#and the two years before trying to just keep pushing through it. like always.

[purgaytorysupremacy]

as the grandchild of survivors of the Second World War on both sides, this has been a really hard thing for me to internalize. none of my grandparents (nor my parents) talked about WWII much. I don’t actually know that much about what my families were doing, only that it was bad. I have an entire branch of my family tree that’s just gone and (supposedly) no one knows why. where I grew up in Canada had a lot of Holocaust survivors because we had large Dutch and German communities already, and every year until I graduated high school, we were fortunate enough to hear firsthand stories from survivors.

the one thing my grandparents would say and those survivors would repeat in their talks, over and over, until it was seared in my brain: “Never look away. You can’t let this happen again. The least you can do is never look away.”

I took this lesson very seriously. I was plugged in to the news all the time. I felt so helpless and useless and hopeless, but I wasn’t going to do the people suffering through it the disservice of looking away. I donated my money and my time and hoped to get into international aid, even joined the military because Canada is the nation of peacekeepers (Listen, I was a kid lol) and Gen. Roméo Dallaire, the Canadian who led the peacekeeping mission in Rwanda, was my hero. (Even as it ruined his life.)

I don’t know if anyone reading this had this same experience. I don’t know many people IRL who had this message drilled in so completely. (Being a white first-generation Canadian as a millennial is like that sometimes.) And I ended up breaking. I just couldn’t keep watching everything and being utterly unable to do a damn thing about it. It made me feel like a bad person and like I failed not only my grandparents but all those who shared their stories, so few of them who are still alive to do so.

Thing is, my grandparents got their news from film reels and this new thing called radio. The photos and documentation they saw from the time, both now and contemporaneously, was sparse and edited and targeted, for better or worse. None thought we would someday live in a world where individual people can upload hours of no-context atrocities from anywhere at any time.

Obviously, the “Never Again” and “Don’t look away” aren’t literal, but the way we pay attention now is different than they would’ve in the 1940’s or 1970’s. No one taught me how to stay true to something that has become a core value while not collapsing into compassion and empathy fatigue to the point where I have to look away.

I don’t have an answer on that balance yet, but just understanding that there does need to be one has been incredibly helpful. That doomscrolling isn’t helping anyone. That paying attention doesn’t mean knowing everything about everything at all times. We have more information by orders of magnitude than even existed in my grandparents’ lifetimes. We have to choose what “not looking away” looks like for each of us in the cultural and activism environments we live in. No one is more virtuous or caring because they’ve exposed themselves to more trauma than someone else. It’s not sustainable. You’ve gotta keep your oxygen mask on.

A video that was really helpful in me noodling this out—it’s been a lifelong project, and I’m sure it will continue to be—was Hank Green’s vlog on Webs of Care.

None of us can do everything, but all of us can do anything.

Hi. Things are bleak, I know that. I know that we paid for Trump's last term with blood and it is likely the price will be blood again.

But listen to me. LISTEN.

You do not have to force yourself to witness horrors as an act of activism. It is not a form of activism. You can put your phone down, you can block that horrific video. We cannot win if you cannot fight and you will not be able to fight if you are hopeless.

Do not let them guilt you into this. People who are exhausted are easier to walk over. Take care of yourself, find community where you find joy.

[bitchlessdino]

mind your business (m)

Pairing: Frenemy!fem!reader x minder reader!chan

Genre: supernatural comedy, smut

Word count: 12.4k

tags: mean!reader, mean!chan, mentions needing to puke or die (both overdramtic af), implied consent (mind reading about desire and wants without audible consent), names (good girl or dirty girl), claustrophilia, stocking ripping, fingering, cunniligus, rough sex, brief spanking, unprotected sex.

Summary: If Chan had to read anyone’s mind, it had to be yours—the one person who seemed to loathe him with every ounce of your being. But before Halloween day, when that wish is suddenly granted, he begins to realize he’s opened a can of worms far bigger than he ever imagined—one that can’t be sealed shut again.

author note: hello, this bitch late but at least she's here thank you for @diamonddaze01 and @haologram for betareading for me i love yall and eveyone else enjoy!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

“I don’t know what to be for Halloween.”

“Well, right now what you’re wearing is pretty scary.”

Lee Chan had never met anyone he couldn’t knock down a peg—not that he ever had to try. Everyone adored him, from classmates to coworkers, even Seungkwan, who followed his playful jabs with free lunches instead of a comeback. He was easygoing, always getting along with everyone. That is until you infiltrated his friend group. You weren’t like the others, and for the first time, Chan wasn’t sure if his effortless charm would be enough to dissolve your natural snark.

Chan shot you an unamused smile, his eyes narrowing as you answered his question. The two costumes he held drooped at his sides, a patient frustration written all over his features. “What are you even doing here if you won’t help me?”

You lifted your half-filled glass, the chill of the drink seeping through your fingers. “The free drinks, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Well, maybe leave the opinions to those who actually care, like Soonyoung here?”

Soonyoung beamed up at Chan, his excitement bubbling over as he playfully tugged at his friend’s hand like an overly enthusiastic toddler. “Aww, always here for you, buddy!”

You couldn’t resist a jab. “Well, if you did something interesting for once in your life, maybe I wouldn’t have to entertain myself.”

Chan groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Never mind. I’m just going to pick something else. Make yourself useful and try to stay quiet, okay?”

You scoffed, getting up from the sofa seat. “Whatever. I’m gonna find something to eat.”

Chan tried his best to stay positive around you, but it was difficult when every social encounter turned into a game of mental chess. But instead of being an actual opponent, you acted like the master, playing with his temperament as if he were merely a pawn. It was exhausting—trying to keep things cordial while knowing you were always pushing his buttons, testing tolerance, and working against him as if your sarcastic replies and eyerolls carried a vindictive purpose.

Chan collapsed onto his bed the moment you left the room, feeling completely defeated. Now, it was just him and Soonyoung left to figure out what he should wear for Halloween, mere days away from now.

“Why is she always like that?” he muttered, focused on the wrong thing,

Soonyoung shrugged, scooting beside you with his legs crossed on the bed. “I’m sure she means well; she just has…her own way of showing it.”

Chan sat up, looking at him in disbelief. “She’s hated me since the moment we met at the New Year’s party, and I still don’t get why.”

“That’s not true.” Soonyoung reassured, gently patting his friend on the head. “Maybe your personalities just clash a bit. She gets along with everyone else in the building.”

“Yeah, but why?” Chan sighed. “What did I even do?”

Soonyoung gave him a reassuring pat. “Chan, it’s not your fault. I’m sure she’ll come around eventually.”

The more people like Soonyoung, or Seokmin, or Jeonghan reassured him that you’d come around, the less Chan believed it. It seemed like there would be nothing that could change your mind about him. Yet he couldn’t just accept that you disliked him for no reason. There had to be something behind the mean exterior, the jabs directed at either his character or even looks. Like he’s some kind of pushover. He would spend entire days wracking his brain, trying to understand why, and nothing would make sense. 

What made it worse was how much it bothered him—maybe because you saw each other almost daily, living in the same neighborhood. You’d grown close to everyone else like you were a permanent fixture here, but when it came to him, it felt like you went out of your way to get under his skin. Your cold glances, your sharp remarks, all seemed to gnaw at him, twisting him up inside like a steel knife in an already gashing wound (okay, maybe he was being dramatic). He just couldn’t stand it.

If he could, he’d look right into your mind, figure out what you were thinking, make sense of your actions, and—just maybe—finally understand why you behave the way you do.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it; there was a Halloween party to plan. Every year, the local gaming café downstairs—where he’d ironically ended up working at—hosted a Halloween bash with exclusive promotions. And every year, it was followed by a more exclusive all-out rager at his apartment, which he shared with a bunch of his friends above the cafe. It was something nearly everyone on the block looked forward to each year, and this time, Chan was in charge of the activities. The activities coordinator, Seungcheol had proclaimed.

That’s why Chan has been asking for all kinds of opinions lately, even yours. Being the natural people-pleaser he is, he felt as if he’d been running around everywhere to get everyone’s stamp of approval. He would go up and down, left and right, and even hold surveys at the cash register for strangers' opinions. He had a habit of making things perfect, and he wasn’t going to let your cynicism ruin it for him.

“Come on, help me figure out what to wear, bro. My night depends on it.”

Soonyoung had been helpful—thank goodness for that—and now that was one less problem to worry about, Chan felt a bit of relief. If he could just get through his shift at the cafe without losing his mind and manage to sneak in some few minutes of party planning, he would have a good day.

“You figure out what costume makes you look less of a loser, yet? Trick question, it really doesn’t matter what you pick. You’ll still look like a loser.”

Chan tilted his head, unfazed by your rude comments as he poured his tenth cup of ramen for the night—three of them for the same customer. “Why do you care? Don’t you have some puppies to kick?”

Your smile remained unfaltering, conniving as ever. “I cleared my schedule to help Seokmin and Soonyoung rank up. Wonwoo is playing with them this round. Just here to grab some Kickstart.”

“Ah, so another puppy is safe for a day from the wicked Witch of the West. Congratulations on your fleeting moment of decency.” He turned, striding over to the customers waiting for their ramen, while you annoyingly trailed closely behind. You grabbed your favorite blackberry Kickstart from the fridge, the bright can a stark contrast to the dim lighting of the café, and tossed a couple of crumpled bills in the direction of the cash register as if you’d done it before.

“You’re helping plan the Halloween party, right? Seungcheol mentioned it when I asked what I should bring,” you said, your tone almost too casual, as if you were friends.

Chan scoffed, carefully setting the steaming bowls of ramen down in front of the waiting customers before heading back to his station. “You, being courteous? That’s new. What do you want?”

With a sly smile, you leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I just wanted to let you know that if you really want to make the party fun, you can ask me. My ideas will probably be better than whatever you come up with.” The confidence in your voice made it clear you expected him to take you seriously, but how could he when every little word you managed to muster was belittling?

Chan grit his teeth, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He unscrewed the cap of a water bottle from the fridge and downed it in one swift gulp, the cool liquid barely offering any relief from his irritation. As he crushed the empty bottle in his hands, he aimed for the trash can but missed, the bottle clattering to the floor with a dull thud. Sounding exasperated, he bent down to pick it up, tossing it into the can with a bit more force than necessary.

Straightening up, he shot you a sharp glare. “I can handle it myself, thanks,” he muttered, his voice tight with annoyance.

“Really? Because I’m offering my help here,” you replied, your tone dripping with an offensive amount of condescending sincerity. “I’m being generous with my time and giving you the chance to create something…well, palatable from this party.” You exaggeratedly pretended to choose your words carefully, a teasing smile playing on your lips, poking at his alleged incompetence.

“You want to help?” Chan challenged, his tone cutting. “How about just enjoying the party instead of making it all about yourself? Some of us actually have work to do.”

He fixed you with a glare that held the slightest hint of malice before finally turning away and returning to his tasks.

“Defensive much?” you shot back, a glimpse of interest on your face as you raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he replied, his voice firm. “Just self-respecting.”

“Fine,” you said, turning back to your friends as you walked away. “Just don’t come begging for my help when your party goes to shit.”

Chan found himself screaming into his pillows that night, the fabric muffling his frustrated cries as he banged his head against them in sheer exasperation.

“What the heck is her deal?” he murmured to himself, his voice muffled and thick with irritation. He buried his face deeper into the pillows, desperate to escape the relentless thoughts fogging in his mind. The familiar scent of cotton and fabric softener offered very little comfort as he replayed the interaction over and over, making him as puzzled as ever.

He hadn’t experienced bullying like this since high school, a time when everyone was preoccupied with either being popular or getting into the best colleges. He was neither; instead, he was a secret third option: just trying to survive.

“Always making fun of me. Always belittling me. Always making me feel like crap.” He pulled the covers over his eyes, seeking refuge from his loud thoughts. “Why can’t she just tell me what I did to make her hate me? I’m not a mind reader.”

Unable to sleep, Chan gazed up at the night sky through his bedroom window, seeing it enveloped in the vast pitch-blackness pressing down like a weight. He took a steadying breath, hoping to clear his mind. Not a single star graced him with its presence—only the lone moon, barely there but still noticeable—how relatable—hanging in the sky like a quiet witness to his restless thoughts.

“I’m going insane here, so if there’s a god out there, could he—or she—make my life easier for the next few days? Just a little?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not asking for superpowers like telepathy or anything. Just…let me pull off a party that everyone actually enjoys. Even her. Maybe then she won’t be so…her all the time.”

It was wishful thinking, but worth a shot, and if Chan was known for anything, it was taking chances—no matter how slim the odds.

Chan was somehow able to sleep that night finally, hair straying all over his face, until he sat up at the realization of a lack of a blaring alarm, “Oh, shit.”

His phone battery had died, and his charger defective and rendered useless. He scrambled to Seungcheol’s room next door, avoiding the obstacles of his shirts strewn across the floor, and plugged the bead phone to his housemate’s charger, impatiently tapping until the phone lit up to greet him.

9:48. Just about 18 minutes before his morning shift starts and almost no time to get ready. “Shit, shit.”

‘What’s that noise?’

Chan glanced over at Seungcheol, who was sprawled out across his bed, a half-conscious casualty of the previous night’s escapades. It seemed he’d had company, judging by the tangled mess of clothes scattered on the floor, and apparently, they'd had more than just a “decent” time.

“Sorry, Cheol. Gotta borrow your charger. I’ll bring it back later.”

Seungcheol’s response was a muffled groan, his arm barely twitching in acknowledgment. Within the incoherent noise, Chan could just make out the unspoken message: ‘Just go away.’

“Got it, see you at work, buddy,” Chan muttered, plugging in his phone with a quick tap to check the time before heading for the door.

Another groan drifted from the bed, thick with irritation. ‘So loud.’

Chan got himself ready in a hurry, forgoing a shower and compensating with an extra-long brush of his teeth and a thick layer of deodorant. Fresh breath and a quick spritz of cologne would have to do for today. The cafe would be filled with people who wouldn’t care anyway.

He rushed downstairs to clock in, throwing on an apron over his lackluster clothes and prepping the makeshift kitchen in the back.

‘Ugh, my back is killing me.’

Chan turned at the faint sound of a familiar voice, spotting Minghao slouched in one of the worn chairs in the employees-only room, head leaned back, eyes half-closed in what looked like exhaustion.

“Hey, Hao. You okay?”

Minghao glanced up, his face breaking into a grin that seemed a bit forced, but reassuring nonetheless. “Morning, Chan. Yeah, I’m good. What’s up?”

“Just checking in—I thought I heard you say something about your back?”

Minghao’s grin faded into a puzzled expression, brow furrowing as if he were rewinding through his own memory. “Hmm? I didn’t say anything. But… Now that you mention it, my back has been sore lately. All the competitions piling up, you know? Guess martial arts are starting to weigh down on this old, elderly body of mine.” He chuckled at his own self-deprecating joke.

Chan gave a sympathetic nod. “Well, if you need a break, just take one, alright? I’m sure Seungcheol or Jeonghan wouldn’t mind.”

Minghao’s smile softened. “Thanks, little buddy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chan smiled back. “Anytime.”

As Chan turned to leave, he heard a voice, faint but unmistakable, despite the owner of the voice being in the same room: ‘Chan’s a good kid.’ 

He paused mid-step, his eyes widening as he processed the thought, lingering in the air like a distant echo. He looked back at Minghao, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Did…did you just say something?”

Minghao chuckled, giving him a casual wave as if everything were normal. “No? I’ll be out in a sec. How about you go warm up the coffee pot for me, hmm?”

“Got it…” Chan said, hesitating as he walked out, still glancing over his shoulder, his mind racing with questions. Had he really heard that voice? Or was exhaustion playing tricks on him? 

He flipped the cash register on, the familiar hum filling the quiet of the early morning. Chan meticulously counted the bills, making sure he had the right amount of change and neatly stacked cash, each dollar lined up perfectly. Once satisfied, he moved to the glass door, flicking the open sign to life with a soft click. The neon light flickered, casting a bright and loud, welcoming invitation to anyone passing by. Chan took a deep breath, feeling the calm before the inevitable rush.

‘I hope they have the good ramen and not that crappy store brand shit. You can totally tell the difference.’

The voice drifted into Chan’s mind, oddly clear and distinct as if someone were speaking right beside him—except no one was there. The words had a casual, almost lazy tone, echoing in his head like the distant buzz of a radio left on in another room. His gaze darted around the empty shop, his pulse quickening as he scanned the quiet space, lit only by the harsh glow of the neon open sign.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss it, but the words still lingered, as if they were waiting for him to acknowledge them. This voice, like Minghao’s earlier, felt close yet completely detached, belonging to someone…elsewhere.

The chimes on the door jingled, pulling Chan from his thoughts as he glanced up to see a familiar figure. Finally, he could match the voice he’d been hearing to a face.

“Hey, Chan. The usual, please,” Beomgyu greeted, his tone dry, with the same dark circles under his eyes from late-night gaming marathons.

‘Is it me, or does he look shittier than usual?’ The words echoed in Chan’s mind, clear as if spoken aloud, though Beomgyu’s lips never moved. Chan froze, the unexpected comment hitting him square in the chest—both offending and unnerving him.

“Excuse me?” Chan retorted, defensively narrowing his eyes.

Beomgyu blinked, looking slightly taken aback. “Uh… the usual? Kimchi ramen with cheese and a Cherry slush?”

‘Man, hasn’t he worked here for, like, a year? Doesn’t he have this down by now?’

“What? Of course, I do!” Chan shot back, his voice sharp with irritation.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, now clearly baffled. “Dude, what are you talking about? Just give me my stuff.”

Chan swallowed, feeling a strange tension creeping over him. He forced himself to look down, suddenly unsure whether he was hearing Beomgyu–or actually going insane.

“Right. Sorry. It'll be out in a second,” Chan mumbled, suddenly sheepish as he accepted the cash, his usual confidence thrown off-kilter.

Beomgyu gave him a lingering, puzzled look before shrugging it off and drifting over to his usual seat in the corner. As he walked away, Chan felt an odd prickling sensation in the back of his mind—the familiar voice filtering through, more unsettling this time.

‘Has he gone psycho or something?’

Chan’s heart skipped, his eyes widening slightly as he processed the words that had somehow entered his mind, clear as day, despite Beomgyu’s silent, closed lips. His fingers clenched the counter as he steadied himself, wondering if he was finally cracking under the stress or if something far stranger was at play.

‘Another day, another W!’

Another voice then grew louder, closer, and was growing more anxious, sweat beading down his forehead out of bewilderment. What in the fuck was happening?

Seokmin emerged from the doors, seeing Chan with a bright smile as he leaned up against the counter. “Hi Chan, a couple of sprites and two orders of rose spicy rice cakes please.”

‘I’ma burn through iron into silver today. I just know it!’

Chan’s hands hovered over the register, a sense of déjà vu creeping over him as he felt the words echo in his mind. His fingers shook slightly as he pressed the buttons. “Y-you trying to rank up in Overwatch again today?” he asked, his voice a little unsteady.

Seokmin laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! Wonwoo and Jeonghan are coming by to play on their day off.”

‘Ooh, I should check if they have that series in stock again. I missed it last time.’

“What series were you looking for again?” Chan asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he glanced up from the register.

Seokmin blinked, a little startled, clearly wondering how Chan had guessed. “Oh yeah, I was gonna ask about it. What was it called again?” ‘Kindergarden wars–’

“Kindergarten Wars, right? The Kindergarten Cop of Manga? That one?” Chan asked, his voice coming out a bit too smooth for his own comfort.

Seokmin’s eyes widened in surprise, a laugh escaping him. “Whoa, I just barely remembered the title! You’re on a roll, buddy. But yeah, that’s the one! Do you have it in stock?”

“Yeah, we should have a few copies in. I’ll grab one for you when your order’s ready,” Chan replied, managing a grin, though stark comparison to the panic festering in his body.

"Aw, you’re the best, Chan. Thanks!” Seokmin flashed a wide grin as he swiped his card, practically bouncing toward his usual corner. He arranged a couple of chairs, setting up a cozy little space for his friends, buzzing around like a busy bee as he prepped the area, clearly itching to dive into his day.

Meanwhile, Chan’s nerves were going through it. He kept glancing at the entrance, anxiety creeping up his spine as he wondered if the next person through the door would, once again, broadcast their every thought straight into his head. Just thinking about it made him want to puke, the effects of the bizarre events not dissipating in the slightest.

The rest of Chan’s day became a relentless cascade of intrusive thoughts, each one amplifying the disquiet simmering inside him. Every new customer brought a fresh wave of private musings, some harmless, others startlingly personal, or worse yet, straight creepy. The sheer volume of it all began to blur together into an overwhelming hum.

‘Fuck not again.’

‘Hell yeah, a new skin!’

‘He’s so annoying I wish he would just die already.’

‘I swear, they said ‘one more game’ like an hour ago.’

‘They’re all trash. Worthless. I’m surrounded by idiots who can’t play for shit.’

‘They won’t last. She’ll cheat on him, or he’ll leave her. It’s inevitable.’

The familiar buzz of the cafe felt unusually oppressive, almost suffocating, as Chan struggled to tune out the voices around him. He found himself straining to differentiate between what was actually spoken and what slipped uninvited into his mind, the line between reality and thought as thin as it was maddening.

"Hey, Hao, I’m gonna take five."

Chan didn’t wait for a reply. He bolted out of the business and up the narrow staircase to his residence, his pulse hammering in his ears. The familiar murmur of echoing voices trailed him, each step feeling heavier than the last, the whispers chasing him even as he tried to leave them behind. It wasn't until he closed the door with a soft but resolute click that they faded, now hushed but still there. Haunting him.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the echo of voices still faintly buzzing in his mind. His hands tightened in his hair, fingers digging in as if grounding himself might silence the flood.

He shut his eyes, breathing in uneven breaths as he clamped his hands over his ears and somehow soothing the thoughts determined to run rampant. But every time he let his guard down, snippets of thought would slip through—fragmented phrases, stray judgments, random anxieties—taking up headspace like ghosts he couldn’t shake. 

‘Why does he get everything? It should be me.’

‘The world would be better off without most of them, if not all.’

‘Where the hell is my ramen?’

‘I hope I didn’t get stood up. I sent her Uber money.’

Nothing about this made sense. It was impossible—just yesterday, his life had been normal, and now he was hearing voices that sounded exactly like his friends’ private thoughts, whether he wanted to or not. This wasn’t some supernatural CW drama, no Halloween special with a secret message all along for the protagonist. This was real life, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was somehow…reading minds.

The thought sparked a fresh jolt of panic, twisting his insides into knots. It was a fear he hadn’t known lurked within him, clawing its way to the surface and leaving his stomach churning. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to force it away, to dismiss it as some ridiculous, passing delusion. But the voices only grew louder, like an insistent, rising tide that wouldn’t let him brush this off as a mere joke or a temporary glitch in the simulation. No, they clung to him, refusing to fade—unyielding, pressing against his mind as if daring him to question his own sanity.

Then there was a knock. Soft at first, followed by the hesitant creak of the door easing open. Chan barely registered it, too consumed by the relentless flood of thoughts racing through his head, repeating to himself, “You’re not real, you’re not real…”

“Chan?”

His eyes flew open, finally taking in the figure silhouetted in the doorway—you. Your expression was a blend of concern and hesitation as you stepped cautiously into his room. A pang of surprise coursed through him, igniting a spark of defensiveness that flared to life within him, seeing you making the weight on his head worse. He forced himself to hold your gaze, feeling exposed under the weight of your possible scrutiny. “W-what do you want?” he stammered, the words escaping him in apprehension.

You raised an eyebrow, though your usual edge seemed softened. “Minghao asked me to come get you. He’s worried. Looks like he was right—finally lost your mind, or something?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he hissed, barely keeping his voice steady.

You raised an eyebrow. “Chan—”

“Save it.” He cut you off, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing as he took a half-step back, almost as if he expected you to throw something back his way. Just as you always have. “I’m not gonna take whatever crap you’re planning, so if that’s your game, just forget it.”

You blinked, caught off guard, a flash of irritation tightening your expression. “Wow,” you muttered, crossing your arms with a look that was half offense, half amusement. “Who the hell pissed in your cereal?”

“I’m not feeling well, alright? And you don’t make it any easier. If you think I’m going to keep letting you walk all over me, forget it. Go pick on someone else.”

“Wow, look at you finally picking up your backbone from the floor,” you taunted, slowly closing the distance between you. Your voice dripped with mockery as you studied him, taking in the tense lines of his posture and the way his jaw clenched in irritation. “If this is about the party, the offer still stands. I know what I said, but—”

“But nothing. I didn’t need your help then, and I don’t need it now. Just piss off.” His voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive, as if he was trying to shield himself from your probing.

“Ooh, look at you using big words,” you snickered tilting your head as you leaned in slightly, your eyes narrowing in challenge. “Is all the stress of pleasing everyone finally catching up to you? Or are you just realizing you’re not capable of doing something that requires responsibility?”

Chan stepped closer, piercing through you with a sharp glare as your smile broadened, infused with a stubborn determination that only irritated him further. No matter what he said, you remained resolute, and he could sense his resolve beginning to crack under the weight of your taunts, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Or,” he began, feeling the voice in his head finally recede as a surge of courage washed over him. “I have so much of my own shit going on. Ever thought about that? Now, why don't you turn around and mind your goddamn business before  I should teach you how to shut up while I’m at it.” The dominance in his tone surprised even him, and for the first time, he felt like he was finally in control of himself and his newfound ability.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity in his eyes, the way it deepened the timbre of his voice, radiating uncontainable energy you’d never seen from Chan before. The confidence that once danced in your gaze faltered, giving way to a glint of surprise as you struggled to hold onto your composure. Your lips parted slightly, words caught in your throat as you processed his unexpected boldness—and the effect it was having on you.

‘Holy shit.’

Your voice echoed in his mind, sending a thrill through him as his lips stretched from ear to ear menacingly. Finally—finally—he was the one with the upper hand.

“What? Nothing to say now?” he challenged, relishing the moment.

‘Holy shit, he’s so hot when he’s mad.’

Confusion softened his features for a brief moment, and he couldn’t help but let out a, “What?”

“I…I didn’t say anything.”

‘Oh god, am I sweating? Can he smell me? Holy shit, he’s so close to me right now.’

Chan wasn’t sure what he was hearing right now. Especially whatever this was. His mind was already spinning from the obnoxiously loud and relentless voices echoing in his head from earlier—this was something else. The anxiety of your voice in his head, laced with something vulnerable he’s never seen in you before, threw him off-kilter. He felt heat creep into his cheeks as he processed the stray thoughts that weren’t his own, thoughts that broke through the background noise with an unexpected force.

He drew in a breath, barely steady, as he took in every flicker of your expression—the way your lips quivered as if on the edge of saying something, then closed again, and how your gaze dropped just briefly, as if to gather strength, before lifting to meet his, defiant but with a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. That simmering frustration from earlier dissolved, replaced by a charged curiosity that spread through him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, letting his words roll out slowly, teasingly, testing the waters of this sudden change in power.

You glanced up, eyes widening slightly as if caught off guard, your shoulders tensing as though bracing against an invisible force. He could practically feel the hurried, jumbled thoughts in your head racing, flickering across your face—hesitation, curiosity, that rare glint of resolve that never seemed to completely fade. It was almost…endearing.

The moment felt charged, like standing on the brink of something electrifying and forbidden. Chan found himself leaning into it, savoring the way his voice dropped, roughened, responding instinctively to this unguarded version of you.

“What?” he murmured, his smile laced with challenge. “Cat got your tongue?”

You drew in a slow breath, fingers clutching the doorframe behind you as if anchoring yourself, your gaze flickering from his face to his hands and then back again, as though the very air around you had thinned. 

"Just…” Your voice faltered, lingering in the air, yet you held his gaze, a reluctant tension in your eyes, as if resisting an urge falling deep down a pit you’ve already managed to avoid for so long.

“Just what?” he pressed, amusement saturating his tone, relishing in your timid silence.

You hesitated, pressing your lips together before looking away. “Just… get back to work,” you muttered, fingers clenching the door frame for a moment before finally releasing it as you turned to go.

‘That…was crazy.’

Chan watched you leave, barely holding back a grin as a strange, exhilarating sense of control lingered. For the first time, he felt like he had turned the tables. This bizarre predicament suddenly had its perks.

As the thought settled, another realization dawned: maybe these powers—or whatever they were—could be harnessed. And you, of all people, might just be the key. Finally, it seemed you had some use after all.

The rest of the day passed with surprising ease, a sense of control settling over Chan as he slowly came to terms with this new ability. Whatever this was, if it meant you kept your distance and stayed in check, now it was about time you tasted a bit of your own medicine.

Meanwhile, you kept to the far side of the room, throwing him occasional glances that were equal parts wary and curious, as if still processing the shift that had unfolded between you. The quiet in your demeanor was foreign—almost like a subtle retreat—but Chan could still hear every single thought racing through your mind, echoing around him, feeding his ego.

‘Fuck, why is he looking at me like that?’

The echo of your uncertainties only made Chan’s grin widen. Each new thought layered itself over the rest, but somehow, yours always came through with striking clarity, as if your mind was the loudest voice in the room. He wasn’t sure if he was honing in on it by instinct or if his newfound ability had a mind of its own, drawn to you by sheer force of will—or intrigue.

‘It’s like he’s seeing right through me…oh my god, can you see my underwear or something? I’m gonna kill myself.’

You visibly clenched your thighs, turning away from Chan to avoid his gaze but he was the only thing on his mind. You couldn’t even enjoy the game you were playing anymore. 

‘God, he looks really good…makes me wanna take him in the back and tie my hair up–shit, how long is gonna stare at me?’

As each thought drifted by, Chan skillfully sifted through the chaos, honing in on the captivating essence of your unguarded musings. A swell of pride blossomed within him as he recognized that this ability to read minds might not be a curse after all; it was a remarkable gift, one potent enough to give him control over someone as difficult as you

"Leaving so soon, dearest customer?” Chan drawled, leaning against the wall by the exit, his eyes tracking every movement as you gathered your things, your grip tightening around the strap of your backpack.

‘Was he…waiting for me?’

He scoffed, removing his name tag as he did at the end of every shift, a knowing glint in his eyes as he held your gaze, refusing to look away. “You just seem…distant. Thought I’d check in.”

‘He was thinking about me?’ The thought sparked something in you, and you cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Maybe you should focus on yourself for once, and I don’t mean…” Your gaze flickered downward before snapping back up, warmth spreading up your neck.

‘Not that I’d be entirely against it,’ you thought with a quiet chuckle.

With a step forward, his confidence seemed to fill the space between you, his eyes sweeping over you with a boldness that made you catch your breath. He regarded you with a half-lidded gaze, as though he could see through you, a look that sent a prickle of goosebumps over your skin. “Only you would make my concern for you about my genitals,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “Think about them often, do you?”

You nearly stumbled, his words unraveling your composure as he turned your teasing back on you with a mastery that left you momentarily speechless. “You…”

“Was I on the money? It’s showing on your face.”

You shook your head lightly, brushing past him without a word, pretending the encounter hadn’t rattled you. But as you moved, he followed, a faint smirk lingering as he kept pace just behind you, relishing in the control he held. Chan tuned into the steady stream of thoughts he could almost feel buzzing around your mind—every second of fluster, every trace of hesitation.

With each step, he could sense your resolve slipping, see the barely concealed tension in your hurried stride as you exited the café, almost like you were running but with no clear destination in mind. And he kept watching, unhurried, savoring every moment as he let his presence linger just enough to keep himself quietly literally in the back of your mind, conflicted with the current predicament.

“Where are you going? You never did answer my question,” he called after you, his tone deceptively casual.

You scoffed, refusing to let your stride falter. “You’re being weird today.”

‘Need to stop myself from jumping him with the way he’s looking at me,’ your thoughts betrayed you, louder than you’d like.

He raised an eyebrow, matching your pace with ease. “Speak for yourself. It’s like you can’t help but avoid me. Almost like you’re hiding something.”

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, though the effort was as shaky as it was bold. “Wow, nosy much? If I didn’t know better, Chan, I’d think you’re obsessed with me or something.” ‘If that’s the case, God smite me right now.’

“Sounds like you’re projecting.” Chan closed the gap between you, stepping so close only a half-arm’s length separated you. His eyes swept over you, catching the subtle quiver you tried to hide. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your obsession is the reason you can barely look me in the eyes right now. Or maybe you’re undressing me with them. Is that it?”

‘Please, for Christ’s sake, I am two seconds away from tearing the clothes off your back and making you shut up with my mouth,’ the thought flashed hot and unfiltered, betraying you in every glance.

Chan’s grin widened, reveling in the crackling tension radiating from you. "Careful with where your eyes are going," he murmured, voice low and teasing. “You don’t know what I might have to do about it if you don’t.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, leaving you rooted in place, your final unguarded thoughts echoing in his head as he went back home.

‘Maybe that's all I want to do now.’

In the days leading up to Halloween, you’d been keeping your distance, and Chan’s telepathic abilities showed no signs of fading. Every day, you kept to the same routine—avoiding his gaze, interacting with your shared friends, and hiding those unspeakably dirty thoughts behind a prissy, composed facade. At first, Chan found it amusing, this secret insight into your mind, but as the days wore on, he became more curious, more intrigued. How much of what you showed the world actually aligned with those hidden, guilty desires?

His gaze drifted to the costume hanging in his closet like an eyesore—a dinosaur suit that, though comical, would probably have him sweating profusely all night. Then there was Soonyoung’s “thirst trap” suggestion, an outfit that showed way more skin, something Chan had immediately rejected and returned but still left in the back of his mind. However, an idea began to take shape, a clever compromise that might just keep your attention exactly where he wanted it. For experimental reasons, of course.

You didn’t come into work that day, likely dodging him on purpose, which only left Chan to navigate the usual mundane thoughts of the café’s patrons—mostly comments about costumes or Halloween plans. Without your thoughts slipping into his mind, the day seemed flat, dull even.

“Hey, Chan.” ‘Hello body-ody-ody.’

Chan caught Jeonghan’s stare as he stood there in a rabbit costume, the moment stretching out just a beat too long. Chan’s confidence wavered just a bit, a warm flush creeping up his neck as he glanced down, lightly fiddling with the arms of his dinosaur onesie, which were tied loosely around his waist. He was half-bare beneath the café lights, with only a simple chain dangling around his neck, and suddenly the whole look felt a little bolder than he’d intended.

He let out a nervous chuckle, his voice softening as he managed, “Uh…am I doing too much?” He could feel his cheeks warm as he looked up again, almost as if he expected Jeonghan to burst out laughing any second. But instead, Jeonghan’s expression softened, a crooked smile forming, clearly more amused than anything.

“...Huh? Oh, sorry, I was looking at your body.”

Chan’s cheeks flushed as he instinctively crossed his arms over his chest. “Bro,” he muttered, clearly flustered.

“Chan, you’re fine. It’s Halloween, dressing like a slut is normal in this time of year.” Jeonghan clapped him on the shoulder.

“Jeonghan…”Chan murmured, half-scolding but feeling even more self-conscious under Jeonghan’s praise.

“In fact, I’m happy you’re finally putting yourself out here. I would think the eye candy I hired would sell himself off a little more,” Jeonghan chuckled to himself, thinking, ‘And man, did I nail that hire.’

Chan blinked, stunned. “You’re joking.”

‘I’m not,’ Jeonghan thought proudly, then said aloud, “I’m not.” Jeonghan’s devilish smile widened as he subtly nodded toward the crowd filling the café. Among the usual patrons were a few fresh faces, particularly a growing group of college-aged girls who seemed unable to keep their eyes off Chan.

Chan’s thoughts drifted back to that morning. He’d been in the stockroom, reorganizing supplies while Minghao ran the front, completely unaware of the number of glances that had slipped through the cracked door, trailing over him as he worked. Now, seeing the lingering stares, he realized his costume had sparked more than just Halloween spirit—it had created quite a stir, evening out it’s usually male dominated atmosphere.

Now he was starting to wonder if he’d been filtering out the roaming thoughts a little too well, considering what he’d missed:

‘What is that costume even…? Actually, I don’t even care. He’s so yummy…’

‘I’m literally drooling. Oh my god, he just looked at me—I’m shaking.’

‘Did guys this hot always work here? Guess I’ll have to come by more often now.’

‘I kind of want to get his number…maybe then he’d let me ride his—’

Chan's eyes widened as the wave of unabashed admiration washed over him. He hadn’t expected this much attention, and a shy grin crept onto his face. “I-I get it now. Um… wow.”

He threw a timid glance toward their corner, and the response was immediate: the girls erupted in muffled squeals, giggling and whispering as if sharing secrets too wild to be spoken aloud. Their eyes gleamed with a mix of awe and infatuation, lingering on him even as they leaned into each other, cheeks flushed, exchanging looks that made Chan feel both flattered and exposed.

“See? You’re a staple here, and you’re doing great,” Jeonghan said with a grin. “Rack up those tips, and when you clock out, fill me in on any last-minute details about the party tonight. Just in case I missed anything.”

“Sure, Jeonghan.”

Now that Chan had come to terms with the fact that his costume was effective for a similar demographic, a swell of confidence bubbled within him that you would react the same. All he needed now was a chance to show it off to the right person. But as he glanced around the café, scanning for you amidst the crowd, a tinge of disappointment set in. Despite the lively atmosphere filled with laughter and chatter of the spooky festivities, you were nowhere to be found, and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe he was the reason.

As the hour drew nearer, Chan felt a growing sense of frustration. Maybe he had been misreading your thoughts all along, or perhaps his powers were glitching today. The very idea of having such abilities was absurd, yet here he was, confused as to why he couldn’t detect your voice. He needed to make sense of it all. How could you swing from hating him one moment to lusting after him the next, only to ghost him entirely? Each possibility twisted in his mind, leaving him feeling more lost than ever. The anticipation that had once excited him now felt heavy with uncertainty, gnawing at his confidence just as he was getting used to it.

Seungcheol’s voice rang out with a mix of authority and enthusiasm, echoing through the bustling café. His energy was infectious, as he gestured animatedly, urging everyone to transition from the work grind to the festive spirit. With his usual flair, he rallied the team, his eyes sparkling with excitement for whatever chaos awaited them upstairs. The air buzzed with anticipation as he clapped his hands together, urging the staff to shake off the day’s fatigue and dive into the night’s festivities.

Meanwhile, Chan busied himself with the final preparations for the party, glancing at the door every few moments, hoping to see you walk through it finally. He didn’t have much of a plan but he had the spirit of one, bouncing off in the corners of his mind like the vibrant colors of the haunted jungle punch sloshing around in his red Solo cup. The punch was fruity and something strong, but it did little to calm his growing anticipation. 

Despite the cheerful atmosphere around him, he fought to maintain a carefree demeanor, all while tuning out the cacophony of voices in his head. Racy thoughts and flirtations from other partygoers echoed through his mind, but none of it held the same thrill as the prospect of hearing your voice. Each thought was a distraction, a reminder of the palpable heat that he felt on his skin when he heard your thoughts for the first time and how it made his heart clench for a reason other than annoyance.

He could almost visualize the energy you brought with you, the way your laughter lit up the room, and how your teasing remarks made his pulse pick up pace. Chan found himself nursing the drink, hoping the sugar and alcohol would somehow bridge the gap between him and you not being here like he hoped you’d be. The raucous fun around him only intensified his longing, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight wouldn’t be complete without you by his side.

‘Oh, fuck.’

It hit him like the chime of a clock striking the hour, electrifying and undeniable. Your voice echoed in his mind, pulling his attention as if drawn by an invisible force. He turned to see you entering through the doors, your presence instantly commanding the room.

Your gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. You were enveloped in a dress of the deepest black, hugging your form from chest to waist before flaring out dramatically and hitting just above your knees. Sheer green tights adorned your legs, glimmering under the soft lights, and a pointed hat crowned your head. You were a vision of the Wicked Witch of the West and Chan could see that never had he thought that vision could be so alluring.

In that moment, everything around him dissolved—the laughter, the music, the chatter of partygoers—as his entire focus narrowed in on you. You were breathtaking, igniting something primal within him that he thought he could shut off. But—

‘I could eat you up, Lee Chan.’

A smile tugged at his lips as he followed after you, sharing the same sentiment as your unspoken hunger. “Took you long enough.”

‘Mmh, so he was waiting for me. Again.’

“Didn’t realize you were waiting for me.” Your chuckle was laced with arrogance. ‘Where the hell is his shirt? And why couldn’t he have given me the pleasure of taking it off?’

“You’ve been avoiding me, which is unusual for you,” Chan remarked sarcastically, watching intently as you poured yourself a drink, bending his arm in a way that not-so-effortlessly flexed his upper arms. “And you didn’t come by the café at all today.” He leaned in slightly, narrowing his gaze. “I thought it might have something to do with me.”

“You?” Your incredulity echoed in your mind. ‘Lee Chan? You were worried about me?’

You stepped closer, invading his space with a confidence that sent a thrill through him. Your gaze traced a deliberate path from his eyes, down the strong line of his jaw, pausing to appreciate the way the light danced across his bare skin. It dipped lower, gliding over the defined contours of his chest, each muscle accentuated by the flickering glow of the party lights. You lingered at his waistband, taking in the way the fabric clung to him seductively.

As your eyes returned to his, there was a spark of mischief in them that didn’t need mind reading to understand, leaving the recipient breathless. The air between you seemed to thrum with unspoken words but clear dialogue, thick with a tension that wrapped around you both. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, drawing him closer to you. The world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in this charged moment, as if the very atmosphere crackled with anticipation.

“Yeah. Me.” Chan confirmed, his grin widening.

“Well, look who took the time to finally make it.” You both felt a weight on your shoulders as someone drove in between you both, becoming the deli meat in this strange sandwich. 

Soonyoung hugged his cheeks between your faces and grinned, oblivious as always to his surroundings. “Hey, guys.”

‘Good, I stopped the fight before they decked it out in front of everyone.’ 

“Hey, Soonyoung,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist and forcing a smile. “I see you’re recycling your costume from last year.”

“Uh, it’s not a reuse! This is clearly a brand-new bodysuit, complete with paws!” He lifted his tiger mitts dramatically, waving them in front of your face as if trying to convince you of their novelty. “Very new and totally fierce!”

“Oh, of course, you look good.” You chuckled, genuinely appreciating his energy.

Soonyoung then turned his attention to Chan, eyes wide with excitement. “Whoa, Chan! Look at you, buddy! I told you showing off a little skin would do you good, and wow, look at all this!”

He let out an exaggerated whistle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Our sexy little dinosaur! You’re making all the other costumes look bad!”

“Okay, okay, thanks, Soon.” Chan let out a hearty laugh, a flush of embarrassment creeping across his cheeks as he playfully patted his friend’s shoulder. He quickly shrugged him off, attempting to create a buffer to ward off Soonyoung’s inevitable groping.

“Oh, so that’s what you’re supposed to be,” You teased, “Couldn’t tell from the lack of clothes.”

Chan snorted, his amusement bubbling to the surface. “I’m clearly showcasing my costume from the waist down—tail included,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “But just remember, even if my costume is down there…” He raised his fingers and motioned to his eyes, an impish glint in his gaze “…my eyes are definitely up here.”

‘What if I want to look at what’s underneath the costume?’

‘What’s going on here...?”

Chan can’t help but grin at the challenge in your eyes while blatantly ignoring the confusion in Soonyoung’s.

“Showing off the merchandise but not letting people browse? You’re not exactly running a lucrative business here, Lee Chan.” 

“Who says I’m running a business?” Chan shot back with a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “I’m simply looking for..exclusive clientele.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, an invitation wrapped in flirtation.

‘I might have to sample a bit of that to see if it’s to my taste, which I’m sure it will be,’ you thought, wishing you could say it out loud. Instead, a soft giggle escaped your lips, though Chan caught the thought loud and clear. A playful grin spread across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he leaned in just a little closer, seeing the playfulness dance in your eyes.

“You guys are speaking weird,” Soonyoung chimed in, his words slightly slurred as the effects of the alcohol began to show. He swayed a little, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

Chan patted his striped friend on the back with a friendly nudge. “Why don’t you check if Jihoon needs help with the music, buddy? You’d be a real asset.” 

“Oh, I would be so good at that!” Soonyoung declared, practically bouncing on his heels before darting off with uncontainable enthusiasm.

Chan turned back to you, arching an eyebrow with a playful glint in his eye, eager to stretch out the moment. “So, did you bring anything special to offer?”

“Just some wine that Minghao practically wrestled away from me when I walked through the front door,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a feigned exasperation. “Have you sorted out those party games you were so excited about?”

“Should be starting in a couple of minutes,” he assured, his gaze flicking around the party setup, but the warmth of his attention remained fixed on you. “In the meantime, feel free to indulge in the snacks or candy. They’re just as sweet as you.”

‘Oh?’

“How thoughtful of you,” you compliment, pleasantly surprised.

“Forgot to mention the warheads, but still considerably sweet.”

The night unfolded like a game of push and pull, with Chan pulling you in more than he ever had before. The playful tension crackled between you, and he could tell that the idea of playing hard to get was on your mind tonight. Even with all the distractions around you, your thoughts were surprisingly coherent—you wanted Chan, and he knew it. Yet you refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. That was when he realized that the party games he had planned would serve as the perfect tool to tilt the odds in his favor.

“Alright, everyone, gather around! On behalf of our activities coordinator, Chan, I’ll be hosting the game he selected for us tonight. Why don’t you tell us what it is, Chan?” Seungcheol announced, his tone playful as he gestured for Chan to take the spotlight.

Chan stepped forward, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Tonight, we’ll be playing manhunt—a twist on hide and seek with major stakes. The last person standing will win a grand prize, and the seeker who finds the most players will earn a reward just as significant. There will be three seekers.” He paused for effect, relishing the eager anticipation in the room. “The rules are simple: (1) no running, (2) you must reveal yourself once your name is called, and (3) most importantly, have fun. The prizes will be unveiled after the game ends.”

Vernon raised his hand eagerly. “Is the prize money?”

“Vernon, what did I just say?” Chan replied, suppressing a grin as he earned a solemn nod in response.

“Is there a time limit?” Mingyu chimed in, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

“Forty minutes.”

Wonwoo started to raise his hand. “What about—”

“Enough questions!” Seungcheol interrupted, chuckling as he saw the anticipation on everyone’s faces. “Chan, pick your seekers.”

Chan rubbed his hands together, a cocky smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the crowd, already knowing who he wanted. “I choose Joshua, Seokmin, and myself. While Seungcheol counts to twenty, the rest of you will scatter and hide.” His grin widened, mischief dancing in his eyes. “And remember, don’t get caught. Losers will face punishment, too,” he added, eliciting a collective groan from the group.

Seungcheol stood in the middle of the room, gesturing for the helpers to shut off all the lights, leaving the entire floor of the building pitch black and ready for the taking. “Starting now. Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…”

The harmonious sound of footsteps retreated from the room, the darkness perfectly concealing any shadows that might betray anyone’s position. Chan needed no light to do what he had to do but turned on his phone camera the moment the counting ended. He met the eyes of his fellow seekers, barely visible in the glow of their phone lights, anticipation clear on their faces. “We’ll cover our own ground until we run out of places to search, then it’s a free-for-all,” Joshua suggested.

“Got it. I’ll head out first,” Chan insisted, earning a collective nod and finding his own path.

He navigated through the stream of thoughts, weaving between them like a radio dial tuning into a specific frequency, determined to hone a singular voice. 

‘Ugh, why did I have to choose this one to hide in? This is such a bad idea.’

Chan smiled recognizing the familiar pitch, beelining straight for the sound, passing the other voices that may interrupt his route.

In a singular room, his in particular, you were the only one loud enough to break through.

‘Oh, shit, someone’s here. Please go away, please go away.’

No matter how carefully you tried to muffle your presence, it radiated from the closet, an open invitation to Chan’s mind-reading senses. He crept closer, footsteps soft as whispers, his hand hovering over the knob. With a slow, deliberate movement, he eased it open, revealing your figure barely concealed behind the racks of his half-filled closet. Your eyes darted to his, and a quiet “Fuck…” slipped out as he stepped inside, claiming the cramped space beside you.

The closet was shadowed in near-darkness, the room's lights off, but a sliver of moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating through the slits of the closet in faint, wispy beams. As your eyes adjusted, you could just make out the silhouette of Chan, his figure close, a playfully smug smile catching the dim light as he settled in front of you.

‘What is he–’

Chan lifted a finger to his lips, signaling for silence before you could utter a protest. His eyes held yours with an intensity that had your pulse racing, each beat a rapid tattoo under the thin skin of your neck. Footsteps echoed faintly from the hallway outside, the other seekers passing by Chan’s room without a second thought, oblivious to the two of you hidden mere inches apart.

‘He’s so close. He smells so good,’ you thought, the hint of his cologne making your breath hitch. Chan couldn’t help the tiny grin tugging at his lips—props to him for choosing the good cologne today.

‘He’s practically pressed against me. Is this what dying and going to heaven feels like?’

Chan stifled a laugh, stepping even closer, until the heat radiating from his skin was undeniable. In a whisper, he teased, “Try not to get caught.”

“But you—” you started, barely finding your voice to remind him that he was in fact one of the people you’re not supposed to get caught from, only to have it die on your lips as his hand pressed lightly on the wall beside you, leaving little room to breathe, let alone escape.

“Shh,” he murmured, eyes glinting as he held you captive against the panel, a hair’s breadth away. 

“Chan…” you murmured, half-breathless, gazing up at him with a mixture of confusion and exhilaration as the closeness left you dizzy, the space between you charged and impossibly small.

His eyes drifted down, seeing your lips pursed slightly in direction, calling to his attention, begging to be claimed.

‘He’s staring again.’ your thighs clenched against each other, hiding the pool of your heat as you could feel it seep through your panties. ‘He looks at me like this any longer I might just fuck him right here.’

Chan shifted closer, his nose grazing yours, so close he could catch the faint sweetness lingering on your breath. "You have to be quiet…real quiet," he whispered, his voice barely more than a murmur.

“W-why?” you stammered, the question coming out in a whisper as his hands found your hips, drawing you against him with a gentle but possessive pull.

He paused, his eyes flicking between yours, a soft smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “Because,” he breathed, his voice sending a delicious warmth down your spine, before he leaned in, closing the miniscule gap and bridging you together in the sweetest of symphonies.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god–’

His hand clasped against your cheek, hips digging against yours and pinning you to the wall as his tongue traced in the inside of your mouth, exploring you until he could familiarize himself. He felt bound to you, having taste what’s been distant thought now a full blown movie, a movie that he'd rewatch until the day he dies. 

Your hand caressed the back of his neck, tenderly kneading his skin and pushing yourself closer to his body. The hands that ached to touch him found their peace, gliding on his skin and feeling the outline of his body, through every contour and crevice, so hot it’s sweltering, simply melting underneath him.

‘This is so awesome…don’t ever make this stop…’

He held you by your thigh, brought it to his exposed side, and lifted you from the ground, crushing his weight against you to keep you in place. His eagerness poked against your stomach, taunting you with its size, and parting your mind for thoughts of its sensation plunging inside you, wrecking havoc.

‘Oh god, I’m gonna cum thinking about want I’d do when I fuck him.’

Chan softly chuckled, pulling away and looking at the glisten in your eyes, feeling your skin flushed against him, hearing how your mind screamed for him in ache. “Are you—“

“Yes,” you gingerly nodded, not giving him a second to finish his sentence, “Whatever it is. Yes. Or no. Or whatever.”

‘Good god, get a grip. Desperate much?’

Chan’s hand crept under the fabric of your skirt, sliding down beneath the layer of green pantyhose and underwear, your vicious slickness immediately coating his fingers. “I like you a little desperate,” he confessed in staggered whispers before slotting his lips between yours again. 

Your throbbing cunt thrummed beneath his digits, pulsing around him as he pushed on inside, already coating his knuckles. You seized around him, clenching your stomach, as a clear moan escaped you.

‘What was that?’ Chan sensed Seokmin’s thoughts a mere meters away, franticness in his eyes and the voice of his fellow seeker followed after. “Hello?”

“Hey Seok, Just me!” Chan covered for you, fingers thrusting as they curled up inside you. “I hit my foot on something, so I’m taking a minute breather in my room. No one's here!”

“Mmh, okay, Buddy. Be more careful!”

As soon as the coast was clear, his attention averted back to you. “I said be quiet, didn’t I?”

His hand clamped over your mouth and blocking sounds from leaving as he entered another finger, feeling your muffles hummed satisfyingly against his palm. His smile stretched to the corner of his face. “I told you I’d make you shut up wouldn’t I?”

You rocked into the merciless paces of Chan’s fingers, feeling them massage you in and out, as his palm ground itself against your clit. You head knocked back against the wall behind you, joined by Chan at your hip, letting his fingerss fuck you the way you wish his cock finally would. ‘Oh Lee Chan, Lee Chan, Lee Chan…’

You steadied your arms around his shoulders, eyes fluttering in and out of focus, while your hips snapped back him. It was second nature at this point, responding to him with nothing but open arms.

‘His fingers…my god, his fucking fingers…’

“Faster? Deeper?” Chan offered, sweat dampening tendrils hitting at his eyes. 

You nodded, giving no coherent answer as he took away your ability to breathe. ‘Yes, both, please.’

He’d give it to you, watching as tears swelled up in eyes from ecstasy, ramming his digits until he didn’t care who could hear the delicious squelching, the manhunt game so far back in subconscious, it was practically nonexistent. 

‘Needed him so bad, need him to fuck me so stupid I could feel him in my throat…Lee Chan…’

Even without mind reading, the look in your eyes told him everything. Your gaze was intense, charged with an incredible sense of longing, as if it held secrets that could start wars or shatter worlds. There was something almost dangerous in it, introducing him to a hunger he couldn’t ignore. How had he never noticed this before? It practically screamed at him to cross these invisible lines. And for a heartbeat, the world felt as if it teetered on the edge, making him realize his touch unleashed something neither of you could hold back from.

When you contracted around his fingers, there was no better word than heaven, the thick release in his enveloping grasp, collecting at the cup of his hands.

Chan showed a hint of mercy, letting your feet settle back on the ground. You pried your tired eyes open, letting the faint moonlight help you take in the dreamy sight before you as you slowly recovered from the waves of your climax. Chan, clearly intrigued by the quiet of your mind, ran his tongue along the underside of his palm, jolting you back to life as you watched, breath hitching at the sight.

‘Oh my…’

Chan grinned, his tongue dragging against every curve, every wrinkle, following even the drip running down his forearm, his eyes not breaking a beat from you as he ate your cum off his fingers. He pressed against you, sweaty and flushed, ensuring every bit of you laid flat on his tongue, swallowing every sweet drop of that golden nectar, softly moaning about its flavor. “Better than my favorite candy.”

‘Oh, this man needs to get me pregnant.’

“A couple more to go! Watch out!” Joshua shouted from down the hall.

There was a brief moment of trepidation Chan felt, cursing his friend mentally for getting their tasks done so quickly, stunned that you and him were able to keep hidden for so long. Chan knew he had to make a move, and quickly. 

Shoving up the skirt of your dress, he tore the delicate seams of your green stockings, and a gasp escaped your lips before you had the chance to hush yourself. As soon as you were exposed, Chan sank to his knees, wasting no time. He gripped the ruched hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in his hands in rushed anticipation, pushing aside your panties with his teeth and burying his face inside your warm pussy.

‘This little whore, oh my..’

His tongue pushed flat against you, taking you in at long stripes as his eyes bordered on impatience and deliberate, savoring at how you squirmed against him when his pink muscle curled and licked circles at your entrance. You pushed your weight on him, cried at the thought of him eating you alive when any moment you could get caught.

‘He’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me. Fuck, those pretty eyes looking back at me. He looks so good eating me out. God, fuck.’

He took your free hand, guiding it to the back of his head, gesturing you to hold on, and like magic, the lower half of his face vanished between your wet folds. 

“Oh gah–” You’re the one to shut yourself off this time with the sharp bite of your lip, focused on the passionate exploration of Chan’s tongue–fucking you with intent, and you fought off the urge to scream. He held you up by your thighs, the darkness in his eyes zoning in on you, drunk in thought of witnessing another orgasm, and amplified your senses with the presence of his fingers. You gripped his hair for dear life–further encouraging him to go deeper–worshiping how the soft strands felt against the pads of your fingers as Chan worshipped every inch inside of you.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to whisper, combing through his hair. “Hmm, that’s so nice…god, you’re so hot eating me out like that…”

Chan was starting to confuse your words for thoughts, or maybe was it your thought for words, whatever it was, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to hear them, your delightful praises directed towards him, or see that beautiful face contort with pleasure.

Your hips began to do that familiar jerk, your pelvis hitting his nose as you sensed something explosive near. Your sounds of ache muffled under your hands, and you twisted your hips, gasp breaking out of you helplessly, and Chan got that familiar fresh flavor of you on his tongue as it dripped out of you. 

He helped himself up to pin you back on the wall, the taste of yourself in his mouth, startling addictive, and you reciprocated, getting everything that he’s worked for.

As he pulled away, staring back at you with an unspoken intensity in his eyes. “Let’s get you going.”

Chan led you out of the closet, cum still dripping down your legs,  joining the rest of the group to announce your victory: a month-long coupon for free snacks at the gaming café. The triumphant smile on your face as you timidly crossed your legs, only hinting at the far more thrilling victory you’d just shared in Chan’s closet.

The other seekers playfully elbowed him, teasing him for being a terrible seeker. "I’m shocked you found anyone with how long you took!" they laughed. But the mischievous glint in his eyes was hidden under a veil of innocuous feigned confusion. “Guess, I really suck at this,” he shrugged, “Glad you guys had fun.”

And everyone did have fun—so much so that nearly the whole crowd insisted on another round. A round that you and Chan would find just as—if not even more—entertaining than the first.

As soon as Chan locked the door for the PC Cafe, he reclaimed your lips, feeling for your heat underneath your dress and its familiar throb. “Finally, some privacy.”

As fellow hiders this round, you slipped away to a more secluded spot, somewhere private enough to pick up right where you’d left off. Here, with no one else to interrupt, the two of you could finally delve into that spark that you both have only begun starting to understand, the excitement between you simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be explored in the quiet privacy you’d carved out.

‘Lee Chan, the man you are.’

He slipped you out of your dress and let it hit the ground, leading you to behind the counter and pressing you against it. You looped your arms around him, tugging his dinosaur onesie off with your foot and kicking it to the ground along with your dress, caressing his cock protected under a layer of his briefs. “Chan, please I want you.”

‘More than you’d ever know.’

“I know,” He chuckled, tearing off the final obstacle of your underwear. And stuffing it in the abandoned skin of his Halloween costume. “And I’ll show just the kind of treatment you get when you ask nicely.”

He flipped you around, tearing your pantyhose higher on your ass, and bent you over in front of him. He slowly, and deliberately, fished out his cock, letting it slap against the curve of your ass, hearing the pleads inside your head.

‘God, he so knows what he’s doing. What a tease.’

His lips connected to the back of your neck, with a free hand squeezed around the flesh of your breast. “Say it.”

“Chan…” you whined. ‘Don’t make me beg.’

“I want to hear how much you want me inside of you. I need some transparency from you.”

“Of course, I want it, Chan.” You back yourself against him, leading the head of his cock towards your puffy slit. “Please.”

“Use your words, dirty girl,” He harshly whispered, invoking a feeling not only rare but foreign inside of you as you clenched around nothing.

“I-I want you inside me, Chan.”

“Doing what?”

You whined, “Fucking me.” ‘Using me.’

He scoffed, brimming with pride, readjusting your position as he saw fit, and slowly pushed himself inside you. When you adjust to his size, you had only begun to realize the impact it’s have on you, how it’s be hard to forget such a sensation, until he’s dragging his cock in and out of you. You clawed on wooden counter, bracing yourself, and echoing a low, long groan as he covered every inch of him in your slick walls. 

The first thrust was methodical, calculated, determined to show you the whole range of what he’d give you and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated, but as he found his pace, you began to find your balance. “Oh, fuck…”

You were glued to him, his hips pounding himself against you as his hands collected your breasts in his hands, lips kissing up your neck and behind your ear. “Gonna make you fucking wish your only regret was not fucking me sooner.”

How he easily found your spot was mystery – one that you didn’t think too long and hard on – until he just kept doing it, pulling you back against him as he released his inhibitions. Your sweat pilled against each other, unsure where yours started and where his ends, your bodies intertwined into one sickening display of what almost a year of unspoken lust looked like.

‘Oh, I could get used to this. If he fucked me like this everyday, I wouldn’t complain for a single second.’

And Chan was almost counting on that.

He turned you around again, missing your face and admiring how your disheveled hair only framed its intoxicating aura as he lifted you against the counter and pushed his cock inside you as he towered over you.

The single chain around his neck brushed against your face repeatedly, and calling to your attention loud enough for only Chan to hear.

‘Omg his chain…this is like one of those Twitter memes where fanatics dream of their faves’ chain hanging above their face during sex…and it’s actually happening to me with Chan.’

Suddenly, he had an idea. “Bite on it.”

You blinked at him, registering his words as he suddenly stopped his thrusts. “…What?”

“Bite on my chain while I fuck the living shit out of you.” 

You took your time processing the thought, before slowly leaning in, the chain barely meeting your lips before you took it between your teeth and pulled him down with you.

Chan’s once kind smile warped into something more sinister, more primal, and he granted you what he had promised.

His cock slammed against you, reverberating your walls, and you clung on the counter under you, while your vision flickered to the back of your skull. Gritting against the chain on your enamel, your head could not form words clear in any sense, just the echo of yours skin clashing and Chan reveled in that. “Good fucking girl.”

He hand struck your side, squishing you against the counter, feeding you his raw power course through you until he’s fill you up, over and over again. You feed his ego in a way he never expected from someone and wasn’t sure he’d be willing to let it go with whatever happened next, so he was gonna savor the moment he had.

As his arousal coursed through him, squeezed every ounce of energy out of you, ensuring he’d hear his name on your brain and out your lips. He held your tired body, stroking your sides, panting against your skin, and felt the final release ebb out of him like a stream, coating you in perfect white before settling down a stool nearby, sitting you on his lap as you rested against the security of his strong, broad frame.

Wherever this left the two of you, Chan just knew he needed to have you. And considering the emptiness in his head, he needed you for more than he realized.

[chilling-seavey]

Desiderio (gr63)

↳ A/N When my first F1 fic on here reached 1k notes (and my first piece of writing ever to hit 4-digits!!), I agreed to reward you, my lovely readers, with a highly requested part two to celebrate. Here is part two of Enchanté. You do not have to read the first one for this one to make sense, although it's encouraged! This also took me exactly 63 days to complete so lol that's fun

↳ Summary: It's been a year since Paris. A year since you've seen George. In the middle of the storm of a century, in another foreign city, fate sometimes works in mysterious ways.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Stranger!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 21.4k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, invisible string theory lowkey, one night stand (or is it??), use of explicit language, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, rimming, minor anal play, choking, spitting, spanking, squirting, overstimulation, use of derogatory names (slut etc.), use of a vibrator, brief female masturbation and slight voyeurism, George has a (very skilled) dirty fucking mouth, unprotected sex (and unprotected creampies...)

The hotel bar was dimly lit despite the early evening hour; the soft, amber glow of table lamps barely pierced the shadows as the dark stormy sky outside laid a blanket of gloom over the city of Milan. Rain pelted down in heavy sheets against the large paned windows, hammering against the cobblestone sidewalks, and causing the dark wood shutters of the historic hotel to rattle aggressively in the shrieking wind. The weather report had predicted rain, but no one expected the tempest that now roared through the city. 

Sundays were often the quietest days as you had discovered through your recent travels, but, this Sunday in particular, the lobby of the hotel seemed to be in upheaval. 

Voices of displeased guests carried through the lofty ceilings and panicked groups chatted loudly together, trying to fix their upturned travel plans. The lobby was a cacophony of travelers pleading for vacant rooms that didn’t exist or shouting into their phones in various languages, trying to secure flights that simply weren't available. You knew it was a futile effort. You’d tried all of those same tactics just an hour earlier.

Now, exhausted from your anxiety and stress that the unprecedented storm had caused, you found yourself at the hotel bar with a glass of wine in hand and your suitcase beside your chair. You were entirely stranded. 

Sooner or later, you'd have to confront the reality that there was no flight home and no hotel room left for you—the room you'd occupied all week had already been claimed by the next guest. For now, you tried to push aside the gnawing anxiety twisting in your stomach and focus on your drink while it lasted. Maybe, in a strangely sadistic way, there was some grim amusement to be found in watching the other guests frantically yell at each other. 

As always, when work no longer occupied your mind, your thoughts drifted to a familiar memory; one tinged with a bittersweet ache of nostalgia. It felt like both years ago and just last week—your very first work trip to Paris, lingering vividly in your mind as you sat at the hotel bar. You knew it was foolish to keep thinking about the handsome stranger from your last night there, but the connection you had shared was unlike anything you had experienced before—or since.

The way he touched you, spoke to you, fucked you was something that had been engrained in your mind ever since, dreaming for someone to ever come even a fraction close to how incredible he was. George. Such a dull and unremarkable name for a man so impressive and unforgettable.

Out of everyone in the world, your path had happened to cross with his that fateful evening during which you shared a night of lust in the heart of Paris with a view of the Eiffel Tower. He opened up your world to opportunities you were closed off to before; sending you back home with a new outlook on sex and intimacy. Yet every man you had tried to connect with since always fell short—either they were too boring, self-centered, or couldn’t even get you to cum yet alone wanted to actually try. Disappointment after disappointment, your mind always went back to George. You were sure you were cursed to just want nothing but that whirlwind romantic night of debauchery with the one that got away. 

He was probably snatched by then; almost a year later. A handsome, kind, talented man like him certainly wouldn’t be on the market for long. Regardless, you knew nothing about him but his first name. You had no way of connecting with him again even if you wanted to—and no patience to sift through the millions of Georges that probably existed in the world to try and find yours. 

Your gaze lingered on the last sip of wine in the bottom of your glass on the bartop; a gentle glimmering light golden colour. A local Italian white that seemed to just do the trick in getting you into your thoughts and out of them all in the same. The chaotic noise of the hotel lobby faded into the background as you idly swirled the remaining liquid, watching it dance in slow, hypnotic circles around the bottom of the glass. With a melancholy sigh, you lifted the glass up to your lips and downed the remaining sip. The glass rested back on the bartop with a dull clink. 

With nowhere to go thanks to the relentless storm, you lingered a while longer at the hotel bar, turning your attention back to the chaotic crowds. The poor front desk staff were nearly overwhelmed, swarmed by a sea of disgruntled guests. You noticed a couple of security guards stationed near the entrance and reception, as if poised to manage any brewing unrest. One of them placed a firm, warning hand on the shoulder of a particularly upset woman who was pushing her way towards the desk, flailing her phone around and shouting in Italian. 

The darkened lobby of the luxury hotel flashed with a sudden bright light as a strike of lighting tore across the sky. That quieted the guests for a moment in surprise before a crack of thunder rumbled across the atmosphere and nearly shook the ground beneath the hotel. Chatter rose quickly, everyone in awe at the power of mother nature and how it so effortlessly screwed up everyone's plans. 

But, as the noise level rose again and the coming and going of heads and bodies created a blurry sea around you, your attention was drawn naturally towards the front desk once more. Standing there, in a crisp white collared shirt, was a tall, broad-shouldered man speaking to one of the receptionists. His back was to you, but for a fleeting moment, your heart skipped—a rush of familiarity stirred by the sight of his sandy brown hair, damp and darkened by the rain. It was almost too familiar, making your chest tighten with a sudden, unshakable feeling.

For the past year, you’d caught glimpses of George in every passing stranger, every storefront window, in everything you laid eyes on. Countless times, you’d found yourself on the verge of approaching someone, convinced it was him, only for them to turn around—revealing, to your disappointment, yet another unfamiliar face. This time, you were sure, was no different. 

So, you sat on your barstool, watching aimlessly. It wasn’t long before he straightened up, giving the receptionist a polite nod before turning to face the chaotic swarm of panicked guests. To face you.

Your heart plummeted to your stomach the moment your eyes landed on his face. It couldn’t be...

George was as handsome as you had remembered him to be; even after months and months apart. He stood out from the crowd with an impressive height and presence about him, like he was being followed by a spotlight, the noise of the storm and the hotel guests fading into nothing in the background as your eyes lingered on him. He shuffled to the side, dropped the backpack he was carrying to the ground at his feet, and pulled out his phone. Immediately, he was typing furiously away with furrowed brows directed to his screen, his angular jawline undoubtedly tense from his own ruined plans. 

For a moment, you were frozen in your seat, nearly just gaping at him from across the busy lobby. At first, you wanted to just turn back around and order another glass and pretend you didn’t see him at all. At least that would save you the embarrassment of him not recognizing you. Why would he? He made it clear back in Paris that he often would charm women on his travels to take them back to his hotel; not one to be tied down, he told you. You were certain you were nothing more than a fleeting encounter, a statistic in his long list of conquests. 

But, at the same time, you knew that you would live with this regret for the rest of your life if you didn’t try. Since you parted ways in Paris he had been the only thing on your mind and in your dreams and you longed for some way to reach him again. This might have been the only chance you would have. 

So, you slid off your bar stool and tugged up the handle of your suitcase and carefully navigated your way through the swarm of people to where he stood by the front desk. Your steps were hesitant and calculated as if your shy reluctance was taking over. But then, when you were just meters away, a clear path opened before you between the bodies—like the parting of the sea.

You saw him visibly sigh as he lifted his gaze from his phone to scan the chaotic room. His shoulders rolled in an attempt to shake off the weight of stress and he ran his fingers through his damp brown hair, pushing it away from his face. Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, his eyes locked on yours.

Your feet entirely stopped and you were sure that if the room had been quiet, the sole of your shoe would have shrieked against the tile floor with how quickly you halted. For a few long seconds, the two of you just stared at each other. 

Then, muffled by the noise of the crowds that surrounded you, he spoke your name like he had been saying it all his life. 

As if pulled towards him by some invisible string, you were in front of him in a blink, trapped close in the barely secluded corner of the lobby. You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. 

George spoke for you in genuine disbelief, “This is…crazy. I thought I’d never see you again after Paris yet alone here.”

“Yeah, me too.” you stumbled out with a nervous chuckle, staring into his wide aquamarine eyes, trying to get your words to catch up with your mind, “I didn’t know if you’d even remember me…after a year.”

George seemed taken aback, replying genuinely, “How could I forget? We had quite a night in Paris.”

You smiled bashfully towards the rain soaked windows across the lobby before confessing, “I don’t know. You seemed...set in your ways…busy with your plans.”

George shook his head with a soft chuckle, “Busy, yes, but not so busy that I’d forget someone who made such an impression. What about you? How’ve you been?”

You looked back at him in the dim lighting of the crowded lobby in your darkened corner away from the hoards of strangers. He seemed to be brighter than everything around you, standing out from the dreary surroundings that swarmed you, a beacon of comforting light, a breath of fresh air. The fact that he remembered you had your insides stirring with butterflies, leaning into the realization that maybe he had been dreaming about you just as much as you had been dreaming about him over the last year. 

“I’ve been...managing.” you answered gently, “Life’s been a bit of a whirlwind.”

“Work?”

“Busy.” you nodded down to your laptop case that was fastened to the handle of your suitcase. 

George noted your gesture, “Another business trip? Here in Milan?” 

“Yeah. There were a few design shows and suppliers my firm wanted me to visit.” you said, as if you owed him an explanation. Then, out of desperate curiosity at how crazy this was, you asked, “What about you?”

“Oh, work, yeah,” George answered with a curt nod in agreement, before gesturing to the chaos of the crowd and the storm that still powered on through the large paned windows, “I was supposed to be flying out today but…” 

“Me too.” you said when he faded out, following his gaze to the torrential downpour battering the streets of Milan. “So of course now I have no flight and no hotel room.”

He looked back at you, puzzled, “No hotel room? You checked out already?”

“My booking had expired,” you explained. “The next guest needed my room. Did the same thing happen to you?”

George hesitated before replying, “No, actually…I managed to keep my room for another night.”

Your eyes widened, “What, really? How?”

He pocketed his phone with a tight smile, “I offered to pay double for tonight.”

“Double?” you gaped, knowing how much your work had covered for your room in such a luxury hotel, “But that’s, like, four thousand dollars.”

George let out a slightly nervous laugh and a half shrug, “Yeah, well, it was that or sleep on the sidewalk.”

You blinked in astonishment, trying to wrap your mind around the expense. “I can’t believe you actually paid that. That’s...a lot of money.”

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugged off the cost with a nonchalant air, barely phased by what would seem like a significant dent to most, “Desperate times, right?”

You studied him, feeling a mix of admiration and envy, which you masked with a lighthearted comment, “Well, I suppose it’s good to know someone’s luckier than me tonight.”

George’s gaze intensified as he spoke, “Actually…my suite is more than spacious enough for two, if you need a place to stay tonight.”

“Oh, I-” you stumbled over your words as flashes of what sharing his hotel room in Paris led to filled your mind. Shivering, you finished your thought, “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” he assured you lightheartedly, “Meeting like this has to mean something. I’m not going to let you sleep outside. That’s just ridiculous.”

Your demeanor softened, your apprehension easing, “Well, if you’re sure it’s not a problem...”

George nodded with a genuine smile that made your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Great. It’ll be nice to have some company too. And this means we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.”

You mirrored his smile with appreciation, albeit a touch of shyness ghosting over your features, this entire situation completely unexpected, “Alright; lead the way then. I’m curious to see what kind of room warrants a double payment.”

George chuckled softly, “Trust me, it’s nothing too extravagant.”

He gently rested his hand on the small of your back to guide you as you both turned for the elevators, his ghostly touch sending a shiver up your spine. It had been a year since he had last touched you and the fantasy-like sparks that his fingertips blazed across your skin were a welcome reminder of where you had left off. 

As you followed him, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anxiety and anticipation. The storm outside seemed to mirror the storm of emotions within you—an unexpected chance to reconnect with someone from your past, bringing both excitement and uncertainty. 

Standing in the cramped elevator, shoulder to shoulder, the sudden silence after the chaotic lobby was almost deafening. The air between you felt charged, as if neither of you knew quite what to say after such a long time. You had shared a passionate and intimate night in Paris, but here and now, you were still essentially strangers. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if approaching him had been a mistake.

But then the rickety elevator reached the second floor of the historic Milan hotel and George helped to pry open the metal grate so you could step out into the hallway with your suitcase. He led the way towards his room and you followed closely, shamelessly eyeing the way his backpack hung over one shoulder, looking heavy and bulky, and part of you wanted to be nosy and unzip it to see all the secrets he held within. Even after Paris, he held this sense of mystery about him that still plagued you. 

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, you were greeted by an elegant entryway, complete with a console table holding a bowl of fresh fruit beneath a landscape painting directly opposite the door. You paused for a moment, expecting a standard room similar to the small space you'd been staying in the past week. Instead, what lay before you was something altogether different—larger, more luxurious; the pinnacle of the Four Seasons Milan.

George, moving with the ease of familiarity, tossed his room key and wallet onto the console table without a second thought, then disappeared to the left. A flood of warm light spilled into the entryway as he turned on the lights, beckoning you to follow. Not wanting to linger awkwardly in the doorway, you toed off your shoes and then trailed after him, entering a spacious living area that caught you entirely off guard.

The room was stunning, a stark contrast to the cramped quarters you’d grown used to. Ornate stucco designs adorned the twelve-foot ceiling, a remnant of the building's 15th-century origins, casting an elegant shadow over the spacious, open layout. The walls were tinted the faintest pink to add a bit of colour to the room, contrasting the rich dark wood floors beautifully. To your right, two cream-upholstered couches flanked a large flatscreen TV that backed onto the courtyard beyond four large paned windows. Of course, with the storm still raging outside, there was little to see beyond the glass.

So your gaze shifted left, where an oversized four-poster wooden bed dominated the room, facing towards the windows. The luxury linen sheets were pulled tightly over the king size mattress, pillows fluffed to perfection, almost so pristine you might have thought someone took an iron to it. His offer to share his room had seemed generous in the moment, a solution to your sudden predicament, but now, with your eyes fixed on the bed, your mind was racing with unspoken thoughts.

Sharing a room wasn’t new for either of you—Paris had seen to that—but the weight of all that remained unsaid lingered between you. A year had passed since that fleeting night, and now, standing here again, you had no idea where you stood with him or what boundaries might now exist. 

The sharp sound of curtains being drawn along metal rods broke your thoughts. George, who had dropped his backpack on one of the couches, was methodically pulling each curtain closed, as if to block out the raging storm outside. His suitcase and duffle bag were zipped shut and already resting beside the couch, having been anticipating leaving that evening just as you had. 

You hadn’t realized you were just lingering dumbly in the entryway before he turned to face you, curtains closed and leaving only the light of the table lamps to illuminate your surroundings, and he set his hands on his hips, “Alright?”

“‘Nothing too extravagant’, he said.” you echoed his modest statement from earlier as your eyes raised back up to the ornate ceiling again. 

George’s gaze followed yours and he smiled faintly at the ceiling decoration before looking at you again with an amused half-smile, “Yeah, that’s what I said. I did say it was a suite.”

You met his gaze across the spacious room, “Well, then I must have taken it with a grain of salt.”

“Will it do then?” he asked you, making his way in your direction, over the cream paisley rug towards his bags, “Worthy of my double payment?”

“Perhaps,” you smiled playfully, “although the last thing I want to know is how much the double payment was for this.”

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” George sent you a little wink as he unzipped his backpack. He then gestured aimlessly to the room as he rifled through his bag, “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to wash up a bit and change out of these damp clothes.”

“No rush.” you said gently, stepping out of the way to let him head back into the small hallway towards the bathroom, a change of clothes in hand. When he passed by you, he set a gentle hand on your waist to slip past politely, leaving a lingering warmth in his wake. 

When he shut the door behind him, you were faced with the spacious suite to yourself. You made your way farther into the room and set your suitcase beside his, your eyes lingering on his half opened backpack he had been rifling through only moments before. Looking back to the hallway to make sure he wasn’t about to come back out claiming he forgot something, you took a slow tentative step towards it. 

He was such a mysterious figure—even back in Paris—and you were desperate to learn a little something about this man that never seemed to leave your mind or your heart. He seemed to be a vault and you wanted to know at least something more about him before whatever might have transpired that night. Desperate times called for desperate measures. 

You gently rested your finger on the open zipper of his backpack to pull at the fabric to peek inside. The shadows from the warm table lamps didn’t help you see much in the dark confines of the bag so, with one more glance towards the direction of the bathroom for safe measure, you entirely reached your hand in. 

The first thing you felt was something soft and smooth like some sort of tightly manufactured fabric. You grasped your fingers around the item and pulled it out to be met with a sky blue glove in your hand. It wasn’t like a winter glove or a medical glove…more of some sort of safety glove but incredibly light. The unusual print of a faux watch around the wrist made you crinkle your brow in confusion. 

It was tossed back in the bag and, instead, your fingers found the pleather cover of a thin notebook. You pulled it out, admiring the unassuming cobalt blue cover for a moment in your hands before you opened it to the first page. In neat writing, the name George Russell was printed in the top right corner, the G and R large and curling compared to the other letters. Well, now you at least had his surname. 

You thumbed through the pages for a brief skim, most of the words you did see didn’t make much sense to you. Delta… power unit… blistering… undercut… You opened to one of the pages and read a bit more in detail but the jot notes were messy and full of words you didn’t understand. What was this guy’s job?! Clearly it was an important one with all of the technical and mechanical notes taking up the pages of the notebook.

The sound of the bathroom door opening again had you stuffing the book back in his backpack and you nearly threw yourself onto the opposite couch, phone in hand, desperate to look as casual as you could fake. George emerged from the bathroom in lounge pants and a t-shirt, feet bare and his hair still a bit of a damp wavy mess atop his head. A rumble of thunder sounded from outside, its strength barely muffled by the closed windows and drawn curtains. 

“It’s really raining cats and dogs out there, isn’t it?” George stated as he unzipped his duffle bag and tucked his worn and re-folded clothes inside it. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, a small smile hinting at the corner of your mouth at his little idiom.

“Did you want to get changed?” he asked as he stood up straight again, gesturing haphazardly over his shoulder towards the bathroom. 

He wasn’t as flirty and insistent as you remembered him back in Paris; he seemed calmer now, more grounded, mature, sure of himself. You treaded the water carefully, trying to figure out where you stood after a year apart. You couldn’t deny your obvious attraction to him—he was still just as handsome as you remembered—but you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that lingered within you. Was this the same man who swept you off your feet so effortlessly in Paris, or had time and distance changed both of you to, once again, be complete strangers? You weren’t sure if you were ready to fall back into old habits, especially when so much had gone unsaid between you, so many unknowns. Still, the pull toward him was undeniable, like a force you couldn’t fully resist, even if you wanted to.

“Oh, uh,” your eyes dropped to your suitcase that was sitting in front of him, “I think I’m okay for now.”

George pulled a polite smile, “Okay.”

He walked around your bags and joined you on the couch, sitting a polite distance away but enough that you could feel the dip of the cushion when he sat down. His arm rested aimlessly over the back of the couch, his fingertips barely reaching the edge of your arm. 

“I still can’t believe it’s really you.” George said gently, a calm smile on his face, his intense gaze focused all on you, “After a whole year…out of all the places in the world…what are the odds?”

“I know.” you gushed, the casual conversation helping to ease your momentary stresses. You rested back into the couch a little, facing towards him, “I was sure I’d never see you again after Paris.”

“Me too, although I was hoping.” George confessed gently, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you left that morning.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his confession, a solidification that at least part of your feelings were mutual, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” George chuckled at your bashful question, still looking over at you from the opposite side of the couch, “That was some night we shared. I haven’t experienced anything like that before.”

“Or after?”

“Or after.” he conceded. “You?”

You shook your head faintly, “Me neither. Tried but…nothing came close.”

George’s tongue slipped past his lips, wetting them a moment as he processed your words, before breaking into a modest symmetrical smile, “Well, glad we’re in the same boat then.”

His arm that was resting over the back of the couch shifted slightly so his fingers grazed your shoulder. Cautious, testing. Of course, you didn’t stop him. You noticed his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race, so many unreadable things in the storm of his blue eyes. The persistent rumble of the tempest outside lingered in the background. 

“So, how’s life been treating you since Paris?” you asked, attempting to shift the focus to something lighter while gauging his mood and trying to pull more out of him. “Have you been on any more adventures that I should be jealous of?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back with a rueful smile. “Some here and there but, you know, the usual. Taking it day by day. This last year was extra busy so…not much time for anything outside of work.”

You raised an eyebrow, pitching a trying, “Not many female suitors met your fancy?”

George’s eyes twinkled with mischief, lolling his head to the side to almost rest his cheek on his bicep that was draped over the back of the couch. “Not quite. Or maybe you just set a pretty high bar.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension ease between you. “Flattery, I see.”

“Flattery, or the truth.” he shrugged coolly. His fingers that were resting ever so faintly on your shoulder reached up to dance through the loose strands of your hair framing your face. He breathed out a gentle, “Nothing has been quite as memorable as Paris. No one has been as enchanting as you.”

“No one has been as incredible as you.” you replied effortlessly, your voice a soft hum. 

George’s lips curved into a slow smile, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Oh? Is that your way of saying I’ve ruined you for anyone else?”

“Well…” you faded out for a moment before giving the smallest chuckle, “Perhaps.”

You just stared at each other for a moment, all your senses honed in on the feeling of his fingers gently playing with the ends of your hair. He was enchanting; just as you remembered him. His sly little smile and the hint of flirtation in his slightly cocky response was so reminiscent of the man you met a year ago. His big blue eyes staring at you like that - like there were a million things going on in his head but not a thought on how to say them out loud - framed in long lashes had your heart fluttering in your chest. 

“So… what happens now?” you asked quietly, barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted to ask the question but knowing it hung suffocatingly in the air between you both.

He sighed softly, leaning back into the couch as he glanced up at the ornate ceiling for a moment in thought before tipping his head to the side to meet your eyes again, “I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to figure that out.”

A slight pause lingered between you. The storm rumbled on through the walls of the historic hotel. You just had to bite the bullet. 

“Do you want to figure it out?” you asked finally.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” George replied, his voice lower now, more intimate. The weight of his gaze was undeniable, pulling you in like gravity. “I wouldn’t have invited you up to my suite.”

His stare, his words, the ghostly touch of his fingers in the ends of your hair and over your shoulder, everything was electric. A flash of lighting peeked through the edges of the closed curtains. You felt your pulse quicken at his presence, but still, you needed to hear it clearly. “And what does ‘figuring it out’ look like to you?”

George’s lips twitched into a subtle smile as he leaned in slightly, “Depends. What does it look like to you?”

It was an invitation—one that made your stomach twist in both excitement and nerves. He always had done that since the moment you met him: always turning your questions back to you first. It was both infuriating and amusing. Through it all, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that still lingered between you two, the remnants of a night long ago that neither of you seemed to have forgotten.

“Well…” you began, slowly, tentatively, “I suppose we could start by seeing where tonight takes us.”

George’s smile deepened, “I like the sound of that.”

You mirrored his warm smile, facing each other on the couch. With his agreement, you cautiously reached out and set your hand on his knee, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his lounge pants. Despite your touch, his gaze didn’t waver from your face. 

“And I think…” he then said, his fingers lightly brushing up the side of your neck and along your jaw as his body moved naturally into your space and his voice took on a more playful tone, “If you’re in agreement…we’ve got some unfinished business to take care of, don’t we?”

For a moment, you froze as if you had never kissed someone before in your life. On the contrary, you had your fair share of kisses and especially over the last year when trying to find someone that made you feel the way George had but to no avail. But, here, now, with this heavy desire between you after so long, it all felt so new again. You felt so shy under his presence, warm under the way he touched your face and cradled your jaw in his large hand, nothing but putty in his palms. 

You leaned in with him, sharing the responsibility of meeting halfway for your lips to lock in a slow tentative kiss. The storm raged outside, the rumble of thunder matching the rapid thudding of your heart in your chest. For those first few seconds, the two of you sat there, motionless, for a moment. Then, when you both broke away for a breath, your eyes met in the shadows of the warmly lit hotel suite, sharing silent conversation. 

One simple gaze into those emotive blue eyes of his sparked an unprecedented sense of need within you. As if driven by an unparalleled force, your hand raised to the back of his neck and you were hurriedly pulling him in again by your own insistent will. He let out a little groan at the surprise intensity of your kiss, slotting his lips with yours. 

Any momentary shyness from your unexpected reunion that had previously filled your stomach was now tossed out the window into the storm. The familiar and long awaited taste of his lips on yours had heat burning over your body, your hand tangling in the roots of his hair as you shared sensual kisses on the plush couch. In such close proximity, your senses were taken up by nothing but him; the faint scent of his cologne, the masculine musk of sweat and lust, and subtle hints of rain from his journey through the beginnings of the storm. Nothing had smelt as wonderful to you as he did. 

You shifted on the couch slightly to face him a bit better, slinging your arm around his shoulders entirely to really pull him into you. Your heads tilted as if by some instinctive force to deepen your kisses, the faint lewd sound of your lips meeting and parting muffled only by the howling storm outside. At the same time, you both offered a bit of tongue, sharing brief smiles into your kiss at how in sync you were, how hungry for each other. His thumb swiped over your jawline and caressed your cheek in time with your slow sensual kisses and you offered him a small hum of approval. 

George let out a pretty moan into your mouth while his hand moved from the side of your face into the back of your hair. He fisted a snug handful and tugged gently to break your kiss as your head tilted towards the ceiling, so he could move his lips down your neck. 

You let out a breathy, barely audible, “Fuck.”

He hummed against your skin in reply, trailing slow open mouthed kisses up the side of your neck before nibbling at your earlobe. The gentle bite of his teeth had you shivering and he licked up the shell of your ear before kissing behind it, making you clutch onto him tighter at the butterflies it sent right to your stomach and between your legs. Your hand rubbed over his broad shoulders and up along the nape of his neck again, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip with a small moan as he kissed you in ways no one else seemed to be able to. 

“Fucking missed you,” George breathed out, the heat of his breath against his spit on your skin making you shiver. 

“Missed you,” you echoed to the ceiling, fingers scratching through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “Missed this.”

George groaned against your neck, leaving you with a little bite to the apex of your neck and shoulder, before his lips were locking with yours in another heated kiss. Right away, your tongues were pushing insistently against each other, lips locking between them, bodies melting closer. 

Your hand that wasn’t around his shoulders discreetly played with the hem of his t-shirt, giving it a little nudge to get your fingers underneath. Ever so faintly, your fingertips ghosted over the warm skin of his abdomen, even the slightest touch of his body making your shift needily at his side, wanting to get even closer. 

“Already wanting to get me undressed, baby?” George purred against your mouth, punctuating it with more kisses. You could taste his cocky smile. 

You merely whined in reply at his teasing, unable to speak with how insistently he was kissing you, not giving you a second to properly reply. But then his hands were grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pushing it up and you had no choice but to lift your arms up to let him take it off you. 

As the fabric passed over your head, interrupting your kiss, he spoke in a gravelly voice, “You first.”

Who were you to complain? Especially as he dropped your shirt to the ground without a second look and right away was kissing down your neck again and over your collarbones. He leaned his body into yours just enough for you to get the hint to lean back and he grabbed your folded legs to help adjust your position. You lowered yourself lengthways over the couch, resting back on the rose-coloured down-filled throw pillows as he moved over top of you and found home along the column of your neck. 

His hands groped you over your bra—not your nicest looking one since you hadn’t anticipated this to happen when you got dressed that morning, but he didn’t care in the slightest. His fingers dipped into the cups and tugged them down, greedily pulling your breasts out for his hungry eyes and, without hesitation, for his even hungrier tongue. 

George swirled his tongue around one of your nipples before taking it in his mouth, the sudden heat of his mouth in contrast to the cool air of the hotel room had you gasping, body arching slightly into his touch. He moaned against your chest, sucking on one breast while his hands squeezed the flesh of the other, fingers pinching the nipple. Barely anything had happened by this point in the night and you could already feel yourself falling into dizzy pleasure, that growing ache deep inside you feeling hotter and more prominent. Nothing had ever felt like him. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let out a pleasant exhale to the high ceilings, head dropping back against the decorative pillows. George pulled away from your breast to give the other the same attention, taking your nipple in his mouth and teasing it with his tongue before giving it a firm suckle. His eyes raised to your face despite the slightly awkward angle, wanting to watch your every reaction. And, as he swirled his tongue around your breast and squeezed your other in a firm grip, his other hand slipped under your back and blindly popped the clasp on your bra. 

You helped him to take it off your arms and dropped it onto the floor with your shirt, barely letting the fabric fall from your hand before he was pulling away from your nipple with a wet pop and leaning up to capture your lips with his again. You moaned softly into his mouth, easily matching his greedy pace of lips and tongue, your hands sliding around his back and bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fists. George rested between your naturally spread legs with practiced ease, his large hands still kneading your breasts in a two handed grip that in any other instance might have been almost painful. Instead, you mewled into his mouth at his firm touches. 

George sucked on your tongue for a moment before breaking away from your lips again, peering down at you beneath him in only your slacks with a look of a man starved. He moved back from you a little, one knee on the couch between your legs and his other foot stabilizing himself on the floor as he grabbed the waistband of your pants and started to yank them down. You lifted your hips up to help him take them off you, shifting obediently until you were left in only your underwear. 

George all but growled at the sight of you, hands dragging down your bare torso, “I’ve dreamt about this body for months.”

His honest words had you moaning with need from where you were splayed out on the couch for him. Your hands slid up his forearms to his biceps, staring at the look of lust on his face as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipples before he was following the contours of your body right down to your thighs. He nudged them open a little wider before he was pulling off his shirt and throwing it across the floor. 

“Oh my God.” you exhaled, nearly trembling in anticipation beneath him. 

George didn’t waste a second as he lowered right down to trail hurried wet kisses down your abdomen and over your navel and to the waistband of your panties. He took the elastic in his teeth to give it a teasing tug before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped sharply at the faint sting, watching him intently as he turned his head to pepper kisses over your inner thighs–one and then the other. 

“Gorgeous…perfect woman…” George breathed against your skin before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh, just enough for you to feel a bit of pressure. 

You inhaled sharply at the feeling of his teeth, eyes locked on him as he found home between your legs once again. He turned into you, pressing his nose over the front of your panties, and he breathed you in for a moment, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“Mm, my God,” George groaned lowly, his words a lustful rumble, his breath hot against your skin. His hands slid up your thighs and his fingers looped in the waistband of your panties, “Let’s get you out of these.”

He pulled your panties down effortlessly and you moved your legs to help him slide the thin fabric down them so he could discard them onto the floor too. You adjusted yourself on the couch for a moment, trying not to let his unwavering stare on your naked body make you nervous. Maybe that was your fault for holding him to such high standing in your mind throughout the year you had been apart. Regardless, the faint smile that was ever-present on your face was enough of a giveaway that you were ready and willing to progress this evening. 

George moved back down again, his eyes trained in on the apex of your spread legs and as he settled between them, he glided two fingers down your cunt, parting your glistening folds with a purr, “There’s that gorgeous pussy.” 

“George-” you exhaled, barely getting his name off your lips before he was leaning down and dragging his tongue right over you. Your fingers twisted into the fabric of the decorative pillows your head was resting on, mouth falling open ever so slightly as you stared down at him like that. 

His eyes were closed almost peacefully, lapping at your pussy with his full tongue a few times before taking your lips in his mouth to suckle on for a moment. When his eyes opened to stare right up your body at your flushed face, the look of him had you shivering. He gave you a little wink as he kept up the movements of his tongue, up and down, up and down. Your head dropped back against the cushions with a small groan. 

“Mmm…” George pulled away from you with a lick to his lips, his eyes dropping from your face to your pussy as his fingers smeared themselves in the slick of his spit and your growing wetness, “You taste incredible…just like how I remembered it. Fuckin’ delicious.”

“Delicious?” you chuckled faintly to the ornate ceiling. 

“Mhm, you’re absolutely delectable.” he breathed as he leaned back down to taste you again, his two fingers spreading you open for his hungry tongue. 

Your soft laughter fell off into silence at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your clit in slow, careful circles. George’s eyes stayed locked on your face, meeting your gaze as you lifted your head to look down at him again. You could have sworn you saw him smile against your pussy, his tongue finally pressing flat against your aching clit before lapping at it in consistent teases. 

“O-Oh my God-” you withered, eyes nearly rolling as your head fell back gently against the cushions. 

George let out a small hum against your cunt, not letting up the slow but sure pace of his tongue at your clit before he was pursing his lips and peppering sloppy wet kisses to that same spot. The faint suction of his kisses had your thighs twitching at the sensation, a small squeal slipping from your mouth at the same time. Without hesitation, George kept those sloppy kisses going, his fingers still spreading your lips apart for full access to your clit while his other hand blindly rested on your thigh to push your legs apart wider. 

You let him move you as he pleased, more than willing to succumb to whatever he wanted since you knew you would reap the rewards in no time. It was so easy to fall into his hands like putty, your entire body already feeling like jelly under his mouth as he had you spread open on the couch. He still had one knee on the seat of the couch with his other foot pressed to the floor for stability, not able to join you entirely on the modest size hotel room couch without being an entire mess of limbs. 

But whatever he was doing was just perfect and before you knew it, soft moans and breaths of pleasure were tumbling from your mouth. You dropped a hand down to comb your fingers through his soft brown hair, pushing the wavy strands away from his face so you could greedily see more of those big blue eyes. George stared up at you almost unblinking, his lips and tongue working in harmony over your clit just to pull more of those pretty sounds out of you. 

You could feel the warmth buzzing through you, burning hot across your chest and up your neck, a fever of lust that you had missed so strongly. George snaked his arms around your thighs, pulling you in until your legs framed his head, and his tongue spoke for him in silent praises in all the right spots. You couldn’t hold back the moan that choked its way out of your chest, your back arching slightly off the plush couch cushions. 

“Mmm,” George muffled against your cunt, sliding his large hands from your thighs up your hips and to your chest, groping your breasts in both hands as his mouth kept its steady pace between your legs. His pretty eyes were half-lidded and full of lust, staring up at you between your thighs, his nose buried right up against your pelvis as his tongue kept lead. 

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your head dropping back against the arm of the couch with a whine and a firm bite to your bottom lip. You could hardly remember the last time a man that wasn’t him made you come and you were welcoming the reminder of all that it could feel like. The heat, the passion, the pleasure. 

“George-” you whimpered out, elongating the syllables a little, “Please-”

He didn’t even let up to offer any sort of cheeky reply, all too focused on his task at hand and wanting to make you fall apart from just his mouth. His fingers pinched and rolled your nipples insistently, giving you that added pleasure that made your back arch off the bed. Your toes of the foot sandwiched between him and the back of the couch pressed into the cushions, desperately trying to lift your hips off the couch to press harder against his mouth, wanting more. 

George’s tongue moved a little faster now, his eyes locked on your face as your face contorted in pleasure, your breaths heavier, harder, with every second. Your hand tugged relentlessly at his hair as if he needed help to not move away, your body starting to tremor in waves from your hips up to your shoulders. 

“O-Oh-” you choked out and then fell perfectly silent. 

George moaned up against your cunt as he felt you tense and pulse under his mouth, keeping his pace going as your first orgasm of the night washed over you. Your head tilted back against the pillows with a silent gape, eyes screwed shut, your legs parted greedily as your thighs quivered slightly. 

You gasped out of your orgasm, chest heaving, letting it all out with a pleasured moan to the high ceilings of the hotel suite. Your fingers released his hair to reach behind your head and grasp onto the edge of the cushion you were resting back on, anticipating him to stop but he didn’t even falter. Instead, his blue eyes stared right up your body at you, his hands sliding back down your torso to loop around your thighs instead while his tongue kept lapping insistently at your swollen clit. 

Sensitive from having just had your first properly satisfying orgasm in months, you winced slightly as he kept going, taking in a sharp breath. Naturally, your legs tried to close around his head to shut him out as your body needed a second to calm down but he was relentless. He was relentless and you were equally as greedy. You wouldn’t dare stop him. 

Taking your lack of verbal complaints as permission, George kept going, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit to suck gently on it. Your entire body twitched, a small whine slipping from your lips at the intensity of the sensation. 

Your head heaved up from the pillow to stare down at him, your soft breaths and whimpers growing louder and pitchier by the second. With your eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, you gave him a little nod and a silent mouth of ‘yes’ followed by more eager nods. The cushions that cradled your body in the corner of the couch were home to your hands, your knuckles turning white with how hard you were clutching the expensive fabric.

George sucked harder at your clit, slender fingers pressing into your doughy flesh and keeping your thighs snug around his head. Your legs started to shake from the intensity of it, nearly vibrating around his head, while your chest rose and fell faster now and a pretty blush creeped down your neck and over your collarbones from how aroused you were. 

“Fuck-” you choked out, the word barely audible as your entire body tensed up again, leaving you perfect silent once more. 

You swore you were dizzy for a moment with how hard you came the second time, thrust upon you so quickly after your first. Your legs were nearly vibrating through the strength of it, wrapping tighter around George’s head as you writhed to try and ease him up a little through the intense waves of pleasure ripping through you. 

When it faded, you inhaled a sharp breath and a trembling groan, dropping a hand down to push the heel of your palm against his forehead for mercy. 

George pulled away from your pussy with a lewd slurp from the breaking of the suction, his mouth and chin absolutely glistening in the lamp light, and he licked his lips free of the taste of you. His eyes lingered on your cunt, lips swollen with arousal and the intensity of the back to back orgasms he just coaxed out of you. He let out a little content hum before leaning down to press a sloppy open mouth kiss to your pussy, his tongue gliding between your lips to gather one more greedy taste of you before moving back. 

Right away, he was leaning up your body to kiss your lips, his tongue slipping against yours in a lewd dance between sloppy kisses. Your hands raised to the side of his face, sighing pleasantly between kisses that you returned with fervor. The slight flex of his jaw and the flush of his skin under your palms were details that you couldn’t help but focus on, the whole situation otherwise entirely surreal; something you had been dreaming of since that Paris night. 

George moaned softly into your mouth, stealing a few more kisses from your lips before he was pulling back and trailing his large hands up your thighs that framed his body. 

You smiled up at him, your fingertips tracing the lines of his muscular torso, “I missed you like crazy, and after that…I’m not afraid to admit it.”

George’s glistening swollen lips pricked up in a faint smile, “Good, because I missed you just as much, if not more.”

Your hands slid down his arms and he turned his palms upwards to accept your hands, your fingers naturally lacing together in the space between you. They fit together so perfectly; but maybe that was just the pleasure hormones that still clouded your senses. 

The wind of the storm whistled through the closed curtains and George spoke through it, “I hope you’re not tired out yet. I’ve only just started with you.”

The weight of his words had you biting back a smile, “You know I can handle more.”

Liking the wit of your reply, George nodded once, “Alright. Come on, then.”

He gave your hands a little tug to encourage you to follow him off the couch. You complied, carefully getting to your feet on wobbly legs, leaving one hand in his as he walked you over to the king size bed only a few paces away. He helped you onto the bed first, his eyes not leaving you as he unbuttoned his slacks and let them drop to the floor around his ankles. When he stepped out of them, he rested one knee on the mattress and then the other, joining you on the bed. 

You had barely settled yourself in place against the down-filled pillows and the headboard before he was grabbing your ankle and yanking you to the middle of the bed towards him. You yelped in surprise, the sound fading out into a giddy giggle at his action. He shared in your sweet smile as he moved hurriedly to nudge your thighs apart again, setting his hands on the backs of your knees to guide your legs up towards your chest, and he leaned down to lap at your pussy again. 

“Fuck, sir-” you squealed out habitually, the title falling from your lips like second nature. 

George groaned against you at the sound of your voice addressing him as such as he lowered himself down onto his stomach to get closer to you, his eyes trained on your glistening cunt. He then took your lips in his mouth for a greedy suckle, pulling away to watch them settle back in place. His hand moved towards you and he slicked up two fingers in your dripping pussy, slipping up and down over your cunt that was slick in your cum and his spit. 

“God, baby, you taste divine.” he purred, leaning back down to pepper sloppy kisses to your clit while his fingers still caressed the outside of your throbbing cunt cruelly. 

“You’re insatiable.” you giggled breathily, draping your arms above your head, legs falling open to the sides to permit him in, eyelashes fluttering.

“Mm,” George pursed his lips and let a string of spit slip onto your clit, watching it drip down to his fingers that picked it up in their precise strokes, “you’re magic.”

He then slid his middle finger inside you slowly, revelling in the small gasp you let out at the gentle intrusion. In gentle motions, he thrusted it into you lazily, easing you into it, and he turned his head to kiss over your inner thigh. 

Your pleasant hum was muffled by the rumble of thunder from the storm outside, leaving the two of you in a cocoon of isolation and pleasure. Despite the respite from the rain the hotel suite offered the both of you, you found yourself as soaked as ever, all thanks to George and his natural perfection. The proof was housed in the faint lewd sound of your pussy taking his finger, making the filthiest wet sounds as he thrusted it into you in firm but slow motions. 

He groaned softly at the sound, his eyes trained in on the way your cunt hugged his single digit, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth in awe-struck concentration. His other hand slid around your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder and, without a word, he leaned down again to give your clit more sloppy kisses while his finger kept its pace inside you. 

“My God, how are you so good at this?” you whined to the ceiling, one hand sliding down the pulled tight bed sheets to grasp onto his forearm as he held you on his mouth. 

George’s soft chuckle was hot against your damp skin and he pulled away from you again, a thick string of spit and cum connecting his plush lips to your pussy, “You just bring out the best in me, baby.”

You moaned dreamily to the ceiling, “Oh, why did we ever leave Paris?”

“I don’t know.” George answered breathily before sliding a second finger inside you, repeating a little quieter, “I don’t know.”

Your body writhed slightly under the added bit of stretch as he sunk both fingers knuckle deep inside you. Your hand gripped a little tighter to his forearm as he kept your leg over his shoulder, keeping you open for him to do with as he pleased. 

“You’re such a good girl for me.” George cooed warmly, starting to move his two fingers in steady thrusts inside you as he leaned down to get his tongue on your clit again. 

He had already made you come twice on his mouth but it was clear he wasn’t settling for only twice. Not that you would ever complain as he had you sprawled out on the king size bed, cradled on expensive sheets, catered to generously by his heavenly tongue and fingers. You were already so sensitive that the touch of his tongue almost hurt, making you squirm on the bed sheets with a broken cry to the ceiling. 

“Baby-” you whined, elongating the vowels, stretching them out so sweetly, needily. 

“Mmm,” George replied against your pussy, his eyes flicking up to look at you as his face was nestled between your thighs. His long lashes kissed the tops of his flushed cheeks with every blink, keeping his attention on your every little reaction as his mouth only helped to slick up his fingers that were still nudging inside you in precise pumps. 

Your breathing was falling shallow as you grabbed tighter onto his forearm until indents from the pressure of your fingers were appearing over his skin, choking out a pitchy, “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

He didn’t let up, keeping his pace going just like that, nudging his two fingers up into that warm squishy spot inside you that had your toes curling. The grip of your hand on his arm had him shifting a little to, instead, intertwine his fingers of his free hand with yours, pinning you down across your bare stomach so you could grip onto his hand instead. Your hips were also starting to jump against his face, over sensitive and so painfully close, and his arm helped to hold you down as he needed you. 

You came for the third time with a muted shriek to the ceiling, back arching and jaw clenching and your entire body tensing up. The heel of your foot pressed between his shoulder blades as the tension rolled through you in messy shudders and he worked you right through it on his fingers and tongue. George had you so sensitive and so pleasured that when you came, you were literally leaking down his hand and his wrist. He groaned hungrily at the feeling, dipping his mouth down to lap at your cunt as you creamed around his fingers.

“Oh my God,” you whined, “Holy shit.”

George pulled away from you slowly, a boastful proud smile on his face, his lips and chin glistening salaciously. He sat back on his haunches, situated between your lazily spread legs as your thighs trembled and your chest was heaving for breath. His warm hands caressed your shins, your knees, your thighs, as he stared down at you. 

You tried to get your senses about you for a moment, blinking up at him as he knelt above you like that, framed by two of the posts and the top bar of the bed frame like a piece of artwork himself. His handsome face offered you a little wink, his own chest heaving a little too, drawing your attention to the rosy flush that started on his cheeks and spilled down his neck and over his collarbones. He was still in his lounge pants, the front tented very obviously from his arousal, the waistband hanging low on his hips so you could almost see his v-line. 

“You alright?” he asked with a soft chuckle. 

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice coming out a little rough from your trio of orgasms, and you draped an arm over your forehead, “Jesus.”

George chuckled and leaned down to kiss your lips once, twice, and then you were moving your arm to rest over his shoulder so he could have better access for more kisses. Your shared kisses were breathless and steamy and tasted like pussy but they were from him and so you deemed them to be entirely perfect. 

You almost protested when he broke away from your lips, until you saw him reaching for the waistband of his pants and it kept you quiet. With a bite to your bottom lip, you watched as he shuffled down his pants and boxers, letting his achingly hard cock free to the warm air of the hotel suite. George managed to drop the last of his clothes off the side of the bed, leaving his body as bare as yours, knelt before you like a marble statue without tearing his eyes away from your lustful gaze. 

“Condoms?” he asked politely, his voice low and warm. 

“No.” you replied easily, “I want it like last time.”

“You sure?”

You nodded up at him, dragging your hands down his abs and watching how his muscles flexed under your taunting touch, “Please.”

A small smile flickered over George’s lips as he nudged your legs apart a little wider to shuffle closer at your confirmation. With your legs hooked over his thighs, he could grab your hips and tug you a bit closer and you let him move you how he wanted. You found that although you barely knew him, you had always entirely trusting of him since the moment you had met in that bar in Paris a year ago. In another world, maybe that would have been your fatal flaw but, here, now, he never gave you a reason to doubt him. 

George reached over you and grabbed one of the pillows from the top of the bed and shoved it under your hips, presenting you at the perfect height. When you were settled, he exhaled with a quiet, satisfied, “There.”

George leaned forward, setting a hand on the mattress beside your head, while his other dropped between your bodies to angle himself against your messy cunt. Your hands went to his shoulders for something to hold onto, staring up at his handsome face above you as he got situated. It was still hard to believe that this was truly happening; that—after a year—you had yet again ran into him by some twist of fate in another foreign part of the world. Then, his eyes met yours, that piercing blue that rendered you speechless, and, in a cautious push, he eased into you slowly. 

You couldn’t help if it was overstated in erotica and adult films, the glorious pressure of his dick sinking into you truly did make your eyes roll back.

George chuckled faintly, rich with pleasure and an ounce of pride, “Mm, my God, you like that, baby?”

“Yeah,” you nearly purred, sliding your hands over his shoulders to link your hands together behind his neck as your eyelashes fluttered, “you feel so perfect.”

“Yeah? You feel incredible for me, my darling.” he praised warmly, leaning down to lock your lips in a passionate kiss as he bottomed out inside you, filling you entirely. 

You moaned softly against his lips from his velvet words, clutching onto the back of his neck at the burning pressure across your hips as your body stretched to accommodate him. He slowly started to move, grinding into you sensually so you could feel every thick inch of him as deep as he could go until your eyes started to burn with tears. 

“M’my God.” you withered, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, breaking your kiss as your head tilted back against the pillow. He was so deep that the pleasure of his presence was walking on a tightrope with hints of pain, enough that it gave you just what you wanted and just what you had craved for months and months. 

George eased out of you a little more, starting to find a proper pace as he sped up the rhythm of his hips just enough to pull a warm moan from his chest. His eyes locked on yours beneath him, his forearms pressed flat to the mattress on either side of your head, holding him only centimeters above you, powerful and glorious. You could have stared at him for hours just like that. 

As he found a sustainable pace that was equal parts thrilling and gloriously savouring, the steady pace of his cock pistoning into you created the most lewd sound that filled the hotel suite. The sounds of the heavy rain through the windows was nothing compared to the squelch of your cunt pulling him in with every firm thrust. 

George let out a low groan, speaking to you in words bathed in lust, “Jesus, you’re so fucking creamy, baby…just listen to that…”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip despite your smile up at him, hands tight on the back of his neck as you stared into each other’s eyes. You held your breath for a moment to just listen, dizzy on the reality of how wet he had made you that his every thrust sounded absolutely soaking. Your heart raced. Oh, God, it was true that only he could do this to you; you were sure you were entirely doomed. 

The sound of it had the two of you sharing soft breathy laughs that were soon swallowed up by more kisses. Everything was so wet—your tongue-led kisses, the connection of your bodies, the storm raging through the closed curtains—and you wanted to linger in it forever. With your legs draped over his thighs, he could reach generously deep with every precise curling thrust, taking you over with such ease. 

Your hands slid down from his neck, pressing your fingers into the muscle of his back instead, holding him on top of you as he kissed you breathless. It was hardly considered kissing anymore as the two of you were so drunk on lust that you were more so just licking into each other’s mouths, dizzy on the pleasure of your bodies tangled together on the luxury bed. Grinding and writhing and tugging, the two of you moved together in a lazy, needy sea of sheets and limbs, feeling entirely satisfied and yet not satisfied enough. 

George’s fingers slid into your hair, grasping gently onto the roots as his lips broke away from yours to let his breath fall in pants against your flushed cheek. He groaned handsomely as he continued his slow, deep, curling thrusts into your pliant body, holding you in place to keep looking at each other in unbreakable longing gazes. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.” he exhaled, voice strained in lust, “You look perfect…you feel perfect.”

Your hands dragged down his back and back up again, confessing in a whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” he responded easily. 

His fingers scratched gently against your scalp, just adding to the dizzyingly beautiful moment you were sharing as he stared into your eyes in the dim warm light of the hotel suite. He was inside you but you felt like he still wasn’t close enough. Your legs shifted and you linked your ankles behind his back, heels pressing into the flesh of his ass to pull him into his every flexing thrust. 

George moaned lowly, his panted breath hot against your cheek, his eyes heavy-lidded and dreamy. He bucked his hips against yours a little harder, punctuating every thrust with a bit more emphasis, forcing a gasp from your throat every time. 

“Mm, fuck, George-” you withered, voice tight as your fingers pressed tighter into the flesh of his back, staring up into his star-studded eyes. 

“Yeah-” he groaned warmly. “That’s it…”

You were so attuned to the way he fucked you, the way he tended to you so generously, that every stroke had your mind taken up with nothing but thoughts of his perfect dick. 

With a sudden urge to repay the favour, you slid your hands down to his chest and gently pushed at his pecs to ease him back. George literally whined in protest but took your hint, stopped, and carefully pulled out, his gaze searching yours for some explanation why you cut it short when it was feeling so good. 

“You okay?” he asked breathily. 

“Yeah, just-” you shifted on the bed to move from laying on your back to your knees. 

George ran a hand through his hair as he sat back on his haunches, his chest heaving as his eyes followed your every move. You shifted around to face him properly, lowering down almost onto your stomach, ass up, until you were eyelevel with his dick. It was still glistening with your essence, slicked up in you, and a small pearl of precome slipped out of the tip as if to prove how achingly hard he was for you. 

You wrapped a hand around him and leaned down to lick it up, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, before finally sinking your mouth down around him. George let out a soft hiss at the first touch, his head dropping back just a little. 

“O-Oh my-” he exhaled shakily, bunching your hair back out of your face and holding it in a makeshift ponytail in one hand to watch as you started to bob your head into his lap. “Jesus-” he withered, his tongue darting out to lick his lips before his teeth were sinking into his bottom one. 

The weight of him on your tongue made you salivate with desire so much that it was almost embarrassing, dribbling down the shaft of his dick and over your hand as you worked him off. You let out a hungry moan, hollowing your cheeks a little on every up stroke to really lean into that greedy suction that made his eyes roll. 

“Yeah…good girl.” he groaned handsomely, “You know just what I like, don’t you, baby?”

You hummed in agreement around his cock in your mouth, eyelashes fluttering closed to give him your full focus, bobbing your head a little more insistently in time with the twisting tugs of your hand. It made the most lewd sound as you took him into your mouth over and over, overpowering the noise of the storm through the closed curtains with the wet squelch of your mouth instead. 

“Mhm…you’re just loving this cock like a good girl, aren’t you?” he purred, his free hand sliding down between your shoulder blades and over the curve of your ass in the air as he watched you intently. There was that stunning dirty talk he seemed to offer so effortlessly; the kind that no one else seemed to be able to match since Paris. It just made you want to give him more, desperate to pull more of that wonderful praise from his filthy mouth. George gave your ass a little smack, “Yeah, you are. Perfect girl…perfect mouth.”

You moaned around him, keeping the pace of your mouth going even at the slightly awkward angle leaning downwards from your knees. But how could you ever think about moving when his hand was caressing the curve of your ass and his fingers were teasing over your sopping pussy, taunting you with what you wanted. 

Silently pleading with him, you pulled your mouth off his dick with a thick string of spit still connecting you while your eyes looked up his toned body to his flushed face. He looked like a marble statue like that; his muscles firm and precise and glorious, and you leaned in to press a wet kiss just under his navel. Your hand kept stroking his cock while you trailed slow open mouthed kisses along the stripe of downy hair that lead to the base of his dick, showering him in adoration. 

George groaned prettily from above you, his fingers gently rubbing at your pussy until he was sinking two inside you. You nuzzled your face into his trimmed hair, breathing him in through a pleasant moan as he started to finger you lazily. With your hand still moving on him, you turned your head to the side to drag your tongue along the shaft of his dick, your hot breath mingling with your spit to have him shivering. 

“Oh my God, baby,” he groaned gorgeously, pulling his fingers out of you to smear your creamy arousal up to your asshole, “this okay?”

“Mm…mhm…” you mumbled against him.

George pulled his hand back to spit on his fingers too before lowering them back down to prod at your asshole before slowly sinking one inside. You smothered your tight groan by stuffing his dick back in your mouth, letting him feel the vibrations of your balance of slight pain and immense pleasure. He was gentle with you—he always had been, even back in Paris—giving you a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion before he was then pushing two fingers into your cunt at the same time. 

Your eyes fluttered shut with a groan around his dick, struggling to keep a pace as he lazily fingered you like that. He was still sitting back on his heels, knees spread to give your face ample space to fit between his thighs as you went down on him like a woman starved. The distraction of his fingers had his one hand that was still holding your hair back starting to tighten a little. 

“You can take more, can’t you?” he cooed down to you, gently pushing at the back of your head to try and guide you deeper on his dick, “Loosen that pretty throat of yours and let me in.”

You were never one to deny him anything and so you let yourself take him a little deeper by the guidance of his grasp on your hair. Your hands dropped to the bed sheets beneath him, fingers fisting the expensive white linen while you gagged around him as he reached the back of your throat.

George withered from above you, his voice thick with lust, “That’s it…that’s it, baby. Ohh, yes-”

You could feel yourself pulsing around his fingers buried inside you at the salacious tone of his voice; the pure, raw pleasure that dripped from his every word. Craving more of that, you forced yourself deeper, forcing yourself to choose him over air, burying yourself down his cock until your nose touched the coarse hair dotting his pelvis. Gagging sloppily, you could feel your throat constricting around him, tears burning your eyes as he took up every one of your senses.

His fingers pulled out of you with a sharp intake of breath from his chest, his hand blindly reaching out to grasp onto one of the posts of the bed frame for support, smearing glistening remnants of your pleasure over the expensive wood. You pulled off of him to breathe, gasping through a wet cough as thick strings of spit connected your lips to the tip of his cock, streaking up your hand in it as you stroked him off in needy flicks of your wrist.

Barely taking a second to catch your breath, you nuzzled downwards to get your mouth on his balls, tonguing at them pathetically as if you wanted to cover every last inch of him in your physical appreciation. George’s hand was still tangled in your hair, the once almost neat make-shift ponytail now down to a messy fistful grasp, and his fingers tightening in your roots as he pulled your face downwards some more. His panted breaths and handsome moans were incentive enough.

The sound of your mouth on him was lewd but you just lowered your chest towards the bed some more, wanting to keep giving and giving and giving. It was hard to keep the pace of your hand on his dick with your head nearly under him but you weren’t one to give up; certainly not when the challenge involved him. 

“Hang on-” George panted, gently guiding you back a little so he could change his position. 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and watched with lust-blown eyes as he shifted into a proper sitting position in front of you, propped up on his arms with his legs spread wide. He cocked his head to you—an invitation to ‘come here’—and you crawled closer. 

Sliding down onto your arms between his legs, you were smiling like a kid in a candy shop, trailing kisses up one of his muscular thighs before settling in place. Your arms looped under his thighs, helping him get a little more adjusted in silent discussion before you were dipping down to lick at his perineum. 

George’s head fell back with a tight groan, adjusting to the feeling of your mouth on him again after almost a year. You couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you, moving a hand to gently cup his balls and lift them out of the way so you could move deeper between his spread legs. Your tongue lapped at his asshole, teasing it just a little as your eyes fluttered closed. It was easy to let the lust and need drive you, guiding you into instinctive motions of licking and kissing wetly at his tight rim of muscle just to pull more sweet sounds from his pouted lips.

“Ohh, yeah. I missed you so much, darling.” he withered to the ornate ceiling. 

You hummed pleasantly against him, using your entire flat tongue to tend to him in greedy licks until you were almost making out with his asshole. Your messy hand blindly moved up to grab onto his swollen cock, giving him a few messy tugs at the same time, giving him as much as you could. Back in Paris, you never really got a chance to linger in this moment, really tend to him in ways no one had before, far too consumed with his promise of more. But here, now, you wanted to give him all that he deserved. 

Your free hand pressed your fingernails into the flesh of his thighs as you continued to swirl your tongue around his asshole, prodding at it, lapping at all the right places that pulled more of those sweet sounds from his mouth. You nuzzled your face closer, pushing your tongue inside just a little, loving the way he honestly whimpered. You could have stayed down there for hours just making him feel good, showering him in well deserved affection and adoration until he saw stars. Unfortunately, your neck started to cramp before you could satisfy that visceral craving. 

Smoothly, you pulled away with one more wet tongue-led kiss and moved up his body instead to lean in towards his lips. George didn’t even flinch as his hand came up to cradle your face and he guided you in for a sloppy kiss. Your lips locked like second nature, tongues clashing with practiced ease even after your year apart. Your hunger for him was at extenuating heights, burning hot through your veins, and you found yourself almost crawling onto his lap as he was still splayed out over the bed on his elbows. 

“Okay-” George chuckled into your mouth, sliding his hand down to your throat to gently let your kisses slow, “wait, wait.”

You paused long enough to let him adjust himself to be laying flat on the bed, having to scoot downwards a little so as to not have his head hanging off the end. His feet kicked the decorative pillows to the floor to give his lanky body room to stretch out but his hands were greedily pulling you back on top of him. His large hands fit perfectly on your hips, almost manhandling you to straddle his lap again, and you didn’t need instruction to reach between you and angle his dick up against your almost neglected pussy. 

You were so fucking wet that it barely took any effort to sink down on him, allowing you to bottom out easily in one smooth motion. The both of you shared pleasured exhales as your eyes found each other again through the warmly lit hotel suite and your hands dropped down gently against his flushed and heaving chest. Without a second needed to adjust, you both began to move with an unparalleled need; as if you were both addicts finally receiving the hit of the drug you so craved.

“Yeah-” you squeaked out a little as his upwards thrusts met your insistent bounces right on. 

“Mm,” George groaned underneath you, his teeth sunken into his bottom lip and his hands holding tightly to your hips, “fucking hell.”

He stared up at you with blown wide eyes, the aquamarine of his irises almost eclipsed with the black of his pupils. The room was filled with a chorus of panted breaths and pleasured moans and the lewd clap of slick skin on skin, the heat between you rising tenfold. You could hardly keep your eyes open as he rammed up into you from below, your bounces fading to a stop as he took you over with overwhelming power. He could take whatever he wanted for you; he always did so extremely well, anyway.

Your hair was falling into your face with how you were leaning over him a little and he didn’t hesitate before he was letting go of your hips to raise his hands up to tuck your hair behind your ears. In doing so, he then grabbed two snug handfuls of the hair at the nape of your neck to hold it back for you, also holding your head in place to keep your eyes on his. 

“Ohh my God, baby-” you whimpered, fingernails pressing into his pecs. 

“Yeah?” George gave you a little reassuring nod through his honey-sweet coo, his full eyebrows raising a little as he watched your every expression, “Yeah, just like this?”

“Yes, sir.” you cried out. Your voice was almost trembling as much as your legs. 

His strength and energy was unrelenting, shoving up into you in rapid succession that had you almost seeing stars from how incredibly good it felt. Your hands, one at a time, moved from his chest to land heavily on the mattress on either side of his head, struggling to hold yourself upright. The sounds that tumbled from your mouth hardly felt like they were your own; so out of your mind with pleasure as tears burned the corners of your eyes that you let your instincts take over, pouring moans and whimpers and breaths of his name to the walls of the hotel suite. 

“I know, I know,” George purred to your sounds of ecstasy through his own slight breathlessness from his exertion, still staring up at your face, “You’re taking it like such a good girl, baby.”

He kept one hand in the back of your hair, gripped in a tight fist, and tugged your head back a little to keep that addicting balance of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. His other hand dropped down to deliver a sharp slap (or two or three) to your ass as he fucked up into you in relentless pumps, branding the quivering flesh in a pink blush. You arched your back just a little under the stinging impact, only causing yourself to be positioned on top of him at that perfect angle to have him ramming into your g-spot dead on. 

Your noises halted suddenly in your chest, the air freezing in your lungs, the pleasure just tearing through you as you gaped dumbly to the closed curtains across the room. The sensations filled you up to the brim until you felt like you might entirely combust from it all. This was a dream. Oh, God, this had to be a fucking dream. 

George groaned tightly from underneath you, speaking through his teeth, “I love it when you’re loud but I love it even more when you go silent…fuck.”

You could barely hear yourself choke out his name in the most pathetic sounding voice. The bed sheets beneath him were bunched in your white-knuckled grip, tighter and tighter, as you felt every nerve ending inside you coiling and burning hot. A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye, trailing past your fluttering eyelashes and flushed cheek, hopeless with pleasure. 

“You wanna come for me, darling?” George spoke up to you, his breath hot against your face, addicting. His words spoke wonders to those buzzing nerve endings of yours, sizzling in your brain, pleasure injected into your veins with every syllable, “Come all over my cock…show me who it belongs to. That’s it…come on.”

Your pussy gripped around him tighter and tighter with your impending orgasm threatening to hit you at any moment, making you feel so much more full of him. George grunted hard beneath you at the added effort it took to keep thrusting up into you when you got like that, having to grip onto your hip and your hair a little tighter. 

“Come on.” he groaned tightly, determination throbbing through his veins, “Fucking come for me, baby.”

It hit you like a train, knocking the air out of you for a second as the prickling pleasure took you over in drowning waves and made your ears ring. Your entire body quivered on top of him uncontrollably, desperate moans and cries tumbling from your pouted, swollen lips. George matched your harmonies perfectly, making the handsomest sounds beneath you as the vice-like grip of your orgasm had his head tossing back against the bed with a strained groan. The veins in his neck bulged a little as he tensed up, releasing your hair to grab your hips in both hands.

Your right hand flew back to his chest for some sort of stability as his thrusts stuttered for a moment and you greedily pushed yourself back on him in taunting bounces, finishing him off in seconds. George’s large hands gripped at your ass, almost subconsciously pulling your cheeks apart as if to keep himself as deep as humanly possible as he came. 

There was no feeling you missed more in the prior year than that of him filling you up in thick warm spurts. Your eyes fluttered with bliss as your teeth sank into your bottom lip, moaning softly at the salacious feeling; something saved only for him. As you trembled on top of him, your hand on his heaving chest pressed little crescents into his pecs as you peered down between your bodies, pushing down on him in a few lazy motions to help him ride out his orgasm. 

“Fucking hell.” George finally stumbled out when he could finally catch his bearings, his accent thick and slurred with pleasure.

You could only let out a breathy giggle and you carefully shifted off of him and collapsed into a puddle on the mattress beside him, falling perfectly into the crook of his arm. George sighed warmly and turned his head to press a smiling kiss to your temple, his arm tightening around your shoulders to draw you closer. It was easy to melt into him like that; as if you were meant to be at his side, your body moulding against the shape of his like second nature, your arm snaked around his middle in return. The silent hotel room welcomed your shared panted breaths to the high ornate ceiling, chests rising and falling in time.

George’s lips were resting against your temple still, his eyes contently closed, just trying to catch his bearings. The heat of his every breath fell against your face, reminding you just how real this all was. Your arm tightened around him. Your hand fit perfectly around the side of his torso; feeling how his body was lean and firm with muscle, tightening and relaxing under your palm with his every heavy breath. George let out a small hum, his fingers wrapping around your forearm as you held him like that, skin against flushed skin. 

“I’m always just waiting to wake up right now.” George confessed in a whisper into your hair before leaving a kiss to the same spot.

You let a small smile prick at the corner of your mouth at his words, replying with a soft, “Me too.”

“God,” he breathed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling as his arm stretched above, easing comfortably into the moment. He held you close, tucked securely under his other arm, “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

His fingers danced idly over your bare shoulder, rising shivers in their wake. 

He then added a gentle, “With me.”

You turned into him a little more, draping a leg over one of his just to make sure your bodies were pressed together as closely as possible. You then lifted your head up from his arm and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek and then another to the corner of his mouth, and he effortlessly turned his face towards you to accept a third kiss to his lips. 

It was a little ungraceful with how you were both smiling into it but it didn’t phase either of you. Your hand slid over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips and the faint dusting of hair between his pecs, absentmindedly touching him as your lips locked in lingering sensual kisses. His tongue played lazily against yours, delicate and sweet, both of you just wanting to feel close to each other after the intense passion you had shared. 

Finally, after a blissful eternity, you broke away from his lips to reply to his earlier statement, bumping your nose against his, “Nowhere else I’d rather be, really.”

George’s face broke into a handsome grin and he tangled his hand in the back of your hair to pull your lips on his for another kiss. You rested down against his chest, matching the pace of his lips with breathless fervor, unable to get enough of him or to truly be entirely satisfied but in the best way possible. 

When you broke apart again, he rested his head back down on the bed with a content sigh. He slid his hand along the side of your face and he swiped the pad of his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, staring at you warmly. Your fingers drummed against his chest before you spoke as you started to get up, “I’m just going to get some water and towel.”

“I’ll get it.” George jumped in politely. 

“Oh-”

He shifted out from underneath you and gently guided you to lay back properly against the bed and the headboard before he disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face in your moment alone, stretching wider and wider until it became an absolute grin. You felt amazing—your body felt amazing—and he was the perfect gentleman, just how you had remembered and sworn into your memory. 

George returned only seconds later with one of the hotels plush white towels over his arm and two glasses of water in hand. He was still entirely naked with faint remnants of his gentle blush down the sides of his neck and over his chest, hair tousled and eyes shining. 

“Here you are.” he said gently as he reached the side of the bed and held out one of the glasses to you. 

“Thank you.” you replied in a soft whisper. 

He then passed over the towel to you next and you adjusted your position against the pillows and headboard to spread your legs and mop yourself up a little from the mess that was leaking out of you. You didn’t stress too much about it and, rather, tucked the towel under your bum instead so you could focus on your hydration and the handsome man that was joining you on the bed. 

“You know,” you spoke casually as you lifted your water glass to your lips, “your refractory period is insane.”

George smiled at your statement, almost pridefully, and he explained with a shrug as he situated himself into the spot beside you, “I do a lot of cardio.”

You figured that was a euphemism for something else; something relating to the hints he gave to you back in Paris about his lack of desire to settle down. You ignored the unforeseen pang in your chest as you replied playfully, “Should I be jealous?”

George chuckled warmly, “No, like, genuinely cardio…at the gym.”

“Oh,” you let out a breathy laugh along with him, trying not to sound too relieved, “makes sense.”

There was a moment of silence as you both sipped your water; thick but not awkward. You mind pondered his admission of his gym-going tendencies. It explained a lot in terms of how he was in bed; how easily he could manipulate you, how long he could last, not to mention how he looked. Your eyes drifted back to his backpack still sitting on one of the couches across the spacious hotel suite, hiding many secrets within. 

His lips on your jaw startled you back to reality for a moment. Breaking into a bashful smile at his slow kiss, you let out a small pleasant hum, lifting your water glass for one more sip. At some point while you were momentarily distracted, he had put his glass down on the small table beside the bed, leaving his hand free and faintly cold from the water to ghost over the side of your neck. You shivered, tilting your head to the side instinctively to give him room to lick a warm stripe up the side of your neck before leaving soft open-mouthed kisses under your ear. He nipped at your earlobe. 

“You up for round two?” he asked, his voice warm and low in his chest. 

“Round two? More like round five.” you countered with a dreamy chuckle, counting out how many times he had brought you to orgasm that night thus far. You followed it up with, “You can go again already?”

“Just about.” George's breath sent chills down your neck as his thumb, resting firmly on the side of your throat, slid slowly around your throat with deliberate purpose. “If I keep kissing you a little longer…”

His hand drifted away from your throat and down your naked body, his head resting against yours as his lust-blown eyes trailed his fingers down to your chest and he pinched one of your nipples lazily.

“...If you keep laying here like a fucking goddess a little longer.”

You turned your face towards his so you were forehead to forehead, tilting yours up slightly to meet his lips in a sensual kiss. When his lips parted wider to expertly swallow up yours, his hand splayed entirely around your breast and gave it a firm squeeze at the same time, pulling a shaky exhale from your nose. You grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him impossibly closer, licking your way into his mouth until the coldness of his tongue from his water made you shiver. 

When you pulled away long enough to set your glass safely on the bedside table, his eyes followed your every move with a hunger you couldn’t ignore. The heat sizzled between you, his touches over your chest, your body, feeling like a chemical reaction at the atomic level. It lured you towards him again, that natural magnetic pull you felt towards each other since the first moment your eyes met in that Paris bar almost a year earlier. 

You moved back in to kiss him again, but George turned his head slightly, letting your lips graze his cheek. He lingered there, savoring the charged closeness between you, and his breath came soft and steady, drawing out the tension before he finally spoke.

“Maybe you could, like,” George licked his lips, watching his fingers swirl around the hardened bud of your nipple, “play with yourself a little for me?”

His voice was as smooth as fine whiskey, rolling through your body like intoxicated warmth. You let his words settle over you, full of intense desire and need that only you could fulfil. 

“You really want that?” you questioned faintly. 

George nodded with a low hum as if he were already imagining it. His blue eyes raised to meet your gaze, insistent and sure of himself, drawing you into this orbit of salacious ideas and lustful exploration. It all swirled all around you. Then, without thinking, your gaze drifted back across the room to your suitcase positioned beside the couch.

“Wait here.” you said.

George’s eyes followed you as you got up from beside him and patted over to your bags in the nude. He tucked an arm behind his head as he lounged back comfortably on the king size bed, curiously watching you as you unzipped your suitcase. You rifled through your pristinely packed items before coming out with your toiletry bag and finally unzipping that as well. Finally, you found what you were looking for. 

When you returned to the bed, setting one knee on the plush mattress and then the other, you held your bullet vibrator out to him with a cheeky grin. George’s eyes flashed with intrigue and almost a hint of pride, a sly smile spreading across his face. He grabbed you around the waist and yanked you back down beside him. 

Giggling at his impetuous pull, you fell against the pillow beside him again, slinging your arm around his shoulders as he dipped down to kiss you smoothly. His hand impatiently went to nudge your legs apart but you were already spreading them yourself, welcoming his fingers against your leaking cunt in messy caresses that pulled eager moans from both of your chests. The towel beneath you wrinkled. 

You broke away from his lips to look down your body, pressing the power button of your vibrator as you did so until the steady buzz filled the hotel room. George let out a warm, impatient hum. For the week you had been in Milan for this business trip, you had resorted to your trusty vibrator at night a few times, your mind having wandered to memories of him. And now, on your last night in the city, your fantasies were personified into the handsome man lounged out naked beside you on the king size bed.

The touch of the vibrator against your clit made you flinch. A smirk pricked at the corner of George’s mouth as he stared down at you, propped up on one hand on the mattress with his entire body turned towards you. His perfectly straight teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his eyes drifting down your bare chest, your stomach, your hips, to where your hand was between your legs. 

He watched you for a second in silence, his free hand moving to gently caress your leg, his slender fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He had satisfied you greatly since you had come together in that hotel room but also left you so sensitive to touch that the buzzing toy almost felt like too much. You grazed it ever so faintly over your swollen clit, just enough to fill your veins with warmth and make your breathing a little heavier; just enough to get you going again for him. 

George’s hand kept its firm caresses along your inner thigh, his blue eyes focused on your hand moving lazily between your legs. He licked his lips, his voice sure of himself as he asked cockily, “Did you think of me when you touched yourself this last year?” 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, the rising pleasure making you all too honest, “every time.”

The chuckle that left his lips was low and rumbling, his reply nothing more than an exhale, “I thought of you too.”

George drifted his hand closer towards you, fingers barely touching the outside of your pussy, just under where you held your vibrator. He teased you with the ghostly presence of his touch, pulling a needy whine from your throat while your hips fainty tried to move towards his hand. Your head spun with the confession that he thought of you when he got himself off too…the assurance that it hadn’t been just a one sided longing over the last year. You wondered if he was just as pathetic as you: thinking about your night together while having sex with other people, everyone else just so unfulfilling in comparison. 

Giving into you without hesitation, George slicked two fingers up in the slickness of your pussy and then slowly sunk them inside you. Your head arched back against the pillow with a strangled gasp, your vibrator gently sliding back and forth over your clit in languid motions that he matched the pace of with his fingers. 

While doing so, he continued his thought aloud, “This whole year I couldn’t stop thinking of how it felt to come inside you…how you begged for it.”

“George…” you withered.

“And now look at you, here with me again, filled right up.” he purred, fingers curling a little more insistently inside you, but his eyes were now focused right on your face. 

Despite the towel beneath you that was still catching the excess cum that leaked out of you, there was still enough for George’s fingers to be making the lewdest squelching sound with every precise thrust. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as the sound filled the room, harmonized with your panted breaths and little whimpers and the rustle of sheets as you squirmed on the bed and grabbed the duvet in a tight grip.

But then he was pulling his fingers out and snatching the vibrator from your hand and turning it off with nothing more than a firm, “Come here.”

You heaved for breath at the sudden absence of touch, blinking over at him as he moved off the bed to stand at the side, his other hand grabbing your ankle to pull you after him. His insistence had you giggling, following his lead to situate yourself at the edge of the bed, legs naturally falling open for him. You draped your hair out over the crinkled bed sheets as the heat was once again rising over your skin.

George set the vibrator between his lips so he could wrap both hands around your thighs and yank you closer to the edge of the bed with a small grunt, positioning you right where he wanted you. You stared up at him standing before you, his naked body bathed in the warm light of the hotel suite, and as your eyes raked down his toned figure, you could see how hard he was again. He pulled the vibrator from his lips, leaving it between his fingers like a cigarette, as his large hands slid up your legs, angling them straight up his torso until your calves were resting on his shoulders. 

“Oh my God.” you groaned at the visual of the position you found yourselves in, the godlike power he held as he loomed over you like that. 

“Yeah?” George taunted as he adjusted his footing on the rich hardwood floors. “Already so needy and whiny and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Please,” you peered up at him under heavy lashes, “please, fuck me.”

“Mm, such a good girl.” George purred, using his hand with the vibrator to keep your legs against his shoulders while his other moved to slide his fingers over your slick pussy. 

He rubbed his four fingers between your lips in sloppy, ungraceful movements just to hear how wet you were—and to slick his hand up in it. Because then he was wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock and slapping the tip against your clit a few times. 

You squeaked in surprise, habitually trying to close your legs with how sensitive you still were, but he held the power over you to keep you how he wanted you: legs open. George kept slapping the heavy head of his dick against your cunt a few more times, just to watch you squirm and to hear how fucking soaked you were.

“George-” you whined, your voice shaky and pitchy and so unlike your voice that you hardly recognized it when it spilled past your lips. 

He didn’t offer a reply and he didn’t need to, simply angling his cock just right to sink so effortlessly into you. Your eyes locked on each other’s almost instinctively at that moment, faces fluttering with pleasure as your bodies connected once more, sharing withering exhales as he sunk deeper into you until he filled you completely. You could feel the heat of his firm thighs against the curve of your ass, proving how closely you were intertwined. 

“Motherfucker.” George swore through his teeth, an expletive almost entirely out of character for him; so straight to the point and vulgar. His eyelashes fluttered shut and just as they did you could have sworn his eyes were almost rolling. 

His hips pulled back slowly and when he shoved them back into you, he let out a tight grunt, his hands tight around your ankles on either side of his head. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, staring up at him as he started to set a steady pace, his testing thrusts forcing gentle, needy moans from your throat. 

“Yeah…good girl.” he purred, dropping a hand down to push two fingers in your mouth, “Good fucking girl…such an insatiable little cockslut, aren’t you, darling?”

Your lips wrapped around his fingers with ease, sucking on them greedily as if using them as some way to ground yourself in reality, and you replied to him with an agreeable hum that was muffled by his two digits. George thrusted into you a little harder, a little faster, his jaw clenching as if in intense concentration, holding himself back and yet still wanting to give you everything he could. He wasn’t going crazy with it, just precise, firm thrusts that gave you that warm addicting pressure of being stretched and filled. 

When your head tilted back against the bed with a moan, his fingers slipped out of your mouth, dropping a string of spit over your chin. His hand, instead, went smoothly to your neck, slender fingers wrapping around your throat with a firm squeeze that had you inhaling sharply. George shoved into you in harder strokes, the intensity making your eyes scrunch closed and you let out a broken moan to the ceiling. You could feel him everywhere and so fucking deep. Your hands dropped to try and grab his hips to ease him up from the overwhelm but he was persistent.

He asked down to you lustfully, “Think you got one more in there for me, baby?”

You didn’t even need to think of an answer before it fell from your lips, “Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? Want me to make you come again?” George taunted.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” you whined, nails scratching over his hips a little. 

Your eyes were still screwed shut as his sharp thrusts into your body had you burning with red hot ecstasy. It was only when the familiar buzz of your vibrator returned did you open your eyes and you heaved your head up to watch as he set the tip of the toy against your clit.

“Ah!” you yelped as your entire body flinched at the touch, paired so torturously with the strong pistoning of his hips. You inhaled sharply through your teeth, “Fuck!”

“Hold that there for me, baby.” George demanded sweetly, his voice like honey. 

You dropped a hand down to take the vibrator from him so you could hold it right where you needed it. You mouthed a silent ‘yes’ up at him, eyes locked on his intense gaze as he kept fucking into you.

“Good girl.” he breathed warmly.

George adjusted his stance at the side of the bed a little, leaning back ever so slightly so his every thrust was angled a bit more upwards than inwards. Of course, a few more strokes and hairline adjustments and he was soon finding that soft, squishy spot inside you that had your free hand flying down to grab his forearm to dig your nails into his skin. 

“Fuck me!” you squeaked, head arching back against the bed with a broken cry. 

George held a proud smirk on his face, both hands holding your legs over his shoulders so you couldn’t run away, shoving into you in those rough rapid thrusts right where you needed him most. You heaved for breath, staring up at him in an expression that almost looked like you were entirely in pain but, in reality, you both knew it was from the pure raw pleasure that was overtaking you. 

It all felt so overwhelming that your hand moved the vibrator off your clit, needing a moment of respite from the intensity of it all. But George was all too attuned to you and he reminded you firmly, “Hold it there.”

You whimpered up at him, settling the buzzing toy down against your aching swollen clit. The combination between its vibrations and the thick pressure of his dick shoving into you in perfect precise thrusts had tears starting to leak from your eyes and trace streaks down your cheeks. Your hand pulled away again.

“Do you need me to do it?” George asked but didn’t wait for an answer before he reached down to grab your wrist to make you hold the vibrator to your clit. His grip was firm, preventing you from moving away, but everything he did was all for you; he wanted to give you exactly what you deserved. 

“George-” you sobbed out in a whiney voice that stretched out all of the syllables of his name. Your back arched off the bed, legs desperately trying to close him out but his other arm was holding them firmly up against his chest, keeping them nicely spread just enough for him to have that space to fuck into. 

“Mhm?” he egged you on, his voice thick with exertion, barely heard behind the buzzing of the vibrator and the ringing of pleasure in your ears, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Ohh my God!” you whimpered, throwing your free hand across the bed to grab onto the sheets, desperate for something to relieve you of your fast approaching orgasm that coiled inside you at impressive speed. Your toes curled over his shoulders, stuck in place with how he held you, dizzy on the rising pleasure and the heat that slicked your skin in sweat. But that building sensation within the depths of your body was a long awaited one; something you had only ever felt once before in your life…with him.

“God, look at you.” George said through his teeth, still holding your hand with the vibrator against your clit as he fucked you on the side of the bed. 

The sound that came out of your mouth was somewhere between a moan and a sob, struggling to formulate words to tell him all that he was doing to you. He rendered you absolutely speechless in the best way. All you could manage was an ungraceful chant of “yes, yes, yes” in time with his rough thrusts that gradually grew in pitch until you were almost squealing. 

For a second, your entire body almost went completely numb, vision going a little blurry around the edges, and your head tossed back against the bed with a cry that almost echoed through the high ceilings of the hotel suite. George pulled out of you for a moment, letting the gush of liquid release from you, spraying all over his abs and thighs and pelvis and soaking the edge of the bed. 

His hand kept yours pinned to your clit, forcing the vibrator to keep helping you ride out the intense orgasm as he slapped the head of his cock through the messy spurts of liquid that just kept coming out of you, praising you loudly, “Ohh, that’s it! That’s what I wanted! Good fucking girl.”

It almost felt like an out of body experience with your head so fuzzy on pleasure for a second you were sure you were dreaming, his voice sounding so echoed and far away. But then he plunged back into you, dropping a hand against the mattress on either side of your head, and started fucking into you again. It was so much wetter now—so filthily lewd—and the slap of soaked skin on skin filled the hotel suite like ease. 

Your hand dropped the vibrator absentmindedly to the bed in favour of grabbing onto him as he leaned over top of you, your ankles still against his shoulders even as your legs were literally quivering. George moaned handsomely above you, his prince-like features contorted in pleasure; jaw clenched and full eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at you. His brunette waves fell over his forehead and almost in his eyes, bouncing in time with his every sharp thrust. 

Only a few strokes later and he was coming too, his eyes squeezing shut and his entire body tensing with the muscles of his back flexing under your hands. He moaned handsomely, the look of pure euphoria on his face almost being enough to make you see stars if not for the feeling of him spurting warmly inside you. Despite it being his second orgasm of the night, he came so much, lasting longer than you had expected and filling you right up.

Your voice was shaking as he pulled out of you slowly, “Oh my God.”

“Jesus Christ.” George exhaled.

You heaved your head up to look down between your trembling legs as he gently pushed your soaking wet thighs open wider, giving you both a clear visual of how your cunt pulsed through the aftershocks of your orgasm and started to push out globs of creamy white. George licked his lips.

He looked back up at your face, “You alright?”

You smiled up at him and rested your head back down against the bed, draping an arm over your head while your chest heaved with breathlessness, “Yeah.”

With your legs splayed lazily open, he leaned back down over you to steal a kiss. Your other arm slung lazily around his shoulders to keep him there while you shared a few sloppy breathless kisses. When George pulled away again—this time to breathe—the vibrator that had been discarded in the sheets fell to the floor, noisily rattling and buzzing against the hardwood. 

“Fuck.” George muttered and bent down to retrieve it and turn it off.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to look down at yourself and the mess left behind. The expensive sheets were darkened wet beneath you and likely also down the side of the bed while your flushed, sweaty skin was also glistening in wetness between your thighs and over George’s abs and pelvis and leaking down his legs. 

“You’re magic.” you breathed in near awe.

George looked at you from under his mess of hair as he set the vibrator on the bedside table and he broke out into a modest smile, “Why’s that?”

“You’re the only one who can make me squirt.” you confessed dreamily, “God, that’s insane.”

He chuckled warmly and leaned in to give you a few soft kisses, before whispering right to you, “I’m glad I can do that for you.”

The two of you shared a smile and your hand rested on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a few more kisses before you let him stand up straight again. With a deep breath to try and gain your senses back, you asked, “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Please.” George gestured towards the bathroom, “Whatever you need.”

He took your arm to help you off the bed and onto your quivering legs and once you were steady, you thanked him softly and took yourself to the bathroom. 

You closed the door behind you and steadied yourself at the vanity, holding yourself up on the luxury marble countertop and staring at your disheveled reflection in the backlit mirror. Despite the tangles of your hair and the tear streaks on your flushed cheeks and everything else that made you look entirely ruined, the sight made an honest smile come to your face. You were floating on air.

The glass shower steamed up quickly under the stream of hot water that cascaded over your body. While you stood in the shower, your limbs quivered with the aftershocks of your night, desperate for the soothing relief of the water that slowly but surely worked to ease them. Despite how nice the water felt, you washed quickly with an unspoken urgency to get back to George, almost as if having him out of your line of vision for too long would make him entirely disappear. 

The storm was quiet by the time you emerged from the bathroom—or perhaps it had stopped earlier but you were too caught up to notice—and George was already in bed, the blankets pooled around his waist. His bare torso was on display in the dim warm light of the suite, his phone in hand and his expression flat as he typed away. He looked up when you came back into the room in only a towel. A faint smile came to his face. 

“Nice shower?” he asked politely. 

“Yeah, it was just what I needed.” you replied with a content sigh, shuffling over to your suitcase to fish out something to wear, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” he replied. 

There was a brief moment of silence as you rifled through your suitcase to find a clean pair of underwear and a shirt. Usually, George was always one to find small talk easy, to fill the silence with something or another. Now, the lingering quiet made you a tad uneasy. 

You stood and dropped your towel to start to dress. George’s eyes flicked to you over the top of his phone screen but then immediately looked back at it as if he didn’t want to be caught staring. Like he hadn’t fucked you to heaven and back only a few short minutes earlier. 

You tried your hand at small talk of your own, “Sounds like the storm is over.”

“Mhm.” George responded, his tone noncommittal, from behind his phone. 

You frowned at his uncharacteristically dull reply and finished getting into your panties and a t-shirt. Stalling for time, you gathered your clothes that had been strewn around the living area of the hotel suite earlier that evening and tucked them away in your suitcase. George didn’t speak. 

Finally, unable to avoid it any longer, you made your way over to the bed and pulled back the covers to get in beside him. George’s face remained focused on his phone, his brows slightly drawn as his thumbs tapped a steady rhythm. From the quick glance you took at his phone screen, it looked like he was composing an email. 

You spoke softly, hesitant to break the quiet tension hanging between you. “What are you doing?”

“Just some work.” he murmured, barely glancing your way.

“At 9pm on a Sunday?”

George sighed, locking his phone and setting it down on the bedside table. “Yeah,” he said, shifting slightly under the sheets to lay down beside you properly. “Booking a flight for tomorrow.”

You watched as he turned to face you, his eyes meeting yours, but there was something different—an almost wobegone look lingering behind his big blue eyes, as if he were wrestling with something he couldn’t quite put into words. Had something happened while you were in the shower?

Feeling a strange tightness in your chest, you swallowed and asked, trying to clear the suddenly suffocating silence, “Are you okay?”

For a moment, his gaze dropped, and his eyebrows knit together, his lips barely moving when he replied, “Yeah.”

But you weren’t convinced. 

“Because you’ve gone weird and quiet on me,” you pressed, keeping your voice soft but steady.

He stared at you for a second or two before letting out a heavy sigh and he reached a hand up to rub at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. You turned onto your side to face him yourself, concern filling your heart as he struggled to find his words. 

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low, “I haven’t been…entirely honest with you.”

Your stomach twisted, a dull ache settling in your chest. You managed to murmur, “Okay…” as your mind raced, bracing yourself for whatever he was holding back.

You braced yourself, waiting for the revelation to land like a punch. He was married. He had a girlfriend. He had a kid. He was a criminal. A thousand possibilities crashed through your mind, each one more unsettling than the last, as you tried to unravel what could make him so nervous…what secret he’d been guarding since Paris. You’d always known he was reserved, almost elusive when it came to the finer details of his life. It made sense—after all, you were practically strangers. But the possibility that he’d been hiding something so big, something that clearly was having a serious effect on him, was unnerving. 

George’s eyes lingered on you, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. He drew in a breath, as if steeling himself, and finally spoke, his voice almost a whisper. “I…haven’t exactly told you the whole truth about what I do.”

Your mind went back to the notebook you had found in his backpack when you were snooping earlier. The confusing phrases in colour coded ink, not to mention the gloves. Your brows knitted together, and you tried to read his face, searching for any sign of what he was hiding. 

“Look,” he said finally, his voice heavy with reluctance. “The truth is…there’s a reason I’ve been traveling so much. Why I’ve been in Paris…Milan…”

“You said you travel for work.” you clarified when he faded out for a moment.

“Yes, that is true.” George relented, “It’s just…not normal work.”

You tilted your head slightly against the pillow, waiting, giving him the space to say what he needed to in the time he needed no matter how much you wished he would just spit it out. His eyes held yours, his gaze intense and searching, like he was hoping for something—understanding, maybe.

Finally, he spoke his truth in a gentle voice, a sense of vulnerability in his tone that was very out of character for the version of him that you thought you knew, “I’m a Formula 1 driver.” 

His confession settled in the air around you. At first you were honestly relieved, knowing that all your crazy theories your mind was making up were thankfully false. The realization sunk in slowly, your gaze tracing the outline of his face as if seeing him for the first time, the guarded intensity in his eyes now made perfect sense.

You didn’t know much about the sport outside of the basic idea. The reality that one of the twenty best drivers in the world was sharing a bed with you felt a little unfathomable. But he was still the considerate—and charmingly cocky—gentleman you had met in that Paris bar, who had swept you off your feet in ways you never thought possible. He had always been so secretive since the night you met but, without him even having to explain, you instantly knew the reason why. If anything, it stemmed from your mental connection to the fact that his offer to pay the hotel double for this suite would have barely put a dent in his pocket. 

The seconds that passed since he had confessed lingered heavily between you. A little caught up in your own mind, you suddenly realized you had to give some sort of response. 

Before you could, George took your silence and kept filling it, “I know I should’ve told you before…back in Paris. But when I met you and you didn’t know me…I didn’t want to ruin it with NDAs or whatever else. I felt normal and I wanted to be just that. Just…George.”

You reached a hand out to set over his against the pillow between you, wrapping your fingers around his palm in a gentle squeeze, “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that,” you said softly, holding his gaze. “I had no idea. I mean, I’ve heard of Formula 1 but I don’t really follow it myself.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he let out a sigh, a calm smile pricking at his lips, “I figured when you didn’t thrust your phone in my face for a selfie.”

Your playful rebuttal was easy, “I would have gone with an autograph book so I could sell it for top dollar.”

George genuinely laughed, his hand instinctively squeezing yours as you shared the lighthearted moment amidst all that heaviness. The banter always came so easily with him. You couldn’t help the way you smiled adoringly at him, not even realizing yourself that your eyes shone when watching the way he laughed. 

A calm silence much more relaxed than the previous one lingered between you as his laughter faded, both of you taking a moment to process. His thumb brushed lazily over your knuckles on the pillow between you. 

Then, with his voice barely above a whisper, he spoke again, “I didn’t want to lie to you anymore. Not after tonight, especially, when all of this feels almost…too good to be true.”

“You weren’t lying to me,” you murmured, your thumb tracing small circles over the warm skin of his hand. “You were protecting yourself, making sure I was here for the right reasons. And honestly, even now—knowing what you do—I still just see ‘George’. The same sweet-talking, impossibly handsome man who bought me a drink in that Paris bar a year ago. That part hasn’t changed. The fact that I’ve done nothing but think about you since then… that doesn’t change, either.”

A small smile softened his face, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of ease in his eyes, as though your words had lifted something heavy from him. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers as his long eyelashes fluttered shut for a moment, lingering there, the gesture as raw and real as his confession.

“We should talk.”

Your voice sounded almost foreign to you as you spoke those three simple words. George’s eyes opened slowly to find yours, his lips pulling away from your fingers tentatively as if anticipating what you were about to say. 

“About this,” you continued in a whisper, almost afraid to say it out loud, “Paris, Milan…us. Are we doomed to the narrative of spending another year apart until we unexpectedly stumble into each other again in some other foreign city?”

George let out a small hum of acknowledgement, his lips brushing against your knuckles again, his eyes drifting to the sheets pensively. You gave him a moment to collect his thoughts, lingering on the feeling of his warm breath on the fair skin of the back of your hand. 

His fingers tightened around yours ever so slightly as his gaze rose to yours once more. His voice was low and vulnerable as he admitted, “I don’t think I can let you walk away twice.”

Staring into his gorgeous aquamarine eyes in the warm, dim lighting of the hotel suite, you shivered at the sincerity you saw in his irises. From the protected and secretive man you met in Paris, he was dropping those walls for you to open up to the promises of what could be held between you after Milan. 

“Then don’t.” you breathed. 

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[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow part 47

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 44, part 45, part 46

The days pass by in a blur. Each day, the calendar marks a day closer to the fourth. Closer to the day that haunts him. The day that marks his mistake. His harmless curiosity that was so far from that, harmless. It was harmful. Where he dragged two people who didn’t need to know the secrets of Hawkins into his mess. And one person who jumps in front of danger like it can’t hurt him back into it again.

Dustin was fated to this life. When Will went missing, there was no question about it. He would always be involved in this. But Steve, Robin, Erica, they didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him.

There’s a letter on his desk from Susie, currently thriving at Camp Nowhere. Angry at him for breaking his promised return. Deciding to stay here instead of going back and spending time with her. He gave her the excuse he could, that something happened, and he couldn’t go. There was too much he needed to do here. People he couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t tell her why. She was far enough away that she never needed to know about this. Finally, Dustin could keep someone safe. Ignorant. Innocent. She didn’t have to know the darkest part of his life. He loved that for her.

It didn’t feel good, to keep a secret from her. But it was necessary.

The doorbell rings. Dustin stares at the ceiling for a few moments, hoping they’ll just go away. But the bell persists. Whoever is there pressing the button so fast, it doesn’t even stop ringing before getting cut off and starting over again.

Dustin groans. Standing and going to the door.

“Finally,” Max complains when she pushes herself through the door, Lucas following after her. “What took you so long?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think anyone was coming over today.” The annoyance is clear in his tone.

Really, he didn’t want to do anything today. His bed was so comfortable when he woke up this morning, he barely wanted to leave it. Eyes fixed to the ceiling when they weren’t closed, feigning sleep. Body feeling weighed down. Impossible to move.

Max wheels herself into his living room, transferring to the couch. Clear that she isn’t leaving. Lucas looks at Dustin expectantly. Like he’s waiting for him to move.

Moving takes too much energy. All he wants to do is lie back down.

“We brought a movie,” Lucas finally says. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“I thought Max hated that movie.”

“I’m open to changing my opinion,” She calls out from the couch.

Lucas continues to look at him, with that worry sitting in his eyes. He’s trying to hide it, but fails. Dustin hates that look. He doesn’t deserve it. He can take care of himself, he has for this long. They didn’t need to do it for him.

His face must give away something he doesn’t realize, because Lucas nods and goes to put the movie in before Dustin can protest. Gesturing for him to sit on the couch next to Max. Refusing to start play, or God forbid sit down, before Dustin complies.

Like he’s waiting for Dustin to protest enough he’ll have to do something.

Dustin doesn’t give him a chance. Huffing out a breath before sitting on the middle of the couch. Only then does Lucas sit down next to him. Finding the remote on the coffee table and pressing play.

The opening credits roll, and Dustin forgets when the last time he’s watched this movie. It was one of his favorites since it came out. Replaying it so much he wore a hole into the VHS. It’s probably since then, he figures. Not having replaced it yet.

But the scenes play just as he remembers them. Like a comforting hug. Familiar warmth fills him, he didn’t realize how cold he was.

For some reason, he doesn’t know, tears start to form in his eyes. As the last scene of the movie ends, they start to roll down his cheeks.

He doesn’t hide it well; Max’s arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug. Her head leaning on his shoulder. Lucas mirrors her in his own way.

It hits him all at once why they’re here. With the movie he’s loved for years. Days away from one of the worst days of Dustin’s life. Of their lives. He hears Max sniffle. Hears Lucas’ breath hitch. They were all suffering from this in their own way, but they still showed up for him. They knew he needed this, even if he didn’t know that himself.

The sob breaks out of his chest without permission. Shaking his lungs. Their arms tightened around him.

“I’m sorry,” falls out of his mouth with a cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” Lucas whispers.

Max sniffles again. “Me too.”

They sit there until the air calms. A light weight lifting off of Dustin’s chest. Letting him breathe just a little easier now.

He clears his throat, getting rid of the residual sobs. “Why are you guys sorry?”

Lucas shifts, pulling away from their hug. “Last summer, when you came back from camp, we were all wrapped up in our own shit. We didn’t know what you found, what you were doing. If we had just stayed on that hill longer, you wouldn’t have been the only one who heard the message. We could have gone through it together.”

Dustin was glad that they left him on the hill that day, in hindsight. That way it was just the four of them in that bunker. Less people to lose. But he’s right. It was the first time Dustin went through something completely without them. The core group. It was just him, Steve, a girl he barely knew, and a child who didn’t need to be brought into this.

“You’ve been really quiet lately,” Max whispers, sitting back upright. “I’ve noticed you pulling away, but I didn’t do anything about it. I should have made sure you were ok. So you didn’t isolate like I did. I should have let you know that I was here for you, no matter what. That you could talk to me.”

He didn’t realize he was pulling away. Or being quiet. Now that she says it, he knows what she means. The conversations he missed while sitting in the middle of them. The want to just lie down and stay there. Nothing even playing in the background. Just silence.

“We’re worried about you, dude.” The concern in Lucas’ voice is ripe. “We wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Dustin’s not ok. Not right now. Physically, he’s fine. But mentally, he’s all over the place. Flashbacks come in waves, nightmares keeping him from sleep that’s worth anything. He’s more terrified now than he was the entirety of that week. No adrenaline to mask the fear this time.

“How much has Erica told you about the bunker?” he asks, voice hollow.

“All of it. What she knew, anyway. I can’t imagine what it was like to be there.”

“It was awful.” Dustin’s never said that out loud before. After it happened, they all wanted to get away from it as fast as they could. They barely talked about it. There were other things to focus on. “I don’t even know what really happened to Steve and Robin. They never told me, but I could guess.”

“We’re making plans to get together that night,” Max says. “So we can be together for the fireworks.”

“I think that would be a really good idea.”

I feel odd posting this today, and I debated waiting until tomorrow to post it. But, this chapter I'm writing is giving me a lot of comfort, in a weird way. Seeing the community these guys have support each other, it reminds me of my friends, and we do the same. It is almost therapeutic to know that I am not alone in so many way. How, even in the darkest of times, there are people out there that love me, and we can walk through this together. I hope this brings you some much needed comfort, as it did to me.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

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@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

New story drop!

This one is for all you Ark Sibling fans out there, especially now that Sonic X Shadow Generations is out to the public.

This one is based off one of many artworks my friend @cosmoshard did months ago and let create a story based on it.

Summary: There’s so many things that the Ultimate lifeform can handle whenever it was thrown at him at full power to take him down. He just never took note a mere child would end up being the one to break his stoic exterior.

Just another fluff filled Ark Sibling story.

======

“Ugh….” Shadow leaned his body against the wall with his eyes closed, the cool temperature of the metal seeping through his thick quills on his shoulders and back, bringing some relief to his aching limbs. He rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, an attempt to try to keep them from shutting close.

The professor had him do some drills to test out his ever growing chaos powers, causing quite a long session to where he pushed himself a little too much for his body to handle to which he ended up passing out due to it. All he remembered was waking up and feeling his body throbbing to where he wasn't able to move for a while.

Luckily, Gerald showed some mercy and decided that it was all they needed to do for the day.

Even then, he felt like he still couldn't fully relax due to his mind still buzzing around.

Mostly due to the other testing they did prior, trying to see if his blood can be made into a cure for Maria. They still haven't found a change in the results as far as he knew, they were just the same as always with very little to say that they made a breakthrough.

But It's been almost 2 years, longer than any of them had originally predicted to find a solution.

It was frustrating to say the least, knowing he was improving on everything except for the exact reason why he was created…

What was even his purpose-?

“Shaddy!”

His ears perked up at the sudden sound of a familiar, young voice coming from his right. He turned to see the source of the voice running at him at full speed, the girl’s pigtailed hair flew out wildly behind her while her sock covered feet nearly caused her to slip on the newly polished floor. That didn't seem to faze her as she kept coming right towards him.

“Shaddy, Shaddy!”

Shadow smiled widely at her and held out his arms expectantly, to which she launched herself into his arms. He caught her with ease as she wrapped her arms and legs around him like a koala, hearing her signature twinkle-like giggles as he tightly returned the hug. Despite the girl barely coming up to his chest in height, she was barely a struggle to hold due to his natural strength.

“Oh man, you're getting heavy.” Shadow groaned feignedly, shifting both of his arms to support her small body better. “You gotta tell your grandpa to stop feeding you so much.”

The girl merely giggled, pulling her head back and giving him a wide smile. “You keep saying that, I’ve seen you lift heavy stuff before.”

“Yeah, but you're a different kind of heavy. The type where your arms can hold something one minute then the next they just give out- WHOA!” He suddenly released his arms, making Maria drop before quickly catching her before she hit the ground, causing her to scream out.

“Hehey!”

“See? I don't know why that happens.”

“You did that on purpose!” She laughed out, trying to keep a mad look on her face, breaking immediately when Shadow narrowed his eyes and smirked at her.

“That's not true,” he bounced her in his arms slightly. “I told you that sometimes my arms just give out-HA!” He fake drops her again, making the girl squeal out. “Tried to warn you.”

Maria laughs breathlessly, trying to lightly pat her hands on Shadow's face in a form of retaliation, with him moving his head back to block from the “attacks”.

“Maria!” The two were then interrupted by a shrill, panicked voice and saw that it was Allison, Maria's tutor during the day, looking stressed beyond belief. Shadow also saw that she was holding a small pair of shoes in her hand as she came near them panting with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “Ah, there you are.”

“Allison.” Shadow, slightly amused at her flustered state but fought against teasing her since she did look a bit distressed. “What happened to you?”

The woman took a sharp inhale, her gaze fixed upon the pre-schooler, who was currently distracted by playing with some of the quills on the side of Shadow’s head and paying her no mind. Immediately he knew that Maria had been the main reason, the discarded shoes being one thing, but the fact the kid was probably running around before she even saw him was too much of a coincidence.

“I was trying to keep up with her. As soon as we left the nursery, she took off like a bat outta hell-, uh heck.” She quickly corrects herself seeing Shadow raise a brow at her and Maria looking towards her with curious eyes. “I think she just wanted to see you, but I almost had to leave the other kids alone if Paula didn’t offer to watch them.”

“Ah, I see now.” He places the squirming girl down on the floor, loosely crossing his arms. Maria merely smiled up at him until she noticed his change in demeanor and pauses, slightly curling in on herself under his look of disappointment.

“Maria, you know you’re always supposed to stay with Ms. Allison whenever you’re leaving the nursery, right?” He scolded lightly, watching the girl’s shoulders hunch up at the tone of his voice.

She nodded her head slowly, finding the buttons on her shirt more interesting than looking at him. “So, why did you run off like that?”

She shrugged her shoulders and mumbled under her breath that even his ears couldn’t pick up. Sighing, Shadow got on a knee and gently raised her head up with his finger so she was looking at him. “Say that again?”

“I just wanted to see you…” She muttered, tucking her chin into the collar of her shirt.

Shadow’s sharp gaze then softened. He was still getting used to the way a child’s mind worked in comparison to an adult’s since he was around the latter majority of the time, but he was aware of how Maria’s personality functioned unlike the other kids and that was she can be stubborn as hell, which could also be mixed with determination whenever she had a goal in mind and did whatever it took to get it.

She was only four, but a quick-witted four year old at that.

And for her, it was to see him again since it had been a day or two since they last saw each other; which can feel like a lifetime for a kid her age.

“I understand that you wanted to see me, but you have to understand that you can’t run off like that without telling anyone, especially if you didn’t know where I was and was searching for me randomly.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuring that he wasn’t mad at her when her face started to scrunch up and lip was quivering. “Hey, hey I’m not mad. You just got to think about that next time, okay?”

Maria nodded, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. Shadow fought back a grimace of disgust as she did and decided to help by wiping at the tears in her eyes. Seeing that she was about seconds away from actually crying her eyes out, he gently pulled her into a side hug, to which she immediately melted into, allowing her to release her emotions if she needed to.

Shadow then shifts his eye up towards Allison, who is watching the two of them with a look of adoration, as well as any of the other adults passing by and seeing the whole event, making his face flush red from the attention.

“Could you do me one more little favor?” He patted her arm, pulling back from the hug and waited for Maria to focus on him. “Can you apologize to Ms. Allison for worrying her?”

She glances over at Allison and bows her head towards her. “Sorry, Ms. Ally.” She quickly looks away bashfully, hiding her face in the crook of Shadow’s neck again.

He gave Allison an apologetic smile. “Sorry again about that.”

Allison shook her head. “No worries, I'm just glad nothing worse had happened.” She handed him Maria's previously discarded shoes. “Since you're with her, I’ll release her to you for the rest of the day, if that's alright.”

“Of course.” Even though he was allowing it due to him being trusted well enough to watch over her, he could honestly tell that she was done with watching Maria for the day.

“Thanks.” Allison said in what sounded like pure relief. Giving them both a wave, she started in a small jog down the hallway back towards the direction of the nursery.

Once she was out of sight, Shadow felt a light jostling on his hand, seeing Maria look at him, worryingly. “What's wrong?”

“Am I going to get into trouble with grandpa?” Her voice was small and in a whisper. “He told me to behave when he's not here.”

“He's not going to be mad at you.” He said reassuringly. “He may be surprised that it happened, but it'll take more than that to get him mad.”

Her eyes lit up, relief masking her face. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He motioned to give him her foot, putting on the shoes. “Although, I think he will be very amused hearing that you were running like a wild rabbit with no shoes on.”

Maria let out a giggle as she balanced herself against his shoulder as he helped her put on the other shoe. “I'm not a rabbit!”

“I know that, I said that you ran around like one.” He joked, quickly running his fingers under the arch of her foot, causing the girl to let out a squeal and fall back against him as she lost her balance. “You can be hyper as one too.”

“Well, you look like a hegie-hog.” She said in an attempt of sass, making Shadow huff out a laugh in response.

“It’s pronounced hedge-hog, and I know that already. Even though I’m something else entirely.” He murmured the last part to himself as he managed to get the last shoe on.

Maria happily tapped the heels of her shoes against the floor, starting to move her arms around and hum to herself, getting lost in her thoughts as she did a small uncoordinated dance.

Shadow motioned his hand out to her, to which she grabbed onto while the two walked together. She began to run in small circles while simultaneously grabbing each of Shadow’s hands as she did, who stopped her abruptly by grabbing onto her shoulders.

“And you need to be careful about running around like that, I noticed you were panting pretty hard when you saw me.” He definitely noticed her panting deeply once he held her in his arms, as if she couldn't catch her breath.

Due to her condition making her body have to work twice as hard, it made her become exhausted quicker than most kids around her age group, even if the low gravity helped with her condition to a minimum.

She gave him a sheepish smile and nodded. They continued to walk in a comfortable silence for a while, with Maria breaking it by singing a random song she made up on the spot or asking Shadow random questions, it was mostly stuff he could recall telling her in previous conversations but still answered them to satisfy her curiosity.

=======

Continuation on Ao3

[fallenbutterfly-nemesis]

Love & Hate, Part 2

Grimmjow x reader

---

Weeks passed without a trace of him, and while you swore it was a relief, a strange sense of irritation gnawed at you. Every rustle, every hollow lurking in the shadows, every shift in the air—your first thought was Grimmjow. You told yourself it was because he was a threat, not because of… anything else. Still, no amount of convincing could shake the feeling that something was missing.

Then, one evening, just as you were wrapping up a mission, you felt that unmistakable, wild spiritual pressure flood the air. Grimmjow. And like clockwork, your pulse quickened, that familiar blend of frustration and thrill surging through you. You’d barely turned around before he appeared right in front of you, arms crossed, smirk locked and loaded.

“Miss me?” he asked, sounding all too pleased with himself.

You sighed dramatically, giving him a deadpan look. “I forgot you even existed.”

“Really?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, testing. “'Cause from the way you’re glaring at me right now, I’d say you missed me a lot.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. “In your dreams. But sure, Grimmjow, if it helps your fragile ego, go ahead and think that.”

He laughed, the kind of laugh that was equal parts genuine and infuriating. “You talk a big game for someone who’s clearly happy to see me.”

You scoffed, your cheeks heating up in betrayal. “What are you even doing here?”

He shrugged, casual as always. “Just passing through. Thought I’d check on my favorite punching bag.” He leaned in, his voice lowering, that smirk daring you to react. “Wouldn’t want you getting soft without me around to keep you sharp.”

“Please. You’re the one who’s gonna get soft if you keep spending all your time lurking in shadows,” you shot back, but your pulse betrayed you, racing as he closed the distance, a touch too close for comfort. “Why don’t you find some other idiot to annoy?”

Grimmjow chuckled, looking at you with an intense, almost unreadable expression. “Nah. None of them are as fun as you.”

For a split second, the air between you shifted, the tension stretching so thick you could practically feel it. You hated how he always had that effect on you, how he knew exactly which buttons to press, how he made it impossible to think straight. But before you could respond, Grimmjow’s expression darkened, his gaze shifting past you.

“Get down,” he muttered, pushing you aside as a blast of energy whizzed by, leaving a scorched mark on the ground. You barely had time to react before a swarm of hollows closed in around you both, their claws and teeth flashing in the moonlight.

Without missing a beat, the two of you fell into a brutal rhythm, fending off the attackers side-by-side. For all his arrogance, Grimmjow fought like no one you’d ever seen—raw, ruthless, and fierce. You found yourself matching his intensity, both of you moving in sync like you’d trained together for years.

“Watch your left!” he shouted, blocking a hollow from blindsiding you.

“I had it covered,” you shot back, slashing through the creature with ease.

“Sure, whatever you say,” he replied with a grin, tearing through another with his bare hands. Blood spattered across his face, and he looked back at you with a wild, almost feral look in his eyes. “Try to keep up.”

When the last hollow fell, you were both left breathing hard, surrounded by the aftermath of the fight. Grimmjow stood there, looking completely in his element, a hint of admiration mixed into his usual cocky stare.

“Not bad, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “You might actually be getting stronger.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat in your chest. “I’ve always been strong, Grimmjow. Maybe it’s you who needs to keep up.”

For once, he didn’t fire back. Instead, he looked at you with a curious expression, almost like he was seeing you for the first time. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

And then, before you knew what was happening, he stepped forward, closing the space between you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t say a word, just looked at you with that intense, piercing gaze that had always driven you crazy. There was no snide remark, no mocking laugh. Just a silence that seemed to pull you in, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite name.

You were about to say something—anything to break the tension—when he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both fierce and soft, as if he was testing the waters but daring you to pull away. You should have pushed him back, should have told him off, but somehow, you found yourself kissing him back, caught up in the heat and fire of it all.

When he finally pulled away, he looked down at you with that infuriating smirk back in place, but there was something different behind it this time, a softness that surprised you.

“Guess I missed you after all,” he murmured, before stepping back, that cocky grin once again firmly in place.

You glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as you both walked away from the battlefield, side-by-side, you knew you were both tangled up in something neither of you could quite escape. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate it as much as you pretended to.

I wrote these last night ✋🏻😔

[pottergff]

nightmares.

hjp x reader ! (ootp - 5th year).

summary: harry is having nightmares often, so to help him sleep better, you sleep with him <3

warnings: nope, just fluff and cuddles.

a/n: this is my first post like that so pls have mercy. besides, english is not my native language so sorry if there are any spelling or writing mistakes. i hope you like it!

Harry had his face buried in your chest, his breath warming you as his arms wrapped around your waist. His ears were filled with your soft voice, humming Mazzy Star songs. The melodies played on the muggle music player Arthur Weasley gave you two Christmases ago.

One of your hands was tangled in his soft dark hair, while the other wrapped around his neck, caressing it tenderly.

"Really, thank you for staying, love. I needed you" - he murmured against your neck, his voice a little muffled. You couldn't help but smile slightly at his words and his relaxed tone of voice.

It wasn't news that Harry has nightmares about Voldemort and his traumas, but when Hermione told you about it, you were very worried. It was also not news that your boyfriend is stubborn and quite reserved about his problems, although you were always his most trusted person and he had no problem looking for you when he felt bad and the burden of the magical world overwhelmed him. But you also knew that he hadn't mentioned the subject of nightmares because he didn't want to worry you, it was something he used to do and you had argued about a few times.

"I'll always be there, no matter what. Don't forget that, Harry" - you murmured and pushed back a few small strands of hair that fell on his forehead. You looked at him and placed a kiss on his forehead, looking at him lovingly.

The boy lifted his head from your chest to look at you, his eyes tired from so many failed attempts at sleep. "And for that I thank you, because no matter what, you're always there for me.." - he said in a murmur, his words a little slurred by his desire to sleep. "I don't know what I would do without you." - He added, whispering those last words.

Your hand that was on his neck, moved to his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "You don't have to thank me, I'm doing this because I care about you and the only thing that matters to me is that you're okay" - you told him with an even lower and softer voice, looking deeply into his clear eyes.

He exhaled heavily through his nose and relaxed into your touch, never looking away from your eyes. "I love you, so much." - He whispered before burying his face in your chest again while closed his eyes, relaxing.

You caressed his hair again, your fingers through his locks, massaging his scalp. "Me too, I love you so so much." - you whispered and left a kiss on his head. - "Try to rest, yeah? You have to do it, love." The only response you got from him was a barely audible "mhm" and a slight nod.

"Love, uhm.." - he settled better on your chest, burying his face further into the warmth of your body and hugging you tighter - "Can you keep humming to me? Please, your voice relaxes me" - he said in a slightly embarrassed and muffled tone. You smiled tenderly at his request. "If you want," you replied and hummed the tune playing on the music player again.

Little by little, you felt his breathing slow down and his body felt heavier against you, a sign that he was managing to sleep, and finally in a peacefully way. You couldn't help but admire the scene in front of you: the simple fact of having Harry like this, in your arms, and knowing that you made him feel safe, warmed your heart and caused millions of butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

[springtyme]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries. 

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision. 

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You. 

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease. 

Maybe this could work out after all. 

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there. 

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them. 

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete. 

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him. 

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings. 

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing. 

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own. 

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.

[pucksandpower]

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family��s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane characters finding you asleep at their workplace

The devil works hard, but I work a little harder, so I’m back to writing Arcane headcanons a month before season two comes out.

Jayce:  

- Strong sense of guilt,  

- The first thing that comes to his mind is that you must have waited for him for a long time to fall asleep 

- He will make it up to you by trying to cook something for you, stopping to buy your favorite sweets before heading home, and giving you a shoulder massage the moment you sit down somewhere after you wake up.  

- The man of the Hamlet-like dilemma: he doesn’t want to wake you, but he also doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.  

- If he has something urgent to do, he’ll try to cover your shoulders with something, even just his jacket, to keep you warm while he finishes only the essentials.  

- Once he’s free, he will very gently try to lift you from the chair, apologizing when you wake up and mumble something incoherent.  

Viktor:  

- In the early years of university, it sometimes happened that he found you in his room asleep, slumped over on a chair or bed with your shoes still on.  

- But as the years went by and the lab became his main space, that sight became a constant, repeating at least twice a week.  

- He tries to make as little noise as possible, whether with his aides, the door, or the stack of books and notebooks he needs to organize.  

- Before getting to work, he leaves the room again to bring you your favorite hot drink with a plastic lid pressed on top, so it doesn’t cool down.  

- Then, in complete silence, he works, deciding what to leave for tomorrow and what to do now, so he can finish as soon as possible without delaying too much.  

Ekko:  

- It’s hard to define what exactly a workplace is for Ekko,  

- But he often finds you at the Firelights' tree, in that room that’s supposed to be his, having likely sneaked in through the window to surprise him.  

- There are days when he comes back fairly early but stays to tell stories to the kids, and others when things go wrong, and he returns when it’s already dark, and almost everyone is asleep

- Finding you like this always makes him feel the absence of something more stable

- But he shakes his head and quickly pushes aside doubts about his ideals, stepping out of the room again and making more noise as he enters again, so you wake up, and he can pretend to be surprised in front of your open eyes.  

- By now, you know he steps out and comes back in, but it makes you smile every single time.

Vander:  

- You always sit at a table in the back of the Last Drop to wait for him, trying not to bother him, doodling, doing calculations, or planning something for the next day just to keep yourself entertained.  

- But by now, the sound of drunkards and the clinking of coins and glasses have become background noise that helps lull you into a catatonic state.  

- Vander usually notices after about an hour that you've fallen asleep; he always keeps an eye on you, but sometimes the customers cause problems.  

- He doesn’t like leaving you there, so far away, so he usually waits for a quieter moment to come over, pick you up, and bring you behind the counter, laying you down with your arms and head resting on the wooden bar.  

- He knows it’s not a big improvement, but his priority is to keep you safe.  

- When he finishes working, he closes the bar without doing the closing duties, sets his alarm for earlier than usual, and carries you to your room in his arms, covering your forehead with kisses.  

Silco:  

- The problem with Silco finding you asleep in his office is that he rarely arrives alone.  

- There’s always either Sevika or at least two other henchmen following him.  

- He sighs and sends them away, not without Sevika giving him a provocative look that means everything and nothing.  

- He hates those situations because part of him feels a strange warmth at the thought of you sneaking into his office for whatever reason, but on the other hand, he knows it negatively affects his image to be seen as a leader who tolerates certain insubordinations.  

- Because sneaking into the kingpin’s office is something that would get almost anyone else outside decapitated. But not you.  

- He huffs, pacing the room to deal with both emotions, and when he finally calms down, he approaches you, shaking you slightly to wake you up.  

- It’s certainly not the gentlest gesture on his part, but most of the time, it ends with you either going back to sleep in his bed while he works, or sitting on his lap while he flips through papers without paying them much attention.  

Jinx:  

- She can’t contain her excitement at all. When she notices your figure in her workshop, she always lets out a little happy sound that wakes you up.  

- From there, she immediately starts apologizing at least a thousand times, feeling guilty for waking you up but still too happy that you came to visit her.  

- She helps you up, talking nonstop about her day and anything that comes to mind as she leads you outside.  

- It’s not because she doesn’t want you around, but because she assumes you must be hungry as soon as you wake up, so before you're fully awake, you’ll find yourself at the Last Drop with enough food in front of you to feed her father’s entire gang of henchmen.  

- And she will absolutely feed you herself when she sees you haven’t taken a bite in too long, while stealing food here and there and continuing to talk.  

Vi:  

- For her, too, a "workplace" is a somewhat vague concept,  

- But in return, she has her secret spot, where she hides at night and tries to survive when she’s not out on the streets looking for trouble.  

- Every time she finds you there, she feels an indescribable pang in her heart.  

- She always feels like she’s neglecting the person she loves and failing to make you understand how much she cares about you.  

- She always hesitates before waking you up; sometimes she’ll even go change into clean clothes and wash the grime off her hands and face first.  

- Then she’ll wake you by sitting next to you, giving you a kiss, calling you by a silly nickname only the two of you know, and rubbing her forehead against yours before asking, with a rhetorical smile,  

- "Did you miss me?"

Caitlyn:  

- Sometimes you find yourself in the inner waiting room of the precinct, with her colleagues pointing out your body slumped in the chair and raising their eyebrows, teasing her. Other times, you simply sneak into her room, which isn’t much different from the police station anyway.  

- Every time, she sighs and gently wakes you, her pale eyes a little sad.  

- “Why didn’t you call me?” It doesn’t matter to her that you didn’t want to disturb her, because to her, you’re never a disturbance. It’s not a problem to have you around, even in public. She just feels bad that you waited instead of telling her, so she could have come much sooner.  

- She takes you away from the station without any issues, letting you continue resting against her shoulder as a Kiramman private vehicle takes you both to her home.  

- If you’re already in her room, she usually changes and lies down next to you, taking the chance to nap together, wrapped in each other's arms.  

Mel:  

- Falling asleep inside the Senate? Impossible.  

- But the keys to her office and her room are always in your pocket, and you usually bring her something to eat when you visit, though by the time you fall asleep, both the coffee and the treats are cold.  

- She’s not used to displays of affection, so she stays still for a few seconds before smiling and shaking her head.  

- She doesn’t wake you immediately, not because she doesn’t want to, but because if the sound of the door didn’t wake you, you probably need the rest. So she lets you sleep for at least 30 minutes before coming over, brushing your hair behind your ears to wake you, laughing when you lift your head with your eyes still closed.  

Sevika:  

- The first thing anyone would think is that falling asleep at the Last Drop is extremely dangerous. However, Silco’s henchmen aren’t too different from bipedal dogs by now; they know who you are, recognize your face and scent, and if they notice you’ve fallen asleep somewhere, at least three of them sit at your table to ensure your safety.  

- Sevika is always tasked with the worst imaginable jobs—tedious, long, and often dangerous—so when she finally returns, it’s usually either time to open the bar to the public or time to close it.  

- Even when she sees you, she can’t come to you right away, so she makes a face at whoever is watching over you, as if urging them to protect you better while she heads into the office.  

- Like Silco, part of her feels subconsciously softened by the idea that someone would feel the physical need to be with her so much that they’d wait, sitting until they fell asleep.  

- But on the other hand, she’s terrified that someone might see you and come after you to settle personal scores in a cowardly way.  

- When she finally comes down, she pulls you into her arms without saying a word, holding you under her large cape as she carries you away.  

[mcrdvcks]

Oblivious, Baby, Oblivious

Summary: People would tell you that geniuses don't know everything, but you tell them that defeats the purpose of the word. Until one day you're proven wrong.

Word Count: 17.4k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: i came up with this idea a few days ago and had to write it down. basically reader is a genius and her mutation is controlling nature (her code name is 'flora' but it's not used often. and yes, it's a winx club reference, sue me)

i tried to make it as inclusive as i could, but i'm still learning since this is only my second reader fic.

i would like to turn this into a oneshot series, so don't be afraid to send in any requests!

warnings: few uses of y/n, logan uses a lot of pet names for reader, slight innocent!reader

You had only been at the X-Mansion for a year and yet all the students seemed to love you. At first, you thought that no teenager would want to come out to the large greenhouse you had set up, but you were proven wrong.

At the end of every day, right before dinner, dozens of kids would come out and help you water the plants and pull out the weeds.

It was certainly not what you expected to do after college, especially after only having your PhD’s for 2 years. It had all started when you met Hank McCoy at a science conference in New York City. You had graduated a mere few weeks ago and were out trying to network when you met him.

After that, Hank took you to meet Charles Xavier and he offered you a two-sided job, teach a few classes and be part of the X-Men, after you went through some training. You didn’t know how to fight at the beginning, but now you think you’ve got the hang of it.

You had just finished teaching your advanced physics class, standing at your desk gathering up the papers before going to your office to grade them, when someone knocked on the open classroom door.

Logan stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with that usual smirk tugging at his lips. “You done for the day, sweetheart?”

You looked up from the pile of papers, surprised to see him there, though you probably shouldn’t have been. Logan had this way of showing up whenever you least expected it, always with some sort of pet name that left your students giggling.

When you first arrived at the school and started your training, it was Logan and Ororo who helped you learn how to fight. You certainly were not on a level like Logan, but you now knew how to hold your own without completely relying on your powers.

Logan was probably the one you were closest to at the mansion, save for Ororo and Jean. You enjoyed his company, even in the late nights when you would tend to the plants and he would stand quietly nearby smoking a cigar.

“Just about,” you replied, straightening the stack. “I was going to head to my office and grade these. Why? You need something?”

Logan pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered toward you, his boots thudding lightly against the floor. “Can’t a guy just drop by and check in on ya?”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess, but somehow I doubt you’re just here to ‘check in.’” You shuffled the papers into a neat stack, slipping them into a folder. “So, what’s up?”

Logan shrugged, hands now in his jacket pockets as he stood a few feet away from your desk. “You’ve been buried in books and papers all week. Thought you could use a break.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be done grading these in like an hour. It doesn’t take me long. Unlike someone else.”

Logan snorted, a small smile forming as he tilted his head at you. "Yeah, well, not all of us have two fancy PhDs and can finish things in a blink, darlin’."

You laughed softly, putting the papers into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “You’re just mad because I keep proving I’m right.” You rounded your desk, smirking. “Plus, I’m having a movie night with Jean and Ororo. See? I can take breaks.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as he leaned in just a little, casting you that knowing look he always had when he was teasing you. “Movie night, huh? Lemme guess—something boring and science-y?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you zipped up your bag. “Not every movie night is a science documentary, Logan.”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, the teasing drawl in his voice making it clear he didn’t believe you for a second. “So, what are you watchin’, then? Some quantum physics thriller?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “It’s The Princess Diaries this time, actually. But I do like documentaries, so don’t knock them.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and deep, and for a moment it made you forget the pile of grading still waiting for you. “I’ll let it slide this time, darlin’. But if I hear you talkin’ about how accurate the physics are in some movie during your ‘break,’ I’m dragging you out of that mansion myself.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “And we both know I could.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. Logan had a way of just picking you up—literally—and dragging you away when he thought you’d been working too hard. Sometimes you suspected he enjoyed it a little too much.

Before you could retort, Logan's expression softened slightly. “Look, Y/N, I’m serious. You’ve been bustin’ your ass all week. Go take a real break tonight, will ya?”

There it was again. That rare softness he showed only to you, like the tough exterior melted away for just a second. You never really knew how to respond when he got like that, so you shrugged casually and smiled. “I’ll take it easy tonight. Promise.”

“Good,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. “’Cause I don’t wanna hear about you passin’ out from exhaustion or whatever it is geniuses do when they work themselves to death.”

You walked to the door and turned back to face him, “Einstein slept 10 hours during the night and took regular naps.” You gave him a wink and walked down the hall towards your office, a satisfied smirk on your face.

Logan watched you disappear down the hallway, shaking his head with a faint smile. He wasn't sure when it started, but something about your energy, the way you threw yourself into everything—whether it was the students, your research, or even the X-Men's missions—had caught his attention. And now, it was hard to get you out of his head, let alone his senses.

He could always tell when you were nearby or recently in an area—your perfume was inherently you, mango with an undercurrent of something woodsy. And you always looked cute, a word Logan thought he’d never use. You constantly wore colors, usually pastels in varying shades, whether it be a shirt, your shoes, or even accessories in your hair. It was almost ridiculous how someone with two PhDs and the kind of brain that could out-think just about everyone around her could be so oblivious to certain things.

And that was why he found you so fascinating.

You were brilliant, no doubt about it—always talking about equations, theories, and whatever else you’d been reading about. But somehow, you never seemed to notice when he was flirting with you, which had become Logan's new favorite game. He knew exactly what he was doing when he called you varying nicknames.

It wasn’t like it was a secret either; pretty much everyone at the mansion had picked up on it. Hell, even the students were in on it, giggling whenever Logan tossed a pet name your way or gave you one of those half-smirks that drove everyone else insane.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You walked down the hall, completely unaware of the looks you were getting, or the fact that Logan’s eyes lingered a bit longer than they should have as you disappeared around the corner. Shaking his head, he let out a low chuckle before heading toward the garage. Maybe a ride on his bike would clear his head, though it probably wouldn’t. You had a way of sticking in his mind, even when you weren’t around.

---

Later that night, you were sprawled on the couch in one of the common rooms, sandwiched between Jean and Ororo as the three of you laughed at the antics on screen. The Princess Diaries was playing, and though you’d seen it a dozen times, it never failed to make you laugh.

You had your hair tied up and off your neck, and you were dressed in one of your usual casual outfits—leggings and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to one of the guys in the mansion, though you couldn’t remember who. Logan’s scent faintly lingered on it, but you didn't think much of it.

You shifted comfortably, pulling your legs up to curl under you as Jean and Ororo sat on either side, each of you clutching bowls of popcorn and laughing at the antics in The Princess Diaries.

“I still don’t get how a movie about a teenager becoming a princess is this funny,” Jean said, shaking her head as she stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Like, shouldn’t it be cheesy?”

“It is cheesy,” you countered, laughing as Mia slipped and fell in the movie. “But it’s good cheesy. There’s a difference.”

Ororo chuckled, glancing at you with an amused smile. “You’ve seen this how many times now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased, tossing a piece of popcorn in her direction, which she easily swatted away with a smirk. “This is a classic.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, giving you a playful nudge. “More classic than, say, 2001: A Space Odyssey? That seems more your speed.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Not every movie I watch has to be some cerebral masterpiece, Jean.”

Ororo smiled knowingly. “Mmm, true, but you’re always spouting off facts about space or physics during random moments in these movies.”

“That’s because science is everywhere!” you replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t not notice when something’s wrong.”

Jean grinned. “Like that time you paused Star Wars just to give us a lecture on how light speed doesn’t work like that?”

You huffed a laugh. “Well, it doesn’t. It’s all—”

“Science, we know,” Ororo finished, sharing a look with Jean that made you roll your eyes again.

“Okay, okay,” you conceded, holding up your hands. “I’ll try not to nerd out tonight.”

“That’s all we ask,” Jean said, smirking as she leaned back on the couch, throwing a kernel of popcorn into her mouth.

For the next hour or so, the three of you watched the movie without incident, though you had to bite your tongue more than once. A promise was a promise, after all.

When the movie ended, Ororo stretched and got up from the couch. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

“Same,” Jean said, standing and offering you a soft smile.

“Guess I’ll get ready for bed too, then.” You replied. Each of you headed to your rooms, Jean shared one with Scott down the hall from you, and Ororo’s room was close by theirs.

Your room was full of plants, small vines on the walls and windowsills, along with potted flowers across the room. It had been habit ever since you learned about your powers to always be surrounded by them, it gave you a sense of peace.

Taking off your clothes you got into the shower, where more plants were, including a rhaphidophora tetrasperma and a maidenhair fern.

You smiled to yourself, relishing the small oasis you’d created in your bathroom. The plants thrived in here, the humidity of your showers mimicking their natural habitat. It was a simple pleasure to see something flourish under your care, which was probably why you always surrounded yourself with greenery.

You rinsed off, the water now lukewarm as it cascaded over you, and turned the shower off. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you stepped out, the cool air hitting your skin as you moved toward the mirror. You wiped a hand across the fogged glass, revealing your reflection. You took off your shower cap, letting your hair free from its constraints.

There was a faint knock at your door, and you glanced toward it, frowning. Who would be knocking at this hour?

“Y/N?” Logan’s voice came from the other side. “You still awake?”

Your eyes widened slightly. What was Logan doing here? You quickly pulled on some comfortable clothes—an oversized t-shirt and shorts—before cracking the door open to find Logan leaning against the frame, his usual smirk in place.

“Logan? It’s kind of late. What’s up?” you asked, holding the door open just enough for him to see you but not enough to fully invite him in.

He shrugged, his eyes briefly scanning you before locking on yours. “Came by to see if you wanted to take a walk. Figured you might still be awake.”

You blinked, taken aback. “A walk? Now?”

“Yeah,” he replied casually, as if asking you to go for a walk at nearly midnight was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re always sayin’ how you like the way the plants look at night. Thought maybe you’d want some fresh air.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering his offer. You had planned on heading to bed soon, but you couldn’t deny the appeal of a nighttime walk—especially with Logan. The mansion grounds were peaceful at this hour, and the idea of walking among the moonlit flowers sounded tempting.

“Alright,” you said, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “Let me put on some shoes.”

Logan nodded, leaning back against the doorframe as he waited, his arms crossing over his chest. You slipped on a pair of sneakers, quickly tying the laces.

“Ready,” you said, adjusting your shirt and stepping out into the hallway.

Logan pushed off the frame and started walking beside you, his steps easy and casual. The mansion was quiet, most of the students already asleep, and you could hear the soft hum of night settling in as you both made your way outside. The cool air greeted you as you stepped into the garden, and you couldn’t help but smile as the scent of flowers and earth filled your senses.

“So,” Logan said after a moment, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets, “how was the movie?”

You smiled, glancing at him. “It was good. A classic, really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Jean and Ororo didn’t give you a hard time?”

You chuckled. “Well, they did try to poke fun at my love for science, but nothing too bad. It was all in good fun.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah, they like to tease. Just means they’re comfortable around ya.”

You gave a small nod, your gaze shifting to the moonlit flowers around you. You loved the way the plants seemed to glow in the night, the way everything felt so peaceful at this hour. It was one of the reasons you often came out here at night when the mansion was quiet and still.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the soft sounds of nature surrounding you. Logan didn’t say much, but that was one of the things you liked about him—he didn’t need to fill the air with pointless conversation. He was just… there, steady and solid, like the trees you so loved to be around.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, taking in his relaxed posture, the way his jacket hung off his broad shoulders, and the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. You wondered briefly what he thought of these walks. He always seemed to show up at the right moments, offering his company when you needed it most, even if you didn’t realize you needed it at the time.

“So, Logan,” you started, your voice casual as you glanced at a cluster of moonlit lilies, “what’s the real reason you wanted to walk tonight? I know you didn’t just suddenly decide to take in the scenery.”

He chuckled, low and deep, as he shifted his gaze to the path ahead. “Maybe I like the scenery more than I let on.”

“Right,” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Because I’ve definitely seen you out here admiring the roses before.”

“Who says I’m talkin’ about the roses, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile played at your lips. “Uh-huh. Keep dreaming, Logan.”

There was that playful glint in his eyes again, the one you’d grown used to but never quite understood. He always had this way of teasing you—soft, subtle comments that seemed to amuse him more than anything else. It wasn’t like you minded, though. You liked the banter, even if you never quite knew why he seemed to engage in it with you so much.

You gave him a sidelong glance, but Logan’s expression remained as it usually did—a little cocky, a little mysterious, his hands resting casually in his jacket pockets as he walked alongside you. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the path, and you found your gaze drifting back to the flowers blooming in the gardens. The peace of the night wrapped around you like a soft blanket, and for a moment, you almost forgot Logan was there.

“Y’know,” Logan said after a stretch of silence, his voice low and lazy, “you really are a mystery, sweetheart.”

You blinked, turning to him with a slight frown. “What do you mean by that?”

Logan shrugged, his eyes briefly flicking to yours before looking ahead again. “You’re this genius, right? Got two PhDs, can out-think just about anyone in the room. But sometimes… you’re completely clueless.”

You scoffed, giving him an incredulous look. “Clueless? Me? I don’t think that’s possible.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that teasing smile. “Yeah, darlin’. Clueless. You know a hell of a lot about a lot of things, but when it comes to readin’ people? Not so much.”

Your frown deepened. “I think I read people just fine, Logan.”

He stopped walking then, turning to face you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Oh, do ya?”

“Yeah,” you insisted, crossing your arms over your chest. “I spend a lot of time around people. I know how to pick up on things.”

Logan’s smile widened, like he was holding back laughter. “Is that so?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “Yes, that’s so. What are you getting at?”

Logan’s grin widened as he saw you narrow your eyes, your arms crossed in clear frustration. There was something about how easily he could rile you up, how your normally sharp mind would stumble whenever he teased you, that made him enjoy these moments even more.

“You’re dodging the question,” you pressed, sensing that his silence was deliberate. “What are you getting at?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against the nearest tree, his usual smirk in place. “I’m just sayin’, for someone who’s supposed to be a genius, you don’t always see what’s right in front of you.”

You let out a huff, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “I see everything just fine, Logan. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“Subtle, huh?” Logan echoed, his grin softening into a more thoughtful expression. “Maybe I’m not. Or maybe you’re just a little too focused on the wrong things.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but as usual, Logan didn’t offer anything more. He simply stood there, his eyes watching you carefully, as if enjoying the little mystery he’d planted in your mind. You could practically see the amusement dancing behind his gaze.

“This is just another one of your games, isn’t it?” you muttered, though there was no real bite in your tone. “You like keeping me guessing.”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “Keeps things interestin’, don’t ya think?”

You rolled your eyes again, turning away from him as you started walking down the path. You weren’t going to let him keep you on edge like this. You had better things to think about than whatever half-assed answer Logan was playing at tonight.

Logan fell into step beside you, his hands tucked back into his pockets. The two of you walked in silence for a bit longer, and despite the earlier tension, you found yourself relaxing once more. The garden was quiet, the night cool and calm. Logan’s presence, as always, was steady beside you, even if he did like to mess with your head sometimes.

“You know,” you began after a while, your voice softer now, “just because I’m a genius doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to people. I do pick up on things.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “I just… maybe I’m not as concerned with people’s motives as much as I am with facts and data. It’s different.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s part of the problem, doll. You think you can figure out everything like it’s a puzzle. But people? We’re a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, thinking about that. “I don’t see why it has to be complicated. People say what they mean, don’t they?”

Logan paused for a moment, his smirk turning into something more thoughtful. “Not always.”

There was a heaviness in his voice that made you glance up at him, but before you could ask what he meant, he turned his head away, eyes focused on something in the distance. The moment passed, and Logan was back to his usual self, his grin in place as if nothing had happened.

“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “how’s your latest project goin’? Still messing with those gadgets?”

You sighed, the shift in conversation allowing you to relax again. “Yeah, still working on a few prototypes. Hank’s been helping me out with some of the materials, but we’re having trouble stabilizing the energy output.”

Logan nodded, listening with genuine interest. “Sounds like somethin’ you’ll figure out soon enough.”

“I hope so,” you said with a small smile. “But it’s been a little frustrating.”

“Not used to runnin’ into roadblocks, huh?” Logan teased.

“Not really,” you admitted, a touch of sheepishness in your tone. “I’m used to things coming together quickly once I have all the information. This one’s been… tricky.”

Logan gave a low hum of understanding. “That’s the thing about science, sweetheart. It ain’t always predictable.”

“Yeah, but I like predictability,” you said with a shrug. “It makes sense. People, on the other hand…”

Logan laughed at that, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

The two of you continued your walk, the conversation drifting to lighter topics—projects, students at the mansion, the occasional prank pulled by one of the younger mutants. You liked how easy it was to talk to Logan, even when he teased you or left you hanging on a thought. He was always there, listening, offering his dry commentary when it was needed.

As you walked, you found yourself glancing at him every now and then, taking in the way the moonlight caught his features, the rough stubble on his jaw, the confident way he carried himself. You didn’t understand why he spent so much time around you, especially when he had no trouble being alone or doing his own thing. Logan didn’t seem like the type to go out of his way for someone, and yet… here he was.

“Logan?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, his gaze shifting to you.

“Why do you do this?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “Do what?”

“Walk with me. Spend time with me. You’re not exactly the most sociable guy around here.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Maybe I like your company, sweetheart. Ever think of that?”

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t like Logan to be so direct about… feelings. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply looked away, feeling a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“I guess I never really thought about it,” you admitted after a moment.

Logan’s smirk returned, but there was something softer behind it this time. “That’s ‘cause you’re too busy thinkin’ about everythin’ else, doll.”

You didn’t respond right away, still processing his words. Logan wasn’t one to lay things out so plainly, but when he did, it always seemed to catch you off guard. He had this way of making you question things—yourself, your understanding of the world—without ever really giving you any answers. It was frustrating, but at the same time, it was… endearing.

As the two of you walked back toward the mansion, the quiet settling over you once more, you couldn’t help but wonder what Logan had meant earlier. About you being ‘clueless.’ It wasn’t like you didn’t notice things—sure, people had their layers, but you weren’t blind to them. So what was he talking about?

---

The next morning, you were back in your usual routine—teaching classes, working in the greenhouse, and helping the students with their studies. It was a busy day, but you didn’t mind. The students were eager to learn, and you found a sense of satisfaction in watching them grow and develop their skills.

After your last class, you made your way to the greenhouse, your favorite part of the day. The students had already watered the plants earlier, so you spent some time pruning and checking on the growth of the flowers and vegetables.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught your attention, and you turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, glancing up from the plant you were tending to.

Logan shrugged. “Figured I’d stop by. See how you’re doin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You checking up on me again?”

He chuckled. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on ya, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned back to your plants. “I’m fine, Logan. Really.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice closer now. You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing just a few feet away, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always seemed to have around you. “But it doesn’t hurt to check in every now and then.”

Logan looked over at a large strawberry plant in the corner, it seemed to have a lot of yield, bright red strawberries hanging from the branches.

“You ever try a strawberry with no pesticides?” You asked, standing up from the ground and taking off your gloves. You looked around the plant before pulling what you thought looked to be the best of the bunch, holding it out for him. Since it was August, the strawberries were soon going to go out of season, so this was the last good batch you were going to get.

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he eyed the fruit in your hand. "I’ve had my share of wild strawberries, sweetheart, but never from your garden.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him with the strawberry still outstretched. “Wild strawberries? Really, Logan? This is organic, homegrown perfection. Totally different experience.”

He chuckled, finally taking the strawberry from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief second. It was so brief you didn’t think much of it, but Logan’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he popped the strawberry into his mouth.

“Well?” you asked, watching him expectantly. “What do you think?”

Logan chewed slowly, his eyes not leaving yours. “Sweet,” he finally said, his voice low. “Real sweet.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, though you didn’t quite catch the way his gaze lingered on you as he said it. “Told you,” you said, turning back to the plant to grab a strawberry for yourself. “Fresh strawberries are unbeatable.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you take a bite. “You take real pride in this, don’t ya?”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at him between bites. “There’s something rewarding about growing things. Watching them thrive under the right conditions. It’s like… I don’t know, creating life.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he listened to you talk, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “You care a lot about the little det- ” He was cut off by surprise, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips wiping off some of the strawberry juice.

You seemed to not think much about it, nor did you notice Logan’s heart sped up with your simple touch. It was over quick, you let out a soft gasp and walked behind him, looking up at a vine at the top where you saw a few ripe kiwis.

You reached your palm out, focusing your energy on the vines at the top of the greenhouse. They shifted gently, as if responding to your silent command, dropping three ripe kiwis into your hand. You grinned, knowing Jean would appreciate the fresh fruit later. It wasn’t easy growing kiwis in New York, but your powers made up for the climate’s shortcomings. Nature seemed to bend to your will, a fact you took quiet pride in, even though you’d never flaunt it.

Meanwhile, Logan was still in slight shock from your gesture, he could almost feel the spot where your thumb brushed against him, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And you did it without thinking, in fact, you still didn’t seem to notice him looking at your back as you picked a few bunches of basil.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t just the way you talked about plants or how your hands moved with skill and grace—it was you, completely unaware of how you affected him. Completely unaware that his heart rate had spiked at the smallest, most innocent touch.

“Something wrong?” you asked, not even turning around as you picked at the herbs.

Logan blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Nah, just... thinkin’. You’re somethin’, you know that?”

You gave a short laugh, pausing to glance back at him over your shoulder. “If that’s your way of saying I’m a genius again, I already know.”

He chuckled, moving to stand a bit closer. “That’s not exactly what I meant, sweetheart.” His voice was low, with that familiar gravelly tone he used when teasing you.

But as usual, the hint flew right past you. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll take it as a compliment.” You plucked another handful of basil leaves, slipping them into a small basket on the bench. “And you should try to be more specific next time, Logan. It helps with communication.”

“Specific, huh?” Logan leaned a little against the workbench beside you, arms crossed. “Alright then, you’re smart, sure. But there’s more to it than that. You... you just do things without even thinking about it. Like earlier.” His eyes flickered briefly to your hand.

You frowned a little, confused. “Earlier? You mean the strawberry thing? Or when I wiped the juice off your face?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “That.”

You blinked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal of it. “Logan, it was just strawberry juice. You looked like you were about to walk into a meeting with half a fruit smeared on your face.”

Logan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, doll. I get that.” He watched as you turned back to your plants, completely oblivious to the fact that what had been a small, thoughtless gesture for you had stirred something deeper for him. He found it both amusing and frustrating—not in an annoying way, but in a way that made him want to get closer to you, to push the boundaries just a little more.

“So,” you said, shifting the subject as you snipped a bit more basil. “What’s got you wandering into the greenhouse today? It’s not exactly your usual haunt.”

Logan leaned back, watching you with those intense eyes of his. “Just felt like stoppin’ by. Spend some time with you. Ain’t that a good enough reason?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile was genuine. “I suppose. It’s just... you don’t usually care about plants and stuff.”

“Well, maybe I’m changin’,” Logan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” You paused, glancing at him as you picked up a watering can. “So... you wanna help?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me? Helpin’ with your garden?”

“Why not?” you asked, stepping closer to him. “You’ve got hands, don’t you? It’s not all that complicated.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take the watering can from you, brushing his fingers against yours for a second time. “Alright, sweetheart, show me how it’s done.”

You handed him the can and pointed to a row of lavender plants nearby. “Just give them a little water. Not too much though—they don’t like it when their roots get too wet.”

Logan followed your instructions with a kind of amused curiosity, watching as the water trickled from the can onto the plants. It wasn’t the kind of thing he normally found himself doing, but there was something about the simplicity of it, something about you, that made it... well, not so bad.

“You really know your stuff, don’t ya?” Logan remarked after a few moments, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to grab some tools from a nearby shelf. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Plus, it’s kind of in my wheelhouse, you know? With the whole ‘controlling nature’ thing.”

Logan smirked, setting the watering can down as he leaned against the bench again. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do some pretty wild things with those powers of yours. But you don’t talk about ‘em much.”

“I talk to them.” You said, hiding a grin from growing on your face.

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

You laughed as you stood up, throwing a few weeds in a separate basket. “No. I was joking!”

Logan let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head at you. “You got me there, sweetheart,” he said, still leaning against the bench, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.

You grabbed a nearby hose, turning the water on low to rinse your hands. "Can't believe you thought I was serious. I mean, I get along with plants, but I don’t have full-on conversations with them. That’d be weird."

"Wouldn't surprise me with you, doll," Logan replied, still watching you intently. "You seem to know what everything around here needs, even without talkin' to 'em."

You shrugged, drying your hands on a towel. "It’s just intuition, I guess. Plants give off signals if you know how to read them."

Logan gave you a long look, his smirk softening into something almost affectionate, though you didn’t notice. "You sure it's just the plants you read that well?"

You looked up at him, confused for a second, but quickly shook your head, dismissing his comment. "Are you gonna keep talking, or are you actually going to help me?”

Logan pushed himself off the bench, standing up straight. "Alright, alright. Where do you want me, doll?"

You handed him the basket full of weeds, “throw them out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “that’s it?”

You handed Logan the basket of weeds, his hand brushing against yours for the third time today. He smirked slightly, but you, as usual, were completely unaware of the subtle tension.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in response to his earlier question, balancing two baskets filled with freshly picked fruits, vegetables, and herbs in your arms. “I’m gonna lock up and bring these inside.”

Logan didn’t move for a second, watching as you turned your back and headed toward the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the greenhouse. For someone so sharp, so brilliant, you seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he enjoyed these little moments with you.

That small, unspoken connection you two had—the one where you never quite seemed to notice that he was flirting with you—had started to become his favorite part of the day. Even if it had been going on for 8 months, and yes, he was counting.

As you reached for the lock on the greenhouse door, you glanced over your shoulder. “You’re still standing there, Logan. Are you gonna help or just watch me carry all this stuff by myself?”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Oh, I was just enjoyin' the view, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, missing the deeper meaning in his words, as usual. “Right. Well, the view can help me with these baskets if it’s not too busy.”

Logan chuckled softly, walking over to you and easily taking one of the baskets from your hands. “You got it, doll. I’ll lend a hand.”

Together, you made your way toward the mansion, the quiet of the late afternoon settling around you. It was peaceful, in that way you liked—just the sound of your footsteps on the gravel path, the faint rustle of leaves in the distance, and the low hum of the cicadas in the trees. Logan had quickly thrown away the weeds and rejoined you, taking the other basket out of your hand, saying something about how he was ‘being a gentleman.’

You both entered the mansion from the back door, making your way to the kitchen where Logan placed the baskets on the island. Jean and Scott were already in there, Jean making her way over to the two baskets.

You, having an inkling for what she was looking for, reached into one of the baskets and pulled out the 3 kiwis. You handed the kiwis over to Jean, a smile playing on your lips as she quickly clutched them to her chest, almost like they were gold. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, and it always amused you. Scott, of course, tried to intervene, reaching out to snatch one, but Jean shot him a look that was part-serious, part-playful.

“Hey, those are for me,” she said, moving slightly to block Scott’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for these kiwis all week.”

Scott smirked but backed off, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, babe.”

Jean gave him a victorious smile, then turned to you. “Thanks, Y/N. You always come through with the best fruit.”

“Of course,” you replied, wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “You’ve been asking for kiwis since the season started, so I figured it was about time I delivered.”

Logan, still standing nearby, watched the interaction with a subtle smirk on his face. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking completely relaxed but attentive.

“You sure know how to make people happy, doll,” Logan said, his voice low but teasing. “Always goin’ above and beyond for everyone.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. “It’s just a few kiwis, Logan. Nothing special.”

Jean, now satisfied with her prized fruit, glanced between the two of you with a curious look, sensing something in Logan’s tone. She had noticed the way he’d been hanging around you more than usual lately, and it wasn’t hard to pick up on the little glances he threw your way when you weren’t looking. Of course, you remained blissfully unaware of it all, as always.

“You’re selling yourself short,” Jean said, throwing you a grin. “It’s not just the kiwis. You’ve practically turned the greenhouse into a mini-Eden. We all appreciate it, even if Scott can’t admit he’s jealous of my fruit.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the garden, Y/N.”

You smiled at the compliment, though it didn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary to you. Taking care of the plants, helping out with the students, it was all part of your routine. You liked it that way—predictable, manageable. You didn’t dwell on the subtleties of interpersonal dynamics the way others seemed to.

Logan’s smirk widened slightly at Jean’s comment, but he kept quiet, watching you interact with the others. There was something about the way you brushed off compliments so easily, like you didn’t quite grasp how much people appreciated you around here.

You had already put a few strawberries in a glass bowl, making your way out of the kitchen to Ororo’s office without saying a word, something they were already used to.

“You sure you’re not going to say anything? You know, that’s actually straight to the point?” Jean asked Logan.

Scott reached into one of the baskets, pulling out a few blueberries, “at this point, you’re like a love-sick puppy following her around.”

Logan let out a low growl, plucking a strawberry out from the basket. “Keep talking dickhead.” He threatened.

Jean raised an eyebrow as she leaned against the counter, her sharp eyes flicking between Logan and Scott. "He’s not wrong though, Logan. You’ve been spending more time with Y/N than usual. We’ve all noticed."

Logan grunted, pushing himself off the counter and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "She’s a good kid. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on her."

Scott smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Right, keepin' an eye on her. That's what we’re calling it now?"

Jean shot Scott a playful glare, but her attention quickly shifted back to Logan. “You know, you could just tell her how you feel. She’s oblivious, but she’s not stupid. Sooner or later, she’s going to notice.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he glanced toward the door where you had just left. His emotions were complicated—he’d never been one for opening up, and the idea of confessing anything, especially something as vulnerable as his feelings for you, wasn’t exactly in his comfort zone. He had been through too much, lost too many people, and the thought of letting himself get close to someone again... well, it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“She’s got her own life,” Logan muttered, his voice gruff but softer now. “I ain’t lookin’ to mess that up.”

Jean sighed, walking over to stand next to Logan, her tone gentle but firm. “Logan, you’re not messing anything up. In fact, I think you’d be adding something important to her life. She’s not the type to see you as a burden or a distraction. She probably wouldn’t even realize you were flirting with her until you hit her over the head with it.”

Logan huffed a half-hearted laugh, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “Maybe that’s the problem. She’s too damn focused on other stuff to even see it.”

Jean smiled softly, placing a hand on Logan’s arm. “That’s what makes her so special, Logan. She’s genuine, selfless, and probably the least manipulative person in this mansion. She doesn’t play games—what you see is what you get. And she likes you, even if she doesn’t realize it in the same way you do yet.”

Scott, still lounging in his chair, added, “Plus, you know, if you wait too long, someone else might catch her eye. Just sayin’.”

Logan shot Scott a glare that could have melted steel. “Ain’t nobody else gonna catch her eye, Summers. Trust me on that.”

Jean chuckled softly, giving Logan’s arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “Well, when you’re ready, just remember—it’s okay to take a chance on her. You might be surprised by how things turn out.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his mind already spinning with conflicting thoughts. He appreciated Jean’s support, but the fear of rejection, of losing someone else important to him, gnawed at his insides. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it again. And what if telling you how he felt ruined the easy, comfortable dynamic you two had? What if he lost the one person in the mansion who treated him like a normal man instead of a gruff, dangerous mutant?

Jean and Scott exchanged a knowing glance, but they let Logan mull over his thoughts in silence. They could push him only so far before it was up to him to take the next step.

---

You were walking down the halls with your bag in over your shoulder, all you needed to do was get to your office and take these heels off.

They looked cute online, not too tall or high, had some cushion on the soles, but wearing them was a completely different story. Which was sad because they were a cute baby pink which went well with your button up baby pink cardigan and white jeans.

But your office seemed so far away with the stabbing pain in your feet, luckily the halls were empty since most of the students were in their rooms doing homework or relaxing before dinner.

Having enough of the pain, you crouched down to unbuckle your heels, your bag moving down your shoulder to your elbow.

“Need any help, princess?”

You looked up at the sound of the voice, even though you knew exactly who it was.

Logan stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes flicked down to your shoes before meeting your gaze again, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Need any help, princess?” His voice was low and casual, but that nickname—'princess’—it was just one of the many he’d taken to using when he spoke to you. Although you hadn’t heard this one before.

You shifted your bag back up on your shoulder and continued unbuckling the second heel. “I’ve got it, thanks,” you replied, not thinking too much of his presence. You’d known Logan long enough to realize he had a habit of showing up when you least expected him to.

He made a small grunt, as if to say ‘suit yourself,’ and watched as you continued to try and unbuckle the second one, but it looked like the strap was giving you a hard time.

Logan kneeled down in front of you without a word as you moved your hands away. You were smart enough to know that you weren’t exactly in the best position to unbuckle your heels, you usually did it when you were sitting down, not crouching in the middle of a hallway.

He easily unbuckled it and helped you slip out of the heels, your feet hitting the cool floor. You mumbled a thanks as his hand trailed up your calf with a feather light touch before standing up. Your heels were in one of his hands as he easily picked you up with one arm, carrying you bridal style.

You let out a small shriek of surprise, your arms instinctively going around Logan’s neck as he scooped you up with one arm, heels dangling from his other hand.

"Hey! I can walk!" you protested, more flustered than anything else. You were completely capable of walking, sore feet or not, but now you were cradled in Logan’s arms like a princess in some old fairy tale.

Logan's smirk widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Not fast enough, sweetheart," he teased, carrying you effortlessly down the hall. His voice was deep, a hint of amusement in his tone, and it made your cheeks heat up slightly, though you quickly tried to brush it off.

You rolled your eyes, not really sure how to argue back. "I’m pretty sure this is unnecessary," you muttered, though your voice didn’t sound all that convincing even to you.

"Necessary or not, you're gonna let me carry you," he shot back, glancing down at you with a playful gleam in his eye. "Besides, I don’t mind."

You huffed in mock defiance, but you didn’t exactly push him to put you down either. In fact, being carried by Logan felt…nice. Comfortable, even. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. And it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

As the two of you continued down the hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the way his grip was firm but gentle, his arms strong and steady. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen how built he was, but somehow, it always seemed to surprise you.

"You know, this could’ve been avoided if I’d just worn normal shoes," you grumbled, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart was beating a little too fast.

Logan chuckled softly, that gravelly sound that always seemed to resonate in your chest. "Doll, I’ve seen you rock combat boots and still look like you’re ready for a photoshoot. But those heels…" He raised an eyebrow at the pink shoes still in his hand. "Yeah, maybe not your best choice."

You frowned slightly, glancing at the heels. "They looked good online…"

He grinned, amused. "You got catfished by shoes?"

"I didn’t get catfished!" you retorted, though you couldn’t help but laugh. "They’re cute! Just not comfortable."

Logan made a noncommittal sound, clearly not convinced by your argument. But he didn’t press it further, instead shifting you slightly in his arms as he approached your office door.

"Want me to break down the door for you, too, princess? Or can you manage the key?" he asked with a teasing glint in his eyes, looking down at you like you were some helpless damsel.

"I’ve got it," you replied quickly, reaching into your bag for your keys. "And stop calling me princess." The nickname felt weird, it made your heart beat faster and you skin flush more than the other nicknames he called you.

But Logan just smirked, clearly unbothered. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

You couldn’t stop the little sigh that escaped you as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. Logan stepped inside, gently setting you down on your feet.

As soon as you were standing, you felt the cool air against your now bare feet, and it was an instant relief from the torture those heels had put you through. You moved to put your heels down by your desk, but Logan still had them in his hand.

"You know I can take those now," you said, holding out your hand expectantly.

Logan eyed the heels for a moment, then handed them over. "You really should burn 'em, doll," he said in that same teasing tone, watching you place them on the floor.

"I’m not burning them," you replied, shaking your head. "They’re not that bad. I just…need to break them in."

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe now, watching you with that amused smirk still playing on his lips. "Or you could just stick to boots."

"Maybe I like being fashionable sometimes," you shot back, raising an eyebrow at him as you plopped down into your office chair. Your fingers brushed your hair back from your face, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh now that you were sitting down.

"Fashionable, sure," Logan said, his voice a low rumble. "But at what cost?"

You shot him a look but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was hard to stay annoyed when Logan was like this—playful, relaxed, his rough edges softened just enough to make you feel like he actually cared.

"Anyway, shouldn’t you be out doing something more...Logan-like?" you asked, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know, brooding? Scowling at someone?"

His lips twitched, clearly suppressing a smirk. "Maybe I’m just waiting for you to ask me to carry you again."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth creeping into your cheeks. "Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath."

He chuckled, that deep, gravelly sound filling the small office. He didn’t say anything after that, just leaned against the door, arms crossed as he watched you settle in. The silence was comfortable, but it made you hyperaware of him—of the way his presence seemed to take up more space than it should.

You busied yourself with pulling out some notes from your bag, pretending you weren’t fully aware of how Logan’s eyes followed your every movement. It was strange, but also kind of…nice? Logan wasn’t like other guys. He wasn’t intimidated by your intelligence or the fact that you could talk circles around most people in the room. In fact, he seemed to like it, even if he teased you about it sometimes.

"Alright, well, thanks for the…uh, assistance," you said, breaking the silence and giving him a small, awkward smile. "I think I’m good now."

Logan didn’t move right away. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he pushed himself off the doorframe. "Anytime, sweetheart."

And with that, he turned and walked out of your office, leaving you with your thoughts—and the faintest trace of a smirk on your face.

---

Every so often, you would have a baking day to use up some of the fruits efficiently. Some of the students would join you in the large kitchen, doing their best to help you by carefully following your instructions.

Some of them, particularly the older ones, would cut up some of the fruit, like strawberries, apples, and peaches. The others would measure the ingredients and put them in a mixing bowl before combining it all together to make a dough.

This time, you were striving to make a few blueberry pies, a large dish of peach cobbler, apple strudels, and some strawberry puff pastries.

Baking was something you enjoyed, but never really did in college. You usually were busier with labs and theses rather than cooking or baking. You practically lived off take out and dining hall food. But since you’ve been here for the past year, you’ve already held 4 sessions, including this one.

“Careful with those strawberries,” you said to a student named Ben, who was chopping up the fruit with a little too much enthusiasm. “We need them in slices, not chunks.”

“Sorry, Y/N,” he mumbled, quickly adjusting his technique.

You smiled softly and moved to check on the other group, who were working on the dough for the pies. A girl named Emily was measuring out the flour, carefully following the recipe you’d written down.

"How’s it going over here?" you asked, watching as she sifted the flour into a bowl.

“Good, I think,” Emily said, glancing up at you nervously. “Is this enough?”

You nodded. "Looks perfect. Just remember to mix it slowly so the flour doesn’t go everywhere."

Emily gave you a grateful smile before continuing her work. You loved these baking sessions. It was a great way to bond with the students and also let them explore a more creative side outside of their classes. Plus, it gave you a break from the constant intellectual challenges of your usual work.

Logan wandered into the kitchen a little while later, casually leaning against the doorframe as he watched the controlled chaos. Ororo and Jean were already in the kitchen, watching from the sidelines nursing a glass of a bubbly pink drink.

He couldn’t help but think about how pretty you looked, you were wearing a pastel purple sundress with a light green apron with vines and flowers embroidered on it.

The sight made him smirk—something about you baking in a kitchen full of teenagers, in your floral apron, amused him. It was such a stark contrast to your usual intellectual, no-nonsense attitude.

“Whatcha got cookin’, sweetheart?” Logan’s gruff voice broke the bustling sounds of mixing and chopping.

You didn’t glance up, too focused on guiding Emily through making the pie dough. "Just baking some pies and pastries. Using up the leftover fruit. Do you want some?" you asked casually, not thinking too much about the fact that Logan was watching you.

Logan shrugged, stepping further into the kitchen. “Depends. Is it any good?”

You finally looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. “You doubt my baking skills?”

He chuckled lowly, leaning against the counter now, close enough to see what you were working on. “Wouldn’t call it doubt, doll. Just curious.”

You gave him a small smirk, hands moving skillfully as you finished helping Emily measure the remaining ingredients. "You’ll have to wait until they’re done to find out."

One of the students, Ben, interrupted, grinning as he wiped flour off his hands. "Y/N’s baking is the best! She made these strawberry scones last time—they were gone in like ten minutes."

Logan raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing glance. "Impressive, princess. Maybe I will stick around."

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but didn’t comment. Instead, you turned back to Emily, helping her roll out the dough. It wasn’t that you didn’t notice Logan's teasing, it was just that you didn’t think much of it. Guys didn’t usually flirt with you. At least not seriously. Most found your intelligence intimidating, or they simply saw you as ‘one of the guys.’ Logan’s pet names, in your mind, were just part of his rough-and-tumble personality, nothing more.

But Logan, on the other hand, found your obliviousness endearing. The fact that you didn’t seem to realize he was flirting with you only made him try harder, though he kept it casual enough not to push you away. He liked the challenge.

“You need any help?” Logan offered, gesturing toward the fruit Ben was chopping haphazardly.

“You’re not gonna burn the kitchen down?” you teased, wiping your hands on your apron before reaching for a bowl.

“I think I can handle it,” Logan said, a grin tugging at his lips.

You handed him a knife, showing him how to properly slice the strawberries. “Here, like this. We need them thin for the pastries.”

You held out the knife for him, and instead of coming up beside you like you assumed he would, he stood behind you, his chest against your back, practically caging you in between him and the counter.

He could hear your heart beat faster as he cut a few slices of the strawberry, asking, "That good enough for you, sweetheart?"

His voice was low, and you could feel his breath near your ear, but you were too focused on the task at hand to fully process the closeness. You glanced at the thinly sliced strawberries, nodding absentmindedly.

"Yeah, that’s perfect," you mumbled, moving slightly away to give yourself more room to breathe, though you didn’t realize why. "Just need a few more for the pastries."

Logan continued slicing, his movements precise, though his presence remained solid and grounding behind you. You were used to people standing close when you worked in the lab or in class—tight spaces, shared equipment, it came with the territory. But this was different. Logan’s proximity felt… intense in a way you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"So, how long you been doin' this?" Logan asked casually, his voice breaking through your thoughts as he finished up with the strawberries.

You blinked, taking a second to register the question. "Baking? Oh, I don’t know… when I was a kid? I just started because it’s a nice break from… everything I guess.”

Jean and Ororo continued to drink their glass of champagne when Scott walked in, placing an arm around Jean’s waist as they watched the scene. “Think she’ll finally realize,” he asked.

Ororo gave a small grin and shrugged, “who knows? But Logan’s certainly getting bolder.”

Jean shook her head, “I told him to talk to her and say exactly what he was feeling, but turns out he still hasn’t taken my advice.”

Ororo chuckled as she took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze flicking back to the kitchen scene unfolding in front of them. "Well, you know Logan. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit."

Scott smirked as he stood next to Jean, his arm still comfortably draped around her waist. "Yeah, but subtlety doesn’t seem to be the problem here," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Logan hover around you. "He’s not exactly hiding it."

Ororo tilted her head, amused by how oblivious you remained despite Logan’s efforts. It wasn’t that you were unobservant; you were incredibly sharp—when it came to science, mechanics, and even battle tactics. But personal matters? Especially the ones involving yourself? Not so much.

"Poor girl," Ororo mused, shaking her head. "She’s a genius, but this…" She waved a hand in Logan’s direction. "This seems to be one thing she’s totally clueless about."

Jean smiled sympathetically. "She’s not used to people flirting with her. I mean, guys either get intimidated by her brain, or they just see her as a fellow intellectual, not… you know, a woman."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Logan clearly sees her as a woman. He’s made that much obvious. But I wonder how long it’ll take for her to figure it out."

Jean laughed softly. "At this rate? It might take a while."

The three of them watched with growing curiosity as Logan stood there, his broad shoulders and rough demeanor somehow fitting perfectly in the domestic scene of baking pastries with students. You, on the other hand, were entirely focused on getting the strawberry puff pastries just right, completely unaware of how closely Logan was watching you—or how he lingered longer than necessary when he handed you the knife, or how his teasing nicknames held a deeper meaning.

"She’s too smart for her own good," Scott added, shaking his head with a chuckle. "But when it comes to this, she's got blind spots."

Jean nodded in agreement. "Y/N is convinced she knows everything—and to be fair, she does know a lot—but she’s missing the whole picture here."

---

After Logan’s stunt on baking day, he wondered just how much further he could go. Sure, he could take Jean’s advice and outright tell you, but he also liked seeing you riled up and confused by his words and actions.

Like a few days ago, all he did was pull out your chair at dinner with the rest of the group and you just stood there, confused by the gesture. It took a few moments for you to understand and finally sit down before he pushed the chair closer to the table for you.

Or now, they were having a briefing, or meeting, about God knows what, most of everybody seated. You and Ororo were the last people to come in, aside from Charles. Ororo went to sit down at an open seat and as you looked around you came to the conclusion that there weren’t any other chairs available.

You were content with the fact that you were going to stand for the short meeting, as you found a spot to stand at the opposite end of the large round table, close to Logan.

“C’mere doll.” Logan said, lazily gesturing for you to come closer.

You hesitantly did, stopping next to his chair, your knee brushing his thigh. “What?”

He patted his thigh, “I don’t bite.”

Your eyes widened, a cute, innocent expression that he enjoyed seeing on your face, as you looked around the room. “I, uh- ”

Logan’s smirk widened, clearly finding your hesitation endearing. He patted his lap again, his eyes glinting with a teasing light. “C’mon, doll. Don’t be shy. There’s a perfectly good seat right here.”

You hesitated, your brain racing to process the situation. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for a professional setting, but you were running out of options. The only other seats were either taken or a bit too far from the discussion table. With a small sigh, you decided to give in. You didn’t want to stand for the entire meeting, and it was just one of those moments where you had to roll with it.

“Alright,” you said. You shot a glance around the room, but most people were already absorbed in their conversations or taking notes. You gingerly sat down on the edge of his lap, trying to maintain a sense of propriety despite the awkwardness of the situation.

Logan’s arm naturally wrapped around your waist to stabilize you, but he didn’t say anything as you settled. You could feel his warmth radiating through his leather jacket, and it was strangely comforting despite the unusual circumstances. He leaned in slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “You alright there, sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the meeting but acutely aware of how close he was. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, though you could feel your cheeks warming slightly. “Just trying to get comfortable.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest and making you shift just a bit closer. His hand rested lightly on your hip, not too firm but enough to make you acutely aware of his presence. You tried to ignore it and concentrate on the meeting, but his proximity made that task rather difficult.

The meeting continued, with Charles and the others discussing various topics related to ongoing projects and missions. Logan’s hand on your hip was a constant reminder of his presence, but he remained quiet, only chiming in occasionally with his usual gruff comments or suggestions.

---

At breakfast one day, you were sitting with Hank talking about the project you two were working on that was finally getting somewhere. You had finally been able to stabilize the energy output and now you two were talking about what to do next.

Logan sipped his coffee, looking at your from afar. As always, you were dressed cute today. You were wearing a light blue sweater with a pair of your skinny jeans and white flats, paired with matching drop earrings.

Ororo and Jean came up beside him, the former tsking. Ororo gave Logan a knowing look, crossing her arms. "You still at it, huh?" she teased, nodding in your direction.

Logan grunted but didn't respond immediately, sipping his coffee as he watched you and Hank animatedly discuss your project. You were explaining something with such enthusiasm, using your hands to gesture wildly, that it made him smirk. The light blue sweater you wore today only added to the adorable vibe you unknowingly radiated.

Jean nudged him lightly. "Nine months, Logan. Nine months of flirting, and she’s still completely oblivious." She shook her head, amused.

"She’s a genius, remember?" Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "She’s supposed to know everything."

Logan snorted, finally setting his coffee down. "Well, she clearly doesn’t know this. And I’m in no rush to tell her." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His eyes didn’t leave you, even as the conversation between Hank and you grew more intense.

Jean chuckled. "It's kinda cute, though. Watching her get all flustered whenever you call her those names, like she’s completely missing the point."

"I know," Logan muttered with a grin. "She gets that little furrow in her brow, like she’s trying to figure it out, but then brushes it off. She’s too wrapped up in all her fancy projects and theories."

Ororo shook her head in disbelief. "You’ve got the patience of a saint. Most people would’ve given up by now."

Logan shrugged, glancing at Ororo. "Ain’t in any hurry. She’s worth the wait."

Jean smiled softly at that, then sighed. "Well, good luck. Maybe one day she’ll actually catch on."

As if on cue, you let out a triumphant laugh from across the room, and Logan’s attention immediately shifted back to you. You had a bright smile on your face, clearly excited about whatever breakthrough you and Hank had just made.

"You’re like a moth to a flame," Ororo muttered under her breath with a smirk, walking off with Jean to sit down.

Logan ignored her, his eyes still locked on you as you gathered up some papers and started to walk toward the exit. As you passed him, he casually stuck his leg out just enough that you had to stop short to avoid tripping.

“Logan!” you exclaimed, looking down at his leg and then up at him with confusion.

He raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his coffee. "Mornin', sweetheart."

You blinked at him, clearly thrown off for a moment. "Uh, morning." You shifted the stack of papers in your arms. "Why’d you—"

"Just wanted to say good job," he interrupted, nodding toward the papers in your hand. "Whatever you and Hank were talkin’ about over there seemed pretty important."

Your face lit up at the mention of your project, and you immediately launched into an explanation, completely forgetting about Logan's odd behavior. "Oh, yeah! We finally stabilized the energy output! It’s been driving us crazy for weeks, but we think we’ve figured out how to—"

Logan barely paid attention to the technical jargon that followed, more focused on the way your eyes sparkled as you talked, your excitement contagious. He gave a few gruff nods, pretending to follow along, but it was the way you lit up when you were passionate about something that kept him hooked.

"You’re incredible, you know that?" he said once you finished, his voice low and serious.

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, what?"

"I said you’re incredible." He repeated, his gaze locking onto yours. "Smart, talented, and cute as a button. Gotta give credit where it’s due."

Your cheeks flushed pink, and you quickly looked down at the papers in your arms. "Oh, um, thanks, Logan," you mumbled, completely missing the deeper implication of his words, as usual. "I... I should probably get these to the lab. We need to review them before the next phase."

"Of course," Logan said, his smirk widening as he watched you stumble over your words. "But don’t forget to take a break, doll. All work and no play ain’t good for anyone."

"Right," you said, nodding as you hurried off, your mind already shifting back to your project, completely oblivious to the playful grin on Logan's face.

---

“You’ve never even been clubbing!?” Ororo exclaimed, holding up a finger to stop you from saying anything. “And you know I’m not talking about something like a ‘gardening club’.”

“And you have?” You asked, sitting on your bed as Jean looked through your closet.

Ororo laughed, shaking her head at your naivety. “Oh, Y/N, honey, I’ve been out dancing plenty of times. Clubbing is one of those things you just have to experience.”

Jean, still rummaging through your closet, chimed in, "She’s right, Y/N. It's fun to get out of the lab once in a while and let loose. You spend so much time buried in your work. You deserve a break."

You sighed, sinking back onto the bed. "I don’t know… It just seems like a waste of time. We could watch a movie, drink some wine, and call it a night."

Ororo leaned against your dresser, crossing her arms. "You can’t hide behind your projects forever, Flora. You need to socialize, let your hair down." She smirked, looking at you pointedly. "You never know, maybe someone will finally catch your eye."

You furrowed your brow, unconvinced. "Like who?"

Jean shared a knowing look with Ororo before turning to face you, holding up a dress you’d forgotten you owned. “Who knows? There could be someone at the club. Or maybe someone you’ve been completely blind to.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow and added, "Someone who’s been giving you attention for months, perhaps."

Your eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Jean grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she held up the dress in front of you. "Nothing, just an observation. Now, come on, put this on. Let’s see how it looks."

You sighed, getting off the bed and taking the dress from Jean’s hands. "I still don’t get what the big deal is. I’m perfectly fine without this whole clubbing thing."

Ororo smirked, stepping toward the door. “Trust us. You’ll thank us later.”

---

A few hours later, you found yourself standing outside one of the busiest clubs in the city, feeling slightly out of place in the dress Jean had picked out for you. The music thumped from inside the building, the bass reverberating through the sidewalk as people lined up to get in. You stood between Jean and Ororo, who both looked far more comfortable in their outfits than you felt in yours.

"I can’t believe you guys convinced me to come," you muttered under your breath, shifting on your feet as you glanced at the line of people ahead.

Jean grinned, looping her arm through yours. "You’re going to have fun. Trust me. It’s a nice change of pace."

Ororo nodded in agreement. "Plus, you deserve a night out. You’ve been working hard."

As you were about to respond, the doors of the club swung open, and you were hit with a blast of cool air mixed with the sound of thumping music. The bouncer waved the three of you in without a second glance, and before you knew it, you were inside, the lights flashing and the crowd buzzing with energy.

You followed Jean and Ororo through the throngs of people, weaving through the packed dance floor until you reached the bar. The atmosphere was unlike anything you were used to—loud, chaotic, and a little overwhelming. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet.

Ororo leaned against the bar, ordering drinks while Jean turned to you with a grin. "What do you think so far?"

You shrugged, glancing around. "It’s... different."

"Just give it a chance," Jean said, patting your arm. "Once you get a drink in you and loosen up a bit, you’ll feel better."

The bartender handed Ororo three drinks, and she passed one to you with a wink. "To new experiences, Flora."

You hesitated for a moment before raising your glass. "To new experiences, I guess."

The three of you clinked glasses, and you took a sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol start to settle in. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

An expensive Uber trip later and you three were back at the mansion at 4 in the morning. Luckily it was Friday, or Saturday now, so there was no need to worry about being hungover for classes.

You don’t think you’ve ever drank that much alcohol, but to be fair, you must have a really low tolerance since you never partied in college, other than the occasional glass of wine.

So, drinking around 5 or 6 fruity cocktails surely made you see things differently. Maybe just a tad bit too blurry and clumsy.

You fumbled with your keys at the mansion door, Jean giggling behind you. “Here, let me help,” she offered, her hands steadier than yours as she took the keys and unlocked the door with ease.

“I’m fine, Jean!” you protested with a laugh, swaying slightly as you stepped inside. You weren’t used to feeling so... unbalanced. Everything seemed lighter, funnier, and a little more ridiculous after the alcohol. You were starting to understand why people did this more often.

Ororo walked in behind you, shaking her head but smiling. “Maybe next time we won’t let you have quite so many drinks,” she teased, gently guiding you toward the living room. “You’re gonna feel this tomorrow.”

“I’m a genius,” you declared, holding your head high in mock dignity, “I’ll be fine.”

Jean snorted, flopping onto the couch. “Oh yeah? Even geniuses can’t outsmart a hangover.”

You waved her off, settling into a chair, only to realize it was far too squishy, causing you to slide right down onto the floor. You stared at it for a second, then burst out laughing. “Who put a trap here?”

Ororo and Jean were in hysterics now, and even though your head was spinning, you couldn’t help but join in.

“You know,” Ororo started between giggles, “for someone who knows everything, you sure don’t know how to handle a drink.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, or at least tried to. “It’s... an anomaly. Unpredictable variables.”

“Right,” Jean said, leaning back with a grin, “just like Logan’s flirting.”

You blinked, the name snapping you out of your drunken haze for a second. “Logan’s what?”

Ororo and Jean exchanged glances before looking back at you, their smiles widening.

“His flirting,” Jean repeated slowly, as if explaining a simple concept.

You squinted, feeling like your brain was moving through molasses. “Flirting? Logan? With me?”

Ororo rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Y/N. For months. You seriously haven’t noticed?”

You stared at them both, utterly lost. “Flirting? Logan? Are you guys drunk too?”

Jean sighed dramatically, standing up. “I think you’re too far gone to process this tonight.”

You shook your head, still trying to wrap your mind around what they were saying. Logan? Flirting? With you? It didn’t make any sense. Logan was... well, Logan.

Ororo pulled you up from the floor, patting your arm. “Let’s get you to bed. You can overthink this tomorrow.”

---

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach that felt like it was doing somersaults. Groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed, making a mental note to never drink that much again.

As you made your way to the kitchen, hoping to find coffee and maybe something greasy to settle your stomach, you tried to remember the details from last night. Jean and Ororo had said something about Logan... flirting with you?

You shook your head. That couldn’t be right. Logan wasn’t the type to flirt. He was gruff, tough, and mostly kept to himself. Sure, he called you pet names, but that didn’t mean anything. Right?

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you sat at the kitchen island, still groggy. You were about to take a sip when you heard the familiar sound of boots approaching.

“Mornin’, doll,” Logan greeted as he walked in, his voice a low rumble.

You looked up at him, your brain still foggy, and for some reason, the word ‘flirting’ popped into your mind again. You stared at him for a moment longer than necessary, your head tilting slightly.

“Uh... morning,” you replied, your voice a little more unsure than usual. You couldn’t stop replaying what Jean and Ororo had said last night. Was this flirting? You eyed Logan, trying to decipher his expression.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, taking a sip of your coffee. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Logan chuckled, that deep, rough sound that always sent a weird shiver down your spine. “Guess you didn’t take my advice about not overdoing it, huh?”

You blinked. “What advice?”

“Last night,” he said, smirking, “told ya not to have too many drinks, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrowed. “Wait, you were there?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, clearly amused. “Passed by when you three were heading out. You looked excited about... whatever the hell it is you get excited about.”

You frowned, trying to remember him saying that. It was all so hazy. Then you shook your head, deciding to just drop it. “Well, I’ll survive.”

Logan gave you a lazy grin. “Tough as nails, aren’t ya?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I guess so.”

There was a moment of silence before Logan pushed off the counter and moved closer. He reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek for just a second too long. “Good thing. Wouldn’t want ya to break, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat. This was... different. You felt your face heat up, and you quickly turned your attention back to your coffee. “Uh... right.”

Logan’s smirk didn’t fade as he stepped back. “See ya around, darlin’.”

You watched him leave the kitchen, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. What was that? Was that what Jean and Ororo had been talking about? Or was it just him being old-fashioned, after all he was over 200 years old, and you were a mere 25. He was the Wolverine, and you were just a young teacher that happened to be an X-Men.

---

It had been a week since you had gone out clubbing with Jean and Ororo and you were too far gone in your own mind. You started observing things more carefully, the way Logan would rest his hand on your lower back when he was walking you to your next class, how he occasionally brought you snacks when you were in the lab, telling Hank that they were only for you, and finally, how he really only called you nicknames.

Ever since that realization, you tried to keep it hidden, to process it on your own. After all, guys didn’t like you. You weren’t exactly the kind of girl they wanted.

Logan noticed how you got more nervous around him, your heart beating faster, how you seemed to stumble over your words more often than not around him. At one point, he asked Jean about it, to which she revealed her and Ororo did what he couldn’t.

He ended up outside of your office, hearing you talk to one of the senior students about which colleges were the best for his major. You assured him that just because it was September, doesn’t mean he’s too late to apply.

Logan knocked on the door as you said that the door was unlocked. He hadn’t seen your outfit today, a white pencil skirt paired with a skintight, long sleeve peach colored shirt. Your hip was leaning against the front of the desk next to where the student was sitting.

Kean looked between the two of you, before quickly gathering his things and the brochures you gave him for various colleges.

"Remember to look into some engineering programs! I’d think they’d be great for you!" You called out after Kean, watching as the student hurried out of your office. The door clicked shut behind him, and you sighed, thinking of the next round of paperwork waiting on your desk. You were about to walk around your desk to sit down when you noticed Logan still standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes focused on you in that intense way he often did.

"Sweetheart, got a minute?" Logan's voice was rough, familiar, and held that signature casualness that made it feel like he wasn't really asking.

You blinked, startled for a second before nodding. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Logan. What's up?"

Logan stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning you briefly. "You looked pretty wrapped up in your work. Thought you could use a break."

Your mind raced, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, I’ve been helping some of the seniors with their college stuff," you explained, motioning to the brochures still scattered across your desk. "It's that time of year where they start panicking about applications."

Logan smirked, his arms crossing over his chest. "You always keep yourself busy, don’t ya, doll?"

You rolled your lower lip while humming as your answer. You crossed your arms, watching as Logan came closer to you, standing almost toe to toe with your pointy short peach colored heels.

“You finally figured it out then, didn’t ya?” He asked.

“I- well, uh…” you stammered, suddenly feeling heat rush to your face. Why was Logan looking at you like that? And what did he mean by ‘you finally figured it out’? Were Ororo and Jean right?

Logan’s smirk deepened, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched you fumble over your words. "You’re a genius, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now."

Your heart raced, and you felt your palms start to sweat. Why was he so close? You tried to focus on the conversation, on anything other than how your body was reacting to his presence. "N-noticed what?" you managed to get out, your voice sounding way less composed than you intended.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this far more than you were. "How I’ve been flirtin’ with ya for months now," he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Your brain short-circuited. Flirting? Logan? Flirting? With you? That didn’t make any sense. Logan flirted with women who were… well, not you. He was the rough-around-the-edges kind of guy who went for women who were confident, flirtatious, and knew how to handle someone like him. You were the awkward  genius who spent more time in the lab than anywhere else. Guys didn’t flirt with you.

"You’ve been—wait, what?" you asked, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "You’ve been flirting with me?"

Logan chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, doll. Pretty sure everyone at the mansion’s noticed by now." His smirk returned as he added, "Except you, apparently."

Your face burned, and you tried to think back. Had he been flirting? The nicknames, the snacks, the casual touches… it all seemed so… normal for Logan. You thought he was just being friendly, maybe a bit protective like he was with some of the younger students.

"I—" You started to say something but stopped, unsure of what exactly to say. You felt like the ground had shifted beneath you. "Why didn’t anyone tell me?"

Logan shrugged. "Didn’t think it was their place. Figured you’d catch on eventually." His gaze softened, and he added, "Didn’t expect you to be this oblivious, though. Kinda cute."

You were sure your face couldn’t get any redder. "I’m not… I’m not oblivious," you mumbled, crossing your arms defensively. "I just didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me."

Logan’s eyebrows shot up. "And why the hell not?"

"Because I’m… me!" You motioned to yourself, like that explained everything. "Guys don’t flirt with me, Logan. They’re usually intimidated or just… I don’t know. I’m not the kind of girl guys like."

You didn’t have any friends until you came here, which was sad because you were 24 when you finally had some.

Sure, you tried to make some during college, joined the gardening club and the astronomy club, but whenever you talked people would never really listen to you.

You even tried going on a few dates with some guys from online dating apps. They were your age, but they were in their third year of college while you were already working on two master’s degrees. You even had similarities with a few of them.

One guy liked Star Wars, and you went into a short rant about how the physics of it was wrong and even talked about a bunch of the lore behind it. Same with the other 2 dates you went on, they were all one and done.

Guys didn’t like you. That’s just the way it was.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, doll. You think guys don’t notice you?”

You crossed your arms, feeling defensive again. “I don’t think, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried.” You paused, hesitating before you added, “I’m not exactly… good at this kind of thing. Social stuff, I mean. I’m better at figuring out equations than people.”

Logan stepped closer, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You’re wrong, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’ve got this idea in your head that no one’s gonna want you because you’re too smart or too different, but that ain’t true. Not even close.”

You blinked up at him, unsure of how to respond. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flutter in a way that felt both exciting and terrifying. “I just… I don’t see why you’d be interested in me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re Logan. You could have anyone.”

Logan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I don’t want just anyone.” His eyes locked onto yours, his tone becoming serious. “I want you.”

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest. You had no idea what to say. Logan had been flirting with you—Logan, the gruff, no-nonsense guy you’d come to admire over the past year—and you’d been completely clueless. How could someone like him, someone who seemed so out of your league, be interested in you?

“I… I don’t understand,” you mumbled, still struggling to process everything. “Why me?”

Logan sighed, as if he had been waiting for this question for months. “Because you’re brilliant, Y/N. You’ve got this fire in you, this passion for everything you do. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and you don’t let anyone push you around. And you’re so damn kind, even when you don’t have to be.” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell you, but… well, you’re not exactly the easiest person to talk to about feelings.”

You blinked. “I’m not?”

Logan smirked. “No, sweetheart, you’re not. You overthink everything. Makes it kinda hard to tell you I like you without you analyzing it to death.”

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, not really knowing what else to say. “I just didn’t think you… I didn’t think anyone would… you know.”

Logan stepped even closer, so close that you had to sit on the edge of your desk. “Well, I do,” he said, his voice low. “And I’ve been waitin’ for you to figure it out.”

You stared up at him, your mind still reeling. All this time, Logan had been flirting with you, had liked you, and you hadn’t noticed. And now, here he was, standing so close you could feel his breath on your skin, telling you exactly how he felt. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

"Logan, I…" you started, but the words got caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like this. Part of you wanted to brush it off as some kind of misunderstanding, but the way he was looking at you, the way he had always looked at you, made it clear that this wasn’t a joke or a misunderstanding.

He really liked you.

Logan smirked at your silence, clearly amused by how flustered you were. "Speechless, huh? That’s a first," he teased, his voice low and rough in that way that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "It’s just… I didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me. You’re Logan, and I’m…" You gestured to yourself awkwardly. "Me."

Logan frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

You shrugged in response, turning your head downward to look down at your lap. It didn’t last long, because Logan put his thumb on your chin, turning your head upright to look at him.

He noticed your expression change, you were someone who was easy to read, never really kept her emotions hidden well, or at least not to him. You went from big doe eyes and sad, pouty lips to flustered. Your eyes were curious and almost nervous and your pink lips, courtesy of the colored lip balm you always wore, were slightly parted.

Logan held your gaze, his thumb gently resting on your chin, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken under his touch. He was so close now, close enough that the musky scent of him was filling your senses, making it even harder to think clearly.

"You really think I’d waste my time on someone I didn’t want?" Logan’s voice was low, gruff, but there was a softness to it that you hadn’t heard before.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The words were jumbled in your mind, and all you could focus on was the way his rough fingers were still holding your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. The confidence he exuded was overwhelming. How could he be so sure, so calm, while you felt like your brain was on fire?

"Logan, I…" you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his hand, the warmth of his body so close—it was too much.

He let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused by how flustered you were. "Doll, you’re overthinking again."

Your lips pressed together into a thin line as you tried to get a handle on your spiraling thoughts. "I’m just… surprised. I didn’t think…" You hesitated, the words feeling clumsy in your mouth. His thumb moved slightly up, still holding onto your chin but now brushing against your lower lip, making it more difficult to concentrate or come up with a single coherent thought.

No one had ever treated you like this, so kindly and… normally. You thought back to the only 3 dates you had ever been on during college, how none of them ever really tried to get to know you, or peel back the layers behind your smarts.

Because you weren’t just smart, you loved gardening, and baking, hell, you even liked to dress cute. And out of all the guys, Logan never treated you like someone different. It was nice to be around someone like that, who embraced who you were rather than try and get you to bury it. Maybe it was his age? You remember reading an article from a psych organization about how younger women like older men because of emotional maturity-

Rough hands cupped your face, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Hey, stop thinkin’. What the hell could you be thinkin’ about right now?”

You gave a shy smile and shook your head gently, his hands still on your face. “Nothin’,” you mumbled, your voice softer than you intended. You tried to play it off like everything was fine, but Logan wasn’t buying it.

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing your cheek now. "You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart." His voice was low, that gravelly tone sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, your mind still racing as you searched for the right words. "I just… I don’t get why you’d want me," you admitted, your eyes flicking away from his. "You’re this… badass, Logan. You’ve been through so much. You could have anyone."

His hands stayed where they were, his touch gentle but firm as he guided your gaze back to his. "I told you, doll. I don’t want anyone else. I want you."

You blinked up at him, still unsure of how to respond. It felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, and your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts. On one hand, Logan was the last person you ever thought would have feelings for you. On the other hand, here he was, being painfully honest, and you couldn’t deny the sincerity in his voice.

"I just…" you hesitated, biting your lip, "I don’t know how to do this, Logan. I’m not… I’ve never been good at… people. Relationships. I mean, I’m good at math, science, and solving problems but not—this."

Logan chuckled softly, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You don’t gotta be good at it, Y/N. You just gotta be you." His voice softened, the teasing tone dropping away as he said, "That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

Your breath caught in your throat. He made it sound so simple, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal to you. You hadn’t dated much—hardly at all, if you were being honest. Relationships felt like another complex equation you couldn’t quite solve.

"Logan, I…" you started, but he cut you off, his hands dropping from your face to settle on your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

"You overthinkin’ again?" Logan smirked, one eyebrow raised.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice quiet. It was hard to concentrate when he was so close, his hands resting on your hips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"That’s what I thought," Logan muttered, leaning in just enough that his forehead almost touched yours. "You don’t gotta figure everything out right now, doll. Just… let it happen."

You stared at him, your mind whirling. "Let it happen?" you echoed, trying to wrap your head around what he was saying.

"Yeah," Logan said softly, his voice rough but soothing at the same time. "Stop tryin’ to solve it like it’s some kinda problem. Just be with me."

You blinked, your heart doing that weird fluttering thing again. Be with him? It sounded so simple when he said it like that. But you couldn’t help the flood of doubt that kept creeping into your mind. What if you screwed it up? What if you weren’t good enough at this? What if—

Logan’s hands tightened slightly on your hips, and he pulled you closer, cutting off your spiraling thoughts. "Y/N, you’re doin’ it again," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble in the space between you. "You’re thinkin’ too much."

You sighed, biting your lip again. "I can’t help it," you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. "That’s just how my brain works."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I know, darlin’. But you don’t gotta do that with me."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself staring at him, completely unsure of what to say next. No one had ever spoken to you like this before. No one had ever made you feel like it was okay to just… be. You were always the smartest person in the room, always expected to have the answers, to be the one in control. But with Logan, it felt different. He didn’t expect you to be anything but yourself.

"I…" You trailed off, your throat tightening. "I don’t know how to not overthink things."

Logan’s smirk softened, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes warm as they met yours. "Then I’ll just have to distract you, won’t I?"

Before you could even process what he was saying, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It was like everything around you froze for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to catch up with what was happening.

Logan was kissing you.

Logan.

Was kissing.

You.

Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back. It wasn’t what you expected—nothing in your life had ever felt like this. The warmth, the softness of his lips against yours, the way he held you like you were something precious… it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

If you would’ve told your past self from five years ago, hell, even two months ago, that your first kiss would be with the Wolverine, you would’ve thought it was some grand, cosmic joke. But there you were, hands fisting into Logan’s shirt, his lips gently pressing against yours like this was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first kiss would go. Not that you’d spent a lot of time imagining it—honestly, you’d been too busy with equations, papers, and research to even consider the prospect of someone being interested in you. But if you had pictured it, this wouldn’t have been it. Not with a man like Logan.

His rough hands held you in place, strong but careful, as if he was hyper-aware of how delicate you felt in his grasp. You, who could bend nature to your will, whose intelligence far surpassed anyone’s expectations, felt completely and utterly vulnerable in his arms.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t by much. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and slightly uneven. Logan’s lips curved into a smirk, one you could practically feel against your skin.

“Well,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “that didn’t seem too bad, did it?”

You blinked up at him, still trying to recover from the shock. “I… I don’t—what just happened?”

Logan chuckled softly, his thumbs brushing small circles into your hips, keeping you grounded when your thoughts were spinning out of control. “I just kissed ya, sweetheart. And unless I’m readin’ the situation wrong, you didn’t mind too much.”

Your mind raced, heart hammering in your chest. “No, I—” You paused, biting your lip as you tried to form a coherent thought. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Logan’s voice softened, his expression growing more serious as he studied your face.

“I wasn’t expecting it.” You swallowed, looking away from him for a moment before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “I didn’t think someone like you… I mean, I didn’t think you would- I didn’t think anyone would- ”

Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish, but when you didn’t, he took a step closer. His hand was still resting on your hip, keeping you anchored to him, and the heat of his body was impossible to ignore. “Didn’t think what, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question press down on you. It was like all the words in your head had turned to static, and you couldn’t figure out how to string a coherent sentence together. "I just… I don’t know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, but his eyes stayed serious. "You don’t know, or you don’t wanna say?"

You bit your lip, your mind still reeling from the kiss. The memory of it—soft, unexpected, but not unwelcome—was playing on a loop in your head. You hadn’t been kissed much, if at all, and the idea that Logan was the one to give you your first real kiss was still something you were trying to process.

But you couldn’t lie, it was nice. You were 25, just had your first kiss, and suddenly you felt like a teenager in a Disney movie.

A grin slipped past your lips. "I just wasn’t expecting you to kiss me, old man," you finally replied, your voice teasing but soft.

Logan’s eyebrows raised, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Old man, huh?" he murmured, his voice dipping into that gravelly tone that always made you feel a bit flustered. "Pretty sure that kiss just proved I’ve still got it."

You laughed softly, your hands still fisted in his shirt, though he didn’t seem to mind at all. Logan’s smirk widened at the sound of your laughter, and you could feel the tension in the air start to ease, just a little.

"Yeah, maybe you do," you replied, your voice soft but teasing as you looked up at him, your heart still beating a little too fast from the kiss. "Guess you're not as rusty as I thought."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. "Rusty?" he repeated, his voice low and playful, with that gravelly edge that made your stomach flip every time. "You seriously thought I was rusty, sweetheart?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite how close he was and how easily he seemed to get under your skin. "I don’t know. I mean, you’re a couple of hundred years old. Thought you might’ve lost your touch."

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as he leaned in just a little closer. "Oh, darlin'," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I ain't lost a damn thing."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Logan’s confidence was overwhelming, but it wasn’t just that—there was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, a softness in his touch that made your chest feel tight.

"Okay, okay," you finally muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to deflect some of the attention. "Point taken."

Logan grinned, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. "Good," he said simply, his thumbs brushing lightly over your hips where his hands still rested. "’Cause I don’t wanna hear any more about me bein’ rusty or old. Got it?"

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried not to smile too much. "Got it."

chapter 3 of Sweet Dreams will be up tomorrow!

[itneverendshere]

LOOKIN' LIKE MOTIVATION - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT. pairing: sports physical therapist!reader x hockey player!rafe; friends to lovers.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made.

And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury.

You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan.

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots.

It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain.

It was from trying to resist the need to say something that might actually cross the line.

But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes keen, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s.

Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard.

“Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. That look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year in college.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about.

Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you chastised, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, m’focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise.

He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful.

It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, he couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend.”

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, then adding most absolute out of pocket suggestion. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, biting his tongue not to add the unfortunately’. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to ignore how much your rejection hurt his feelings.

"No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing straighter. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a earth shattering smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But he was hard to read when he wanted to be. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting.

Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And he had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up.

The words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest did that stupid thing where it almost stopped. Not in a good way.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“C’mon sweetheart, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know.

Protectiveness instantly swelled inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden from you, saved it for the ice. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words trapped in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back started to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. The kind of emotion he only felt when his team was being robbed by referees or losing.

He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you pleaded quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe rebutted, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made you want to cry even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted. He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently held your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he reassured you, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, not giving you a chance to doubt yourself again. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand slowly rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes practically glazed with love sickness as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant peck to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away.

He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone.

But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened. He could wait. He’d wait forever for you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice.

As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety started to mess with your head. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You were going to miss him.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point.

But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“Y’know sweetheart,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the not so subtle excitement in his tone.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal.

He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step. A friend maybe.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you shook your head, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you admitted, unable to keep your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing like a school girl. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you, drowning in affection. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[theostrophywife]

green with envy.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

request: omg i need more of theo x reader with a hint of flirty draco

song inspiration: jealous by nick jonas.

author's note: ask and you shall receive. here's draco scheming to make theo jealous, which we all know won't end well. happy new year's my loves. we're staring 2024 off with a bang 😉

“Merlin, they can’t possibly be serious.” Draco muttered in disbelief. “Those two truly aren’t fooling anyone.”

Blaise glanced up from his book, searching for the cause of Malfoy’s offense. The Three Broomsticks was packed, but it wasn’t hard to spot the reason for his friend’s griping. Tucked into a secluded corner of the tavern, you and Theo gravitated towards each other like magnets, leaning into one another, foreheads pressed together, talking and laughing like you were the only people in the world. 

It had been this way ever since Blaise could remember.

As always, Theo wore that stupid love-struck expression on his face as he listened to you talk, chuckling softly as you waved your arms around animatedly. You, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the pining and yearning coming from Nott’s end. Anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that Theo was clearly in love with you, yet you remained blind to his affections. 

“They’ve made it very clear that they’re just friends,” Blaise replied, repeating the same tired words that you and Theodore declared over and over again over the course of your friendship.

“And you believe them?” 

“Of course not.” Blaise affirmed as he flipped through the pages of his book once more. “But who am I to burst their blissful bubble of ignorance?” 

“They’re clearly in denial,” Draco remarked, watching intently as you picked a nonexistent piece of lint off of Theo’s quidditch sweater. “It’s been seven years of this pathetic teetering between will they or won’t they territory. I can’t stomach another day of it, Blaise. Someone needs to do something.” 

“Whatever half-arsed plan you’ve cooked up in that ferret brain of yours, I want no part in it.” 

Draco tapped his fingers against the wooden table, a familiar smirk curving at his lips. Blaise sighed in exasperation. He knew that look. He hated that look. It usually meant that Malfoy was hatching a scheme that spelled nothing but trouble for Blaise. 

“I’m serious, Draco.” Blaise said in a stern voice.

“So am I,” the blonde replied. “Those two need a push and I’m more than willing to provide it for them.” 

“I already know that I’m going to regret asking, but what exactly are you planning?” 

Draco smirked. Blaise swore to Salazar that there was an evil gleam in his friend’s eyes as he turned over to face him. “I’m going to flirt with Y/N.” 

“Are you mental?” Blaise exclaimed. “Nott will send you to an early grave. Did you see what he did to Pucey for trying to chat Y/N up? Poor bastard had to eat his meals through a straw for weeks.”

“Then I guess it’s your job to prevent that from happening, Zabini.” 

There were a million protests on Blaise’s lips. Everyone knew that Theo was overprotective of his best friend. It was an unspoken rule that you were off-limits and Blaise had seen first hand the consequences that befell anyone that dared to hit on you. It usually ended with someone in the infirmary and that someone was never Theo. 

Draco was well aware of this fact as well, but he seemed to have a death wish. Before Blaise could stop him, Malfoy scooped two glasses of butterbeer from the counter and made his way over to you just as Theo excused himself for a smoke. You looked up just as Draco slipped into the booth, sliding beside you to take up the vacant spot your best friend left. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N.” 

“Hi, Dray.” You greeted the blonde with a smile. “I didn’t know you were here, too.” 

“How could you?” He drawled playfully. “Theodore seems content keeping you all to himself.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You could’ve easily just come over to join us.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, darling.” Draco set a mug of ice cold butterbeer down in front of you. “And I brought your favorite.” 

“How sweet of you.” You beamed, totally unaware of his schemes as you clinked your glass against his. “Cheers, Draco.” 

“Cheers, Y/N.” 

The sweetness of the butterbeer lingered on your tongue and the foam rested on your upper lip as you savored the taste. Your tongue peeked out, trying to lick the remnants away. Silver eyes flashed mischievously as he clocked the action, a smirk curling against his lips. 

“Here, let me.” Draco brushed his thumb over your upper lip, wiping away the foam with ease. His fingers were soft and featherlight and nothing like the calloused feel of Theo’s hands. 

Your best friend had a bad habit of burning his fingertips from the countless blunts and cigarettes he smoked. Despite the fact that you offered to heal them with magic, Theo always refused. He said it made him more manly. Though you rolled your eyes at him, you found that you didn’t really mind his scars and calluses. It only made him that much more endearing. Why you were thinking of Theo while another man was touching you, you had no idea. Or perhaps you did and you were just in deep, deep denial about it. 

“Have I lost you, love?” 

With a blink, you found yourself staring back at Malfoy. “Sorry, Draco. What were you saying?” 

“I asked if you were using a new shampoo,” said your friend. He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, using the ends to tickle your cheek. “Your hair smells divine.” 

You paused, narrowing your eyes at Draco. “What are you doing, Dray?” 

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’re up to something.” 

That much was obvious to you. Years of friendship told you just as much. Draco was currently plotting something. Before you could question him further, a shadow loomed over the both of you. When Theo had left for his smoke break, he was carefree and grinning, but now tension colored your best friend’s features. As he glared down at Draco, Theo clenched his jaw and balled his fists at his side.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy.” 

“Teddy, he was just helping me with—“ 

“Draco doesn’t need to help you with anything.” Theo’s eyes flashed with anger, the blues and greens of his irises turning stormy as his gaze dropped to the lock of hair tangled through Draco’s fingers. “What he needs is to walk away before I break his fucking jaw.” 

Draco raised his palms up. “I don’t want any trouble, Nott.” 

Despite his statement, you sensed that trouble was exactly what Draco was aiming for. Instead of walking away like he should’ve, Malfoy leaned over and kissed your cheek in parting, which only further incensed Theo. If you hadn’t grabbed hold of the end of his coat, Theo would’ve hurled himself at Draco and punched the cocky smirk off of your friend’s face. 

You tugged at Theo and placed yourself between him and Draco, watching as the blonde returned to the table Blaise was currently sitting at. For good measure, he winked at the two of you as though Theo wasn’t already pissed enough as it was. 

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Theo’s gaze flickered back to you, his eyes darkening as they met yours. 

“Why the fuck are you letting him touch you like that?” 

The bite in his voice puzzled you. Theo never snapped at you, so you weren’t quite sure how to react. He almost sounded…jealous. Not that Theo had any reason to be. Right?

“What are you on about? Draco was literally just wiping the foam off of my mouth. It’s not a big deal.” 

Downplaying the interaction seemed to rile Theo up even further. “Yes it fucking is,” he gritted out. “He’s flirting with you, Y/N. How can you not see that?” 

The accusation of Draco Malfoy flirting with you was entirely laughable. Though you were accustomed to Theo’s overzealous tendencies, you usually didn’t mind his overprotectiveness since it deterred creepy guys from making advances towards you. But this was Draco, for Godric’s sake. You’ve known each other since you were in diapers. There was no way in hell he was actually trying to make a move on you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Teddy. Malfoy was not flirting with me.” 

“Of course he was! Did you not see the way he looked at you? The bloody git was all over you, playing with your hair, touching your lips. I should his bash his fucking head in for even glancing in your direction.“ 

The rest of Theo’s rant was incoherent, a mixture between English and Italian curses that drew the attention of those around you. With a grimace, you tugged Theo towards the back of the Three Broomsticks. He continued swearing as you led him away, dead eyes filled with fury as you ushered him into the bathroom. 

There was a murderous expression on his face as he spewed threats and curses. You locked the door behind you, sighing as you surveyed the angry boy before you. Knowing Theo, his constant ranting would only fuel the fire of his anger. You needed to calm him down before he made good on his promise to pummel Draco into the ground. 

Unfortunately, Theo had already worked himself up to a fit. A frown was evident on his face, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists, the veins on his forearms protruding as violence threatened to spill over. You said his name a few times, but he didn’t seem to hear you. He was too angry to take notice. 

While dealing with an angry Theo was by no means a new occurrence for you, it seemed harder to pull him out of it this time. You had never seen him this furious. A small part of you was mad at his overreaction, but another part of you was oddly flattered that he cared so much. 

Perhaps it was foolish to do so, but you relished in the fact that such a small action could elicit such a response from him. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve surmised that Theo was acting out of jealousy. His possessive behavior had always given you a strange sort of thrill. It made you feel wanted, it made you feel desired, and that in itself was more dangerous than any drug. 

“Theodore.” 

Theo paced back and forth, contemplating acts of violence against one of his oldest and closest friends.

“Theo.” 

He wondered how much trouble he’d get into for beating Draco into a bloody pulp. Would they suspend him? Theo reckoned it would be worth it. 

“Teddy.” 

The sight of Draco brushing foam off of your lips flashed through his mind again, playing on a torturous loop. Malfoy didn’t get to touch you like that. No one got to touch you like that. At least not without Theo breaking every bone in their hand. 

“Oh for Salazar’s fucking sake.” 

You grabbed the front of Theo’s sweater and dragged him down to your level. There was absolutely no thought process behind your actions besides stopping his rant. With your lips pressed firmly against his, you accomplished just that. Theo froze for a second, his eyes fluttering close as you kissed him. The tension left his body, his anger melting away to give room for a different sort of heat to spread through him. 

The minute his body language changed, you pulled away. Theo looked down at you, his dead eyes burning with searing passion. You felt his gaze piercing right through you. There was danger lurking within him. Like he was the predator and you were the prey. You’ve never seen him look like that before. Theo looked…feral. Theo looked hungry. 

“I’m sorry, Teddy. I was just trying to calm you down—”

You reeled back as Theo cupped your face in his hands and smashed your lips together once more. This time, there was no surprise in the kiss. There was just fervent passion, arduous desire, and mutual destruction between you. Theo didn’t kiss you like he wanted you. He kissed you like he needed you. 

As he pinned you against the wall, Theo gripped your hips and pressed his body against yours. The kisses grew sloppy and desperate, the two of you scrabbling for more. You groaned as his erection brushed against your thigh, leaving him the perfect opening to slide his tongue past the seam of your lips. You were vaguely aware of banging into the pictures on the walls, the sound of them clattering to the ground registering somewhere in the back of your mind. 

The two of you were like a tornado, knocking decor and toiletries around as you continued to sloppily make out. You were sure that you were making enough noise to alert the whole tavern. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care as Theo bit down on your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth as he set you down on the counter. One hand gripped your throat while the other slipped underneath your skirt. 

Theo dragged you closer by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he grinded his hardness against your throbbing core. 

“Malfoy couldn’t touch you like this, bella.” The low rasp of his voice sent shivers down your spine. His hold on you was possessive and utterly fucking sexy. Heat rushed between your thighs as his fingers tightened around your throat. “Only I can touch you like this. Do you understand, dolcezza?” 

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly. “It’s you, Teddy. Only you.” 

Pleased with your response, Theo smirked as he ripped off your tights. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head when he rubbed his hand against your clothed sex. He palmed you through your panties, swearing when he felt how wet you were for him. 

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled against your ear while he slid your panties to the side and teased along your folds. Slender fingers curled inside of you, eliciting a filthy moan that echoed through the walls. “This is all for me.” 

Watercolour eyes seized the breath from your lungs. The declaration hung in the air with finality. There was no room for question or doubt. Theo was merely stating the truth.

You were his. You always have been. 

Theo withdrew his hand, fingers dripping with your arousal. He refused to break eye contact as he stuck them into his mouth, licking each digit clean. 

You whimpered, pulling him in by his belt loop. He moaned as you impatiently tugged his jeans down, palming him through his boxers. He felt big. Bigger than you’ve ever had before. 

But you wanted it. You wanted him. 

“I need you, Theo. Please.” 

“I’m yours, Y/N.” Theo panted into your mouth as you released his cock from the constraints of his boxers. “Always.” 

You swallowed thickly as you looked down at his impressive size. His cock was hard and throbbing in your hands, precum leaking from the tip. Theo was massive. You had no idea how he was going to fit. Still, the challenge thrilled you. 

Spreading your legs open, you bit your lip as Theo positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. He kissed your lips sweetly before pulling back and nuzzling his nose against yours. 

“Deep breaths, baby.” You nodded, inhaling and exhaling as he pushed the tip in. “You’re so tight. Gonna let me stretch you wide open, bella?”

Tears pricked at your eyes as he breached your walls, stretching you just between the line of pain and pleasure. “You’re so big, Theo. I don't—I don't know if it’s going to fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit, Y/N,” he promised, pushing further in and groaning as your walls hugged tightly around him. “Just like that. You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” 

Once Theo was fully sheathed inside of you, his movements stilled. He caressed your cheek and pecked your lips. “Can I move, baby?” 

“Yes,” you exhaled. 

“Good girl.” 

You fluttered at his words and Theo cursed as your walls gripped him like a vice. “Fuck, pretty pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You drive me fucking insane, you know that? I get so jealous of anyone who even looks at you.” 

“I like when you get jealous,” you admitted, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.” 

Theo flipped you over so that you were facing the mirror. As you gripped the marble countertop, he thrusted sharply inside of you and watched as your face contorted into pleasure. Whispering praises into your ear, Theo picked up the pace. He intertwined your fingers together and placed each palm against the mirror.

“Open your eyes, bella. I want you to watch while I ruin you.” 

Your eyes snapped to your reflection, taking in your flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Behind you, Theo fucked into you with a punishing pace. He groaned as he watched himself slide in and out of you, relishing at the perfect fit. It was like you were made for him. As your moans grew louder, Theo stuffed his fingers down your throat and gagged you. 

“God, fuck.” Theo hissed, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Harder, baby. You can take it. Let me fuck out my frustrations.” 

“You. Belong. To. Me.” 

Theo punctuated every word with a thrust, hitting the sweet spot within your walls with each rut. 

“I’m yours, Teddy.” You said breathlessly. “All yours.” 

He smiled, placing a tender kiss against your neck as his fingers slipped between your legs. Theo rubbed at your clit, urging you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“Are you close, principessa? I can feel you squeezing me, milking me dry. Take it all, dolcezza. You’re mine, but I’m yours too.” 

“My hands are yours.” Theo squeezed your tits, flicking his thumb over your nipples.

“My lips are yours.” He angled your chin towards him, claiming your mouth with open mouthed kisses.

“My cock is yours.” He drove deeper inside of you, making you arch as you cried out his name. 

Theo swallowed your moans before capturing your lips with his. “My heart is yours, too.” 

“It’s all yours, Y/N.”

Your heart squeezed at his declaration. Nothing had ever sounded more beautiful than Theo pledging every part of himself to you.  

“Oh god. Fuck, Theo. Please. I’m gonna cum.” 

“Cum for me, bella.” 

Stars dotted your vision as the orgasm rocked through your body. Theo kissed your neck, marking his territory, while you squeezed around him. The heat of his touch seared your skin as he held you. If it weren’t for his strong arms wrapped around you, you would’ve collapsed. 

“So fucking perfect,” Theo said between pants. “My beautiful girl.” 

Your name tumbled off of Theo’s lips as he came. It was the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Coming from the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. 

The two of you slid down to the floor. Theo wrapped an arm around you, cheeks red and hair disheveled. His pretty eyes fluttered open as he traced over the hickies and bruises he’d left on your body, admiring each mark gently. With his brows scrunched with concern, he brushed a thumb over the bite mark on your shoulder. 

“Was I too rough?” Theo whispered, kissing over the spot. “Did I hurt you, Y/N?”

You smiled at his gentleness, smoothing at the worry lines creasing his forehead. “No, it was perfect. God, you're fucking hot when you're jealous.” 

Theo chuckled, kissing the inside of your wrist. The playfulness in his expression faltered as concern and hesitation bled through. “Did you—I mean, fuck, did you enjoy it? I didn’t—you still want to be my friend, right?” 

“No.” 

Theo felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He’d fucked it up. The one good thing in his life and he’d fucked it up. You brushed your fingers over his cheekbones, tilting his chin so that you were face to face. 

“I want to be so much more than just your friend, Teddy.” The sigh of relief that he released made you grin. You leaned in, giving him a soft peck on the lips. “My heart is yours, too. It’s always been yours.” 

The weight of his smile made your heart ache. “Now that you know how I feel, there’s no need to be jealous anymore.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m going to be even more insufferable now. I need everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

“They already know, Teddy. We were the only ones living in denial.” 

“We made it pretty damn obvious, didn’t we?” 

“You threatened every guy who dared to even look at me.”

“Please,” Theo started, a smile tugging at his lips. “I saw the dirty looks you gave to the girls who tried to flirt with me.” 

You chuckled. “Okay, so maybe we’re both a little…”

“Possessive? Obsessed? Head over heels insane for each other?” 

“All of the above.” You declared, tugging at his hand. “Now come on, Teddy. Before someone figures out what we were really doing in here.” 

“I think they know, love.” Theo teased. “You were pretty loud.” 

“Like you weren’t loud yourself, Nott.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly as he helped you up. Theo straightened your skirt and smoothed your hair down, kissing your temple. He reached for the doorknob with one hand and linked his fingers with yours with the other. 

Fortunately, there weren’t too many people waiting for the loo. You would’ve been embarrassed to walk out together hand in hand, but Theo made sure that every set of prying eyes quickly found something else to look at. With a cheeky grin, he lifted your knuckles to his lips and placed a lingering kiss upon your skin. 

As you walked out into the main hall, a wolf-whistle rang out from one of the tables. Draco raised a toast in your direction while Blaise shook his head. 

“Can’t believe that half-arsed plan of yours actually worked,” Zabini said. 

Theo furrowed his brows. “What plan?” 

“The one where Malfoy flirts with Y/N in an attempt to make you jealous.” 

“I knew you were up to something,” you said with narrowed eyes. “What an idiotic plan.” 

“Is it idiotic if it worked?” 

Theo shook his head in disbelief. “You’re mental, Malfoy. I truly considered tearing you to pieces.” 

“You’re welcome,” Draco said with a smirk. “Clearly that jealousy was put to good use.” 

The blonde winked at you, making Theo’s fingers tighten around yours. “Oh, Teddy’s going to kill you. This time, I have no plans of stopping him.” 

Draco’s silver eyes widened as you released Theo. “Zabini? A little help here?” 

“I’d start running if I were you, Malfoy.” 

Without hesitation, Draco bolted out the door. You snickered as the blonde disappeared down the snowy street, his platinum blonde head bobbing through the crowd. To his credit, Theo gave him a proper head start. 

“I’ll be right back, dolcezza.” 

“Don’t be gone too long, Teddy.” Theo smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips. “And try not to hurt Draco too badly, yeah?” 

Despite his pout, Theo nodded as you tugged him down for a proper kiss. He smiled against your lips before peppering kisses on your nose and cheeks.

“Fine, but only because you asked nicely, principessa.” 

You smiled, watching as Theo chased after Draco. Beside you, Blaise grinned. 

“It’s about damn time.” 

With a flush, you rolled your eyes at your friend. “Oh shut it, Zabini.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar@moonflowersandsparkles

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Try Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: suggestive

"Lan, c'mon..please don't go." You whined tightening your grip on Lando's shirt. "Stay with me"

"Baby, I want to, believe me, I do, but I told you I promised your brother to go out with him tonight. Why don't you come along with us?" He asked holding your cheeks between his hands and leaving a kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Because I want to spend some time alone with you. Why can't he go out with Charles or anyone else?"

"Charles is not feeling well, and besides, it will be suspicious if I turn him down for the second time today." He explained trying to get some sense into you, but you just decided to be a brat today because, well, you just felt like it. You wanted his attention. You needed his attention.

"Fine. Go with him then. I don't care." You pouted crossing your arms and turning your gaze away from him.

"Y/n.." He sighed turning your chin with his finger making you look at him. "I'm trying my best to spend as much time as possible with you here. If Carlos knew I spent the whole day with his sister in her hotel room I'd probably be a dead man right now. So if you want me alive, you gotta let me go now okay?"

Everything Lando said made sense. It's true that Carlos would haunt Lando for the rest of his life if he knew that he had been seeing his 5 years younger sister for over 6 months now. It's also true that Lando is a bit torn between the two of you. He doesn't want any trouble with his best friend, but he also doesn't want to even think about having to stop seeing you.

Lando and you were not in a relationship, well, not officially, you didn't call it a relationship because you were forbidden to him. You had been seeing each other for half a year and both of you knew that there was something more between you, more than just sex although you never put a label on it. The more time passed the more you liked each other and wanted to spend more time together so it got harder to keep it a secret.

"Give me a kiss" He said leaning down to your lips. You hesitate for a second, but give in rolling your eyes which Lando doesn't take very well. "No, no, don't do that."

You ignore him and head towards the bathroom not wanting to wait until he leaves your room. You just wanted to show your dissatisfaction with all your might.

"I'll talk to you later okay?"

"Whatever" You muttered before slamming the bathroom door shut.

Later that night, Lando was texting you just to check up on you, to see what you're doing, to see how you're spending your time without him and you decided to continue being a brat for the rest of the night. Because you just felt like it today.

'Just took a shower. Think I'm gonna go check up on Charles since he's not feeling well'

You replied smirking knowing that you mentioning Charles would completely push his buttons with you tonight. Ever since Carlos introduced you to them, both Charles and Lando have been trying to flirt with you. Only Charles has been doing it directly and Lando was more subtle with it. Lando was always more mysterious about it, that's probably the reason why you were attracted to him and not Charles.

So ever since he got his eyes on you, he hated that Charles was trying to get your attention. He hated that he was still doing it and yet he couldn't do anything about it because you two were a well kept secret.

'Oh really? Carlos and I saw him. He's just fine so you don't have to do that.'

He was replying back to your messages within seconds. You knew he was going crazy about it.

'Well, I'm gonna go check anyway'

Of course you weren't gonna go. You were all ready for bed, but since you didn't get what you wanted tonight, you decided to play with his head a little.

'Y/n..You have nothing to look for in his room'

'I mean it's not like I have a boyfriend if you really think about it. So..I don't think it would be inappropriate, no? '

'I can hear the attitude through the text. Fix it, before I fuck it out of you.'

His text sent shivers through your body. You threw your head back against your pillow sighing and reminiscing the way this morning the bed was squeaking beneath you two.

'I don't think you're gonna do anything about it'

'Oh, try me then'

[starkeysprincess]

pornstar!rafe hate fucking you during your first collab (based off my moodboard)

m.lists ⟡ taglist

pairing: pornstar!rafe x pornstar!reader warnings: fingering, spit kink, bondage, gagging, oral (m receiving), degrading, creampie, 18+ word count: 1.1k (this was supposed to be a short concept but i got carried away)

After moving from Kildare, you started working in the porn industry and have been in the industry for a little over a year. You have been trying to make your name more known, and you’ve been successful in doing so. About a week ago, your agent informed you about collaborating with another fan favorite, but you never expected to see Rafe Cameron walking into the room alongside his agent. 

The pair of you immediately said no to working with each other, after all, this was the same Rafe Cameron who made your life a living hell when you lived in Kildare, it was safe to say that the two of you hated each other for years. 

Although you and Rafe said no, you both knew your agents were right, this was an opportunity that the two of you couldn’t pass up. Especially after hearing how much you’ll be paid just to collaborate. 

Grudgingly, you and Rafe agreed and signed the contract, which is what led to the two of you in a hotel room, camera in one of his hands while two of his thick digits are thrusting in and out of your slick cunt, “You know, it’s a bit pathetic how wet you are f’me”. You bite back a moan when he curls his fingers, “Don’t flatter yourself”. 

“Keep it up and I’ll put that mouth of yours to better use” he spat, which only makes you spur him on, making him withdraw his fingers. “After all these years, you still like pissin’ me off, huh?” he scoffs, pushing you onto your knees. You gasp when he harshly tugs on your hair and he doesn’t hesitate for a second as he roughly shoves his length into your mouth, making you gag when he hits the back of your throat. 

He’s gripping your hair, harshly thrusting into your warm, wet mouth as he watches through the screen of the camera, “Always wondered what that bratty little mouth could do”. Your saliva is pooling out the side of your mouth, dripping onto your bare tits and you look up into the camera, batting your lashes up at him with mascara smudged under your eyes. 

He pushes your head down further, holding your head still. Your nose nudges against his pelvis, causing you to gag more, “Shit, that’s right, choke on my fuckin’ dick”. 

You gasp for air when he pulls you back, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your throat burns and you barely have time to recover as he’s pulling you up off the floor, spinning you around before shoving you onto the plush bed with your ass in the air. 

Rafe is pulling your wrists behind your back, wrapping his belt around them, binding them together tightly. His hand finds the back of your neck, pushing your face further into the mattress. You yelp when his large hand comes down on your ass, “Gonna fuckin’ ruin this pretty little cunt, it’s just beggin’ to be used”. He gathers his saliva in his mouth, fingers spreading you open before spitting onto your aching cunt, watching the way it runs down your folds. 

You whine when he teasingly rubs the head of his cock up and down your slit, “Quit whining or I’ll give you somethin’ to whine about” he warns. “I’ll quit when you stop teasing me” you bite back, “God, I still can’t fuckin’ stand you” he snorts. Your response was cut short by a sharp gasp when he pushes into you in one harsh thrust, slamming his hips into yours. He leans back, one hand grabbing your bound wrists, using it as leverage to hold you still as he pounds into you at a relentless pace, his other hand holding the camera, making sure to film every second. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good” he grits his teeth, his eyes landing on the ‘Heaven Sent’ chain jewelry around your waist, watching it bounce with each thrust, “Shit, you may be right about one thing, think your sweet little pussy is heaven sent”. His eyes are drifting down to watch the way your cunt swallows him, “Goddamn, pussy is just as needy as you are, huh? She’s suckin’ me in so well”.

His thrusts are brutal and all you can do is lay there, writhing and taking what he’s giving you. “R-Rafe” you moan out, “R-Rafe” he mimics, “Use your words”. You try to respond but you’re too focused on how good he’s making you feel, “Fuckin’ you so well that you turned into a brainless little slut, huh?” he chuckles. “Uh huh,” you moan, the squelching noises from the way his cock pistons into you fill the room.

Rafe leans forward, his chest flush against your back, allowing him to plunder deeper into you. He reaches around, practically pushing the camera in your face as he shoves his thick fingers in your mouth, muffling your moans. He slides his fingers further down your throat, making you gag, “You like that shit? Gagging on my fingers while takin’ my cock like the little cockslut you are?”. 

“Keep your eyes on the camera, gotta show them how much you love my big cock stretchin’ your tight cunt out” he grunts in your ear. He removes his spit-coated fingers from your mouth, trailing them down your body to between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing circles. “You’re nothing but a tight, warm hole for me to use, yeah?” he taunts, making you clench around him. “Go on, tell ‘em or I won’t let you cum” he commands, referring to the camera that he has shoved in your face.

His tip repeatedly hits your g-spot, and your legs start to tremble as you feel your orgasm approaching, “I-I’m nothing but a tight, warm hole for you to use” you sob out. “Atta girl, gonna cum f’me? Show the camera how fuckin’ pretty you look when you’re creaming all over my cock and I’ll fill this pretty pussy up so fuckin’ good”.

Your walls flutter around him, eyes rolling back, crying out his name as you cum around his cock. Rafe pulls himself off your back, his large, calloused hand pressing down on the small of your back as he continues pumping into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. His cock twitches inside of you, moaning as he paints your walls with his hot, thick cum. 

He slowly pulls out, grabbing the camera as he spreads your folds further apart to capture his cum spilling out of your pussy, “Look how pretty your little hole looks stuffed with my cum” he murmurs, his finger moving up your slit, collecting his cum before pushing it back into your cunt. 

tagging: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @bimbotrashcan @ihe4rttwd @rafesthroatbaby @rafescurtainbangz @starkeyisthelastname @slumnit @chimindity @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @strawberrydolly333 @bunnyrafe @hallecarey1 @redhead1180 @eddieslut69 @usergeta @kisses4angel @hyperfixationgirl @emilysuperswag @flvredcas @rafeinterlude @starkeysheart @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @fae-of-prey @amandabbbbb @rafecameroninterlude @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @spid6y @starkeysbebe @spacexdrago @honeybunniesoobin @zyafics @drudyslut @juniebugg @nemesyaaa

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

It was one time…until it wasn’t. You and Bakugo were both single, what’s the harm in sleeping with your best friend?

content // 18+ MDNI! I had the phrase “midnight drives & backseat secrets” tucked away in my notes app that inspired this. college au (20s), semi-public sex (cock warming/unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating), best friends with benefits, pet names (baby), idiots in love, mutual pining, cutesy awkward confessions, soft bakugo. I just can't get enough of friends to lovers, especially bfwb to lovers.

wc // 2.2k + crossposted to ao3 『 k.bakugo masterlist 』

[12:07am] Katsuki: Out front, get your ass down here.

The car radio hums in the background, the cool breeze sneaking in through the cracked windows and into the backseat against your bare skin.

Bakugo’s sweats are tucked under his thighs, shirt hanging over the driver’s seat as you hover in his lap, topless with your panties pushed to the side. His hands glide up the backs of your thighs and over the swell of your ass, settling at your hips as he guides you to be fully seated on his cock. You adjust to the stretch of him with ease, relishing in the heat swirling in your abdomen as he moans contently.

You two have done this song and dance before, plenty of times, actually. Initially, it was a one time thing, something you two casually stumbled into during one of your weekly movie nights (thanks to one steamy sex scene in said movie). You’re both single, have been best friends for years, and are more than comfortable with each other - what could go wrong? You agreed to keep it casual...and a secret.

That opened the flood gates for you two and led to sex happening any and everywhere; in the backseat of Bakugo’s car after a study session, the bar bathroom when you were both tipsy, the closet of a house party, stumbling into each other’s beds and touching each other until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

And it worked, almost a little too well.

Why?

Because you had one rule - no kissing on the lips. As long as the two of you never kissed, it wasn’t intimate, and therefore didn’t cross your friendship line.

“Did…you finish that assignment for Aizawa’s lecture?” You ask breathlessly as Bakugo’s lips trail up the side of your neck. He chuckles against your skin before leaning back with an amused smirk and roll of his hips.

“Are ya really gonna ask about that now?”

Lying wasn’t your strong suit. Bakugo always saw right through you whenever you tried, even little white lies. “Just popped into my head.”

He pauses, holding you still and arching his brows curiously. “Nah, s'not like you. What's goin' on?”

Truth be told, the causal conversation helped keep the unending desire to break your stupid rule, begging your heart to let those feelings be fucked out of your system with time. It backfired tremendously, only making you fall harder for him over the last few months. You were the one who initiated the first time; this is a hell you've created for yourself.

Why was it catching up with you tonight?

Bakugo's fingers release from your hips and move to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "C'mon, y'should know by now ya can't lie to me. What's swimmin' around in that head a'yours?"

"It's stupid," you sigh, trying to lift yourself out of his lap when he grabs you by the waist, compulsively pulling you back onto his cock until you were completely stuffed full of him.

"Nuh uh, stay put," he mumbles low, biting his lip while a strawberry blush creeped across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. “You feel too fuckin' good right now.”

“Can’t get enough of me?” you tease, laughing while you ruffle his hair and wiggle in his lap. Bakugo smacks at one of your boobs in retaliation, cackling when you dramatically huff and pinch his nipple.

"Stop it, brat!" he laughs, squeezing your sides until you can't breathe from your own laughter. "Spit it out already!"

Why was play fighting while his dick was inside you so…hot?

"Okay! Okay, fine," you stammer, catching your breath and collecting yourself. "D-don't stare at me when I say it."

Bakugo snickers before pinching your cheeks lovingly, forcing you to meet his fiery gaze. "Oh, so bein' face first in your tits and balls deep in you is fine, but eye contact is where ya draw the line?"

"Oh my god, don't say it like that!" You glow scarlet, spreading down your neck to your chest.

"Like y'don't say dirty ass shit when I fuck—"

"Fuck this stupid game we're playing!" you blurt out, titling his chin upward and tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. "I...wanna kiss you, Katsuki, so goddamn badly. And if I do, I know I'm not gonna be able to stop."

He can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he prays you can’t hear the booming bass of his heartbeat. What he can’t hide was how your words shot straight to his dick, twitching while his need to fuck you senseless was being drowned out by the newfound yearning to make sweet love to you instead. Bakugo always thought the mushy lovey-dovey saying about time standing still in moments like these was a crock of shit until now.

He kisses the pad of your thumb, his breath fanning over your fingertip as he whispers, "Maybe I don't want ya to stop.”

Your heart flutters so violently it travels into your stomach and twists into the white-hot pleasure brewing in your belly. Before you can chicken out, you swoop down to press a kiss to his lips, the two of you fitting together like lost puzzle pieces. Only a few seconds pass before you break apart, leaving you both spellbound by the electricity flowing through your bodies.

“Get up,” Bakugo orders while patting your thighs, adrenaline spiking and breaking out in a sweat. “Move upfront with me.”

You don’t second guess his suggestion and peel yourself away from his lap. The sheen of slick coating his cock catches your eye as you hop over the middle console and into the front seat, a lightning strike traveling straight to your soaked center, clit throbbing with anticipation. Once you click the little mechanism under the passenger seat, it shifts and creates an ample amount of space in front of you. Bakugo shimmies out of his sweats completely before carefully maneuvering himself over the console and settles into the space. You’re not exactly sure what’s happening until he finds the recline button, sending you catapulting backwards and into a fit of laughter when your head comically bounces off the headrest.

“Shit,” he chuckles, fingers hooking into the band of your panties. “You good?”

“I’m fine, Kats,” you exhale, lifting yourself off the seat enough for him to slide the underwear over your thighs and off your ankles. “But uh, I don’t wanna get your seats dirty, isn’t that why we never do—”

“Don’t give a shit right now,” Bakugo interrupts as he crawls onto the seat in between your legs, kissing any inch of skin he finds along the way; calf, thigh, hip, stomach, chest, shoulder, neck, and finally your cheek. Each touch is slow, gentle, the total opposite of everything you’d ever done before. He pauses, the embers in his vermillion eyes ignited with passion as he studies your face, fixated on your plush lips while lowering his body against yours. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until it’s stolen away, a desperate gasp for air as his leaky tip sinks back into your pussy with ease, only stopping when his hips are flush with your own.

“C’mon baby, keep your word and don’t stop,” Bakugo mutters before crashing his lips onto yours, moaning into your mouth when you squeeze his cock in response at the pet name.

Baby.

The world around you fades into a blur, your entire body ablaze as your tongues intertwine, savoring the newly broken threshold of your friendship. His leisurely thrusts are driving you absolutely insane, more than you ever thought was possible. Were you dreaming? No, there's no way you'd be able to replicate the euphoria engulfing your entire being.

"F-fuck, Katsuki!" you whine between broken kisses, unable to keep his name from spilling out. You grip a fistful of his blonde locks in one hand while digging your nails into his back with the other, overwhelmed with the ecstasy filling your veins. You swear you hear him growl in response, muffled by the repetitive open mouth kisses.

"Say it again."

"Katsuki," you repeat, emphasizing every syllable while biting his bottom lip, earning a loud and gravely moan from Bakugo that you happily swallow in the heat of your make out. He snaps his hips into yours again to stroke every inch of himself, consumed by the sensation of your tight cunt milking him so sweetly. He breaks the kiss briefly to catch his breath, leaving him panting into your neck, thighs clenched and eyes screwed shut.

"Kats-shit...Katsuki, I—"

Before you can get another word out, Bakugo's lips are back on yours, drinking up all your little moans and whimpers. You're squirming beneath him, all of the built up pleasure ready to burst like a dam. Without moving, he somehow sinks ever so slightly deeper into you, pushing you past your breaking point. Breathless, he manages to whisper, “Let go, baby…m’right behind ya,” before slipping his tongue languidly into your mouth. Your back arches further into his body, every muscle contracting in synch as your release implodes, the inferno in your belly no longer tamable. The spasming of your walls around his dick immediately has Bakugo's orgasm rocketing out, endless ropes of cum glazing your insides and mixing with your own arousal. The two of you breathe heavily between gentle pecks, chests squished against one another over the thin layer of sweat forming between your bodies.

"Holy...shit," you giggle, pushing the dampened blonde strands away from his forehead.

He caresses your cheek, a cheesy smile plastered on his lips. "Y-yeah, holy shit."

A trickle of warmth seeps out of you, threatening to stain the fabric of the passenger seat. "I told you we'd make a mess."

Bakugo grins while pinching your cheek. "And I said I don't care. I'll clean it later."

The two of you sit in silence, savoring the afterglow in each other's arms. Why the hell did you two wait so long to kiss? Because holy shit, that may have been the best orgasm you've ever had and you barely touched each other.

"I know we did this shit backwards," he starts, pausing to kiss your forehead. "But I wanna earn ya the right way."

"You don't need to earn me," you say with a smile. "You've always had me, Kats."

He shakes his head. "No, I want to. I'm takin' you out tonight, dinner and whatever you else ya want. Movies, dancing, driving around the city until the sun comes up, anythin'. You name it, we'll do it. Wear that black dress I bought ya for your birthday."

"Okay, baby. Sounds nice."

Bakugo groans and drops his head onto your shoulder, hiding his sudden bashfulness. He playfully nibbles on your collarbone to make you squirm, knowing it's one of your sensitive spots. "Shut it or dinner will be burgers from the campus cafeteria!"

"Alright, I'll stop teasing you. Can we get dressed and go sleep in an actual bed?" you ask, patting him on the back. "We've got that stupid lecture at 9 and it's almost 1AM."

"You would still be thinkin' about that with my goddamn cum leakin' out of you. You're a freak, baby," he teases, nuzzling your nose before pulling out of you and letting the remainder of his spend drip down your ass and onto the seat. Bakugo kneels in the open space, watching all the liquid flow from your used hole. "Won't ever get sick of seein' that, though. Maybe dinner will gift me the chance of eatin' you out."

"Oh my god!" you yell, kicking his shoulder with your foot. "You don't need to have it gifted, jackass. You get boyfriend privileges now, unless you don't want them."

"Oh yeah?" he taunts, gripping your ankles and pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, setting your thighs on his shoulders. "Sit back, princess. Can't let this go to waste if that's the case."

"Katsu-ahh!" you squeal as Bakugo's tongue dips into your creamy folds, gathering the mixture of cum to present to you from between your thighs. The strings of spit and spend hanging from his lips and tongue leaves you speechless as he tilts his head back, letting it dribble down the back of his throat, crimson eyes locked on yours. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before kissing your inner thigh as a gesture of thanks.

Holy fucking shit.

"Mm, sweeter than I dreamed you'd be. Let's get goin' and we'll shower at my place," Bakugo quips, reaching over you and into the back seat to grab his sweats. "If you're good, I'll even make ya breakfast before our lecture tomorrow."

You're on cloud nine, somewhat delirious as you grab your own clothes from the backseat, lazily throwing them on and adjusting the passenger seat back to normal. Once you're upright, you give Bakugo a nod to start the car and go back to his apartment.

Things will never be the same between the two of you, that's for sure. But you know what? It's exhilarating, and you couldn't wait to explore the unknown avenues of love with your best friend.

@slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3  @simp-plague