Sweet.4ng3l

The photos found you before he was able to explain—or rather—excuse himself.

You were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a terrible habit of yours. Suddenly, you came across a blurry picture of Jude outside an expensive restaurant, then another from inside. Jude sat across from a woman you recognised immediately, the same woman he’d mentioned the night of the gala: “I was supposed to bring someone tonight… but she cancelled.”

Evidently, she’d made it up to him. Wow.

Your manicured thumb hovered over the screen, refusing to scroll any further. Instead, you found yourself reading the comments beneath the post. There was complete strangers picking apart every detail, convinced they knew exactly who she was to him. Some called her his girlfriend. Others insisted she was just a friend. Others called her all sorts of horrible names. A few were already congratulating him, saying how pretty she was.

You exited the app before you could read another word. Because the truth was, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter whether she’d been a date, a friend, or someone Jude simply shared dinner with. It didn’t matter if the internet had gotten it completely wrong.

What mattered was how easily your stomach sank. How quickly every conversation you’d had with Jude over the past few months came rushing back. Every lingering glance of his. Every touch that lasted a little too long. Every time he’d found you in a crowded room as though there was nowhere else he’d rather be, touching the small of your back so intimately as he did so. Every time you had made love to each other. Every time you had left his warm embrace in the morning when the consequences of your actions caught up to you. You knew this, yet kept running headfirst into a brick wall.

After the party, you’d walked away convinced that would be the last time. The last time you’d let yourself mistake his attention for affection because you knew better now. The last time you’d convince yourself that maybe he’d changed his mind. That, maybe, the boy who swore he didn’t want anything serious had finally realised he wanted something more. Then, the gala happened; you were thrown back back to square one.

Looking back, it made you cringe. You found yourself doing that a lot more recently.

You’d spent months clutching pieces of Jude because they felt better than having none of him at all. A hand on your thigh beneath a dinner table, arm wrapped around your shoulders in crowded rooms. Pillow conversations that blurred into early mornings, with you making eggs for yourself while Jude fixed his premade nutritional bowl. The little moments that felt far too intimate to mean nothing, yet never enough to mean something of fruitfulness.

Jude gave you just enough to keep hoping, then reminded you, without ever having to say it again, that hope was all it would ever be. And the worst part was that you let yourself become content with it.

You convinced yourself that being a footnote in Jude’s life was enough, even when he had somehow become the centrefold of yours. You were willing to exist in the margins of his world, to take whatever pieces of him he was willing to offer, while he occupied every corner of your thoughts without even noticing it.

He’d told you from the beginning; he didn’t want a relationship. Jude didn’t want commitment, didn't want to make promises he couldn’t keep. So why had he spent months making it impossible for you to leave?

Your phone buzzed against the comforter, the sound breaking through your thoughts. It's almost like he knew you had found out, that you had been thinking about him. You eyed your phone with disdain as his name lit up your screen before it disappeared again. Another message came through less than a minute later, then another.

Normally, you would’ve answered by now. Even if it was hours later. Even if you wanted to be angry with him. Somehow, you always replied to Jude because you cared about him.

However, not this time.

You turned your phone over, burying his name against the mattress before it had the chance to taunt you again.

You were sick and fucking tired of his bullshit. Tired of trying to decipher someone who had already given you his answer months ago. Tired of letting his actions convince you of one thing while his words insisted on another. Tired of being pulled back into his orbit every time you finally found the strength to walk away.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. To be disappointed enough to finally believe Jude; he truly didn't want anything, and it didn't mean anything to him.

Jude knew he screwed up big fucking time. The worst part was that he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t understand why.

At first, Jude brushed it off. Maybe you were busy; you had a tendency to sleep for long periods of time. Or maybe you were finally giving him a taste of his own medicine. But after the fifth unanswered text and the third missed call, something in his chest began to tighten. You never ignored him before. You might’ve been frustrated, you might’ve needed space, but you always came back to him. You were always so understanding.

It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had happened. The photos had been everywhere before he’d even made it home. One dinner with a woman he’d known for years, someone he’d promised he’d make it up to after she cancelled on the gala, and suddenly the internet had decided he had a new girlfriend.

The thought would’ve been laughable to Jude under any other circumstances. She was nearly ten years older than him, someone he’d always viewed as a close friend and nothing more. There had never been anything romantic between them, nor would there ever be.

Jude could only imagine what you thought when you’d seen them. The explanation sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill the second you answered his phone calls. But the longer you ignored him, the more he realised the explanation wasn’t really the problem; the problem was him.

After the gala, Jude convinced himself everything had finally settled into place. The two of you had started talking more than ever before. Good morning texts became routine, calls that were supposed to last ten minutes somehow stretched past midnight. He found himself reaching for his phone after training without thinking, itching to tell you about another ridiculous argument that had happened in the dressing room or to tell you another funny story about Mastantuono or something Kylian had raved on about during ‘team meetings’.

Jude genuinely enjoyed your presence. The constant pressure that followed him—the cameras, the expectations, the endless rollercoaster that is football—disappeared whenever it was just the two of you. You never asked anything of him besides his company, and somehow that became the thing he looked forward to most. In fact, you really didn't even care about Real Madrid or football, nor did you bring it up unless he did first.

He’d convinced himself he finally had his feelings sorted. Or, at the very least, under control. Jude told himself there was no rush to put a name to whatever the two of you were. Things were good as they were! That eventually, when the timing was right, he’d figure the rest out.

Looking back, it was beyond selfish of him. Jude was asking you to wait for an answer he wasn’t willing to find because every time things edged toward something real, he’d retreat behind the same sentence he’d repeated from the very beginning: I don’t want anything serious.

But, at the time, Jude believed he was doing the right thing.

Football had to always come first. The scrutiny that followed him everywhere was relentless, and he knew better than anyone what happened when the public got hold of someone’s private life. Every relationship became a headline, every minuscule move was analysed for entertainment on social media.

Jude told himself that keeping you in the grey area was protecting you from all of it. If there was no label, there was nothing for the media to destroy; there was no way they could take you away from him as they had done to so many others.

It sounded noble in his head, but, really, it was just a shitty excuse. Because while he’d been trying to shield you from the outside world, Jude had been hurting you himself.

You’d become the person he wanted to tell everything to. The first face he searched for after a good match. The opinion that mattered more than thousands of strangers praising him online. Being around you never felt like another obligation. It felt like home, and he’d grown so used to having you there that he’d stopped appreciating how much of yourself you were giving him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was selfish.

Jude accepted all the parts of a relationship that came naturally, your company, your comfort, your unwavering support, while refusing to give you the one thing you deserved in return: certainty.

He thought back to the gala more than he’d care to admit. The way you had fit beneath his arm as though you’d always belonged there. The way he’d found himself looking for you in every room, wanting you beside him even when he was surrounded by people. Asking you to be his date hadn’t been planned.

And that, he realised, should’ve been enough for him to face the music: Jude Bellingham wanted to be yours, and he wanted you to be his.

Maybe some part of you had always known Jude would eventually reach out. He never stayed away for long, even if you were the one that sought him out moreso. There was always a text after a few days of silence, some excuse to start a conversation again, some small reminder that he was still there. You had gotten used to him finding his way back into your life before you had the chance to fully convince yourself he was gone.

But you hadn’t expected to open your door and find him standing there.

The knock had been quiet, his knuckles barely making enough noise against the wood to announce his presence. It was almost like Jude wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard, as if some part of him was still giving you the chance to ignore him. Had you not been home, had you not been standing close enough to hear the faint sound, Jude probably would’ve convinced himself that it was a sign and gone back to his car. He would’ve told himself he tried, that showing up unannounced was too much, or that you deserved space from him and his selfishness.

Yet, you were home.

It wasn’t that Jude was someone who avoided difficult conversations. He was passionate by nature, someone who felt everything deeply and never did anything halfway. Jude knew from an early age that he couldn't get what he dreamed of in life without that. But standing outside your door, knowing there was a chance you might not let him in, was different. This wasn’t a conversation he could charm his way through. There was no crowd to distract him, no confidence to hide behind, no easy smile that could make everything feel alright.

For once, the mature Jude Bellingham had no idea what to say.

When you finally pulled the door open, he looked nothing like the man you were used to seeing. He wasn’t carrying that effortless, nonchalant confidence he wore around everyone else. There was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue, no playful grin to soften the tension between you.

Jude just stood there, framed in your doorway, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders tense as his dark eyes immediately found yours. They were red around the edges, a little swollen. You could tell Jude had spent the entire drive over fighting back tears or had already lost that battle before he reached your door. It was unsettling seeing him like that, to say the least.

“Can… we talk?”

You stared at him.

For a second, you hated that your first instinct was still to let him in. You hated that even after everything, after seeing those photos and convincing yourself you were finally done, some part of you still softened at the sight of him looking this lost. Stop, you won’t give in.

You didn’t move, instead, your face hardened. “You came all the way here just to fucking talk?”

His expression tightened slightly, and his lip trembled. “I know—I know how this looks.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. Not that anything was funny, but because you couldn’t believe his audacity.

“No, Jude. You don’t.”

The words left your mouth before you could soften them. Jude’s eyebrows pulled together immediately, a small crease forming between them as if he genuinely couldn’t understand why you were pushing back. His lips parted, ready to argue, but there was no confidence behind it.

“I do.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, you really don’t.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the door, the only thing keeping you from crossing your arms or stepping back completely. You needed the barrier. And needed the reminder that he was standing on the other side of it for a reason.

“Because if you did,” you continued, your voice growing steadier despite the ache building in your chest, “you wouldn’t be standing here acting like this is just a misunderstanding.” Jude’s expression shifted. You watched the realisation settle in his face. “You wouldn’t show up whenever you decide you’re ready to have a conversation and expect me to just forget everything that happened. Or that it’s okay to treat me like shit.”

As you spoke, you realised you knew Jude too well. You knew every small change in his expression, every hesitation, every moment where he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“That’s—that’s not what I’m doing.” His voice was quieter now. You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no amusement behind it.

“Then what are you doing?”

For a moment, Jude just stared at you. His mouth opened slightly; he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered away from yours for half a second before returning, and somehow that frustrated you even more.

Because Jude always had something to say. He was quick with his words. Always knew how to lighten the mood, how to make you roll your eyes when you were trying not to smile. He could talk his way through almost anything.

But now, when he was standing in front of you, seeing the hurt he had caused and realising there wasn’t a simple explanation that would make it disappear.

For once, Jude didn’t have the right words. And maybe that was because, for once, there wasn’t an excuse good enough.

“I was worried.”

You blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow in confusion. You hadn’t expect him to disregard you. “What?”

“I was worried when you stopped answering me.”

The words almost made you laugh again. “You were worried?”

“Yes.”

“You were worried!?” You repeated it, shaking your head. “Jude, do you know how many times I was worried about you?” That shut him up. “Listen, you don’t get to just come to my fucking house and act like you’re the one who got hurt because I finally stopped putting up with your bullshit. You just can't.”

“I know what you saw.”

The words came out suddenly, almost like he couldn’t keep them trapped inside anymore. You looked at him, and Jude immediately shook his head, taking a small step forward before catching himself. His hands slipped from his pockets, fingers dragging through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the right way to explain himself.

“The photos,” he said, voice strained. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Jude watched as you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. “She wasn’t what you think.”

A bitter laugh left you before you could stop it. “Jude—”

“No, please. Please. Just let me explain.” There was something different about the way Jude said it. No confidence. No attempt to brush it off, but rather pure desperation. He was begging you to hear him out. “She’s my mate. That’s it.” The words spilled out of him quickly, like he was afraid you’d interrupt before he could finish. “She’s been my mate for years. She’s, like, literally ten years older than me, and I have never looked at her like that. Not once. There has never been anything romantic between us.”

His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that you believed him.

“The dinner was exactly what it looked like. Dinner.” He swallowed, settling on that. “I told her I’d make it up to her after she couldn’t come to the gala. That was all it was. I swear, I swear.”

You stayed quiet, and the longer you did, the more unsettled he became. He was worried you’d leave him alone one and for all, that this was the nail in the coffin. That you’d never talk to him again, never forgive him, never let him back in over a miscommunication. That you’d would never accept one more idiotic action of his. And Jude couldn’t blame you one bit.

“I know how it looks,” he rushed out. “I know, God, I’m fucking daff. I know you saw those pictures and the first thing you probably thought was that I’d been leading you on.” His voice faltered, his expression twisting sour; he was fighting back tears. “And I—I understand why you would think that.” For a second, he looked away, jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. “But please don’t think that.”

His eyes found yours again, all red and glassy. “Don’t think that I was sitting there with someone else while you were just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “While you were nothing to me.” The last sentence seemed to hurt him more than anything else he’d blurted out. “Because you were never that.”

His voice cracked, trembled and shook. “God, you were never that.”

Jude dragged a hand down his face, frustration and regret mixing together until he looked like he didn’t know what to do with either.

“I know I’ve given you reasons to doubt me. I know I’ve made you feel like you weren’t important enough, like you were just someone I could come back to whenever I wanted.” His voice shook as he spoke. “But it was never because of someone else. It was me being a fucking right dickhead.”

You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his breathing had become uneven, the way his fingers kept flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the guilt he was carrying. Jude had always been someone who held himself together. The person who found a way to keep going, even when things got difficult. He was stubborn like that, always convinced he could handle everything himself. Right now he looked completely worn down. And honestly, it had worried you. Deep down, you always would love and care about him, which is why you took everything so hard. And also why you kept coming back.

“Jude,” you sounded quietly, his eyes frantically lifted to yours. “Hey. Look at me, it's alright.”

For a second, Jude didn’t move. Then he shook his head, dragging a hand over his face as he let out a rough breath. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, like he was trying desperately to pull himself together.

“No, no,” Jude pursed his lips. “It's not alright.” You frowned slightly at the correction. His eyes flickered back to yours, red around the edges, his expression twisting with frustration. “It’s not fucking alright because I know what I’ve done.”

His voice cracked slightly, and you could hear how much he hated admitting it.

“I know I can explain the dinner. I know I can tell you she’s just a mate,” He shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure you understood. “But that’s not even the point, is it? I was a proper idiot.” The words were so simple, so unlike him, that they almost hurt more. “I should’ve realised sooner. I should’ve seen what was right in front of me instead of convincing myself I was doing the right thing.”

Your expression softened slightly. “Jude…”

“Stop!” He shook his head immediately. Not angry, rather desperate. “Don’t do that.”

“Wh—Do what?”

“Make it easier for me.” Jude’s voice dropped. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed this up. I fucked up.”

You reached for him slowly, your hand resting against his arm. “Jude, please, it’s okay.”

He looked down for a second, breathing out shakily before looking back at you.

“It’s not.” His fingers curled around your hand carefully. He felt like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold onto you anymore. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to just forget because I’m standing here apologising.”

His eyes searched yours. “I want to actually fix it. Let me make it up to you.” His voice was quieter now, almost a plea. “Please.”

You faintly smile and it’s so, so sad. He feels his heart crack and his eyes burn. He wants to make the warmth of happiness touch your features once more. He has let you down so much lately. Jude wanted to make it right, wanted to show you how much he did really care about you. And something in him shifted, you could tell. His gaze held yours, darker now, not with anger, but with a kind of certainty you hadn’t seen from him before. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifted, sliding up and down your shoulder.

Jude feels like he’s sinned and you are the only one who can absolve him of it.

“I—I need to make it up to you," he chokes out, and he is painfully aware it’s not that late and that the two of you are standing in your apartment doorway. Therefore, anyone could walk out of their door and see Jude Bellingham was begging for forgiveness. But he couldn’t give a shit. You need something to soothe the hurt. He can give that. He would give anything. His pride is minimal when it comes to you, especially now.

"Just tell me what to do," he breathes as he steps closer, toe to toe now, large hands cradling the sides of your face.

“Be only mine,” you whisper, and there isn't even a warble in your voice. That’s all you could say, that’s all you wanted him to do. And he could grant that wish. He can see it from the heat and challenge in your eyes. So, he kisses you.

He kisses you with that need that burns him from the inside out every time he sees you, with long and possessive sweeps of his tongue that make your knees weak. He steals your breath greedily and you moan in response. Then when your fingers curl into his shirt, he knows immediately where he needs to take you next.

The two of you barely stumble in through the door of your apartment before he grumbles, “Hold on tight.”

He hooks your thighs around his waist, the deep timber of his voice has you doing as he commands without hesitation. Your teeth latch onto the tendon in his neck as he jumps you against the bulge of his cock. The two of you make it down your narrow hallway to the bedroom. He hisses his approval as your mouth worries that sensitive area, bruising him for the future.

"Mine," you growl against him, and Jude quietly chuckles. He loved this sudden possessiveness you had over him—perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was relief that you knew he had let you into his heart.

You don't want him to think about anything right now; you felt rather selfish. You want his thoughts to be only of you. That's the least Jude could do after all of this shit he put you through.

Suddenly, he groans before he drops you on the bed; you know that sound by heart. It’s the sound he makes when everything is too overwhelming and you have him wrapped around your finger. It’s the sound he makes when he is trying to control himself, when his cock is kicking and threatening to spill. You knew it all too well.

You sigh, your fingers eagerly making work of his T-shirt. Meanwhile, his hands snap the elastic of his sweats, making you shiver as he slowly peels them off himself.

You bite your lip as you fall back against the mattress, watching him slip out of his boxers easily and prowl towards you. Seeing Jude naked and his cock hard, flushed at the tip and sticky with precum, is such a fucking beautiful sight to behold. You could never get tired of this.

No matter how many times you promised yourself you would walk away, you always ended up back here, because, really, you couldn’t get enough of Jude.

Not the version everyone else saw, but this one. The one who let his guard down with you. The one who showed up on your doorstep, begging for your forgiveness. The raw, authentic Jude Bellingham.

And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Because slowly, you began to forgive him as you realised this wasn’t Jude trying to keep you as something convenient. He was just a man who had been too stubborn, too afraid, and too blind to recognise what had been right in front of him the entire time.

Jude undresses you slower. Each sliver of skin he exposes is blessed with his mouth, kisses, licks, bites, and scrapes of his teeth. He worships you just like you wanted, just like you deserve. He spells his apology out in silent words against your sternum. He whispers his love against the softness of your stomach, he says how beautiful you are with deliciously slow kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"You are so perfect. More than I ever fucking deserve, I swear," Jude huffs, dragging his cheek along your pelvic bone. “Thank you, thank you.”

Light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with Jude’s fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours—but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.

You were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan. Your hand flew to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.

Jude was watching you as if you were God’s gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut, head falling back against the wall.

“You’re soaked already, baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.

“For you,” you breathed out—not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the footballer smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.

Suddenly, it was becoming hard to keep quiet, with strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession. Which made Jude’s hard-on strain against the bed. But that was the last thing on his mind, preferring to hold you against the mattress with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.

His name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so Jude thought no one else should ever speak it again—nothing could compare to you. He got it now, God, he was stupid.

“Look at me, please,” Jude’s demand was so gentle you almost missed it, eyes still fluttering shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. Despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.

Jude’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. So it was when his free, large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that’s when your eyes shot wide open.

His eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gauge a reaction to the action. Your lips parted despite having no pressure applied. Though it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.

The slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and Jude could only hum in content. Jude could die right here, and he'd die a happy man, he thought. You were so fucking perfect.

It was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly. Your eyes poured into him as you struggled to form words. “S’close,” was all you managed out; Jude’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers, your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.

You were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.

“Let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.

Jude had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. Your beauty truly knew no ends—and he was now more eager than ever to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.

Admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer down at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You’re incredible,” Jude couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard. “You are so perfect—so patient with a right idiot… I—I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

The sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his toned frame as he stood again at the foot of the bed. You quickly felt overdressed, seeing Jude’s naked body. Your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the Brit.

You could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your naked body as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. The man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows. No matter how many times he saw you, you never ceased to render him utterly speechless.

Jude was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he’d practically whined, your fingers finding the back of his head once more. You could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.

“Want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip—the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him. Even when he swore this was about you, you felt the need to make him feel oh-so good.

Jude simply shushed you, however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head smacking against the pillow as you tried to control your breathing—left to stare with wide eyes at the ceiling momentarily.

“I feel amazing already,” Jude spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking. Your eyes flickered down, not expecting to meet his brown ones. He looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core ache. He offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.

“Jude,” you whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “Please,” the plea left you in desperation.

“Oh, baby,” Jude just clicked his tongue in reply, leaning up to give you a delicate, sensual kiss to silence your pleas. He pulled away, eyebrows twisted exasperatedly. “I should be the one begging you.”

Then, his tongue follows, tracing a flat path down your lower stomach to your throbbing clit. He nips sharply at your hip and relishes your breathless squeal. This time when he licks you, the tip of his tongue presses inside your fluttering walls. Then the width of it slips all the way up to your mons. He laps over every pearl of your slick; he savors every moan and sigh he pulls from you.

“Oh, fuck, Jude! S—so good,” you groan while you twist beneath him. Jude’s strong grip latches onto your arms, pinning you down.

“Ah, don’t run away from me, babe, please,” Jude whines against you. He sounded so inebriated, so desperate, so needy. All for you. It made your mind spin—you could feel your sanity slipping away. Everything. The photos, Jude showing up and sobbing at your door, his admission, his devotion to you, the way his tongue felt against you—it was all too much for you to handle right now.

Jude’s lips wrap around your aching nerves and pull blood to the surface with a strong suction. It makes you squeak and gasp, trembling. Your skin dances with heat that spreads across your body. With each roll of his tongue and suckle of his mouth you feel your mind whirl away just a bit more. You are fracturing under his guidance. He coaxes you with touches and murmurs, all languid.

"C'mon, baby. Y'know what I want. Tip over that edge for me," he smirks in a dragging purr, looking up at you through your legs.

It pulls your breath from your strangled lungs; it makes your hips buck futilely against his hold. You’re shaking with the sensations he is bringing to the surface now. Your hands move from grasping at the sheets to gripping his coiled hair. You think about pulling Jude away, but rather you instinctually hold him still while you grind softly against his mouth, shoving his face further down. Jude groans with approval and takes it. He flattens his tongue against you and instead of pinning you, he holds your waist so he can provide leverage for you.

You shudder and tremble at his allowance. At the way he bends and molds for you to take your pleasure from him. Normally, when you both had run-ins together, he would be in control, rough and leading. Though, that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you, and giving you everything you want and how you want it on a silver platter.

Jude realised what worshiping you means, he knows he is begging for forgiveness for dragging his feet when it came to you. And he will do everything in his power to lift you higher, even as you come for the first time that night on his tongue. Because you gave him everything—and, well—ignored his naivety. But at last, Jude finally understood what that meant to you, and what you meant to him.

It was a blur, the next few moments, you were not really present while Jude shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto the bed. Though once you realised the sight in front of you, it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.

“You good?” Jude’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. You nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. You just wanted to feel all of him.

“Perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. It was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again, tasting yourself on his mouth. You just wanted more and more, and the way Jude’s hands flew to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.

You pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now—it didn’t take much force; Jude was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.

Jude moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you both entered your room.

Jude struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure. Fuck, you could get used to that image.

“C’mon baby,” Jude rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips, guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, yeah? Would you do that? For me?” Despite his usual dominance, his gentle, submissive voice laced with his northern accent made you shiver with thrill. Your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.

The pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.

You stilled, needing time to adjust to his size, even after being with him for so long—and Jude had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him making him content.

“You feel s’fucking incredible,” the man rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.

“So—ah—fucking big,” you moaned; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving. You gazed at him hard, slowly riding him.

The closeness and intimacy would usually scare you. Hell, it would normally terrify him.

The vulnerability of it. The weight behind every lingering touch, every confession, every moment where there was no room left to pretend this was something casual. Jude had spent so long convincing himself that keeping things undefined was safer, that putting distance between what he felt and what he admitted was the only way to protect both of you.

But now, Jude accepted it. In fact, he wanted it.

He wasn’t pulling away when things started to feel real. He wasn’t searching for a reason why it couldn’t work or finding some excuse to keep you at arm’s length. For once, he wasn’t fighting the feeling that had been there all along.

He was letting himself have it. Letting himself choose you.

Your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, Jude’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you—letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.

“Fuck, Jude,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling. The sound of his own grunts and moans only added to the pleasure.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. You sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow. “So fucking good.”

It wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything, a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.

You hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and Jude didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.

You were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.

“Oh—Oh my God, Jude, fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. So perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“Take it baby, y’doing so well.” Jude grunted, and you nodded so quickly, like you could ever disappoint him. Fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin—his thrusts harsh, not slow, but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.

Your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him, which Jude made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments. But as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.

“Open your eyes, please,” he practically insisted, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes blinking open to look at him.

His stamina was still so impressive, unsurprising, especially anymore, as he bounced you on his cock like you weighed nothing. Though the way Jude’s breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” Jude’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. Wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state, that you still wanted him. Your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.

“You, Jude, you,” you whined out in response. You felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “Feels so good,” you told him, squeezing him as you did so.

Jude groaned at the feeling, almost having cummed on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.

“Y’want to cum again, yeah? That you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.

His breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your bottom. He used the plush of your ass as his grip on your body instead.

“Wanna hear you say it,” Jude begged, head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.

You were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like, so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said. Instead, you just screamed out a moan.

“Too fucked out to form words baby?” Jude teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. You had your Jude back. “Want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.

“Wanna—oh, fuck—cum, agh, again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “Please—please let me cum.”

The man’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.

Your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warmth as you came on his cock, practically screaming his name as you did so.

Jude came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more, only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.

You were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his bare shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; loud, heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.

Jude’s hand gently moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation. Both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say, what to do. This was unexpected, to say the least.

After everything that had been said, after all the apologies and truths that had finally been dragged into the open, neither of you really knew what came next. It was strange, sitting here with the person you had spent so long trying to let go of, only to realise that neither of you had ever truly wanted the distance.

Jude’s fingers slowed slightly, his eyes dropping to where his hand rested before looking back at you.

“I’m sorry.” The words were softer this time, though his voice was hoarse after everything. Not rushed, not desperate. Just honest. “I’m so sorry.”

You could hear the weight behind it. Like no matter how many times Jude said it, he still felt like it wouldn’t be enough. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he looked at you.

“I know I’ve said it already—and I’m probably ruining the mood—but I mean it.” There was a small pause as Jude chuckled. “I should’ve done this sooner.” His gaze softened, “I should’ve stopped being scared and just told you what I wanted.”

His thumb brushed against your hand, clearing his throat. “So… would you be mine?”

And finally, you heard the words you wanted to hear all along from his lips. You didn’t have to think about it. Not because everything that happened suddenly disappeared. Not because the hurt wasn’t real or because forgiving him had been easy.

But rather somewhere along the way, you had realised Jude wasn’t asking you to forget what he’d done but he was asking you to believe he could do better. And that was the difference.

You squeezed his the nape of his neck gently, watching the tension slowly leave his shoulders as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

A small, boyish smile beamed across his face, almost disbelieving. “Yeah?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yes. Yes, Jude.”

And for the first time in a long time, there was no uncertainty between you. No wondering where you stood. No trying to decipher what his actions meant.

Just him. Just you. And finally the quiet understanding that this time, you were finally choosing each other.

© SINFULPETAL. // all rights reserved. do not copy or repost any original content from this blog.

tags: @sophiaehernandez, @yunakwi, @wehatesophia, @ronanpakes0, @nessalvswrld, @writtenbylolo, @shuzcis, @djovulating, @dollettetimes, @leafygreens345, @laminesgirl, @frenchaurora, @dianazyb, @winterosco, @jupitereleven, @pfectnow, @sleepysidcros, @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable, @sia840, @11sp4des, @bia-n-t-d, @just-here-for-ff, @laylaysanangel, @wobblewobble822, @444sturns, @ichigonator, @bekky06, & @ffreitws.

and even after three constant years of traveling all over the world with lando – some things really do still amaze and impress you.

like the raspoutine club he's managed to drag you to. the entire club was bathed in a deep red lighting and immediately when you walked in, lando holding onto your hand tightly, you could feel the bass vibrating through your whole body. every step you took in your heels sent another vibrating shockwave through your bones.

lando was just a step ahead of you, guiding you through the crowd of people, the smell of alcohol, expensive perfumes, and faint scent of smoke filled the air. you seen your boyfriend look over his shoulder you – checking to make sure you were doing okay, his bright smile painting his grin when you make eye contact. he then manages to move to where he's right next to you, his hand resting on your hip. which is warm against your skin, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down on the sliver of skin that is peaking between your blue set you're wearing.

when you two get past the dancefloor and the crowd starts to dwindle a little, lando presses his mouth against your ear so you can hear him over the music. "did i tell you, you look absolutely gorgeous, princess?"

you don't even bite back the smile as you turn to look at him, "yes, about three times at the hotel and two more on the way here." you tease before pressing a kiss his cheek. his hand comes down to grab a handful of your ass before playfully smacking it.

"hey! there he is! lando, how are you!" someone calls out once you both near the back of the club where red velvet booths line the wall. lando steps away from you to quickly greet the icy blonde male before his hand is reaching blindly towards yours. you grab lando's hand and let him guide you back next to him. "you must be y/n! pleasure to meet you, i'm matt!" he says, doing the usual european cheek kiss greeting that you've grown so accustomed to over the last eight years.

when matt turns around, back to you, talking to lando and trying to get you both to sit down – that's when you notice the back of matt's shirt. well... more like what it says.

because in big colorful font reads: EAT PUSSY, IT'S VEGAN.

you can't help but laugh at the text, lando giving you a side glance as he has you sit down next to him on the booth seat. however, you can he noticed the seat too from the faint smirk on his lips. you and lando sit shoulder to shoulder, his arm resting behind you as the assortment of drinks being to appear on the table in front of you all.

between the drinks and shots, you and matt start to strike up a conversation. the two of you talking about fashion and the industry after learning that matt is a model. lando chimes in here and there, the two of you sharing a few drinks, and you can't help but bite back a smile whenever you feel his lips press against your bare shoulder.

"so, matt," you say leaning over the table, a wide grin on your face as your body flushes with warmth from the alcohol starting to run through you. "what is up with that shirt? i just have to know!" you finally ask, making the french model laugh and shake his head.

"just something fun that i threw on. you like it?"

you laugh, nodding your head, "i need to know where you got it! lando needs one for sure!"

you completely miss how your boyfriend almost chokes on his drink when he hears you. but matt catches it and laughs as he watches lando try to recover.

"is lando vegan?" matt asks, a smirk on his lips and the question makes you laugh again, hands clapping together as you lean back into lando.

"hm," you say, looking at your british lover with a fond look. the red lights casting him in a beautiful glow as your hand reaches up to brush his hair back – even though it definitely wasn't needed, but neither of you care. "yeah, something like that."

the icy blonde male shakes his head, grin on his face before he looks at lando. "i'll tell you what– let's trade shirts! you can have it for free since y/n likes it so much."

lando knows he should probably deny the offer, but he's too far into tonight – and you – to deny it. he can deal with repercussions from his pr team at a later date, he thinks. his eyes shift over to you for a moment, taking in how he's totally enamored with you under the lights.

and then he's standing up before you can even fully process what's happening as lando is taking his shirt off in the middle of the club. matt lets out a hollered laugh before he's doing the same. you don't pay any attention to anything but lando, your hand casually reaching out to touch him. he turns his head and looks down at you with a wide, confident grin on his face as he switches shirts with matt – the two grinning and hugging even.

you feel something shift inside you as you watch lando throw on the other shirt. a heat running through you and settling in your stomach, but this is different from the one you've been feeling all night. no, this is one you get before you usually let lando rock your shit. and he is now wearing the rather iconic, in your complete opinion, shirt.

and of course he puts it on backwards, the big bold "eat pussy, it's vegan" written straight across his chest. he looks down at you, wiggling his eyebrows which earns a laugh from you as he smooths the shirt down. when he sits back down, lando doesn't hesitate to pull you into him. your chest flush against his side, looking at you before he's giving you a chaste kiss.

"you like my new shirt, baby?" he asks, your hands gliding across his shoulders before you're leaning close to kiss him again.

"yeah... i think it really suits you," you tell him, his hand coming up to grip your thigh in a way that sends another wave of heat over you. literally, taking your breath away, letting out a stuttered gasp as he kisses you. not caring who is around or that the two of you could end up all over twitter by daylight. "lan~" you giggle out, cupping his face as you both look at each other.

"don't you think this shirt gives good advice?" he asks, his hand trailing up your thigh and playing with the hem of your skirt.

"i do," you tell him with a smile, leaning over to the table to grab another drink. but instead of drinking it yourself, you hold it to his lips and lando happily lets you pour the drink into his mouth – the liquid burning down his throat. "don't you think..." you start to saying, earning his fully attention – as if you didn't have it already, "take the advice? you know... since you're good at following rules and regs and stuff."

"and stuff?" he repeats with a smile, his hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh. his lips press against your neck and the feeling sends a rush of adrenaline to between your legs. "are you gonna punish me if i break the rules?"

"well, i mean– when have you ever been denied the opportunity to eat pussy, lan?"

he chuckles, shaking his head, "you've got a point, princess." he's then standing up, taking a hold of your hand to help you stand up. "we'll be back!" he calls out to matt and the few others at the table and without looking back he guides you away.

you let lando guide you through the crowd of people, completely trusting him even if you have no idea where he's taking you. the two of you head in the direction of restrooms before lando is leading you down a hallway – everything still bathed in that red light. you learn rather quickly that raspoutine is a labyrinth, but lando seems to know exactly where he's going. only because seconds later he's pulling you into one of the single-occupancy restrooms hidden away near the very back of the club.

your british lover slams the door, locking it with a sharp click before he's pressing you against it. inside the bathroom, you can only focus on lando who is pressing his body flush against yours – his hands gripping your hips tightly before he's kissing you. you immediately kiss back, a low moan escaping your throat as his lips move passionately against yours in a deep, bruising kiss. his tongue slipping inside your mouth easily, and tasting the premium, expensive vodka on your own tongue.

you felt lando's hand move to grab your thigh, bringing it up to rest around his waist – his cock hard and throbbing in his pants, rubs against your clothed core. soft, desperate moans sound against his mouth as your hands come up to tightly grab the back of his shirt to anchor him close to you.

"f-fuck, lan~" you moan out when lando suddenly hoists you up, your legs around his waist as he moves the short distance from the door to the marble counter. the counter is cold against your otherwise heated skin and the contrast as you try to anchor yourself closer to him.

lando looked down at you, chest heaving as he ran a hand through his messy curls. his hazel eyes scanning over your body, the sequin and hanging jewels on your two-piece set gleaming under the pinkish hue lights that starkly contrast against the deep, lustful red of the rest of the club.

"so..." he trails off, hands sneaking underneath your short skirt to grab at the hem of your lacy panties. he doesn't pull them down yet, but you wouldn't be surprised if he accidentally ripped them from how tightly he's gripping them. "you gonna let this vegan have his dinner?"

you can't help but let out a small lighthearted laugh, "i guess i can feed this poor vegan~"

lando kisses you again, pulling your panties down past your knees and over your heels. he pulls away to dangle them in between the both of you – a wicked smirk on his face before you're watching him pocket them.

"that's my princess," he says, spreading your legs wider, skirt bunching up to reveal your center to rather humid air of the bathroom. lando sinks down to his knees, not seeming to care that he's getting his pants dirty as he's level with your dripping pussy. "as the french say, bon appétit."

he then leans forward and buries his face directly between your thighs.

lando's tongue does a broad wet stroke from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. one of your hands immediately grabs onto his hair as you throw your head back as a loud, unfiltered moan rips from your throat. your other hand holds onto the edge of the counter like a lifeline – like you're trying to keep yourself anchored to reality.

his large palms come up to cup your ass, lifting you slightly off the counter to get a better angle as you feel his tongue slip inside before he's licking up again to suck on your clit. you were dripping onto his lips as lando switched between flattening his tongue, swirling it tightly around clit, and flicking inside so it could gather your juices up. he could feel you running down his chin, but lando could care less about the mess he was making – drinking you up like a man dying of thirst.

or a hungry vegan.

you felt your hips twitch against his mouth, trying to buck up but lando's hands grip you tightly and stop you from doing so. the pleasure was overwhelming – the small restroom filled with the sounds of your moans and the wet sounds of his mouth against your pussy. it was completely and utterly driving you over the edge.

"lando, please– fuck, fuck, fuck! lando, lando, i-i'm gonna–" you choke out as you feel him insert two fingers into you. pumping them fast and hard before he's curling them and rubbing your sweet spot. his lips locked harshly onto your clit, and you can feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the pleasure.

you managed to look down, locking eyes with lando who is staring at you with those piercing hazel ones. he gives his fingers another few good pumps and his tongue drawing sloppy figure-eights until you're finally coming.

vision turning white as you feel your walls clenching violently around his fingers as your orgasm rips through you. you let out a loud moan mixed with his name as you feel your thighs shake from the force of the orgasm. especially when lando refused to pull away – drinking up all your juices. he stayed right there between your trembling thighs, tongue flattening against your folds, his hands holding you as steady as he could until you could finally feel yourself come down from your high.

slowly, lando finally lifted his head before standing to his full height. chest heaving and face flushed even under the pink lights. you could also see his lips and chin glistening with your wetness – the sight itself making you a little shy as the realization that he just ate you out in a club bathroom. with a shaky hand, you reached out towards lando to pull him closer to you.

your boyfriend leaned over you as you felt his hands wrapped around your waist. he gives you a firm kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue, as he pulls you off the marble counter. holding your close as he trails his lips down your neck and fixes your skirt.

"guess i need to do this vegan diet more often," he whispers into your ear – breath hot and smug as his hand lazily strokes your back. "but i think i was already addicted to your pussy for a while."

Your eyes blink slowly, sleep still lingering in the edges of your body. His room is dark—messy, too, though not as badly as you’ve known it to be. You vaguely spot the outline of his helmets, of weights that have strayed too far from his training room, of the chair the two of you knocked into earlier.

You close your eyes. Exhale. Through the blinds, you can see the glow of street lights and the quiet night awaiting outside. 

He breathes softly behind you. A steady, quiet sigh capable of lulling you back to sleep just as easily. And it’d be so easy, pretending this away. Pretending you never woke up. That you never saw the clock on his nightstand reading 6:01 AM in bright numbers. That the boy with his arm curled around you is something else than what he is.

The fact that his room is starting to feel familiar is a realization that trickles in slowly at the back of your mind. Not a hotel, like you used to. No—as of late, his apartment seems to have become a fixed point in your nights. 

You know the steps to this dance far too well already.

Lando Norris doesn’t do mornings. Then again, neither do you.

(The first time was back in your hotel room in Barcelona. Ages ago, really—before he started seeing that second-to-last girlfriend of his. You had barely stepped into the shower, the feeling of his lips still lingering on your skin, when you heard the door closing behind him).

Falling back into old habits is a slippery slope. One enough friends have warned you about. It’s routine by now—watching him date for a few months, break-up, invite you out, and end up in his bedroom all over again. You’re rebound, you know that. Except after Lando’s latest very public, though quietly messy breakup, he wasn’t texting you the following morning. Wasn’t liking year-old posts of yours on Instagram. Wasn’t sending you innocent messages that eventually became a casual invite out devolving into anything but. You assumed rumors were true— “slag summer” or whatever that means. You’d seen enough videos of him partying with people whose faces didn’t ring a bell, leaving with girls you forbid yourself from looking up. 

It was three of your friends that made the decision for you. Made you a Raya account, told you that you could do better than some fuck boy with a love  for expensive cars. And you did go on dates—just a few, most for the sake of your friends, though some for yours. It’s not like you and Lando were ever serious, much less exclusive. Just sex and a good time. A mutual benefit to getting rid of pent up frustration.

You went on a date with a tennis player. An actor from some upcoming series on Hulu. A handful of influencers. The farthest you got was three dates with a handsome football player. It only took one casual picture with him posted on your story before someone else ended up finding you on Raya.

lando: i think i have an evn better pic of you on my travel cam from that same day lando: want me 2 send it to u? lando: might not b approved under rayas guidelines tho ;)

He’s a bad habit you can’t seem to shake off. A revolving door that sends you right back to where you started. 

You exhale. Shift on the bed to try and locate your clothes, all strewn across the floor of his bedroom. His shirt is nice on you, though. And if you’ll allow yourself something, maybe you’ll decide to keep it—just because it’s cute and expensive.

Once you spot your top and your shoes, you move to get up. Lando’s grip around your waist tightens, a mumbled protest hummed against your back.

Your hand curls around his, gently trying to lift each finger off. In response, he buries his face deeper into your neck. 

“Trying to get away already?” Lando asks, voice hoarse and sleep-worn.

“It’s late,” you say quietly, not wanting to rouse him any more than you have. You wanted to avoid waking him up all together—make it a quick, swift exit. “I should go.”

His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His nose tickles your neck, lips ghosting against your skin.

“Lando—”

“Stay,” he hums, voice dragging against his throat. His chest rises and falls evenly behind you, like he hasn’t quite managed to wake up just yet. “It’s dark out. I’ll drive you in the morning.”

Your fingers mindlessly tangle through his curls, pulling a content sigh from him. “You don’t mean that.”

Lando mutters something you don’t quite catch. Before you can ask, though, you feel his lips press against your neck in a quiet, bargaining trail. You shiver when his teeth catch on your collarbone. “You can wait a few hours if you wanna leave so badly,” he mumbles, words punctuated by kisses on the slope of your neck—like he’s making it his mission to kiss away the tension caught in your shoulders. “S’it so bad to be seen with me?”

You huff, though there’s no real bite to it. You vaguely register Lando pulling the covers over the two of you. “You’re being unfair,” you murmur back, though your body has already made up its mind, relaxing in his hold.

“Maybe,” Lando says, and you can feel that stupid smile pressed against your skin. Like he knows he’s won. “You love it, though.”

“I’m not calling an Uber in broad daylight,” you say resolutely. His breaths have already evened out.

“Said m’gonna drive you home. Promise,” he yawns.

You turn around, meeting his gaze now. His blue-green eyes are droopy, blinking slowly as he tries to keep himself awake. Your lipstick is still smudged on the base of his throat, curls muzzed with sleep and your own work from early in the night.

“What?” he asks, his fingers trailing mindless patterns on your back.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” you say, brushing away his curls with your thumb. He preens under it, leaning into your touch like he’s starved for it. You think you like this Lando—the one that’s not quite awake yet. “You driving me home.”

“Always has been,” he sighs contentedly. “You just like t’leave before there’s a chance.”

The impulse is to argue. But his eyes are already closing, and sleep is starting to creep up on you too. And he’s not wrong—not really. Every night you’ve spent together—whether at a hotel or here in Monaco—you’ve left long before the sun comes up. A force of habit, maybe.

“Stay,” Lando mumbles, eyes closed and peaceful.

“Okay,” you respond—or maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s just a half-formed, fleeting thought that passes by before you fall asleep.

The next time Lando opens his eyes, sunlight filters through his blinds. He squints, an annoyed half-gran scratching against his throat. He cuts himself off as soon as he notices the warm body next to him.

Your chest rises and falls evenly, hair strewn around your head like a halo. He rubs the back of his palm over his eyes, careful not to disturb you. His apartment already feels warmer—usually, the first thing he would do as soon as he wakes up is open his window before his room starts to feel like a dutch oven. He can’t make himself detach from your side. 

Lando shifts, settling back into you when he feels you stir. He pauses. Closes his eyes for good measure.

A beat passes. Two.

“I know you’re awake, Lando.”

Lando clicks his tongue, pouting as you rise from his pillow, his hand dropping from around you. He should’ve been quieter—let this golden morning stretch like melted sugar.

“There’s no hurry,” Lando hears himself saying before he can help it. He watches as you stretch your arms over your head, his shirt riding up slightly. Lando straightens, trying to go for casual. “Unless you’re supposed to be meeting someone.”

Oh, yeah, real smooth. Really good job there.

You look at him over your shoulder, raising a brow. “Meet someone?”

Lando’s words get stuck in his throat. This is what you look like when you’re waking up. It hits him unexpectedly how domestic this feels—how easy it would be to become used to this.

He clears his throat. “I don’t know.” Lando sits up against the headrest, one hand struggling to fix the mess that is his hair. You’re only partly to blame—his mistake was ever letting you know that he likes it when you tug at his curls. 

He scrunches his nose, annoyance filtering in. “That rugby player from the other day might be waiting to hear back from you.”

You look unimpressed, though he doesn’t miss the faint blush by the tips of your ears. “He’s a football player.”

“Ah,” he says, and his face does nothing to hide the flare of irritation he feels. Lando can’t help it—not when that picture of yours still sits fresh in his mind. 

His chin propped over your shoulder, hands around your waist. Casual. Maybe too casual.

“You’re being petty,” you say, scanning his face carefully. And his stare pointedly lands on the curve of your neck, where a trail of bruised hickeys is already blooming.

Lando meets your gaze. “I’m not petty, I’m jealous.” He shrugs, catching the brief surprise that crosses your pretty eyes. He exhales, letting his body loosen. “Kinda don’t have a right to be, though.”

“Yeah,” you say, and it makes him stiffen, the way it lands when you say it. “You don’t.” 

Lando tries to go for nonchalant when he asks, “How many dates has he taken you on?”

You hesitate. Briefly. “Three.”

“Oh, must be getting serious.”

You look away, jaw ticking—and Lando knows then that he’s accidentally stepped into a sore spot. He fleetingly wonders whether the guy you’re seeing doesn’t wanna get serious with you. The thought makes something bitter churn in his gut. Though it’d be hypocritical of him to say it infuriates him even a little.

But then he pictures the guy’s pearly-white smile. His dark brown eyes and fuckin’ perfect hair like he’s never had bedhead a single day of his life.

So, yeah, maybe he’s checked your Instagram. 

“It was gonna be four,” you say, but your voice catches—like the words slipped out before you could stop them. Four dates. Your eyes find Lando’s, and he hates that his heart skips a beat. Something about the intensity of the way you’re looking at him—somehow both entirely different from last night and all too similar. Like you wanna pull him closer. Like you resent him for it. “Before you texted.”

It lands close to his ego, knowing that you chose him over the lad from Real Madrid. You don’t look too pleased about it, though.

“Interrupted date night then, did I?” Lando asks. He watches as you turn away with a huff, annoyed. And it is annoying—that he still finds you hot when you’re mad at him. “Sorry. Sounded like a dickhead.”

“You are a dick, Lando.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he says, easily. Leans closer to you and props his chin on the curve of your shoulder and neck. Maybe to use up any space your date may have taken. His mind wanders, and the thought trickles into his mind—has he kissed you? Have you hooked up? Maybe he’s not that great at sex if you’d rather have Lando over him. He feels tempted to kiss your neck again, find that spot that makes you whine, erase any trace of anyone other than him. 

Just to test the idea, Lando’s lips press against the slope of your neck, teeth gently nipping at the tender skin. His voice is a deep hum buried at the back of his throat. “Forgive me?”

He feels you relax under him for a second—just a second. Then, you’re pulling away from him like he’s stung you. “You’re doing it again,” you say, unreadable. You mutter something under your breath, moving to stand up. “I should go.”

His chest rattles. His hand latches onto your wrist before he can help it. And Lando’s supposed to be suave and smooth. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is a strangled, “Don’t.”

Your brows twitch. “Lando…”

“No, look, I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it—maybe more than you know. “I am.”

He looks at you like he’s dreading watching you walk out his apartment. Maybe because you stayed past the night—and instead of feeling like a new door’s opening, it all feels like the end of the line is closer than he expected. Maybe this gold-dipped morning was just a way for the universe to soften the blow.

You look conflicted, searching his gaze like you’ve lost something in it.

“Did you just text me because I was going out with someone?” you ask, voice like forged steel. Lando blinks, brows pinched together. “Or because you just broke up with your girlfriend?” 

“It’s not like that,” he’s quick to say. It’s not, he swears, though he’s not dull as to not know how it looks. He releases your wrist. “I mean, I was jealous. Am. Whatever—but that isn’t, this isn’t—”

“Isn’t what, Lando?” you ask, and it’s impossible to miss how exasperated you sound. “Isn’t serious? I know that. But there’s someone out there I might actually get serious with, and I need to know what this is meant to be.”

Whatever he was about to say gets stuck in his throat. His mind loops your words like a record scratch. “You—You wanna go official with him?”

You look away, like his question’s caught you off guard. “I-I mean—I don’t know, not yet, I don’t…” You shut your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. “This can’t carry on forever, Lan. Not like this.”

Maybe it’s the way you say his name. The first time you said it wasn’t actually in this bedroom, like a breathy whine while he was eating you out—though you have used it several times since. The first time you called him that—Lan—was actually at Max’s birthday last year. Nothing happened between the two of you then. You didn’t take his hand and had him drive to your place like you’d done more than once before. Instead, you’d been sipping on piña coladas and margaritas all night, and by the time he found you again, you were sitting by the stairs of the yacht, staring at the hardwood floors like they were the ones to blame. He ended up sticking by you the rest of the night, your head leaning against his shoulder while you toyed with the rings in his fingers. 

“Y’know,” you’d mumbled, toying with a silver band. “You can b’sweet when you want to, Lan. S’a good look on you.”

And he’d just sat there, thankful you were too tipsy to notice the blush climbing up his cheeks.

So, yeah—maybe it’s the fact that you used that stupid nickname that makes his heart flutter whenever you say it. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows this might be his last chance—that if he doesn’t get it out now, he never will.

“I don’t know how else to talk to you.” 

As soon as he says it, he feels pathetic. His cheeks are hot, and the look you’re giving him doesn’t make it any better.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he complains, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’ve tried inviting you out like fifteen times already, and you always—always shoot me down.”

Your face twists. “What? I don’t shoot you down.”

“Then what was that last week, when I invited you to hang out with a few friends in Nice?”

“That was different.”

“I sent you paddock passes in May.”

“Your team sent them.”

“I sent them.”

A light sparks in your eyes. “You had a girlfriend in June.”

“I did,” Lando concedes, sitting straighter. “And do you know how fucked it is to have to be catching myself before I called her by your name?”

He watches his words land. Your expression sours. “That’s not on me.”

Lando shakes his head. “No, it’s on me.” His hands tangle through his hair. “Because even when I was with her, you would still find your way into my head.” His jaw tightens, like he’s been dreading saying it out loud. “I didn’t break up with her and then go find you.” Lando feels his body brace, akin to when he feels the rear tire lock and knows the crash is incoming. “I kept… I kept looking for you while I was with her.”

You look at him with true, raw surprise. Feels fair, given that Lando feels like he’s exposed himself. Left his skin tender and vulnerable. No lies, no smiles to hide behind anymore.

“Look, I’m not… I’m not asking for an answer,” he hesitates, struggling to find the words. “I’m just asking you not to disappear on me.”

You study him slowly. “I can’t keep being an almost, Lando.”

It feels like the door opens just a creak. He nods in earnest. “Don’t be.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“But we can try, right?” Lando says. “It’s a start.”

And this time, when he kisses your temple, it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to cross out someone else’s touch, or rewrite his own mistakes. There’s no greed there, no lust. Just a start. A first line being penned of a long, long story.

“Let me drive you home,” Lando murmurs into your temple, voice still rougher with sleep. This time, he feels you lean back into him.

“Okay,” you say. When you meet his watercolor eyes, he relishes the small, near imperceptible smile tugging at your lips. Gold-dipped. Sunlight in a bottle.

He nods once. “Okay.”

deuxmoi DEUXMOI EXCLUSIVE …… 📸 Mclaren’s Lando Norris spotted this morning getting cozy with a mystery woman in Monte Carlo. Source alleges Lando was “dropping her off” before the picture was taken, leading to speculation on the nature of their relationship.

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user1 slag summer!!!!!!!

user2 yeahhh the chances of lando getting into a serious relationship r probably the same chances of williams getting a podium 👎👎 sorry pal

user3 admin might wanna check their sources cause you do know this is LANDO we’re talking abt right 😭

lando hey so can you piss off pls

lando ur gonna fuck this up for me delete

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