "I didn’t want to drag you into something messy, because I knew I was already in too deep."

You felt the tears prick at the back of your eyes, the weight of her words crushing you as the confusion tore through you like a hurricane. 

"So why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you just say something? Anything!"

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, she was completely exposed. All the walls she had built between you were crumbling, and you could see the rawness in her—tangled with guilt and frustration. 

She was trembling now, and not just from anger.

"I didn’t know what the hell I was doing," Ellie finally whispered, her voice breaking as she took a shaky step closer to you. "I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to care this much. I kept telling myself it was just chemistry, just... just a game, but every time you looked at me like that, I—I couldn’t stop it." Her voice cracked, and you saw her lips tremble.

You were almost afraid to breathe as she closed the distance between you. 

"You—you’ve always been more than I could handle. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you," she murmured, voice breaking as her eyes searched for yours desperately. "But I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to admit it."

"Then admit it now." You gasped, the question escaping in a broken breath, the weight of it all crashing down on you. "What you said back there—was it true?"

Ellie’s breath hitched as if your words had shaken something deep inside her she had been trying to bury. Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to see past the hurt and confusion she had caused.

“All of it was true." 

She whispered, her voice ragged and thick with emotion. Her words cracked with vulnerability, the kind of honesty she’d been holding back for far too long. 

"Everything I said, everything I did—it was real. Every goddamn thing, even when I pretended it wasn’t. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t say it sooner."

She stumbled over her own words, the panic and guilt so evident in her voice, but you couldn’t focus on that. Your heart was beating too loud, the air in your lungs suddenly scarce.

The world felt too heavy, too full of things you had never been able to say—things that had been buried deep inside both of you for far too long. Your chest tightened, a lump rising in your throat, and just as the overwhelming emotions started to consume you, you finally broke. 

"Ellie, I love you too" 

You whispered, the words trembling on your lips. The weight of your confession settled in the space between you, raw and honest, and you could feel the shift in the air, like everything was about to change.

Before you could process it, before you could even understand the force of what had just happened, her lips collided against yours. 

This kiss was different from any kiss you had ever shared. It was raw, hungry, and everything you've been craving but were too afraid to ask for. She was kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, like she was trying to pour every single feeling into the kiss—everything she had hidden from you for so long.

You melted into her, your hands moving on instinct, sliding up to wrap around her neck, pulling her closer. Her lips were demanding, insistent, and as her tongue brushed against yours, you gasped, feeling her heart race in time with your own. 

There was no pretense now—no walls, no doubts. Just Ellie, just you, tangled together in the most chaotic, beautiful mess you had ever known. 

The kiss turned desperate, raw, like neither of you could stand the space between breaths. Ellie’s hands gripped your waist, rough and unyielding, her lips tracing a burning path from your jaw to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a hickey. You gasped, head tilting back, offering her more, needing more.

“God,” she rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and needy. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her back just enough to meet her gaze. You didn’t have to say it back; she saw the answer in your eyes before you crashed into her again, mouths crashing, desperate, starved.

Ellie’s hands slid beneath your dress, fingers skimming over your thighs, your stomach, tracing the soft curves. The dress rode higher, bunched around your hips, and then she was pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. 

You barely had time to shiver from the rush of cool air before she was on you again, her touch hot, reverent. She pulled back just enough, eyes raking over you, like she wanted to memorize every inch of you all over again.

Like this was your real first time together.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, fingers tracing along your side. “You’re—” She stopped, shaking her head like words didn’t stand a chance.

You smirked, dragging your hands up her arms before curling them into her hair, giving a slight tug just to hear her breath stutter. “Speechless?”

Ellie let out a shaky laugh, but her gaze softened. “Something like that.”

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders, and fuck—she was unreal. The way her breath hitched, the way her perky nipples hardened, the way her chest rose and fell, the freckles dusting her skin, her lips swollen and parted, ready.

Then, with a whispered curse, Ellie grabbed you, lifting you with ease, her hands firm and sure. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the sheets, her body flush against yours—warm, solid, hers.

She loomed over you, her breath warm against your skin, her touch slow—too slow. Her fingers skated over your ribs, your waist, teasing, like she was savoring the feeling of you beneath her. Like she wanted to take her time.

"You have no idea what you do to me," she rasped, lips grazing your jaw.

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough when it came to her.

You arched into her, nails digging into her bare shoulders. "Then stop fucking teasing," you whispered, half-command, half-plea.

Ellie let out a breathy laugh, her hands gripping your thighs, pushing you further into the mattress. Her eyes flickered down, starving, a smirk tugging at her lips. 

"Needy," she murmured, almost to herself. "That’s cute."

Your frustration only made her hungrier. She surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, swallowing the soft whimper that escaped you. 

And then, just as suddenly, you flipped her over, pressing her back into the mattress.

Ellie barely had time to react, her pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. She looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even done anything yet.

That sent a sharp pulse through you.

She swallowed hard, fingers twitching against your hips. "What?" she rasped, voice rougher than before, like she was trying to catch up to the shift in energy.

You just smiled as you traced your fingers down the line of her toned stomach, manicured nails ghosting over her skin.

“Just thinking,.." you murmured, pressing a teasing kiss just below her jaw, "That an album of the year winner deserves a proper celebration."

Ellie blinked, eyes flickering between disbelief and hunger. "Oh—"

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. Instead, you pinned her down completely, pressing your weight into her, reveling in the way her breath hitched. Her hands gripped at your sides like she wasn’t sure whether to stop you or pull you closer.

"You good?" you asked, voice softer now, even as your hands moved with strong intent.

Ellie let out a shaky exhale, her lips curving between a smirk and a dazed expression. "Didn’t think you’d—fuck—take over like this."

You grinned against her skin, kissing your way southbound, taking your time.

"Better get used to it, rockstar."

Ellie let out a breathy chuckle, but it melted into something deeper when you pressed another kiss lower, trailing down her stomach with a kind of unhurried confidence that made her body tense beneath you.

"Shit…" she muttered, voice caught somewhere between surprise and anticipation.

You smirked against her skin, hands gripping her thighs as you settled between them. "Relax, baby" you murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of her knee. "Just let me take care of you."

"I'm just… not used to this," she admitted, quiet. 

You glanced up, meeting her gaze as your lips grazed just above the waistband of her pants, breath warm against skin. Your voice barely above a whisper, but settling deep into her bones.

“Then just feel, Els.”

You don’t give her time to think, pulling them down her boxers and pants in a quick move. A sharp inhale punches from her lungs as cool air kisses the heat between her legs, making her jolt. 

She exhales shakily, thighs bracketing your head, warm and freckled—constellations scattered across skin you want to map out with your hands, your mouth, your entire being.

If you were in a different headspace, you’d trace each one like a star chart, but right now, the only thing you can focus on is her—trembling above you, caught between restraint and surrender.

But the real sound—the one that sets your pulse hammering—is the gasp she lets out when you spit, a slick warmth against her aching clit.

“F-fuck…” she breathes, brows knitting together, voice unsteady.

You glance up at her, fingers flexing against her thighs. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Her jaw tightens, a mix of frustration and need flashing behind her darkened eyes. “Nothing.” It’s a lie, and you both know it. She’s unraveling, and she’s impatient.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you let your fingers drift, tracing lazy patterns up her waist, feeling the way her stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“Tell me...” you tease, voice smooth, coaxing. “Use your words.”

Her body betrays her, arching ever so slightly towards you, silently pleading for more.

Then, finally, she gives in.

“Just—” Her voice cracks as she shifts, movements becoming more desperate. “God, just— please.”

Holy. Shit.

Ellie motherfucking Williams—flushed, wrecked, and now begging like she needs you more than her next breath—is a sight so devastatingly hot, it short-circuits every thought that was left on your head. 

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t on your bingo card.

The way she’s unraveling beneath you is something you’ll never forget. And if the raw, desperate way she’s looking at you is any indication, it’s an ego boost you’ll be riding for the rest of your life.

You smirk as her breath stutters when you drag your fingers lower, sliding through the warmth of pussy, slick and ready from both you and her own burning need. 

It’s intoxicating—the way she reacts, the way she shudders at the slightest touch. You don’t hesitate, don’t waste a second before lowering your mouth to her, claiming her like it’s the only thing you were made to do.

The moment your tongue finds her, she keens—a sharp, needy sound punched from the depths of her chest before she could stop it. And just as she starts to adjust, just as her body begins to find some semblance of rhythm, you push deeper, tongue slipping inside, filling every soft, sensitive place that has her thighs trembling.

Ellie chokes on a moan, hands flying to your hair, fingers tangling, pulling, her grip desperate and unsteady as her hips jerk upward, chasing the friction. 

“J-Jesus Christ, babe,” she gasps, voice wrecked.

You hum against her, the vibrations pulling another strangled sound from her lips. Her thighs twitch, threatening to close around your head, but your hands tighten against her hips, holding her steady, guiding her through every wave of pleasure that crashes over her.

Your own clit pulses, desperate for attention, but it’s the last thing on your mind. Not when your face is buried between the thighs of the woman you can finally love freely— and that just happens to be the most famous rockstar in the world at the moment.

"You're—fuck—you’re insane," she pants, voice breathy, desperate. But she doesn’t push you away. She never does.

And God, she never wants to.

Her fingers flex against the sheets as your other hand drags down her stomach, dropping to trace fast circles on her clit, her breath catching at the sensation.

Your grip tightens, grounding her as she chases it—hips rolling, breath shattering, body tightening like a bowstring drawn too tight. Every sound she makes is addictive, every gasp, every bitten-off whimper, every choked-out curse. 

She’s using your face like her own personal masturbation pillow, grinding down like she was made for this, and you swear—if this is how you go out, you’d die the happiest person alive.

“Holy shit– I-I’m gonna–”

And then—she falters.

You feel her orgasm before it fully takes hold—the way she twitches, the way she clenches around your tongue, her entire body locking up as the tension inside her snaps. Then, the release floods your senses, warm and intoxicating, dripping down your chin. It’s sweet. Best thing you’ve ever tasted.

But you don’t stop.

You keep going, your fingers still drawing slow patterns on her clit, your mouth still drinking up every last drop until she’s shuddering, gasping, her fingers weakly tugging at your hair in protest.

Only when she whimpers—spent, trembling— you finally relent, pressing one final kiss to her ruined cunt before using your tongue to clean her up with reverent care.

Her chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths, and a final shudder runs through her as she tries—fails—to gather herself.

Silence lingers, thick and electric, the only sound between you the sharp pull of ragged breaths.

Then Ellie mutters, voice rough, wrecked, “You’re so fucking—”

A slow, satisfied grin tugs at your lips as you press a lazy, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Incredible? Talented? The best you’ve ever had?”

Ellie groans, throwing an arm over her face with an exasperated huff. “Yeah. That—and insufferable.”

You chuckle, fingers tracing idle patterns along the warm skin of her hip, reveling in the way she shivers under your touch.

She peeks at you through the mess of auburn hair, cheeks still flushed, lips still parted, eyes heavy with something you recognize all too well.

She looks fucked out. She looks beautiful.

And then, to your surprise, she smirks.

“But I hope you’re ready for payback.”

And yeah.

You know you’re screwed when Ellie buckles up her dark purple strap—the one you know way too well by now. When her fingers work the straps, tightening them with practiced ease, she rolls her shoulders like she’s getting ready for something intense. 

But more than anything, it’s the way she looks at you—like she’s already imagining you undone beneath her, like she’s savoring every second before she ruins you.

There’s heat in her gaze, yes, but there’s something softer too, something intimate in the way her hands settle on your hips, grounding you, claiming you.

Her index finger slowly traces the curve of your spine, touch featherlight as she guides you forward, nudging you onto your hands and knees. You shiver under her touch, your body hypersensitive, still buzzing from the way she fingered you minutes before.

“Fuck,” she murmurs as she kneels behind you. Her hands trace along your waist, slow and steady. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your breath catches when she presses closer, her chest warm against your back, the silicone nudging against your entrance. 

She takes her time, dragging it along your slick heat, teasing, making you feel every inch before she even pushes in. Her lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, deliberate nibbles and kisses there, a contrast to the overwhelming need that thrums between you.

“Tell me you want it”

You exhale, arching your back against her, craving the connection, the feeling of being completely filled by her. 

“I want it,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to catch her gaze over your shoulder, eyes soft, pleading—the doe-eyed look you know she loves. “I need you, Ellie.”

A quiet curse slips from her lips—almost reverent.

She has never been good at restraint.

So with one steady thrust, she gives you exactly what you need.

Ellie groans as she sinks into you, her fingers tightening around your hips, like she’s trying to hold herself back, to ease you into it, to savor the moment. But you both know better.

Patience has never been her strong suit—especially not when it comes to you.

“Shittt” she mutters under her breath, rolling her hips forward, filling you inch by inch. You can feel how tense she is, how hard she’s gripping you, like she’s trying to stop herself from losing control too soon.

Your arms tremble beneath you, a loud moan leaving your lips as she sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, dragging every inch of her strap against your sensitive walls. The stretch is perfect, the pressure just enough to make your toes curl, to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Ellie leans in, her chest flush against your back, her breath warm as it fans over your shoulder. 

“You take me so damn well…” she murmurs, her voice rough but tender, like she’s not just saying it to tease—but because she means it. “Always so good f’me.”

A sharp, breathy moan spills from your lips as your forehead presses into the pillow, your body caught in the push and pull of pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable.

Ellie feels it. The way you tense, the way you tremble. She hears it in the way your breathing turns ragged, in the way you press back against her, desperate for more.

She breathes, her voice thick, possessive. “That’s my girl.”

The words send a whole new wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, teetering right on the edge. You can feel it, that overwhelming, dizzying pleasure building, threatening to pull you under.

But just when you think she’s going to push you over, she slows.

Your whole body jerks, a desperate whimper escaping you as she pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.

“What the hell?” you pant, your voice rough with need as you glance back at her with half-lidded, dazed eyes.

Ellie just smirks, looking entirely too pleased with herself as she settles back on her heels, her hands smoothing over your hips. Her green eyes are dark, intense—but there’s something warm there, too.

“Ya know what?” she murmurs, voice soft but certain. “I wanna try something new. C’mere”

She tugs you gently, guiding you up, and you let her. Your legs are shaky as you shift, turning to face her, straddling her lap. The toy presses between you, warm where it’s caught between your bodies, but all you can focus on is Ellie—on the way her hands settle on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh teasingly.

“That’s better,” she murmurs. “Wanted to see that gorgeous face when you fall apart for me.”

And that’s when you know exactly what she wants—to watch you take control, to watch you break her in the best possible way.

So you don’t give her the chance to tease, to taunt. Instead, you reach down without a word, wrap your fingers around the base of the strap, and sink onto it in one slow, deliberate motion.

Ellie curses under her breath, her fingers gripping your ass tighther as she tilts her head back, watching—completely mesmerized, completely wrecked.

She lets you set the pace, lets you take what you need, and the way she looks at you under the dim light—like you’re something holy, untouchable—sends a fresh wave of heat straight through you.

“Fuckkk,” she rasps, the base of the strap bumping perfectly against her aching clit. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smirk, breathless, rolling your hips just to watch her shiver beneath you. Then you cup her jaw, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” you murmur, voice dripping, dangerously sweet. You drag your thumb along her bottom lip, watching her shudder. “Then I hope you’re ready to go out like this.”

Ellie groans, and you swallow the sound as you kiss her, deep and slow, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to you.

Your body moves like it was made for this—for her. Every slow, deliberate roll of your hips has Ellie sinking deeper into the mattress, her hands gripping your hips and ass with a desperation that only makes you want to push her further.

She breathes, eyes flickering between where your bodies meet and your face. “Look at you… riding me like you own me.”

You smirk, dragging your nails down her stomach before bracing your hands on her chest, using her body for leverage as you start to move faster, harder. Ellie groans beneath you, her head tipping back, auburn hair splaying across the pillow as she lets you take control.

“S-so deep,” you murmur, voice breathy, teasing.

Ellie’s fingers twitch against your skin, her pupils blown wide as she watches you move. “Yeah?” she rasps, voice rough, wrecked, barely holding herself together.

She swears she’s never seen anything more perfect.

The way your body moves—hips rolling, muscles tensing, sweat-dampened skin glowing under the dim light—it’s enough to ruin her. Her hands roam over you like she doesn’t know what to grab onto first—your waist, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass.

Fuck.

Your tits.

The way they bounce with every sharp snap of your hips, the way your nipples harden as she rolls and pinchs them in her fingers, the way your chest rises and falls with every shuddering breath—it’s mesmerizing.

And your face, flushed and blissed out, lips parted on gasping little moans that are just for her.

She swears she could die like this, buried so deep inside you she doesn’t know where she ends and you begin, wrapped up in you so completely she could stay here forever.

Her jaw clenches, her own pleasure building fast, unbearable, threatening to pull her under right along with you. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she babbles, completely lost.

And that when she finally loses control.

She sits up, arms locking around you, pulling you down until there’s not a breath of space left between you. She thrusts her hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm. Your slick bodies press together, burning hot, every frantic rise and fall of your chests syncing as she slams into you, deeper, harder.

The new angle knocks the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open on a strangled gasp.

Ellie holds you tight, so tight it feels like she’s afraid you’ll slip away—like if she lets go, even for a second, she might wake up and find you were never here at all.

“Jesus fucking christ…” she murmurs, hands roaming over you like she can’t decide where to touch first. Every inch of you belongs to her, and she’s claiming you with every pass of her palms, every hungry grip of her fingers. “Taking everything I give you—fuck– you’re so good f'me.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you grind down, chasing the pressure, the fullness, the fire curling low in your stomach.

Ellie groans, the sound reverberating through you as she buries her face in your neck, her lips dragging over your pulse, over sweat-slicked skin.

“You were made for this,” she breathes, voice wrecked, reverent. “Made for me.”

Your moan catches in your throat, fingers tangling in her hair, tugging just enough to drag a low, broken hiss from her lips. “Ellie—”

She cuts you off with her mouth, swallowing your gasps, your pleas, kissing you so deep it steals what little breath you have left.

“Say it,” she murmurs, voice rough, cracking at the edges. “Say you’re mine.”

And you do—because you are.

“I-I’m yours, Ellie!”

A sound rips from her chest—low, guttural, wrecked—like the words just undid something deep inside her. Her grip tightens, arms locking around you as if she could pull you into her, fuse you together, make you hers in every possible way.

Then her fingers move—slow at first, teasing—before pressing down just right against your clit, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through you.

“Come on, baby,” she urges, her free hand splaying across your back, pressing you closer, until you’re nearly one, until your forehead is against hers, your breath mixing with hers. “Let me have it.”

And you do.

Your whole body jolts like a live wire, a choked gasp breaking free as the tension inside you snaps too fast, your release drenching her lower stomach. Your thighs tighten around her, fingers clutching at her back, at her shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as heat builds, swells, consumes you.

You can’t think, can’t speak—you can only feel. Ellie beneath you, inside you, around you, anchoring you even as she pushes you to the brink, holding you steady as you come undone.

She swears she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Her own release follows fast and hard, a deep groan rumbling through her chest as her hips jerk up into yours one last time. Her arms tighten around you as she buries her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your sweat-damp skin.

For a long moment, you just hold each other—panting, trembling, completely spent.

Her fingers trail over your spine, slow and steady, tracing mindless patterns against your sweat-slicked skin. She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering something too soft for you to catch, but you don’t need to hear it. You feel it.

When she finally pulls back enough to meet your eyes, she looks completely wrecked—but softer now, vulnerability flickering beneath the haze of pleasure.

“You okay, love?” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you whisper, pressing closer. “More than okay.”

She huffs a quiet laugh against your skin, fingers trailing lazily down your spine. “Kinda wrecked you, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing lilt in her voice makes you smile. “Shut up. That was a team effort.”

Ellie grins, but then she pulls back just enough to see your face, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. Her touch is so gentle, so careful, like she’s still grounding you, making sure you’re okay.

“No, really,” she says, softer now. “You good?”

The tenderness in her voice makes your chest tighten. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the freckles beneath her eye.

“I promise,” you murmur. “I feel perfect.”

She studies you for a second longer, then nods, satisfied. “Yeah. You look perfect.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as Ellie shifts, exhaling softly as she reaches down to undo the harness still strapped around her hips. Her fingers work it off with practiced ease, the leather slipping away before she tosses it aside like an afterthought. Only then does she move, slipping away just long enough to grab a warm, damp cloth.

She cleans you up with that same effortless care—gentle, thorough, her eyes flicking up to yours every so often, like she’s making sure you’re still right here with her. When she’s done, she tosses the cloth aside, and she pulls you into her arms again, tucking you against her chest like she never wants to let go.

Ellie’s fingers stroke your arm, slow and soothing, tracing patterns only she knows. Her touch is grounding, familiar, safe.

Then, softly, like a truth that has always existed between you, she says it again.

But now it's not in a panicked confession. Not in a speech meant for the world to hear.

But here. Now. After the most intimate, most vulnerable moment two people can share.

“Love you.”

It’s not hesitant or uncertain. There’s no grand declaration, no embellishment—just those two words, simple and solid, like she’s always known them to be true. Like saying them is the easiest thing in the world.

Your breath catches. For a second, the world seems to still around you. When you glance up, she’s already watching, waiting—not nervously, not fearfully, but open. Bare. Like she’s laying her heart right there between you, trusting you to hold it, to keep it safe.

You don’t hesitate.

A tender smile spreads across your lips as you press your forehead to hers, closing the small space that still remains. 

“Love you too,” you whisper, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting forever to be said again. “So fucking much.”

Ellie tilts her head, kissing you slow, savoring, like she has all the time in the world. Her fingers lace with yours, holding on like she never wants to let go. You feel her heartbeat under your palm—steady, real. Yours.

She swallows, voice softer now, full of something fragile and new. “Can’t believe we can finally say that to each other now.”

You blink up at her, your own chest tightening at the weight of it.

“I know,” you admit. “Feels unreal, doesn’t it?”

The past months settle between you—every stolen glance, every touch that lingered too long, every moment spent pretending not to be hopelessly, helplessly in love with each other.

Ellie exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “We spent so much time pretending,” she murmurs, her fingers tightening slightly around yours. “So much time making it look real for everyone else.” She pauses, searching your face, like she needs to make sure you understand. “And it was real. This whole time.”

You nod, brushing a hand down her arm, grounding her just as much as she’s grounding you. “Yeah. We’ve been real stupid.”

She hesitates, lips parting like she wants to say more, but something holds her back. You don’t push. Instead, you press a soft kiss to her jaw, reassuring, anchoring.

“But we’re here now,” you whisper. “We have this. No more pretending.”

Ellie’s eyes soften, and you watch the last of her walls crumble. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice steady, sure. “No more pretending.”

Her arms stay wrapped around you, bodies pressed together, bare skin against bare skin, as if letting even a sliver of space between you might shatter the fragile, beautiful truth of this moment. As if, after everything, neither of you can bear the thought of slipping away now that you’ve finally found your way back to each other.

Then, almost so quiet you barely hear it, she says it.

“…Be my girlfriend.”

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. You shift just enough to meet her gaze, and what you see there makes your chest ache—hope, something that you’ve never seen in her eyes before.

“For real this time,” she continues, voice steadier now. “No more PR, no more rules. No more of that fake bullshit.” Her thumb brushes your knuckles like she’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Just us.”

The moment hangs between you, charged, heavy with everything you’ve been waiting for.

And it’s terrifying, how easy it is to say yes.

You cup her face, running your thumb over the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing every freckle, every tiny detail. 

“Ellie,” you whisper, searching her gaze, letting her see everything—every quiet yearning, every moment you spent wishing for this. 

“I’ve always been yours.”

Her breath stutters, something breaking open in her expression. She looks at you like she’s seeing the world for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, almost disbelieving.

You nod, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “Yeah.”

A slow, relieved smile spreads across her lips, and when she kisses you again, it’s different—it’s certain, deep, filled with a quiet promise.

When you finally pull away, her arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. And for the first time, there’s no distance between you. No barriers, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly tangled together.

“Just you and me,” Ellie murmurs against your skin, her voice like a vow. “Finally.”

And as your bodies press closer, as your hearts collide, you know—this is where you were always meant to be.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 → taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMFG GUYS. THIS CHAPTER IS THE LONGEST THING I HAVE EVER WROTE IN MY LIFE, so TYSM IF YOU READ IT ALL. I did like 100 FUCKING PROOFREADS, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

would you ever do a kimi antonelli x famous actor movie star reader! who is at the met gala and he is just like in love with her outfit and is complimenting her so much or something like that? even maybe when they do vogue grwms??

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you attend the met gala looking like a goddess, and kimi can't take his eyes off you

warnings | famous!reader, fluff, mild romantic tension, flirting, public attention / media speculation

word count | 0.9 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

The hotel room smells like fresh roses and expensive makeup. You’re seated in front of the lit-up mirror while your stylist finishes the final touches on your hair.

Your lips, painted a deep wine red, curl into a small smile when the Vogue assistant asks if you're ready to film the GRWM for their YouTube channel.

"Been ready since they said 'Met Gala'," you reply with a wink, adjusting your silk robe as the camera crew sets up.

This isn’t your first red carpet, but it feels like the most special one. This year, you’re not just attending, you’re one of the main attractions. Your movie is topping the charts, your name is everywhere: on posters, on blogs, in whispers behind velvet ropes.

And apparently, in the eyes of a certain Italian racing driver.

"We’re rolling in 3, 2..." the director says, and you let out a soft laugh.

The recording begins, and you talk about your dress, a custom Schiaparelli design, deep black with hand-stitched golden details. The sculpted corset gives off armor vibes, while the tulle skirt floats like smoke around your legs. You talk about the inspiration: constellations, baroque art, the kind of goddess who gets dressed to conquer the sky.

You don’t say it aloud, but you're hoping someone out there notices all the details you poured your heart into.

That “someone” shows up two hours later.

The Met Gala is already underway when your car pulls up to the Met steps. The second the door opens, camera flashes explode around you and the crowd screams like a wave crashing over your ears.

"You’ve got this," you whisper to yourself as you adjust your dress and your perfectly practiced expression.

You walk the carpet, you pose, you smile. Everything is routine… until you see him.

Kimi Antonelli. The breakout Formula 1 star. Dressed in a perfectly tailored tux, elegant and effortlessly youthful. He shouldn't be looking at you. But he is. Like you're the only person on that carpet.

As you approach, someone from the event staff tries to guide you away, but Kimi steps forward.

"Can I...?" he asks, his smile shy as he offers his arm.

Your laugh is more genuine than anything you've done tonight.

"You're going to escort me, racer boy?"

"Only if you’ll let me say you look like..." he pauses, glancing at you from head to toe, a bit dazed, "...like a piece of art. Literally. I think time stopped for a second."

Your cheeks heat up slightly. No one’s ever said it quite like that, so direct, so honest.

"That’s a pretty poetic line for someone who drives at 300 km/h," you reply, looping your arm through his. "Are you always this charming?"

Kimi chuckles, soft and genuine.

"Only when someone takes my breath away. And you... you did that the moment you walked in."

You walk beside Kimi as the flashes continue nonstop. Every step with him on your arm becomes a moment worthy of a magazine cover. The cameras aren’t just capturing your dress, they’re capturing the way he looks at you: unapologetically, fully present, as if the rest of the world simply disappeared.

"Did you know I was coming tonight?" you ask under your breath, still smiling for the Vogue Italia photographer.

"They invited me about a month ago," he replies. "But I didn’t know you’d be here. If I had, I would've dressed better."

"Better than this?" you glance at him briefly, taking in his look. "You're flawless."

He smiles, but glances down for a moment, slightly shy. So different from the actors you usually hang around. Younger, yes but also more transparent. Like he’s not trying to impress you… but somehow still doing it.

That’s when an E! News reporter appears with a mic and an excited grin.

"The two of you together! This is unexpected!" she exclaims. "Can we steal a second of your time for the fans?"

You nod politely, and Kimi though a little surprised stays right beside you. The questions are light. They ask about your dress, your movie, your prep for the night. But when the reporter turns to him:

"And you, Kimi? Are you here with our star tonight, or was this a coincidence?"

He doesn’t even hesitate.

"If it was a coincidence, it’s the best one I’ve ever had."

The reporter laughs, you laugh too. But there’s a quiet flutter deep in your chest.

"So drivers don’t just go fast they think fast too?" you tease.

"Only when they’re in danger," he says. "Or when they’ve got a goddess on their arm."

The interview ends with light laughs, but you're not the only one who noticed the exchange. As you turn toward the entrance, you spot a few people whispering. Some fans filming with their phones. The internet is probably eating this up already.

"You did that on purpose?" you ask Kimi, still holding onto his arm.

"Did what?"

"That line. Letting everyone think we’re together."

He gives a small shrug, but his eyes are dead serious.

"I didn’t plan it. But... if the world wants to believe it, I don’t mind."

The silence that follows feels warm. Unexpected.

And then, the doors to the Met close behind you. Classical music spills across marble floors, and golden light gleams off ancient sculptures. Everything glows, but nothing glows quite like the smile he gives you when he leans in and whispers:

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

Your heart skips.

"The whole gala?"

"The whole life, if you let me."

could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?

PRETTY IN PINK - KA12

listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!

words : 555

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.

Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.

“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.

“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.

She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.

“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.

“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.

“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.

Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.

“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.

“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.

The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”

Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.

He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.

He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.

cost of fame

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: What starts as a casual shopping trip quickly turns into chaos as fans recognize Amelie, and the crowd outside grows larger by the minute.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 5th, 2025 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by f1gossipage, lanelienation, and others

amelienation: 👀 Looks like Amelie was out in Barcelona today, soaking in the sun and making new friends! Spotted taking photos with fans while strolling around the city with Lando, Oscar, and Lily. 🛍️ Seems like they're living their best life, enjoying a little downtime before the next big race! 🌟

View all 1,694 comments

sarahh_lopez23: I literally saw them at Passeig de Gràcia today!! They were so cute together 🥺💖 → mattsmithfan: @sarah_lopez23 I swear Amelie & Lando's energy just hits different!! 😍💫

f1fam: Lando's probably carrying her shopping bags too 😏 → alexa_17: @f1fam I bet he was! This man will never miss an opportunity to be extra cute.

katie_fan123: I love how Lando's always by her side 😂 like the definition of “ride or die” 💀🔥 → spencertracy: @katie_fan123 Yeah, he's definitely whipped, but who wouldn't be with Amelie? 😏

sarahsoulxx: Why is Lando so clingy though? Like can she breathe for a second?? 😭

mariayass: AMELIE!!! I am on my way to Barcelona!!! Hope I can meet her 😍

sashasoccerfan: WAIT. Did anyone else spot them at El Corte Inglés?? My friend said she saw them taking pictures. 😭😭 → juanita94: @sarahsoccerfan I swear I just saw them in front of the Gucci store. I'm not missing this. On my way now!! 👀

lilysbiggestfan: The papaya girls are BACK!! Let's goooo! 😍🍊💖

lilysweetheart: Just saw them in the city center! Lando was holding a giant shopping bag for her, it's like he can’t let her carry anything, lol 🥴💀 → lexxi_babe: @lilysweetheart omg same!!! Lando is literally her personal bodyguard and shopper 💅🏻

hater87: Ugh, they’re like... always together. Boring. 🙄 → f1fan88: @hater87 ...You’re just mad you don’t have someone like Lando, it's ok, we get it 🤷‍♀️

isabell_squad: I’m in Barcelona right now!!! Crossing my fingers to bump into them 😭💖 → juliaperez21: @isabell_squad Let me know if you spot them!! I’m already planning my way there 😜

kristin44: She's literally such an icon. I’m so jealous right now 😭

-------------

Lando had barely finished tying his sneakers when he felt Amelie’s hand slip into his, a familiar warmth shooting up his arm. He turned, flashing her a quick grin. The kind of grin that said he was happy to be on the road with her, happy to spend the last few days before their schedules took them in opposite directions.

Barcelona was sunny and busy, the streets buzzing with tourists and locals alike, the air alive with laughter and the clink of glasses from nearby cafés. Lando glanced at Amelie, feeling that familiar flutter in his chest. Even when they were just walking around like any other couple—holding hands, sharing jokes—it felt like a perfect moment.

Oscar and Lily had tagged along with them, their easy-going presence making the day even more fun. Amelie, as usual, was dressed effortlessly cool—denim jacket, black jeans, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head. She looked stunning, but that wasn’t new.

They walked through the bustling streets of Barcelona, weaving through the crowd, as the sun bathed everything in a warm glow. Oscar and Lily, who had been quiet up ahead, suddenly slowed down as Lando’s attention was completely stolen by Amelie. Her head turned this way and that, scanning the shops that lined the street, and Lando couldn’t help but admire how naturally she fit in here.

—What do you think of this place?— Amelie asked, nudging him with her shoulder and flashing a playful grin.

Lando chuckled, looking up at the brightly painted boutique they were passing. —Looks good. I think you’ll look great in whatever you pick out.—

She gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of her lips twitching upward. —Flattery, Lan? Or are you just trying to get me to buy you more stuff?—

He shot her a cheeky wink. —Maybe a little of both, Ames. But mostly, I just want to see you looking even hotter than usual. Is that so wrong?—

Her laughter rang out, and just like that, a couple of people recognized her. One woman stopped in her tracks, eyes wide.

—Amelie Dayman?—

Before Lando could react, the woman had pulled out her phone, asking for a quick selfie.

Amelie smiled warmly, and though Lando noticed her slightly stiffening under the sudden attention, she agreed. —Yeah, of course!—

Lando took a step back, letting her do her thing. Fans were part of the deal, and Amelie had gotten used to it over the years, though sometimes Lando knew it could still overwhelm her. She’d been in the public eye since she was young, after all, and it wasn’t always easy for her to balance that with her personal life.

Oscar and Lily exchanged glances but made no move to stop, clearly used to this by now too.

As they stepped into the store, it became obvious that Amelie was a magnet for attention. No matter how hard the shop owner tried to keep the space calm, word had spread that the Amelie Dayman was inside. People lingered outside, peeking through the glass windows, hoping for a glimpse.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he watched a small group gather outside the store, their eyes fixed on the window. He knew Amelie was famous—hell, everyone did. But sometimes, it was easy to forget just how much of a spectacle her presence could cause. He slid a hand into his pocket, trying to act casual as he gave Oscar a look.

—This is gonna get out of hand fast, isn’t it?— Lando muttered.

Oscar shrugged, clearly not fazed. —You’d think we’d be used to it by now. I mean, we’re with her all the time, but it still catches you off guard, right?—

Lando glanced at Amelie, who was now examining a rack of clothes, blissfully unaware of the growing crowd outside. She was chatting with Lily, laughing at something, her shoulders relaxed as she flicked through the items on the hanger. But even without realizing it, the moment she stepped into the shop, she became the center of attention.

The shop owner, a frazzled middle-aged man in a pressed suit, had already instructed the staff to be discreet, but it was clear the situation was escalating. People outside the store had begun whispering, their phones out, trying to get photos from every angle.

—Amelie, we should go before it gets crazy.— Lando said softly, walking over to her.

She looked up, blinking in surprise. —What? Oh, no, I’m fine. We’re just shopping.—

Amelie’s eyes flicked up to meet Lando’s, and the smile on her face faltered. Her gaze moved past him to the glass windows, and she instantly saw it. The crowd. Phones were raised in unison, flashes popping like camera shutters, and a group of fans had gathered, pressing up against the storefront, their excited voices ringing in the air.

Lando’s warning hadn’t even fully registered in her mind before it became all too real. The sudden shift in her body language was almost immediate, her posture straightening, a hand instinctively pulling the strap of her bag a little tighter over her shoulder.

She let out a quiet sigh, trying to shake off the feeling of being trapped under the spotlight again. It was something she’d learned to live with, but it never failed to make her uncomfortable. Sure, she had chosen this life, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sometimes get overwhelming.

Amelie didn’t even know why it surprised her anymore. This was her life now. The crowds. The constant attention. The never-ending cycle of being watched. But even after all these years, she couldn’t help but feel that strange twinge of discomfort every time it happened.

—Shit, Lan...— she muttered, her tone low, as she tried to keep her face neutral, avoiding eye contact with the growing crowd. She didn’t want to appear bothered, but the reality was, being filmed and snapped without permission never sat well with her.

Lando stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her lower back. He noticed the shift in her demeanor immediately and, as always, went into protector mode.

—You okay?— he asked, his voice soft, but his eyes scanning the shop to see just how many people were outside. He wasn’t blind. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she’d pulled away from the carefree air she’d had just moments ago.

—Yeah, just...— she trailed off, trying to push through it, but her smile was now a little strained, and she clearly wasn’t having fun anymore.

The sound of voices outside was getting louder, and it was clear the situation was spiraling quickly. Fans had started shouting her name, some trying to get her attention while others took advantage of the opportunity to snap photos.

Lando frowned, glancing at Oscar and Lily, both of whom had started to take a step back, clearly realizing that their quiet shopping trip had just turned into a spectacle. Oscar gave him a sympathetic look, and Lily raised an eyebrow, mouthing I knew this was gonna happen.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, a small sigh escaping his lips. He glanced at Amelie, who was now staring at the growing crowd with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. He could see it in her eyes—how she hated it. Hated being watched, hated being the center of attention when all she wanted was a normal day with her boyfriend and friends.

—Alright, Ames, let’s go, yeah?— Lando suggested gently, his voice calm but firm, trying to reassure her that they weren’t stuck in this madness.

But she didn’t move. Instead, her gaze stayed glued to the window as more and more people gathered outside. She was frozen, her hand subtly tightening around the strap of her bag. Lando could feel the tension radiating off her, and he didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed. He stepped forward, cupping her face with one hand and lifting her chin to make her look at him.

—Hey, you don’t have to do this. I’ve got you. Let’s go somewhere else if you want. Don’t let them get to you, Ames. You deserve a break.—

Her lips parted as if she were about to protest, but she closed them again, the fight draining from her face as she looked back at him. There was a deep sigh, and she finally gave a small nod.

Lando smiled softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek, and with a nod, he turned towards the door. He took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. He could feel her tension as they made their way towards the exit, her fingers tightening around his, but she didn’t pull away.

The moment they stepped outside, the noise hit them. A wave of people surged forward like a tide, the sound of shouting and phones clicking. Lando instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her from the crowd as best as he could with his body. He kept his hand tightly in hers, pulling her closer to him, his other hand extended slightly to push through the throngs of people that had gathered.

Lando could feel the energy shift instantly as the crowd surged. Phones were in the air, like a swarm of bees, buzzing and snapping in every direction. People were shouting Amelie’s name, her face plastered on every screen as flashes went off, strobe-like, as if the paparazzi were out in full force. It wasn’t just a few fans anymore—it was a mob, and Lando was doing everything he could to keep them at bay.

He could feel Amelie’s grip tightening on his hand as she tried to move with him. She wasn’t panicking, but he could feel her anxiety radiating through their connection. He kept his hand in front of them, gently shoving people back as they came too close, his voice low but firm.

—Excuse me! Please back off!— Lando called out, trying to keep the space between them and the crowd. He was used to being in the spotlight, but he was well aware that it wasn’t just his name being screamed anymore. People had spotted Amelie and, just like that, the situation had escalated.

Amelie smiled at the fans who called out to her, doing her best to keep her composure as she posed for a selfie with one person, then another. She tried to hide the nerves in her eyes, but Lando saw it all—the subtle tension in her jaw, the way she was keeping herself just a little too composed.

As they inched forward, Lando kept leading the way, gently navigating through the crowd. Fans were pressing in, trying to reach out to touch her, snap photos, or just get close. A few even shouted her name, asking for an autograph, but Amelie didn’t seem to mind as much. She was used to it by now—smiling and laughing through the craziness, even though she would have preferred to be somewhere quiet, just the two of them.

—Hey, keep your hands to yourselves!— Lando snapped at one of the people who got a little too close. He wasn’t a fan of being rude, but he had to make sure they respected Amelie’s space.

Amelie’s eyes met his for a split second, and she gave him a grateful, albeit slightly tired, smile. —Thanks, Lan.—

They were so close to the car now. Just a few more steps. Lando could see the black SUV parked just ahead, the driver standing by with the door open, ready to whisk them away from this madness.

The sea of people in front of them seemed endless, but with every step, they got closer to the peace and calm of the car. Lando’s pace quickened as he tightened his grip on Amelie’s hand, moving as fast as he could without seeming too rushed. He was still holding his arm in front of her, trying to block out the people who were too eager to shove their phones in her face.

And then, as if a wave had hit them, the screams grew louder. More phones, more faces, more hands reaching. Amelie’s eyes flicked between Lando and the approaching vehicle, her breathing quickening slightly.

—Just a little bit longer, Ames. Almost there.— Lando muttered, and she nodded, though Lando could see the faintest trace of discomfort in her eyes.

When they reached the car, Lando opened the door and helped Amelie inside, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her in. She slid in quickly, her face flushed but still trying to keep it together.

Once inside, Lando closed the door behind them, and for a brief moment, everything went silent. It was like the noise of the crowd was suddenly shut out, and they were enveloped in a bubble of quiet.

Oscar and Lily got in the car behind them, and Lando quickly glanced at Amelie, who was sitting next to him, her hands resting in her lap as she tried to compose herself.

Before Lando could say anything, Oscar leaned forward from the back seat, grinning. —Well, that was a shitshow, huh? You’ve got quite the entourage following you now, Amelie. Remind me to never go shopping with you again.—

-------------

liked by amelienation, lando, and others

ameliegossipdaily: Honestly, what happened tonight in Barcelona was completely unacceptable. 🙄 While Amelie, Lando, and their friends were just trying to enjoy a quiet day, some people forgot that she's a human being, not a circus attraction. It's beyond disrespectful to invade someone's personal space like that—especially when she's clearly uncomfortable. 😤

Amelie’s kindness knows no bounds, and yet, people treat her like a zoo animal. When will we respect boundaries? Fans deserve to be able to appreciate their idols, but this was way over the line. 😳 We all saw the frenzy outside that store—the paparazzi flashing cameras, the screaming, the invasion of privacy. We get it, she's famous, but respect goes both ways, and the disrespect shown to her tonight is absolutely appalling. 😤

Amelie deserves peace, she deserves to live without feeling like she’s on display 24/7. 🌟 Everyone should take a moment to reflect on how we treat people we admire. It's not all about the chase for selfies and autographs. 📸 Respect her space, her comfort, and her friends' time too.

Let’s do better, folks. ✊💖 Amelie is a queen, and she deserves to be treated like one.

View all 20,583 comments

f1queen: Honestly, I'm just glad Lando was there to protect her. The way people just start snapping pics without asking? YIKES. 😤 → tiffytiff_23: @f1queen seriously, where's the respect for her privacy?? 😡

papayadreamer: I can't believe people turned a normal shopping trip into a freak show. Amelie deserves SO much better than that. 😔💔 → itsnicky44: @papayadreamer 100%. Like, leave her alone, it’s not that deep. 🙄

sarahh_rocks: Ugh, she looked so uncomfortable. Can we just let her live? 🤦‍♀️

sofia__carter: Lando looking like he's ready to fight the entire crowd to protect her, but honestly... it's necessary. 😂🛑 → itsme_alexx: @sofia__carter he was on full defense mode lol 😂 respect Lando tho. 🫶

ameliedailyupdates: That whole crowd thing was gross. No one should have to go through that, especially Amelie. 😤💔 → oscar__fan22: @ameliedailyupdates true. People forget there's a line between admiration and invasion. 😡

lucyheartthrob: Did anyone else see Lando liked this post? 👀 He knows we’re all on the same page. → f1life77: @lucyheartthrob Yesss I noticed too! He’s def not here for the crowd either!

gracie_luvs: Amelie deserves to shop without being hunted down. That’s so rude. 😡

stanamelie4ever: the way she was literally trying to leave and people kept blocking her path??? disgusting.

fan11: if Amelie never goes outside again, I fully support her tbh → fan12: real, I wouldn’t either after this mess 😭

≛ LONELY IS THE MUSE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

feat. bodyguard!abby x famous actor!reader

warnings. eighteen+, suggestive nsfw content: reader fell first nd and abby fell harder, some angst, fluff, slightly coded fem reader, personal trainer!abby, just two idiots pining. i saw the discourse for some romance and i wanted to do my part. enjoy friends.

LONELY IS THE MUSE, entangled in an endless web of a high profile life, everyone waiting on you hand and foot, hollywood’s star in their prime — everyone needing a piece for themselves. yet the mysterious blonde who has not a clue to who you are catches the eye of the lonely muse.

wc. 8k

“You know you don’t have to stand this close to me.” Abby counters, but her words didn’t make you move an inch. Not that she really thought they would. Secretly, she enjoys your gentle touch. She likes how comfortable you feel around her. The downpour in New York has your arm entangled with her own, your hand gripping her bicep as she holds the umbrella.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to ruin my hair.” You replied gently, as you rested your head against her relaxed bicep.

“God, forbid your hair be in ruin, sweet girl.” Abby’s wet lips look inviting, especially when she’s smirking at you. Delectable, enticing, desired seeping underneath your soul as you try your best to keep them at bay. 

“Now that would be positively tragic, wouldn’t it? Just a paparazzi’s wet dream. Need my hair in ruins for them to get a handsome payday.” Abby shakes her head, the budding smile threatening to reveal itself. You can see how it grows, despite the effort she makes to disguise it. 

“I think you do enjoy my company. Paid or not, I bring some light into your life.” You play with the ends of her hair. The blonde feels a tingle pricking at her skin. She ignores it. 

“I can see that smile.” 

Better than anyone, Abby knows the gleam in your eyes is too dangerous to entertain, so she looks forward. It’s what she's paid to do, to keep you safe. Not to entertain some weird crush that will soon pass when you move on to the next actress, artist, or producer. She doesn’t need a reminder of how different your world is, she’s already abundantly clear on where the both of you stand. Worlds apart from each other, even if you’re leaning against her, the greedy hands of the public grab onto you first, mercilessly sucking the life out of anyone who enters your life. 

All it does is isolate you, making your life incredibly lonely. Trapped on the throne you built with your raw talent, but the industry is a double edged sword, as much as it appears to lift you up, it impales any sense of normalcy at a private, peaceful life. You take pride in these little moments you have with her. It’s the only time you get to have a taste of normalcy, even if you did have a bodyguard, which wasn’t entirely normal. Yet, Abby is a gentle reminder of a life she wishes to have. Someone who is kind, and loving; a soul that exists for no selfish gain, greed, or selfishness. 

Sometimes, you take advantage of it. 

Abby knows you crave physical affection. Ever since your messy break up, you’ve been finding any little excuse to justify it. Abby didn’t really mind at all. Even if she tried to deny it in her head, she’d miss it if you stopped. The incessant need you have to be close to her at all times, your essence bleeding on to her, suffocating her with everything she wants, but knows she can’t ever let herself dip into the deepest edges of you. 

Especially, not when you are still attempting to decode the wreckage of your last relationship. 

Abby hates seeing you like this, but she knew there was little she could do to help. All she could do is let you ride the wave of heartbreak, take in the silent tears hitting full cheeks, and hope it would all end soon for you. For now, she would allow immediate proximity.

You’re hurting. You need it.  

The first few weeks, even a couple months after, she expects it. Now it’s month four, and you were still touching her all the time. Lame excuses falling from your lips daily and Abby was sure you didn’t even believe them. She thought about bringing it up to you, establishing healthy boundaries before she crosses a line.

Yet, it feels…nice.

It felt good to be needed. The reason she had taken this job in the first place. It wasn’t what she had imagined for herself – a bodyguard of a famous musician. She jokes about it now, but it's a twisted fate for the two of you. Your eyes shine bright whenever someone asks, and you always take the lead.

Abby has always been more reserved, and your personality is as bright as the sun. She liked Abby the second she laid eyes on her. Not because she was beautiful or the most gorgeous human she’d ever seen.

Which she is.

No.

Her stupid pounding heart, the one she felt beating violently out of her chest, loves you, has no idea who she is.  She had thought possibly the blonde stranger was putting on a front, some did. They liked to conceal their intentions behind greedy eyes and malicious intent.

But Abby turned out to be different.

When a blossoming friendship turned into a job opportunity, it took Abby through a loop. It was the very last thing she was expecting from you. You’d kept her in the dark and when you announced exactly who you were, Abby really didn’t know. Never was she really a fan of social media, didn’t really partake in it unless someone was showing her the latest trend going around. She’s a little old fashioned but she likes it. It worked in her favor when it came to you. Unknowingly, for the first time since your fame struck as quick as lightning, you had the pleasure to befriend someone who had no idea who you were. 

As fresh as breathing your first breath of air, you took pride in the circumstance. Someone enjoying your company for who they are and not just for your social standing, fame, or most importantly the money. Before either of you could really even fully come to it, Abby has become such an influential person in your life, and then you were attempting to entice her with a job opportunity, and she accepted. 

You thought it would take longer and knew from the moment you had asked. But her life was uprooted by you, and she felt guilty about how much it fills her up with glee. 

In the last year, Abby became the only person worthy of your trust, the only one who would keep your confessions confined, not letting the secrets drip like cheap wine down the drain. Rather more as if she was out in the vineyard, carefully hand picking the grapes for the wine as she crafts it herself. Giving it the love, care, and attention it needs to flourish into fine beverage. From one sip alone, knowing she would crave for the taste. 

Getting to know you in ways some would dream of. Often, the mass of the public did, but you’re more selective who you let in your life now. Swiftly, you noticed how easily Abby listened. 

Listening and seeing you for who you are, not some strewed version the media made you out to be.  

She understood why you felt the need to and maybe why you felt comfortable with her. You spent time with her more than anyone. After two years together, she had learned every little detail about you. Where you liked to get your morning coffee, your favorite brunch spot, which bar you like to frequent when you had a night to give, which gym was your favorite, and to not speak with you until you’ve had said coffee. 

It’s these little things Abby remembers, constantly getting her in trouble.

When paparazzi are around, you always accept her hand as she guides you through the swarming crowd. Abby knows you despise it. How inhumane it makes you feel. You feel like an attraction, an object the masses had come to see rather than being viewed as an actual person. In these moments, you cling onto Abby the most. While she’s intimidating to all, there leaves a small exception for you, never has she once been anything to you more than just a sweet, gentle giant she wants close to her at all times. 

Her stature is standing a little over six feet tall. Her arms always looked too good against the tight fabric of her shirt. The one you grip onto as she is navigating through a crowd with you in tow, she’s always focused. The remainder of your team was behind you, while she was always in front of you.

At all times, protecting you.

But it was moments like today, you were grateful for. You blended with the hectic life of the city. You were just two people waiting at a crosswalk, waiting to get to your next destination.

Abby tries not to pay too much attention to how you’re squeezing her bicep, with a strong grip further indication you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

She supposes it’s better than feeling your hand in hers. There were times when Abby deemed it necessary. She would grab it whenever she needed to get you through from point a to point b, quickly. It made you follow her pace instead of lingering behind. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel with your head resting against her arm, your body so close to hers.

How was she supposed to act normally?

The rumors were already getting bad. You denied them when asked, and you did gracefully each time.

All Abby could think about if this moment was captured, it would be perceived as intimate. It felt like it was, but she didn’t want the entire world to see. Not when she felt the two of you walking this very nimble line of friends, something professional, and something more. She didn’t need thousands of eyes giving their two senses in a situation she didn’t even fully understand yet. All it took was one person to snap a photo if she gets too close to you. If her touch stayed on you for too long, or if she let the love reach her eyes. The ladder was the most difficult to control. It’s a part of her just as much as the air in her lungs.

This life is new to her. At times, Abby wondered if she’s biting off more than she could chew.

The only reason she’d left was for you. She had a small, quiet life. Abby’s life was very average, a cloud of normalcy hovered above her before the two of you met. A personal trainer full time and she resided in a cabin about half an hour from where she worked. She chopped wood to relieve stress, Her girlfriend liked it at the time, and she did too. She had her two dogs, and a darling kitten. 

She enjoyed the privacy. The isolated countryside her sweet family could reside in. Abby had built this life she was proud of, and it made her happy. For a time, it worked. She was genuinely content with where she was. There wasn’t a need to stress or control where her life was going. It felt like a huge relief. She tended to live inside her own head, not be present in what she has right in front her.

It had been months since she felt like that. It’d felt good and she was proud of herself for not succumbing from within and really coming to terms with what she had built around her. This was the most difficult route for her to take. To allow herself to be open, even if there was a chance of her falling.

Abby really should have felt remorseful for leaving it all behind.

Nora was sweet. The most caring partner she ever had, but there wasn’t much she could compare it to. Besides her, there had only been two, and she didn’t even count Owen. A long misstep until she landed where she needed to be. He did care for her, and he seemed to be more kind-hearted than most men, but the bar was set so low, he should’ve exceeded expectations.

And he did, in some areas.

Others, he fell more than flat but there was little to nothing he could do about it. Abby likes girls and he wasn’t one. Her sexuality shattered their relationship into a million pieces – leaving neither of them any option but to move on.

Nora felt real. This genuine connection she’d never experienced before. Abby knew it one year into their relationship. The pair had built this life together, one where she didn’t feel trapped in, and one Abby could be proud of. She felt acknowledged and loved Nora. There wasn’t a sliver of a doubt in her mind this where she needed to be.

She tells Nora when she needs space, and she isn’t ashamed of it. If she didn’t want to go out, Nora wouldn’t guilt trip her into it. Abby didn’t feel pressured to intertwine her identity with Nora just because they were together. Nora hardly ever gave Abby a reason to be upset. She showed up like partners were supposed to, even when Abby didn’t.

But it was a heavy weight to carry for Nora. Being her first serious queer relationship, Abby was left stunted in areas where Nora had to lend a helping hand. She never made Abby feel bad about it, but the two of them could feel the string keeping them threatening to snap.

Often, it frustrated Abby. To always be the one receiving help and never giving it. She didn't blame her partner, but she was left at a crossroad. 

She never understood Owen more and it really pissed her off.

To no fucking end.

But Nora was far more patient than Abby had ever shown. Maybe it was the testament to love or maybe Nora was just a good person and Abby is shitty. She had more patience than Mother Thersea herself, and it amazed her. Always guiding Abby with a gentle hand, never getting upset with her even when she let her anger shine through.

It makes her feel undeserving of a love she could never earn.

This pure and untainted love had never touched her before, and she’d never fallen this hard. Abby didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She really thought this could be it. Nora could be the one. They could get through those hardships together, right? 

Then you came and overwhelmed her like a tsunami.

She was running late, which was completely out of the ordinary for Abby. Instead of her neat braid, her sun kissed-blonde hair was in a low bun. Underneath her eyes was evidence of her lack of sleep. She hadn’t been getting any as of lately and the bags only seemed to get deeper.

Abby wouldn’t call the fights constant, but it sure did feel like it.

The back and forth, having the same fight consistently. Abby was more than frustrated. The biggest efforts she made were dismissed by Nora, even making her upset at times. She was trying too hard and being annoying, or not doing enough and then it meant she wasn’t present in the relationship.

Abby felt her stuck at a wall, Nora on the other side of it and she couldn’t hear a damn thing.

So, she was running late.

One of the many fights  they’ve had with each other as of late. Nora is tired of dealing with a “baby gay” as she likes to remind her in the heat of their arguments. Abby gets offended, her lips forming into an even deeper pout, her porcelain skin flushed in anger before she gives them both space. 

Contemplating about the future of their relationship in the shower, causing her to be late to work in the process. 

Astronomically behind – her client arrived at the gym she worked at half an hour ago. The most recent argument with Nora plagued her morning. All they seem to do is argue, trapped in what they both need from the relationship, but all the two of them could do is argue, argue, argue.

But neither of them makes a move. They are still as the eerie silence that carries them into questioning. 

It’s when she’s too inside her head, fearing about the future, when she violently bumps into you. Body colliding with yours, Abby’s stone-like build causes you to crash into the pavement, your belongings scatter along with Abby’s. 

“Fuck. Are you alright? Sorry, I’m in such a hurry, I’m sure I wasn’t even paying attention.” You let her pick you from the ground, she does with ease. She looks right through you and you expect the excitement, the excited tears, or to be asked for a picture but it never comes.   

“For a moment I thought I ran into a wall—” You giggle to yourself. “Really, I’m alright.” You spoke softly. You pick up both of your belongings that had slipped from both of your grips, returning it to its owner. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Abby asks again. 

You think it’s cute how much lace of concern is conveyed in her cerulean eyes, full of light and wonder, so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. 

“No no! I’m fine! Really don’t worry about it.” 

Honestly, you’re still in amazement she has no idea who you are. It makes your fondness of her grow even more. The two of you depart quickly, go about your day, and you think nothing of it until you go to unlock your phone to message your manager and it’s not a picture of the moon you’d taken during the eclipse, it’s the mysteriously hot and kind woman you’d run into before. 

Shit. She has my phone. 

Lucky for you, Abby was coming to the same realization. Ready to bring out the workout she had planned out for her first client, opening her phone to access where she had written everything out only to find this isn’t her phone. Well, fuck. 

Abby hollers at Dina to take over the client for a moment, excusing herself for a moment before retreating into the office to call from her direct line. 

Idiot Anderson. Now you get to make an idiot of yourself, twice. 

Way to go. 

She calls her phone and it rings a few times before the familiar voice chimes through the speaker, the one she heard this morning during her fit of anxiety. 

“Please tell me this is the woman I ran into earlier or else I’m going to be even more embarrassed for answering a stranger's phone.” 

“Well you’re in luck.” 

“Oh thank fuck—” You curse yourself before being so vulgar with someone who you didn’t even know. “Sorry! God, this is all my fault. I must have swapped our phones when I picked them up and didn’t even realize.” 

“It’s okay, really, if I was paying attention where I was walking this morning it never would have happened. Did you wanna meet?” 

“No! Let me. Please, this is all my fault. I should at least be the one who makes the drive.” 

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Abby offers the address of work, thinking once after she does if it’s a good idea, a total stranger knowing where she works but she’s already giving the street name and suite number before she can even make her mind. Abby usually doesn’t get nervous but this situation has sent her into a frenzy, thinking about how dumb she could have been. Nora will get a good laugh out of it she thinks, then she is reminded of the fight the two of them were still in. She wonders if she’s even tried to reach out to her yet or if Nora’s just waiting until Abby’s anger rolls over. 

More favorably, the ladder. 

Until the two of them have the comfort of their lives, the cushion they have between their shared friends and the home they share twenty minutes out of the state, until it comes up again and they’ll be contemplating it all over again. Anxiously, the front desk girl, Bevs, the younger girl who has a crush on her, shyly comes up to her. 

Bevs says what she assumes is your name, confusing Abby in the process. 

“You know her?” 

“How could you not? She’s one of the most famous actresses ever.” Abby is stunned to say the least. Truthfully, she had no idea. Her lack of social media keeps her out of the loop and as much as her friends tease her about, if Abby knew who you were the first time around, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to say more than two words. Clearly, you’re a fresh face to her. Already, Abby knows Manny is going to have a field day when Bevs lets this information spill in her sheer excitement. 

Great, she thinks. 

“Oh.” 

“I put her in your office. Some of the clients were already starting to have questioning looks, putting the pieces together. Hey! Maybe they're as clueless as you.” 

“Bevs, go back to the front desk.” With a curt nod and realizing she has pushed too far, with a tail between her legs she retreats back to her post. 

Okay, Anderson, let’s get this over with. 

Abby smells you the minute she steps foot in her office. It’s not the usual pinewood scent the candle in her office radiates. There’s a lingering smell of lavender with just a hit of vanilla. It’s sweet as it engulfs her nostrils, she finds herself sniffling slightly, a silent beg for more of it. You’re standing the minute you’re aware of her presence. Painfully, Abby is aware of her lack of clothing. The tight sport jacket is left unopened, her black sweatpants, accompanied with her sports bra, abs on display as she watches your eyes examine her carefully. 

She’s not sure how to feel about it. 

There is a moment, a short one where your eyes go to her chest, the silver barbells constricting against the small fabric, clear as to what lies beneath. 

Abby does smirk at that. She’s only human. 

You keep staring at her for a minute longer, well it feels like one but Abby deems it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” The more time goes on, the sweeter you are. “It’s pretty close to where I live.” 

Abby didn’t know it then but you were lying straight through your teeth. The trainer didn’t know you moved around your entire day to make the phone swap or the butterflies swarming your stomach from just how attractive and nice she seemed to be. There was something about her that sent your caution flying to the wind, drifting in the leaves with the rest of your pride. 

“Well I appreciate you coming out this way, even if it’s in your area. I really wouldn’t have minded taking the drive.” Abby pulls out your phone as she hands you yours. It’s simple, transactional, and it should have just been left at that but you had a fondness of putting your foot in your mouth. 

“Are you a trainer here?” 

“Uh, yeah. Been doing it for a few years actually. I spent so much time here already, now I get paid for it. Can’t really complain.” 

“Do you ever do private sessions?” 

“Um-” Abby scratches the back of her awkwardly, not sure if you’re asking her genuinely or if you’re trying to insinuate something else entirely. 

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just have a….job opportunity I have to get in shape for and you just look like you know what you’re doing.” Abby thought you might as well point to her physique but if anything she was flattered. It was always nice knowing something she’s been working on for years, her longest standing commitment besides Nora, is appreciated. 

“Sure, we could work something out.” You slightly smile before you exchange phones, this time on purpose, to put in the other’s number. Normally, she didn’t give out her number to clients, but Abby makes an exception for you that day. To this day, she’ll never outwardly admit why she did, not even to herself. 

- 

Two years later, she’s single from her life being turned upside down by you. The casualty being her own relationship, leaving Nora behind was one of the hardest decisions she’s made. Nora never agreed on Abby taking the job. As much as Nora wished for Abby to be more open about their endeavors, as soon as she accepted an offer that could drastically expand the trajectory of their life, Nora couldn’t be asked to compromise another thing. 

That was that. Not even two months into Abby working for you and Nora had called it quits. Abby never talked about it, only you knew she had a girlfriend she used to talk about when you began training with her, and then it was just silent. Back then, you didn’t know her well enough to pry, so you didn’t. 

Even as time passed, the two of you became friends through your employment, spending all your time with her during press season for your upcoming film, Lonely Is The Muse, together. Today was the only day you had off, even if it means Abby technically had the day off, you insisted that both of you leave the hotel and go out for the day. It's the most peace you felt during the European leg of the tour. Only one more day of dealing with your sensory issues, people in your face telling you when and where to go, or the distasteful question regarding your past public breakup instead of the work you were promoting. 

Some interviewers were kind enough to let the drama go but some wanted to get their own viral moment, waiting for you to say the wrong thing. As the industry likes to say, any publicity is good publicity. 

When you’re America's sweetheart actress of the century, such luxuries can’t be afforded. 

As your manager likes to remind you, there’s a reputation you have to protect. 

“Would you like to head back now? Long day tomorrow. Last day of interviews and then your flight leaves first thing in the morning.” 

“Did Stassie put you up to this?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.” 

“Mhm, your definition of fun is letting you do whatever you want.” 

“And the problem with that is?” 

All Abby can do is chuckle. 

“What do you want to do then?” Abby asks. She takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, as blinding as the sun but obtaining the serenity of the moon. “I’m all ears sweetheart.” 

It’s how the two of you end up here, a rooftop party, a friend of a friend you said. The party was lowkey, more than the typical ones you would get invited. Maybe because you weren’t in Los Angeles, Miami, or New York — but tucked away on another continent — or perhaps everyone here is just discreet. 

There’s only two fans that come up to you instead of twenty. You’re thankful for some sense of normalcy, one night where you can just feel normal. It still never gets old, people coming up to you as they confess the impact you’ve had on their life. It feels unbelievable at times but you’re grateful for the luxury life you’ve been granted. 

“Here. No liquor tonight.” Abby hands you a glass of red wine, your favorite beverage of choice when you couldn’t have tequila. 

“Yes Ma’am.” You playfully salute her. More than anything, you enjoy the not so subtle chuckle. “Not that I don’t love your company but isn’t Stassie supposed to boss me around?” 

“She felt under the weather. Plus, we both know you don’t listen to her.” 

“And I listen to you?” Your hand plays with her loose blonde hair, smoothing out the white button she’s wearing. 

“Yeah, you do. I wonder why that is.” Abby is playing with fire tonight. Possibly due to the fact that you wouldn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, keeping your body close, practically gluing yourself to her. Yes, she’s charged with keeping you safe and protected but it seems you find enjoyment bringing it to another level entirely. 

“You’re much nicer to look at, that’s all.” It’s light, a quiet whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone — not even for Abby to hear. “Don’t wanna make my handsome bodyguard upset.” 

Faking your pout as you let the words leave your lips, Abby chuckles as you get closer to her, her body standing strong as you push your weight onto her. Stoic as always, while you lean on her, she keeps her eyes peeled. Ensuring your safety at all times. 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you a shot tonight.” 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

Abby chuckles, again. She’s delighted you’re enjoying yourself, even if it comes at her expense. There’s a soft jazz song playing outside, couples dancing to the music, you zone out for a moment as you look upon one in particular. 

They are older, possibly in their forties, raven hair beginning to gray, fine lines crinkle when they smile at each other but it’s hard to take note of anything else but the way the couple looks at each other. Your mind wonders how long they’ve been together, if it’s been for years, months, a couple weeks. 

It doesn’t really matter. You just want that. 

The feeling isn’t lost on you, especially when you’re in the arms of the woman you love. For her, she’s being protective, doing her job but you wish it was different. A bubbling desire dripping off your tongue, a need to have her close to you but because she wants. Not because she’s paid to. 

“If I can’t have any tequila shots, god forbid, you have to dance with me.” You down the rest of your wine, placing the empty glass on the bar. “C’mon, you can give Stassie an earful later.” 

Pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor, Abby leads as your head rests against her chest. The steady, soft heartbeat soothes you, a reminder of the safety you feel with her. Caught in the riptide of her kind eyes and heart full of gold. It’s what makes her so unique, so loved, so her. With a surprisingly good tone, Abby sings to the music softly before twirling you around and spinning your body back to her. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Your hand rubs lovingly on her lower back as she holds you in her arms. You take pride when it doesn’t feel transactional. When she holds you and it feels as if she was meant to. There’s nothing else comparable to it, her frame melting into yours as your soul finds solace in her warm embrace. 

“There’s plenty of things.” Playfully, Abby smirks. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” 

The sarcasm practically drips out of you as her smirk grows wider. 

“Can I ask you something?” You hesitate for a moment as you find her beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. It’s only then does everything troubling might dissipate while she holds you — secretly hoping it’s forever. 

“You can ask me anything.” 

You give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts as you move to the delicate beat. “Do you ever wish for a life where you could have had a normal life? I wonder if things could be different.” 

Immediately, Abby answers. 

“Not anymore, no, not for a second.” 

If it was even possible, Abby pulls you closer to her, not urging a word more. It’s how she is, cold and distant to some but they don’t feel the stutter in her breath when you’re near or the soft pad of her thumb rubbing soothingly on the back of your hand. Or the soft words of encouragement when you’re having a difficult day. 

They hear none of it. 

She dances with you for a couple more songs, before you find solace on the couch. You lay beneath the moonlight, your body cuddles into her side as you stare up at the sky. 

It’s lost on you how you’ve ended  with her, someone as kind and untainted as her, wanting to spend her free time with you, but you’re grateful for it. Whatever god you have to thank, you’ll get on your knees to praise their alter for bringing Abby into your life. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you and she doesn’t even know it. Albeit, she hardly knows the extent of how wonderful she is. 

“Why here?” 

“It’s a good night, nice weather. Why not?” 

A question with a question. It’s the most straightforward answer you’ll ever give her. Innuendos for the sweet girl to piece together, but with the soft circles being drawn her stomach with the pad of your finger leaves little to nothing to decode. 

“It’s nice, yeah.” 

Abby always has so little to say but her mind swarms with a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea and a million of why this is where the constellations in the jaded sky have led to you. Straight into the pits of innocence, a heart that’s been hurt more times than she can count but still as golden and whole as one could be. 

“What do you think of Italy?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice? That’s all I get?” 

Abby smirks but her body stills when you play with the waistband of her trousers before gliding back to the security of her abdomen, carving the liner of her defined abs. The ones she tries so hard to cover up, but you saw on the very first day you met her. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, an eyebrow raising in suggestion. Abby knows it’s a double edged sword, one she doesn’t want to be injured with. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Cautiously, Abby warns. “I’m not sure that last drink was a great idea.” 

You rest your head on her sternum, sapphire eyes looking down at you as her hand finds home on your waist, the blunt of your nails scratching softly at her stomach. 

“They always seem like a great idea at the time, don’t they?” With a gentle hand, you caress her scarred cheek, the pad of your thumb gently tenderly kissing the freckled skin. Outlining the softness of her jaw with your left, while your right one refuses to leave her stomach. 

“I don’t see how anyone would ever want to leave you.” Abby hums, not giving you much to go off of, tight lipped as she’s always been. The Nora situation has always been on your mind. One day, Abby’s speaking of her like she’s the love of her life and the next? Abby stiffens so tight when you bring up her name you promise yourself to never speak of it again. Until now, almost two years later, you’re more curious than you have ever been. The fatal ending, not belonging to you, but still you paw for the answers with your greedy palms. 

“You can just ask me if you want to know. I can see the look in your eyes.” 

“What look? I don’t have a—” 

Abby tilts your chin with your palm, leaning into her touch as you often do. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“How do you know this look?” 

“Hm.” Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “You’re just trying to get me in trouble now.” 

Your tone shifts, your eyes become transcendent, more crystal clear than they’d been all night. 

“What happened between you and Nora?” You ask, treading lightly on the ground you’re skating upon, in fear the ground beneath you might just crack if you apply too much pressure. 

“Why is it so important to you?” 

“It’s not that it’s—” You face plant into her chest, giving yourself a moment to breathe. Fuck, even her chest smells good. 

“You don’t ask about anything unless it’s of value to anyone. You don’t waste time, you’re very adamant about it. Painfully so.” Blonde eyebrows relax as she closes her eyes for a moment, but her touch on you soothes you. It’s gentle; a somber comfort bleeding into blissful joy. 

“But I’ve spent a lot of time with you.” 

“Yes, you’ve spent a lot of your time with me.

Abby opens her eyes to see you, your head tilted to the right, as you look upon each carve of her angelic face, the one that could only be carved by the gods above, resembling an angel on earth. As pure as the snow with the biggest heart of gold you ever have had the pleasure of knowing. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” You smile slyly. 

“We didn’t break up because of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abby sighs, “You’re not some homewrecker. My home with Nora was already wrecked before we met.” 

“Are you just saying it to make me feel better?” 

“No, I’m not.” You play with the ends of her golden hair, it hurts to be this close to what you want but knowing it’s so clearly out of your reach, league even, all of it will end the same. “Nora wasn’t fond of her being my first relationship with a woman. It caused a ripple effect, me feeling like I wasn’t good enough and her feeling like she has to carry me in the relationship, emotionally anyway.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” 

“No.” 

“It was because of me.” You state, as a matter of fact, knowing there is no other truth to be known. With tears welling up in your eyes, an ache  in your heart, one that made you ache all over. The dread of the guilt weighing heavily on your heart, time and distance still isn’t enough for you to run from it. 

“It was a job that was a great opportunity. Alright? It wasn’t you, even if I hadn’t, we both wanted different things. I didn’t even realize it until after but I wasn’t happy. I promise, it has nothing to do with you.” 

What Abby didn’t know, you needed to hear her say those words. In the back of your head, a monstrous demon unleashes in your mind, telling you crashed her relationship. You were the problem and her inevitable doom, but she’s assuring you it wasn’t the case. 

“We hardly knew each other back then.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, Abby can’t imagine her life without you. 

“Yeah hardly.” 

There’s that look again, pouring into Abby’s soul as it eats her up whole, the gleam in your eyes begging for more. It’ll complicate things if Abby gets involved, she knows this, but it already seems like she is despite her best efforts not to be. 

“Did I do good? You always say you miss stargazing with your brother back home. I know it’s not as quiet as the cabin you have, but I thought it would be okay for now.” 

“The view isn’t bad, not one bit.” She admits as she lets you rub her abdomen, the goosebumps crawling upon her skin the more Abby lets you touch her as if she’s yours to hold. “Lev would like it. I’m convinced the kid likes you more than me now.” 

“As he should. I’m pretty damn amazing.” 

“He asks too many questions though.” 

“About what?” 

“I dunno…..things.” Abby retreats back into her shell, the layer of protection she uses to protect herself from getting hurt. Most of all, out of everyone the gods could torture her to be confused about, of course it has to be you. Everyone in your life is always begging for pieces of your time, pieces of your affection and bits of your time to suck you dry. Abby has always wondered how you juggle it all. It feels cruel to even think you would put her in the mix. 

Painfully, there’s nights like tonight, where she sees the desire swarming in your eyes — every part of her pleads to give in to the temptation. Give into something she’s never even let herself think about until the last few months. As thick as drywall, there was a barrier keeping her heart from you, one she kept to protect you and herself even. 

The absolute last thing she wanted was to wreck everything this has to offer. If she makes the wrong move, all of it can come crashing down on you…it’s the last thing she wants. Make you a martyr in her story, one she thinks and dreams of often but knows you’re too big for her to exist in your life. The circles you run in don’t even exist in the same planet, the same fucking universe if Abby’s being honest. 

“What things?” You pout, your hand traveling south, caressing her thigh with a familiarity Abby wishes you didn’t have. She wishes for a lot but they never come true, that’s all you can be, a dying wish Abby curses upon a fading star.  

“It’s just stupid shit, not worth mentioning.” 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” You take a deep breath, your voice already shaky and you haven’t even told her yet. “I don’t think you even know how much you mean to me.” Abby isn’t sure where you’re going with this, terrifying her instantly. 

Have you finally had your fill of her? Were you gonna fire her? Now? 

“Lev doesn’t just talk to you about us.” 

“Us?” Nervously, Abby stomach clenches, unprepared for where this conversation is heading. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

Abby visibly and loudly gulps, almost making you giggle slightly. 

“I-I’m not.” 

The stonewall she attempts to hide behind but you won’t let her, not tonight. Slumping in the shadows, waiting for you to find someone else to love as she watches your happiness from a far, that’s what she allows herself. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Abs, look at me.” She meets your eyes, away from the constellations in the sky, afraid if she looks for a moment too long she’ll be stuck here forever. “Talk to me, m’right here, not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Instantly, Abby grips your hips, keeping you in your place. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“What?” 

“I’m not what you want. I’m surely not what anyone needs. Hell, I’ve only been with one woman which is deemed to be for not being enough, right? I’m the girl who came out too late, who doesn’t have enough experience but because I’m built like some fucking adonis I need to know whatever the fuck I’m doing but I don’t. I never know what I’m doing. The only thing I know how to do is protect you, that’s all I’m good for and I’m not gonna screw that up just because I—” 

“Because what?” Your pelvis is on top of hers, your face coming closer to Abby’s, watching as you are irrevocably close to her, closer than you’ve ever been, wet lips ghosting over her pouty pink lips. Abby doesn’t even know when you moved, how you got so close, too lost in her own head to register your movements. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Abby puffs out. 

“It matters to me.” You sink into her, further, if it's even possible. “No one matters more than you, alright?” 

“But there’s people.” Abby looks for an excuse to get up, she comes up enough so she’s sitting up against the armrest of the patio couch, holding your lower back as she does so, leaving you straddling her hips. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is you.” You push a piece of blonde hair away, seeing her beautiful cheeks more clearly, her shining blue eyes finding its unique path to your heart, the one especially made for her. “Here just let me talk, alright? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” 

Abby is nearly crying, practically purring as you run your fingers through her cascading blonde hair. It’s too much but not enough. Although she is sure of one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything. 

“I’ve always been one for pretty girls. I had a reputation around Hollywood, always chasing one after the next, never reaching my fill or as the tabloids like to say.” You chuckled half-heartedly; the wound cutting deeper than you would have liked. “My publicist having to pay paparazzi an obscene amount of money to get these photos from ever hitting online, month after month, it was pathetic really. Just trying to fill a hole, one I didn’t even know how to fill.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I never wanted you to see me differently but I’m not ashamed anymore though. I’m not that person anymore. I haven’t been since I met you.” Abby falls silent, her cheeks turning crimson before she can try to hide it “You not knowing how I was, it's just the humbling I needed. Not to mention you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen— you still are— but you had a girlfriend so I kept my feelings silent. Something just felt different with you and then you were single and I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you so I made a promise to myself. I would never start anything with you, not unless I was in love with you.” 

“You love me?” 

“It’s impossible not to.” You sigh into her, forehead pressed against hers, her strong hold not letting go. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just can’t live in a world where you think because you’re not experienced as some, you think you’re less than people who are.” 

“It’s true, I’m not there with everyone else and it shows.” 

“Abby, you’re not getting it.” 

“Well, no shit. I’m not good enough for any of this, you especially.” 

“It’s not…” You bite your lip as you reach for her hands on your waist, intertwining them with your own. “Abs, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” Your lips ghost over her lips again, but this time Abby inches closer, her breath warm as it hits your mouth. 

“What?” 

“If I was a patient person and waited for you.” 

More than before, Abby’s breath is heavy as the rise and fall of her chest is rapid, trying to calm herself down but it’s impossible when you’re this close. It’s a lot for her, maybe she’s overly sensitive, but your touch is practically lighting her on fire. Abby wonders if it will ever be able to be put out or if your magnetic touch will leave her scorned. 

Puppy eyes inwardly pleading for an ounce of your touch, so sweet as she supports your weight with her strong thighs, anchoring you to her — never quite letting go. A single glance detrimental to the layer of protection she built around herself. 

“There’s no more waiting, m’right here.” Abby closes the gap indefinitely, lips connecting with yours as they move in perfect harmony, as if this is what she was made for. Involuntarily, she whimpers in your mouth as you gently tug at her bottom nibble at her bottom lip, your tongue sliding in as it dominates her own. It happens too quickly — the way her very being melts into you. 

Like honey to a bee, there’s nothing that’s ever been so sweet. 

This is all you need. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Let’s get out of here.”

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