#ann x you

[trashy-greyjoy]

really love dynamics that are like 'it honestly doesn't matter if you view them as romantic or platonic, the point is that they love each other. the type of love is inconsequential, all that matters is that it's there'. gotta be one of my favorite genders.

[ca-3]

Been a while, but more P5 x Omori battle screens‼️ This time with Goro Akechi fights 💔

● Extra P5 x Omori battle screens

[theonottsbxtch]

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

[technically-human]

St. Hilarion's ghost story

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[anika-ann]

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8k

Summary: 

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.  

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.  

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons.  With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including  slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head.  “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down? 

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

[kenneth-black]

“Stain them, I don’t care…” 🙂

[Euripides, from “Grief Lessons: Four Plays” (trans. Anne Carson)]

[choccy-milky]

omianne wip from over a year ago that ill never properly finish (redraw of 'the other father' by mac conner)

[excali-bruh]

Has this been done before?

[unsuredreamer]

I'M FERALLLLLLL

someone help me gtf up from the floor cause this beautiful woman right here got me down as fuckkk

[schemmentigfs]

Proving You’re a Good Girl

Summary: Melissa discreetly pulls you in for a quickie in Janine and Gregory’s bathroom during a party, thinking she won’t be interrupted while she fucks you senselessly.

Warnings: daddy kink, choking, innocent r! and horny mel, humiliation kink, blowjobs, age gap. (reader is on her 20s and mel is on her 40s.)

tags 🤍: @lisaannwaltersbra

You had no idea how you ended up in this unexpected situation. One minute, you were sitting around the dinner table with the rest of the crew, laughing at one of Mr. Johnson’s strange conspiracy theories, and the next, you found yourself pinned against the wall of Janine and Gregory’s bathroom, Melissa’s body pressing into yours with an intensity that made your mind spin.

The older woman had been acting strange all night—touching you more than usual, her hand constantly on your thigh under the table, fingers brushing dangerously close to the hem of your skirt. But it wasn’t until she dragged you into the bathroom with a devilish look in her eyes that you realized something was different. Her movements were more forceful, more desperate, like she’d been waiting all night to get her hands on you.

“Why... why are we in here?” you stammered, your voice a soft, shaky whisper as your back hit the wall. The way she looked at you made your heart race—predatory, hungry, like you were her prey.

Melissa didn’t answer right away. Instead, her hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to her as her lips crashed against yours in a kiss that took your breath away. You whimpered into her mouth, confused but aroused, your body betraying your innocence as heat spread through you.

“Babe,” you gasped when she pulled away, your eyes wide with confusion. “Why are we in here? What’s going on?! Everyone is outside!”

Her smirk was dangerous, filled with wicked intent. She pushed you harder against the wall, one hand traveling up your thigh, lifting your skirt as her other hand cupped your cheek. “Why do you think, sweetheart?”

“I… I don’t know?” Your voice was barely a whisper, and Melissa’s expression sent shivers down your spine.

Her hand moved higher, teasing the edge of your panties as her body pressed tighter against yours, the hard bulge of her strap-on rubbing against your stomach. You frowned, confused.

“Lissa, what… what is that?” your hand brushed against the hard shape beneath her pants, and your face flushed in confusion. “Were you wearing that all night? Since we got here five hours ago?!”

The innocence in your voice seemed to make something snap in her, her eyes darkening with lust and amusement. “You’re so fucking clueless, aren’t you?” she growled, her hand slipping between your legs to cup your soaked pussy through your panties, making you gasp.

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You were used to Melissa being really rough and fucking you like a wild animal, but there was something more feral about her tonight, something that had your heart racing with both fear and excitement.

“Why… why were you wearing it?” you asked again, your voice trembling as she squeezed your ass, pulling you closer to grind against her cock.

“What do you think?” she hissed, her lips grazing your ear as she spoke. “I’ve been waiting all night to fuck you with it.”

You blinked up at her, still confused but feeling your arousal grow with every word. “But… why wear it all night?”

Melissa chuckled darkly, her cold hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you whine. “Because, baby, I knew I’d end up inside you before the night was over. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

Her words made your pulse quicken, your thighs clenching together as a rush of heat spread through your core. “M-Melissa…” you whimpered, but she cut you off by tightening her grip on your throat.

“Shh… Don’t talk, sweet thing. Just let Daddy take care of you.”

The use of the powerful title always made your head spin, and tonight was no exception. You whimpered softly, your body already betraying your confusion as it reacted to her touch, the heat between your legs growing unbearable.

Melissa’s eyes gleamed as she watched you squirm beneath her. “You like that, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, nodding softly, your cheeks burning with both embarrassment and arousal. Melissa’s smirk widened at your submission, her hand trailing down your body to tug your panties aside. You gasped as her fingers found your slick folds, teasing you just enough to make you whimper.

“You’re so damn wet for me already,” she purred, slipping one finger inside you, her thumb circling your clit. “You’ve been dripping for me all night, haven’t you, babygirl?”

You shook your head, the confusion still swirling in your mind, but your body’s response told a different story. The truth was, you had been craving her touch since dinner, the way her fingers had brushed against your skin under the table, the possessive glances she threw your way. But you never expected her to act on it like this.

“I…,” you whispered, your voice trembling as she added another finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp. “Am I?“

Melissa’s laugh was dark and filled the entire space. “You never know nothin’, do you? That’s what makes you so fucking perfect for me.”

Her fingers pumped in and out of you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her thumb pressing against your clit with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. Your head fell back against the wall as the pleasure built inside you, your body trembling with the need to come.

But just as you were about to reach the edge, the older woman pulled her fingers out, leaving you aching and desperate for more. You whimpered in frustration, but before you could protest, she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Don’t you fucking whine,” she growled, her grip on your throat tightening again. “You’re gonna do something for me first.”

You blinked, confused and dazed from the sudden loss of pleasure. “Wh-what?”

Melissa’s eyes darkened as she unzipped her pants, pulling out the strap-on that had been teasing you all night. The thick, black length made your heart race, and you felt a flush spread across your cheeks as you realized what she wanted.

“Suck it,” she ordered, her deep voice rough and commanding.

Your eyes widened, and you hesitated for a moment, unsure. “But… it’s not...It’s just silicone,” you pointed out, your confusion only growing.

It wasn’t the first time she had taken you like this, but it was the first time with the strap. She had never worn one before, and it had you completely thrown off. Usually, when Melissa fucked you, she’d eat you out, press her thigh between your legs or use her fingers to push you to the edge, her hands commanding and rough, but still so intimate. She always had control over you with just her touch, her mouth whispering filthy things in your ear, making you melt under her like you were made for her pleasure.

You remembered how she used to pin you down on the bed, her fingers teasing your entrance, making you beg for her to push them inside.

Melissa never rushed. She liked to take her time, torturing you with slow, deliberate movements, watching you writhe beneath her. Her fingers knew exactly where to touch, how deep to go, curling just right until your body was shaking with need. She’d hover above you, her lips brushing against yours, whispering. “You like that, baby? Daddy’s fingers feel good inside you, don’t they?” And when you were on the brink, she’d hold you there, making you beg for release before finally letting you fall apart in her arms.

But this, the strap… it was different. Melissa had never needed anything else to dominate you. Her fingers, her hands, the way she knew every inch of your body—she could unravel you in seconds. Yet, here she was, wearing this, something you didn’t quite understand.

Her laugh was low and dangerous as she gripped your chin harder, forcing you down onto your knees in front of her. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s a real dick or not. You’re gonna suck it like it is. Got that?”

You nodded quickly, swallowing hard as you looked up at her. Green eyes were filled with lust, and the way she towered over you, her hand still gripping your neck, made you feel completely at her mercy. You parted your lips, unsure of how to start, but before you could figure it out, Melissa’s hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head forward until your mouth wrapped around the tip of the cock.

“Good girl,” she purred, her hips pushing forward slightly as you took more of it into your mouth. “Suck it, honey. I want you to get it nice and wet for me.”

You did as she said, your tongue swirling around the thick length as you sucked it deeper into your mouth. The taste of the silicone was strange, but the weight of it, the way your girlfriend whined softly above you as you bobbed your head up and down, made your arousal spike even higher.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” Melissa groaned, her grip on your hair tightening as she started to thrust her hips forward, fucking your mouth with a slow, steady rhythm. “Taking Daddy’s dick so well.”

You whimpered around the strap, your hands gripping her thighs to steady yourself as she fucked your mouth. The sound of her moans, the roughness of her grip on your hair, made your pussy throb with need, and you squeezed your thighs together, desperate for some kind of relief.

“Keep sucking, baby,” she growled, her thrusts becoming harder, more forceful. “Daddy’s gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard when I’m done with you.”

Your body trembled at her words, and you tried your best to keep up with her pace, your mouth stretching wide around the thick length as she used you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t care. The way she controlled you, the way she dominated you so completely, had you aching for more.

After a few more thrusts, Melissa pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to the tip of the strap. You gasped for air, your lips swollen and slick with spit as you looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“Get up,” she ordered. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You scrambled to your feet, your legs shaky from the intensity of it all. Melissa grabbed your hips, spinning you around so that your chest pressed against the bathroom counter. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide with lust. She stood behind you, her eyes dark and predatory as she positioned herself between your legs.

Without warning, she pushed inside you, the thick length stretching you so suddenly that you cried out, your hands gripping the edge of the sink for support.

“Fuck,” Melissa groaned as she buried herself inside you, her hands gripping your hips tightly. “This pussy is so fucking tight.”

You whimpered at the sudden fullness, your body trembling as you tried to adjust to the size of the strap inside you. Melissa didn’t give you much time to recover before she started to move, her thrusts slow but deep, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“God, you take me so well,” the Italian redhead growled, her voice thick with lust. Her hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as she picked up the pace, thrusting harder, faster, her hips slamming into yours with every movement. “Look at you, taking Daddy’s cock like the good girl you are.”

You moaned loudly, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink as you tried to keep yourself steady. The pressure inside you was new and overwhelming, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, but Melissa wasn’t done. Her hand snaked up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat again, choking you.

“Melissa—” you put your shaky hand on top of hers. “Not so tight. Please..”

“You like that, don’t you?” she hissed into your ear, her breath hot against your neck as she fucked you harder. “You like it when I choke you, when I make you mine.”

You couldn’t even form words anymore, your mind too foggy with pleasure to respond. All you could do was moan, your hips grinding back against her as she pounded into you relentlessly. Her hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air just enough to make your vision blur, and the pressure made your entire body tremble with need.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” Melissa groaned, her free hand gripping your ass as she slammed into you, her hips moving with a force that made your knees buckle. “Taking me so fucking well.”

You whimpered, your body shaking as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. Melissa’s hand on your throat tightened again, her thrusts becoming even more brutal, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, so close to falling apart.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” she growled. “You gonna come all over Daddy’s cock and leave a mess with your cum so anyone who walks in later will see your pretty juice marked on the rug?”

Your body responded before your brain could catch up, your orgasm crashing over you with an intensity that made you scream. Your legs trembled, your vision went white, and the only thing keeping you upright was Melissa’s hand on your throat, her grip grounding you as you fell apart around her.

“Fuck!” Melissa groaned as she felt you tighten around her, her thrusts slowing but still deep, riding out your orgasm as she kept you pinned against the counter. “That’s it, baby. Come for me. Let Daddy make you feel good.”

You were shaking, your entire body trembling as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. Melissa’s hand loosened its grip on your throat, but she didn’t stop fucking you, her movements slow and deliberate, drawing out your pleasure until you were a panting, whimpering mess.

“Such a good girl,” she purred, her lips brushing against the back of your neck as she pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty and spent. “Daddy’s proud of you.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

You collapsed against the counter, your legs weak, your mind still foggy from the intensity of it all. You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a loud knock.

“Yo, hurry up in there!“ Ava’s slurred voice called through the door, and your heart nearly stopped. “I need to puke!”

Melissa’s eyes widened, and she quickly pulled her pants back up, adjusting her shirt as she shot you a look that was equal parts amused and panicked.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you scrambled to straighten yourself out, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your legs were still trembling, and you could barely stand, let alone look composed, but you did your best to pull your skirt down and fix your hair.

Melissa gave you a once-over, her smirk returning as she leaned down, brushing her lips against your ear. “You better get yourself together, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice still thick with lust. “Because we’re not done.”

Before you could respond, she turned toward the door, unlocking it with a quick flick of her wrist. Ava nearly fell through the doorway as she stumbled inside, a bottle of beer in one hand, her eyes glazed over with drunkenness.

“What the hell are you two doing in here?” Ava slurred, her gaze shifting between the two of you with a confused frown. “This is a party, not a damn make-out session. Although, I’m into that shit!”

You swallowed hard, your face flushing with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself, but Melissa, ever the smooth talker, just chuckled and gave the woman a wink.

“Just helping her fix her hair and makeup,” your girlfriend lied smoothly, her hand resting casually on your lower back as she steered you toward the door. “It was all messed up.”

Ava squinted at the two of you, clearly not convinced but too drunk to care. “Yeah, whatever,” she scoffed, waving you off with a dismissive hand. “Just don’t hog the bathroom next time. Some of us need it for important shit.”

Melissa chuckled again, her hand still on your back as she guided you out of the bathroom and back into the crowded living room. Your legs were still shaky, your mind spinning from what had just happened, but the redhead’s touch kept you grounded, her presence a constant reminder of what had just transpired.

As the two of you rejoined the party, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at her, your heart racing as you replayed everything that had just happened. She caught your eye and smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re not off the hook yet, baby,” she murmured, her hand squeezing your ass discreetly as she pulled you closer to her. “We’ll finish this later when I fuck you on every single corner and furniture of our house.”

Your face flushed, but the anticipation of what was to come sent a thrill through your body. You nodded, your lips parted in silent agreement, already counting down the moments until you were alone with her again.

But for now, you had to play it cool, pretend like nothing had happened, even though every time Melissa’s hand brushed against you, every time she whispered something in your ear, it sent a shiver down your spine. You could still feel the lingering ache between your legs, the memory of her hands on your throat, her cock inside you, fresh in your mind.

And as the night wore on, you found yourself aching for more, desperate to feel her touch again, to submit to her completely, to let her fuck you senseless until you were nothing but a trembling, needy mess.

You knew one thing for certain—tonight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

[ca-3]

I don't think I've posted these here, but P5 shitposts from my twt again lolol

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment��a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[nicholasgalitznes]

hayes & solene | soft.

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[fallingfor-fics]

Meetings in Secret- Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Pairing: Step-Aunt Melissa x Step-Niece Reader (not blood relatives!!)

Word count: 11.6k DAMN this a whole book, if it does well i may make a part two

Warnings: fooling around with your step-moms sister, mild smut, fingering, grinding, some angst, drug and alcohol usage

Summary: You are 21 in college and meet Melissa at a family party and continue to run into her. You fall into a loop with her and she keeps dissapearing.

this was def not based on true events

Friday nights were always your favorite since you started college, and now you are freshly twenty-one meaning you prepare yourself all week for Friday nights. You and your friends would go out, have a blast, come home, and crash. Then you would do it again the next weekend. They were almost sacred nights now. So when you got a call from your step-mom saying her son's graduation party was on friday, you held in a displeased groan. Of course you said you would be there and dreaded the event. You did your hair and makeup, leaving your hair down and light makeup since it was mainly outdoors. You wore a simple skirt with a nice tank top and headed home just as it was about to hit seven. 

When you arrived you took a deep breath and grabbed the card you got for your step-brother then headed inside. You could hear the music as soon as you got out of your car and your eyes went wide. There were a ton of cars parked in the front of the house and you heard the roar of chatter. Wafts of barbeque and beer came your way as you walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh Y/n! I'm so glad you made it!” Your step-mom, Mary, said with a smile and came to give you a hug. “Your father is outside on the grill and Jude is outside with his friends.” she went back to cooking and you nodded.

“It smells great in here, what time did everyone get here? Sorry I'm a little late.” 

“Oh it's fine people started arriving at five but they’ll be here all night.” she laughed. You looked out the window to see tables set up under canopies, with lights dangling all around, a balloon arch graced a window, and there was a large speaker playing music. Your jaw opened slightly, they didn't even go this big for your high school graduation. You turned back to Mary with a smile.

“That's a lot of people.” 

“Yeah so we are trying to keep the inside off limits, unless it's for the restrooms.” she quipped in response as she bounced around the kitchen. You went outside and said hi to your dad before going to congratulate Jude. 

“I got this card for you, Congratulations!” You said with a smile and he gave you a hug. 

“Thanks Y/n.”

“Your mom really went all out.” you laughed and he nodded.

“Yeah I don't even remember some of these people, but hey mom’s letting me have a few beers so I can't complain.” You laughed before heading back inside to see if Mary needed any help. 

After a couple more hours, people were dancing and mingling like crazy, drinks were flowing and people were either gossiping at tables or dancing by the speaker. You had to admit you were having a pretty good time, you had been hanging around your dad or just chilling by yourself for most of the night, but you were enjoying the people watching, and the juicy rumors people were chatting up. Your step mom called everyone in for a shot and your head started to hurt from the thought of that many people in the kitchen. You had also managed to avoid any introductions and didn't want that to change. You felt better with the drinks you had in your system and had already done a shot or two with Jude when no one was looking. Only the people that actually wanted a shot came inside, thank god, and you stood outside of the circle of people around the kitchen island where your stepmom was pouring the shots in these tiny plastic cups. Your dad yelled a salud to Jude and everyone cheered as they downed their shots. After that most people went back outside but a few hung around for another. When most cleared out of the way, through slightly fuzzy vision you saw a woman standing at the counter, red hair draped across her shoulders in smooth curls, and eyes that sparkled in the dim lighting. An angel- you thought to yourself. You looked away when you realized you had been staring and went to pour yourself another shot.

‘Oh do you want a glass of wine or a cocktail instead?” Mary asked from the sink and you shook your head. 

“Nah thats okay im good with this and the beer selection isn't bad.” you said politely and she laughed, clearly more tickled due to her wine buzz she had going on. You took another shot and figured that was enough for now and went to the bathroom. As you were coming out you ran into your other step-brother, Anthony, who was older than you by a few years. 

“Oh hey how’s it going?” you asked and he nodded. 

“Not bad just got here. I was actually looking for you, you know I owe you for that time we smoked here fourth of july so I brought some stuff if you wanna come to my car?” he asked in a hushed tone and you looked around. 

“Your mom still doesn't know you smoke? I don't think she will care. I mean Jude is shitfaced right now.” you said surprised and he shrugged. 

“I guess. Come on I dont wanna risk it with the nosey neighbors and we are already being hella loud.” he pleaded and you nodded. You walked to his car, his cousin joining as well. He was parked under a tree and you got in the passenger seat, grabbing the lighter from the door and handing it to him. He gave you the joint to start up and you did, passing it to him as you looked out the window. 

“So what happened with you and that girl you were seeing? The crazy one with the boyfriend?” you asked Anthony as his cousin nodded and handed you the joint from the back seat.

“Yeah, you're still seeing that girl?” she asked, leaning forward and he shook his head. 

“Nah I ended that, I didnt wanna mess with that situation anymore.” he replied and you took a drag before handing it to him. 

“What about you Y/n? You got a man?” his cousin, Ariel, spoke from the back and you laughed, 

“No, I'm focusing on school right now.” you smiled and they nodded. You stayed and talked with them a while longer before you guys decided to head back to the party. You sprayed yourself with perfume and washed your hands when you got inside and paused to look at your reflection. You had a good crossfade going and started laughing as you thought of the fact you were going to have to spend the night now. You rolled your eyes before heading back to the kitchen.

Soon it was just you, Mary, another woman that was rather gorgeous but slightly older than Mary, and Ariel. 

You smiled as you sipped on some water and talked with Ariel, your back to the patio door. You heard it open and didn't think anything of it until you felt someone come and stand next to you, her arm pushing into yours as she rested her hands on the counter. 

“Hey Mary, can you make me another drink?” she asked with a cute smile that made your heart stop for a second. Okay maybe it was also the substances in your system but you caught your breath and turned back to Ariel. 

“It's the angel.” you whispered to yourself.

“Hey Melissa, can you make it yourself?” she chirped and you raised your eyebrows. Mary saw and laughed, causing Melissa to turn and look at you. Her smile softened at the sight of you and she stood up straight, looking over your appearance. 

“And who is this beautiful young woman?” Melissa asked and you hesitated to speak, the wave of nerves almost suffocating you. 

“That's Y/n, Christopher's daughter. You met at the wedding but Y/n is always away at school for any of the parties we have here.” Mary answered as she started to make Melissa’s drink. “Y/n this is my younger sister, Melissa.” you nodded now vaguely remembering her. Your dad and Mary got married right before you left for college so you didn't see much of her family.

“Oh I didn't even recognize you, you have changed so much.” Melissa said with a smile and you weren't quite sure if that was a good thing or not. 

“Well I grew my hair longer and stopped dying it. I also cooled it with heavy makeup.” You rambled, the drinks in you allowing your tongue to roll words right off it at a rather impressive speed, for your current state at least.

“I see. You have such beautiful hair sweetheart.” she said with excitement in her voice clearly a result from some drinks. She moved her hand to run her fingers through the ends, her fingers grazing your back through it. You felt a chill travel up your spine and your cheeks grew hot. 

“Thank you, but you have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen.” you said softly and she smiled. 

“Awe thanks hon.” she rubbed your back then grabbed her drink from Mary. “Are you coming with us girls to go shopping tomorrow?” she asked and Mary looked up with a smile. 

“Oh yeah Y/n I wanted to ask you but I got so busy cooking. We would love to have you. We are just going to hit up some shops in town.” Your step mom said sincerely as she took a sip of her wine. You felt Melissa looking at you and you met her glance for a second. Her eyes were firm yet dazzling. You felt as if she was challenging you, but not threatening, rather observing your response and demeanor. You nodded with a smile and Mary cheered and Melissa's satin lips curved into a cocky smile. 

--

The next day you got up early to shower and get dressed, you wore denim shorts and a baby tee with sneakers and did some light makeup. You had slept in your room that was right across from the guest room, which you learned Melissa was staying in and you struggled to sleep with that fact circling in your head. This encourages you to wake up and get ready though. Because now you had a reason to get put together before you were seen by her in your pajamas with your hair a mess. 

You step out of your room and see Melissa sitting in the kitchen, her back to you and Mary sat next to her with a cup of coffee. You took a breath and walked up to them with a smile. 

“Good morning.” You said to them as you got a cup of water. 

“Morning sweetie.” Mary chirped, Melissa looked up at you with a smile and muttered a greeting before going back to her phone. 

It wasn't until you all went to load into the car that you realized you were a seat short. You offered to ride in the trunk but Mary refused. 

“I think we can all fit if we squeeze.” Ariel muttered and you sighed. Melissa turned to you with a smile. 

“You can sit on my lap if you need to hon.” she said casually in her rough and seductive voice. Your cheeks grew hot and it took every muscle of restraint to decline the offer. I mean you had to give yourself a pat on the fucking back at the willpower you had to say no to this. You knew it wasn't right to say yes since she was just offering to be nice and you respected her too much. You shook your head and laughed. 

“Um I'll just take my car, and follow you up.” you said moving to grab your keys. 

“Oh ok thanks for doing that.” Mary said and you nodded, “Go with her, Melissa, so she's not alone and so we all fit comfortably.” Mary ordered, gesturing to Melissa to walk to your car.

“Is that okay with you?” she asked and you nodded in shock. She walked up to you and grabbed the keys from your hand. You allowed her, not saying anything and just smiling. “I'll drive if that's ok.”

“Go right ahead.” you said and you walked to the passenger side. The car ride went fast, Melissa asking you about school, and you asking her about work. You learned she taught at an elementary school and that thought only fueled the butterflies. She said what you were studying was cool and that also made you blush a bit. You knew you couldn't keep thinking this, but it was hard. She was very affectionate, I mean they all were, but she would alway place hands on your arm or back and she always held eye contact. You were confused from all the signals getting crossed. Of course you knew she was just being nice, but you couldn't help the way your mind wandered about her every time you would lock eyes. 

You split off to go shopping with Ariel and met back up with the others for lunch. Melissa sat next to you and you smiled up at her, she had her hair down but was wearing a casual yet very flattering sundress that had thin straps. You didn't notice any bra straps which made you think she either wasn't wearing one or had a strapless one on. As if she was reading your mind, she let out a sigh and her hands went to the fabric on her chest. 

“I got one of these stupid sticky bras and the damn thing is falling off.” she muttered to the table and you all laughed. Your step-mom went on to share her own experience with those heinous creations and Melissa continued to mess around and you once again turned your focus away from her. 

“Oh my god, should I just take it off.” she laughed turning to you and you laughed along. 

“Just go to the bathroom and fix it.” you suggested, her knee was pressed to yours and you couldn't help your eyes accidentally glancing to her chest for a second. 

“I mean look at that.” she said, holding the top of her dress out for you to see her dilemma. You felt your chest tighten and you panicked inside. The Schemmentis were all very open and close with each other, and you loved to be able to be a part of it all, but this moment had you wanting to drift away in a gust of wind to never be seen again. You couldn't help it and you looked down quickly before nodding and looking away. 

“Yup yeah that sucks.” you said as you took a sip of your water. By the time you all got home you were ready to go back to campus and see your friends. You said goodbye to everyone and drove an hour back to school. Before you left Melissa gave you a hug and you felt her soft hands around your back, one resting on the exposed skin of your waist from your cropped shirt. Her hands were warm along with her skin which was silky soft and radiant. You cleared your head and quickly got into your car to leave. You only had a few more weeks of school, and wanted to hang out with your friends as much as possible. 

--

The next Friday you and your friends took a trip to Philly a few hours away to visit another friend that you hadnt seen in awhile. They had mentioned this popular gay club you and your friends wanted to check out so of course you agreed to go with.

“Yeah I guess it's owned by a famous drag queen, it's in Milwaukee though it's just so far and not worth checking out ya know?” Your friend said to you in the uber on the way to the club, no one wanted to be sober tonight so the Uber was necessary. Your hair was down and you were wearing a little black body con dress with sequins on it and some cute black heels. Currently you were reapplying your lipgloss since the pregaming rubbed some off and you needed to look good tonight. You arrived at the place and you and your friends all cheered when you got inside. The place was two stories, with the second floor being balconies that looked down onto the first that had a large dance floor and of course the bar. 

“Follow me!” your friend said and you all grabbed hands as you moved through people. You noticed the crowd was full of all kinds of people. Some were younger, some were older, but everyone seemed to be having a good time. You were led upstairs where you found another bar, and then booths and high tables placed around under the colorful lighting. You all went to the bar and ordered some drinks, you noticed all the tables up here were full and your friend suggested you go dance. You all agreed and finished your drinks before going back downstairs. You took a second to have another shot and as you were walking to catch up to your friends you saw through the tables of people, on the other side of the room, flaming hair and a glowing smile that erupted with laughter sitting in a booth. You realized who it was and your heart stopped as you admired her. You wondered if you should say hi or just sneak away, as you pondered, one of your friends came up to you. 

“Come on, Y/n” she said and you turned to look at her muttering an apology. You looked back up at Melissa and she was sipping her drink, she must have felt your relentless stare because she looked up and before her eyes landed on you, you were walking downstairs with your friend. Melissa caught a glimpse of you walking away and saw the shine of your hair and furrowed her brows. She assured herself it was just someone else but she couldn't get the image of you out of her head. She walked over to the bar and got a beer, taking it over to the balcony. She leaned over it looking down at the mass of people dancing and her eyes darted through the group. There were so many people squished together she felt her eyes sting as she focused looking through them, searching for your smile. Finally she smiled when she saw you and your friends pulling each other to the dance floor, thankful she wasn't crazy after all. The lights swirled around your face and you danced freely but with elegance to the music. Things slowed down as drinks started to flow and you smiled at the feeling. Time slowed for Melissa as well while she watched you dancing in the haze of smoke and music, your friend moved up behind you and you pressed against her, grinding to the beat and laughing as you did so. Melissa felt her breath catch and her smile grew. She admired your beauty and confidence mixed with your overall humble attitude. The innocence you wore underneath all of that was pulling Melissa in and she took a sip of her beer when she felt her throat going dry. When she looked back down, your friends were coming back from the bar down below, empty shot glasses left in your place at the counter. You kept dancing with your friends and Melissa felt a twitch of jealousy in her. Her brow raised slightly and she sucked her teeth with a smirk. She couldnt peel her eyes away from you, your hips, your face, the way you moved up against your friends, it all enchanted her. 

You smiled and laughed while your friend put her hands on your hips and you both moved along to the music. It was already hot in the room with the amount of people there, but you felt your face heat up even more all of the sudden and you opened your eyes fully and slowed your dancing a bit. You felt eyes on you and something drew you to look upstairs. Immediately bright green eyes were locked on yours. Your hips didnt stop moving as you stared up at the woman, She was smirking at you and you hesitated in reacting. You were fairly tipsy by this point and you had all smoked before coming so when your eyes landed on her you were rather stunned. You couldn't help but smile at her, a sheepish and regretfully seductive smile that caused her to smile back in return. Your friend turned to push her back against you and you instinctively did so, your hips once again moving in sync. Melissa watched in envy from above and sipped her beer, giving you one last glance before walking away. 

You snapped out of your haze and stopped dancing, casually enough to not raise concern, and then said you were going to the bathroom. Your friends nodded and you went upstairs. Fueled by alcohol-induced confidence and of course delusion, you looked for Melissa in the large circle of people. You spotted her table from earlier and you saw her sitting with three other women. From a distance you watched, observing to see if any of these women could be with her. That's when you realized… Melissa was at a gay bar. Which meant one of two things, her queer friends invited her, or Melissa didn't just like men. You knew she had been married and divorced to one but didn't think anything of it. Your heart started to beat faster and you let out a breath, now unsure about going up to her. What good could that do? While you pondered Melissa had seen you standing over by the bar alone and made her way over to you. 

“You really shouldn't be alone hon.” a raspy voice chirped from behind you and your head snapped to look at her.

“I was just up here looking for the bathroom.” you said and she nodded, gesturing you to follow her. By how quickly she took you to the bathroom your senses pointed towards option two of your possibilities for Melissa being here and you sighed to yourself. Melissa held your hand as she led you and you smiled as you kept up with her. When you got out of the bathroom Melissa was waiting outside it, leaning up against the wall of the hallway that was semi-secluded from the rest of the loud music and voices. You smiled at her when you got out and you took advantage of your current situation and looked at her with a grin. She raised a brow and you sighed. 

“So.” you paused looking up at her, “What are you doing in a place like this?” The words dragged out of your mouth but somehow managed to be quick enough that you couldn't properly phrase the question and you made a face at your choice of words. She scoffed with a smile and crossed her arms casually. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” she said softly and you nodded.

“I'm just here with my friends for the weekend.” you said shrugging and she pushed herself off the wall to step closer to you. You looked in her eyes and she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why are you really here Y/n?” she said with confidence and you felt your knees go weak. 

“I told you, my friends brought me.” you replied and she shook her head.

“Come on. Be a good girl and tell me what I want to hear.” she said getting serious and you almost melted right there. You wouldn't believe what just came from her mouth. This woman you had met twice, and oh yeah, who was also your step..aunt? You swallowed and she smirked. 

“My dad didn't tell you I like girls… well, women.” you slurred out a bit with a sly smirk and she tilted her head at you.

“I get the feeling you didn't tell him.” you looked at her plainly and laughed, shrugging it off and she stepped closer once again. You felt your back hit the other wall and you couldn't help a small grin. 

“My family doesn't know, I'm very private. I'm not currently seeing anyone. I am as clean as a whistle. I like all women but have a soft spot for redheads.” you rambled out, your eyes softening at the last part as you winked. You would be the first to admit you were fairly drunk at this point. 

“Anything else you wanna know? Oh, I'm wearing black lace panties.” you muttered as you teased her and you went pale when you realized what you said. Embarrassment took over and Melissa just smiled at you with a cocky and mysterious smile. You didn't say a word and just turned to walk away, but she grabbed your arm and pulled you into her, her hands cupped your face and she kissed you softly but with a desire so strong it made your stomach flip. You kissed her back, running your hands through her hair and pulled away with a sigh to catch your breath. Your eyes widened when you realized and you looked down shaking your head. 

“I'm so sorry.” was all you said before walking away to find your friends.

“Damn did you throw up or something?” One said from their spot at the bar. You laughed and shook your head. 

“No, I ran into a friend.”

Your friends were growing tired and you were all about ready to head back. As you were closing out your tab your friends ordered the Uber and used the restroom. You signed the check and thanked the bartender, putting your card back into your purse. The Uber came and you left with your friends. 

That was the last time you saw Melissa for months.

--

 It took a couple days but after your kiss with Melissa you were able to eventually shove it away in the deep dark depths of your brain. You were currently at a work event for the organization you were interning at, and the event was at a nice history museum in Philly. It was a more formal event and you decided to just stay the night in a hotel instead of driving back. You were wearing a very simple yet elegant dress and some smaller heels. Due to your anxiousness you arrived early and decided to drop your stuff at the hotel first. The office made the reservation and covered the hotel expenses, so your room was rather fancy. It was on the top floor of the hotel and had a large king bed and a chaise lounge that sat in front of a large window that overlooked the city. You gasped at the sight and held in a scream at how gorgeous and amazing this was. You looked at your watch and saw it was almost time to head out so you fixed yourself in the bathroom mirror, and then grabbed your phone and purse before heading out. 

You got there fifteen minutes early, and walked up the steps of the museum looking around at all the dimly lit architecture that graced the outside walls. You gawked at how magnificent and intricate it was and continued to do so as you made your way in. There were signs pointing you where you needed to go and eventually you saw some of your coworkers. You mingled with them for a bit and grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waitress as you waited for your boss to arrive. 

“Oh Y/n, you see that group of people over there? Those are the investors we are trying to impress tonight.” one of the other interns whispered to you and you looked over in the direction she pointed. You saw a bunch of people in suits that definitely looked the part and raised your brows. 

“Wow, they are the real deal. Too bad we can't talk to them.” You laughed. 

“Who says you can't?” you heard your boss chime in from beside you and you looked at her with a smile. 

“No one really, just myself.” you replied and she nudged your arm. 

“It's all about networking darling, and anyone can network.” she smiled and then walked to the front of the crowd. 

Did you want to fuck your boss? Yes of course you did. She was brilliant. However at this point in time you knew better, and you needed this job. That didn't stop her from flirting with you, and she actually did flirt, it wasn't in your head. Only reason you know that is because even your friends at work thought so.

After her speech was over you were free to walk the museum, you decided to go checkout the best exhibit they had-- the planetarium. This was always your favorite part of museums and with how fancy this one was you knew it had to be pretty astounding. You decided to go to the bathroom before you went to the exhibit, and as you stopped to read the map on the wall to see where the closest one was, you saw people out of the corner of your eye. Naturally you glanced at them before looking back at the map. However, you recognized a face and you felt your cheeks grow warm, you slowly looked back over out of fear you could be right, and your eyes went wide when you saw the familiar glow of red hair. You watched as Melissa walked slowly, looking at some boring historic artifacts, arm hooked in the arm of… a man. You held back the disapproving glare that tugged to appear on your face and you decided to just turn back around. You decided to stare at the map until they had walked by. Eventually you lost track of how long you had been there, checking your phone to see it was definitely not longer than three minutes. You exhaled and before you could go to turn around you felt a hand on your back, stroking your hair. 

“Hey Y/n.” you heard a velvety voice mutter your name and you felt a ping in your chest. Turning to face her with a smile, you fidget with your watch and look around for the man that was accompanying her. 

“Hi.” you let out, your eyes locking with hers. You looked over her and your chest grew numb as your eyes traced over her curves that were gracefully accentuated by her dress. 

“What brings you to a place like this?” she asked with a grin and you laughed at her mocking question. 

“I could ask you the same thing. We have got to stop meeting like this.” you joke with a light blush on your cheeks as you smile. Trying your best to play your role as a perfectly normal college kid who did not kiss a step relative at a gay club. 

“Looking for the bathroom I presume?” she asked and you nodded, slightly embarrassed. “It's that way.” she said and you nodded in realization. Soon the man she was with came from one of the staff only doors and came to stand next to her, a hand on her back.

“Hey, thanks for waiting.” He said to her before looking over at you with a small smile.

“No, problem I was just catching up with Y/n here she is my sister's stepdaughter.” she said with haste, “Y/n this is Clint he works here at the museum.” she said and you nodded. 

“Nice to meet you. Clint.” you said enunciating the ‘t’ as you looked at Melissa. 

“To clarify I actually own part of the museum not just a regular employee,” he said casually and You saw Melissa's eyes flicker to yours, she was reading your face for a reaction and her eyes softened as she listened to this preppy douche talk about himself, she felt embarrassment creep up on her as she watched you watching him. How could she stand here in front of an intelligent and beautiful girl like you with her arm linked to a man that was barely in Melissa's league and even she knew that for certain. “What brings you here?” he finally asked. 

“I'm here for a work event.” you nodded and he had an “ah-ha” look on his face. 

“Ahh yes, you’re with Smith Archives right?” he asked and your lips flattened. 

“Yup, I'm interning there.” you replied politely and Melissa furrowed her brows. 

“Wow hon that's a long drive home.” she asked with more concern laced in her voice than she intended and you just looked down. 

“I'm staying the night, they put me up in a hotel a few blocks from here.” Her face relaxed and you saw a mischievous twinkle in her eyes for a second before you cleared your throat to break the silence.

“Well it was nice seeing you but I have to get going. Good to meet you, Clin-t.” You said quickly before smiling and turning to head in the direction of the bathroom. The slight sting of jealousy trickled in your head and you rolled your eyes at your own reactions to everything. 

The exhibit was beautiful as you expected. The giant dome was lit up with the night sky and you sat in one of the seats, staring up at them as the soft sound of a narrator explained the astronomy facts. No one else was in there so you got to enjoy it in peace. Amongst the stars you zoned out, thinking of Melissa and convincing yourself this will all pass just like last time. You felt your head hurt from the stress and you took a deep breath. You sat there for at least two rounds of the little speech and were debating on staying for one more before you flinched slightly at a voice from behind you.

“Magnificent isn't it?” you turned to see your boss, Vivian, standing with her arms crossed as she looked around. You stood up and leaned on the backs of the seats. 

“Yeah it is, I'm surprised we are the only ones here.” you muttered as you looked over her frame. Vivian was gorgeous, but her mind, it was her mind that was so brilliant it never failed to reel you in, the way she spoke, and carried herself often left you in a haze. She was so humble and reserved yet gave you just enough to leave you on your toes. She had long dark gray hair with white sprinkled through it, despite only being forty-eight. She had strong cheekbones and piercing brown eyes that were so inviting yet intimidating. 

“Yeah well everyone is at the Dinosaur exhibit.” she laughed and you let out a soft giggle. 

“That makes perfect sense. Did we have any luck with the investors?” you asked and she didn't answer she just turned to look at you with a smile. 

“I want to ask you something Y/n.” she said softly as she walked past you to stand closer to the front of the dome, her head looking around at the stars in front of her. 

“Yeah what's up?” you asked, trying to appear normal. She turned to look at you and you smiled. 

“You know, you are very good at your job,” she paused and you felt your heart stop- oh god were you getting fired right now? “And I really value having you here but there is just one small issue. It is hard for me to help you get the most out of this position when you look at me like you want to fuck me.” Your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped.

“What?” was all you could croak out and she smiled, a soft laugh leaving her lips. 

“Its okay Y/n, I know you don't mean to, and I can't blame you,” she said, gesturing to herself and you laughed awkwardly, “but this brings me to my question.” she started and you nodded for her to continue, you were unsure if this situation could get any crazier so why not. 

“Are you able to get over this little infatuation or do I have to fulfill your fantasy in order for you to move on?” The words left her lips all too quickly and you felt your knees buckle as you leaned on the seats, she walked over to stand in front of you and you smiled up at her. If this was really happening you knew you had to take the opportunity. She stood over you and raised a hand to tuck hair behind your ear. The gesture made your heart ache and you were suddenly reminded of Melissa. You knew nothing could ever come from either of these situations, but your cons were longer for hooking up with Melissa than they were with Vivian. Melissa was never going to do the things you wanted her to and you had accepted that in this moment and allowed yourself to give in to pleasure. Vivian leaned down and hummed waiting for a response. 

“No one will know?” you asked with a smile and half lidded eyes as you looked at her, standing to meet her face to face. 

“Where’s the fun in telling?” she scoffed and you smirked, she moved a hand to brush a thumb over your lips and her other moved to rest on your waist. Just as she was about to lean in to kiss you, you saw movement behind her and you backed away, she did the same. Standing away from you nonchalantly. She relaxed when she saw it wasn't a coworker but you tensed up further when you saw Melissa standing there with a face full of confusion and shock. She didn't know how to feel and could only identify the jealousy she felt burning in her chest. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” she laughed bitterly, before turning and walking out. You watched as she left the dome and you looked down. 

“Did you know her?” Vivian asked and you nodded, “Hmm, ex?” she asked and you shook your head. 

“No, it's complicated.” was all you said. Though you were surprised, that's what Vivian's first guess was.

“Well whoever she is, the way she was looking at you really reminded me of the way you look at me.” she laughed and your eyes snapped up to hers.

“Really?” you asked and she nodded. You looked at your watch and saw that the event was technically over. “I have to go Vivian.” you said with a shaky voice from the anxiety coursing through you. 

“Go ahead Y/n. we can always pick up where we left off another time.” she winked and you ignored the small flutter in your stomach as you said goodnight, placing a kiss to her cheek, and then leaving the exhibit. You practically jogged down the hall, you looked all over and couldn't find her, the last place you looked being the front of the museum. You slowed when you saw her standing on the curb. You walked over and took a breath before coming to stand beside her. You didn't say anything and she looked at you.

“Was that your boss?” she asked and you nodded which earned a scoff from Melissa and you rolled your eyes. “I see you do have a type, though she looked a little too old for you.” she joked with a slight sting behind her words that fueled your own jealousy.

“Where is your date, Flint?” you asked with a smile and she sighed.

“Clint, and he is pulling the car up.”

“Where did you, uh, meet him?” you asked and she crossed her arms, both of you not looking at one another. 

“I met him on a field trip here, this is only our second date.” she spoke softly and it set off a signal in your brain. She seemed more mellow than usual, she seemed unhappy and all out of pep. You thought maybe she was just tired but didn't want to ask. You decided to bite your tongue and not make any more remarks about the topic. Soon you saw a car in the distance pulling around and knew you didn't have much time.

“Melissa.” you said and she looked at you.

“Yeah hon?” 

"Who were you with at the club that one night?” the simple question came out rather judgemental and you looked down.

“My friends from work. Why do you ask sweetie?” she said and you felt your heart swell at the pet name. You felt your cheeks grow hot and she sensed your nerves. She knew you wanted to ask her something else and just couldn't find the push you needed. “I date whoever I want, hon.” she said casually, leaning closer to your ear and you furrowed your brows. She gestured around and you realized what she was alluding to and you nodded. 

“What did you really want to ask me?” she said and you looked down.

“I can't, not now, as much as I want to.” you said softly. You both turned to look at one another and Melissa smiled. 

“What’s there to lose?” she said and your eyes met hers, she could see the desire lit within your gaze, she knew exactly what you wanted. Now it was up to her to decide, she had you at her fingertips and she wasn't going to let this chance pass by.

“Who says anything has to happen sweetheart?” she said assertively and you just smiled. Clint came pulling up and you looked at Melissa. Clint got out of the car to open her door and she put her arm around your waist gently and looked at him with sympathy. 

‘Hey Clint, I'm actually going to take Y/n back to her hotel room. She isn't feeling too well and I want to make sure she gets there okay.” You didn't say anything and just hid the smile that crept at the corners of your lips.

“Oh ok I can follow and take you back to your place after?” he offered and she shook her head. 

“No, that's okay, i'll take a taxi. Have a good night thanks.” She looked at you with a smile and you grabbed your purse. 

“I'm driving this time.” you chirped and she laughed, grabbing your hand and walking to your car. The ride to the hotel was so tense you thought you wouldn't make it there without the car breaking down from the sheer weight of it. Your legs were spread slightly and your dress was riding up. Melissa tried to keep her gaze under control but you eventually caught her looking and smiled. Your cheeks flushed and you looked out the window. The wind coming in from the cracks of the windows chilled your face and made your cheeks grow rosy. The slight humidity in the air was comforting and you couldn't help but smile as you looked out at the streets. Soon you were arriving at the Hotel and you felt your chest tighten as you got out of the car. 

“This is a very nice hotel.” she said as you followed her in and you laughed. As you walked through the lobby you spotted the bar and looked at Melissa. 

“Are you tired?” you asked and she shook her head. 

“Want to get a drink?" you said, gesturing to the bar. 

“Always.” 

After two hours of talking and nursing a few beers as well as two cocktails and a shot, you and Melissa moved to just drinking water, and went to sit on the patio. You sat facing each other on the couch, your knees tucked up and your elbow resting on the back of the sofa. You and Melissa were talking about all kinds of things, getting to know each other, and joking around together. It was one of the best nights you’d had in a while, where you were truly having fun and getting to just exist in the moment. 

“Ugh do we have to go to bed? I could sit here talking all night” you stated simply and she smirked. As if she did it herself, you felt your throat dry up and you went to grab your water, taking large sips you felt a drop trickle down from the corner of your mouth and down your chin. Melissa let out a shaky breath and you set the glass down looking at her. She raised her hand to your face slowly, not taking her eyes from yours. 

“What do you want to do sweetie?” she said as her thumb wiped the water off your chin and you felt your chest go hot and your breathing grew shallow. You decided there was no going back now and you smiled. The drinks were flowing and you felt fuzzy, the kind of tipsy you usually only got from wine. 

“What I want to do isn’t appropriate.” you muttered with a grin, tearing your eyes from her and looking down into your water glass. 

“If you are gonna say things like that Y/n, say them with confidence.” she quipped and you looked up at her with big eyes that soon turned hazy. 

“Why were you on a date with Clint?” you asked as you were told to, your back straight, and your voice clear. 

“I have needs. I know he was an idiot.” she said simply.

“How many women have you been with?” you said swiftly and she looked down and then sucked her teeth.

“I don't think you want to know.” she shrugged and you furrowed your brows.

“I've never been with one.” you said looking at her with a shy gaze and her smile softened. She knew from the moment she first saw you that there was a sweetness in you and she could tell by your body language and the way that her words affected you that you were inexperienced and searching for the right woman's touch.

“I know hon.” she nodded and you felt your cheeks heat up again at how easily she saw right through you. The air grew thick as you admired each other and you looked over her face in awe. 

“Why did you kiss me that night?” The question left your lips softly but with speed, you didn't regret asking it though. 

“Do I need a reason?” she said with humor and you moved to sit closer, your knees touching hers.

“Why won’t you kiss me now?” you said with confidence, and you held the same challenging look on your face that Melissa had months ago. She smiled and looked you up and down slowly, your skin melting under her fiery gaze. Your core tightened and your eyes darted between hers. 

“Do you want me to, baby?” she said softly with a teasing tone and you felt your heart swell. Her hand moved to play with your hair as she looked in your eyes. Her eyes searched yours for the answer and you felt the weight of her gaze cause the rise of tension and lust to float in the air. You could feel your cheeks tingle like pricks of a needle on your soft skin. You nodded and she raised a brow, waiting for more. 

“Yes, I want you to kiss me.” you practically shouted with a laugh and she didn't hesitate to grab your waist and pull you in, her lips devouring yours as a hand moved to grasp your jaw. You moaned into the kiss and pushed your chest against hers as she moved her other hand from your hip to grab your ass. Her hand then slid under your thigh to hook under your knee and lift it to her hip, causing your core to press against her as you moved to straddle her. You felt a fire erupt in your core at the action and you swear her skilled mouth caused you to almost climax there and then. The heat between the both of you was so strong with one strong gust of wind you would have set the whole hotel ablaze. You moaned and she pulled away from the kiss, admiring your glossy eyes and puffy lips with her own lips being slightly pink around the edges. 

“What else do you want me to do?” she said out of breath and you just pulled her back in for a kiss, you let her tongue roam your mouth and find a pattern with your own. Your stomach grew hot and you felt your core tighten around nothing. You answered her question by grabbing her hand and moving it between your legs and she groaned into your mouth, causing a wave of arousal to wash over you. 

“God honey you are soaked for me huh?” she muttered between kisses and you nodded, she kissed along your neck as her hand moved your dress up and slid her hand into your panties. You moaned as she moved her fingers over your clit and pleased you with precision you weren't surprised by.

“Fuck Melissa- I want you so bad.” you whined out and she pulled away, removing her hand and grabbing yours. 

“Come on baby.” she said as you stood up and walked back inside, you headed to your room and the moment you got in the elevator Melissa was pushing you against the wall, her hands roaming your body as you tangled your hands in her hair, and moaned against her lips. The sounds you made echoed in the small area and only spurred Melissa on. The ding chimed loudly to alert you of your arrival and you broke away from her, digging in your purse for your key as you stepped out. Melissa kept an arm around your waist as you walked to your room, which you couldn't unlock due to the nerves and drinks in your system causing you to miss the slot. Melissa grabbed it from you and did it with ease and you smiled at her.

“Thank you.” You opened the door and led Melissa inside, shutting the door behind you and locking it. 

“Holy shit this is a nice room.” she said looking around and you nodded. When she turned to face you again, you were taking off your heels and pulling your dress off over your head. Her eyes grew heavy with lust and she walked over to you, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss, she backed you up to the bed and she pushed you back. You climbed up and sat against some pillows, your legs spread. She watched and bit her lip as she admired your frame. She took her own shoes off and hesitated. 

“Fuck you are gorgeous. You sure you want this baby? Once I fuck you, we can't go back.” she said firmly and you nodded eagerly. She slipped her own dress off and you felt your breath hitch at the sight of her. Her body was gorgeous, absolutely perfect. You wanted to feel her skin under your fingertips and trace her curves for the rest of your life.

“I want you more than anything I've ever wanted.” you said with a lovestruck voice and she smiled. 

She came up and straddled you, immediately kissing you again with force, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip earning a surprised and throaty gasp from you. She looked down at you and moved her hand to cup your center. You admired her as she rubbed circles on your sensitive core. Her eyes were sparkling, and her lips were turned up at the corners in a smirk. You moaned into her kiss as she continued to move her hand. Her thighs laid over yours and the warmth of hers around you felt like heaven. She pulled away to breath and you looked each other in the eyes, her hand came out of your panties and to your lips, she brushed her thumb over your lip and you looked at her with doe eyes. Your hands rested on her ass, and she looked down at you with a smile. 

“Open.” she said softly and you didn't hesitate to open your mouth and allow her to slip two fingers in. You sucked on them not tearing your eyes from hers as your tongue did circles around them. Melissa pulled them out of your mouth slowly before allowing them to return to their spot on your clit, your warm saliva touching your slit caused you to groan and Melissa kissed your open mouth, her tongue diving in and swirling around yours, finding a rhythm as you kissed back, you rocked your hips into her hand, causing her arm to press against her own center. Your hands squeezed her ass and nudged her towards you gently, she arched into you, her chest against yours as she continued to kiss you roughly. Without warning she slid her fingers into you and you let out a loud moan into the kiss and she smiled, pulling away to hover just above your mouth, your lips almost touching as she curled her fingers inside you, deep and rough. Your brows furrowed and your mouth opened as you rocked against her fingers. 

“You liked that baby?” she whispered in her deep voice and your stomach fluttered. You nod with a smile.

“Don't stop please.” you whine and she giggles.

“I wouldn't dream of it.” she pushes into you harder and faster and you feel the heat in your core grow hotter, a tight feeling forming in your sensitive and deprived cunt. She stayed hovering a mere inch above you as she moved her hips slowly and her fingers moved hard and fast. You rocked your hips into her faster and she looked down at you with a devious smile. She watched as your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes went glossy as you grew closer to your release. You moaned as you felt your legs press together and your back arched into Melissa. 

“Fuck, im going to cum.” you moaned into her and she smiled, finally kissing you again, this time slowly and tender. Her soft lips wrapping around yours gently and her fingers shoved into you caused quite the contrast and you felt your chest flutter from the contradicting emotions. Your brows furrowed and you squeezed around her.

“Cum for me baby, be a good girl and let it all out.” she said softly and your eyes snapped shut as you came around her fingers. You let out a loud moan as your legs tingle and you twitch under her slightly. You rode it out on her fingers and she pulled them out of you, bringing them to her mouth with a smile. You watched in amazement as her plump lips wrapped around her fingers coated in your flavor. 

“Fuck you are,” you paused looking up at her, the dim lighting around her caused her to glow, her hair cascading around her face that was dewy from the things she had just done to you. Her lips were pink and her eyes were full of mischief and lust. She looked stunning, she was stunning. How could you put into words how incredible she was. She raised a brow waiting for you to finish with a smile on her face. “Ethereal.” you finally said and she looked at you with a more serious gaze, trying to detect any underlying emotions you may have been disguising. 

“Well you aren't so bad yourself babe.” she laughed and you shook your head gently, still in your hypnotic state as you stared at her.

“No, I'm serious Melissa. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” you said with a serious tone and her smile faded as she looked at you. After a moment she looked down and sighed. 

“Thank you, hon.” she said as she moved off you and got off the bed, you watched her with confusion and your eyebrows scrunched together when she reached for her dress. 

“Woah hey, did I do something wrong?” you asked getting up to walk over to her and she quickly shook her head.

“No, not at all. You’re a wonderful girl Y/n, but we can't be doing this, I want you but you are young, and I don't want you to..” she paused, her hand going to her forehead and you looked down as you realized.

“Fall in love with you?” the words left your lips quietly and she looked at you up and down with sympathy. 

“I'm sorry I didn't think any of this through. I'm going to go, before anything else happens.” she said looking for her shoes and you shook your head, walking to stand between her and the hall to the door. 

“I know I'm young but I'm not some high school virgin that's gonna fall in love with you because we sleep together.” You scoffed and she shook her head. 

“No you’re not, but you have never been with a woman or been in a serious relationship with one, and I cant have this be your first.” she said, grabbing her purse. You stepped closer to her and she used all her strength to keep her eyes on yours. 

“Is this not what you wanted though?” you asked sharply, gesturing between you and she looked down. “You didn't want to see me naked, on display for you?” you asked as you moved to take off your bra. 

“Y/n-” she started, not looking at your body and you laughed as you slid your panties to the ground while you looked her in the eyes. 

“Tell me this isn't what you wanted. Tell me that you weren't dreaming about me after we kissed that night, that I didn't cross your mind while you touched yourself, that you didnt want to fuck me in that museum while my boss watches. That you don't want to touch me right now.” you said stepping closer, now only a foot from her, she looked into your eyes and let out a sigh.

“I-” she couldn't get the words out. Melissa was usually so quick-witted and good with words, but with you it was hard, and in this moment it felt impossible. You looked at her with a smirk, reaching to grab her hand, you placed it on your chest and she kept her eyes on yours. Slowly and effortlessly, you slid her hand over your breasts and down your stomach. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at you. 

“Fuck me.” she muttered under her breath, deciding to say fuck it and bringing her other hand to your waist, pulling you into her and kissing you with heat and aggression, she dominated the kiss and her nails dug into your hips as she kissed you with a desire strong enough to cause you to slam against the wall behind you, you moaned from the feeling, and she pulled away.

“Lay back on the bed baby.” she ordered and you nodded, moving to the bed once again. After many orgasms later you both eventually fell asleep, naked and tangled in the sheets, Melissa's warm body pressed against yours all night. 

--

A loud ringing song woke you from one of the best sleeps you have had in a long time. Annoyed and groggy you lifted your head to see what it was, you saw Melissa reaching for her phone and the noise stopped, but she brought it to her ear as she moved to get up out of bed. You watched her frame move gently around the room and she gathered her clothes from the floor and chaise. 

“Yeah I’m fine.” she said in a soft tone and you tried your best to hear who was on the other side. You heard a lower voice but couldn't quite make it out. “Mhm. Oh um, I can't go to brunch today but lets rain check.” You furrowed your brows as you turned to lay on your side and propped your head up on your hand, your naked body lay exposed aside from the sheet barely covering your cunt and one of your breasts. Melissa turned and saw you were awake and smiled at you as she looked for her shoes once again. “Oh dinner? Look Clint I have a busy day maybe next weekend? Ok yeah, bye.” She hung up and you raised your brow with a smile. “I'm gonna shower.” was all she said as she put her hair in a bun and took her undergarments into the bathroom with her. 

Your lips flattened into a disappointed expression and you looked around the hotel room at the mess you two made. Sheets were scattered around along with your own clothes. You got up and looked in the mirror, you had a bruise on your hip and you smiled at it. Thankfully she avoided leaving hickeys. You walked over to the bathroom and gently moved the handle to see if it was locked, it moved down and opened and you smirked. You shut it behind you and looked over at the shower. It was a large walk-in shower with glass walls and a built-in shower bench. A towel was thrown over the panel of the door, just barely blocking your view of Melissa's wet and naked body. As you put your hair into a bun, you walked over and opened the door, stepping in and coming up behind her, your arms coming to rest on her hips as your lips placed kisses on her shoulder. 

“You sleep okay?” you asked and she hummed as she turned to face you, turning you towards the water so you were wet too. 

“You did so good last night baby.” she praised you with a velvety voice as her hands roamed your body, she grabbed the body wash and put some in her hands, lathering it and placing her hand on you once again. She went over your arms and shoulders, turning you around to get your back as you washed your face, her hands moved over your hips and that's when she saw the bruise. 

“Oh hon, did I hurt you.” she said with a sympathetic yet teasing tone, her fingers moving to trace it gently, sending a chill up your back. You looked over your shoulder at her, placing a kiss to her soft lips and smiled. 

“No, I had a wonderful time.” you answered and she moved her hands to trail up your stomach and over your breasts. You turned to face her and cupped your hands to her cheeks and pulled her in for a kiss, you felt her wet breasts press against your chest and you moaned into her mouth, she took control, pushing you against the shower wall as her tongue moved around your mouth. You groaned and your hands moved to squeeze her ass and pull her into it, her knee came to sit between your legs and you pressed your core into it. Melissa pulled away swiftly and you opened your eyes, she was stepping out and grabbing her towel with a sinister smile. 

“Finish up baby, I'll be here when you get out.” she reassured you and then grabbed her things and walked out of the bathroom.  You stood in shock, hot and bothered as the water grew colder on your skin. You did as you were told and washed your hair as you tried your best to hurry. When you got out of the bathroom, Melissa was dressed and fixing her hair into a ponytail, perfectly curled pieces falling to frame her face. 

“You know my boss said I could use the hotel for another night if I wanted.” you quipped looking at her seductively as you walked to your suitcase and got out a change of clothes. Melissa didn't say anything, she just got up and walked over to you. 

“I had a great night, and you are.. Amazing.” she started and your lips turned down slightly.

“But?” you said with a scoff and her brows pushed together.

“But it was a one time thing.” she said and you shook your head, you dropped your towel and started to put your clothes on as you argued back.

“Oh fuck off with that Melissa, there is no reason two adults cant have sex every now and then. Guess what we fucked last night and im not in love with you.” not yet at least your subconscious chirped and you rolled your eyes.

“I know, but like I said last night it's wrong of me to let this happen. I’ll see you around.” she said before grabbing her purse and heading out of the door. You stood in disbelief and put your shoes on, grabbing your phone and purse and heading out after her. You caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

“Let me drive you home.” You said and she looked at you for a moment.

“Fine, but I'm driving.” she said and you walked to your car giving her your keys. You sat in silence before grabbing your phone and texting your boss. You told her you wanted to stay another night and she liked the message before sending a witty response that made you smile. Melissa saw but didnt say anything and just kept her eyes on the road. She lived close so the drive was short and you walked her to her door. 

“Come see me tonight while I'm still in town.” You said as she opened the door. She turned to look at you and you smiled. 

“I cant.” 

“You absolutely can.” you quipped and she tilted her head.

“I shouldn't.” 

“Why not? Give me one good reason.” your tone was light, but your eyes didn't leave hers as she looked at you. 

“Your dad is married to my sister. That's my best reason, I'm sorry hon. Get back safe.” she said before shutting the door and leaving you on her porch. You felt your cheeks grow hot in frustration and heading back to your car, driving out of her neighborhood. You didn't know where to go so you just drove around, looking at the beautiful architecture of the city, you found a cinema and decided to go see a movie. 

By the time the movie ended the sun had just started to set and you looked for a place to get dinner. An idea popped into your head and you smiled, pulling out your phone. You texted Melissa asking her to go to dinner with you since you were alone in the city. However you felt your chest sink when she read the message and never answered. You scoffed and chewed on your lip. You didn't understand why Melissa even slept with you in the first place if she didn't really have to desire to. I mean were you bad? Screw this, you headed back to your hotel and decided to drive home.

The truth was Melissa was the one afraid of falling in love with you. She loved your personality and she felt butterflies all night while you two talked, fooled around, and slept together. However she was terrified of someone finding out and her sister, or your dad finding out and being uncomfortable. She figured she would just cut it off now and she wouldn't go to any parties if she knew you were going to be there. She wouldn't go back to the museum, and she would sit at the club every weekend, sifting through every crowd, looking for your smile. 

She did that for months. Just like when she kissed you, she created an unforgettable memory with you, then disappeared. Leaving you to get over the experience and pretend it didn't happen. 

--

This time it took a couple months to fully get over your night with Melissa. You would dream of it constantly. If you closed your eyes in the shower you would see her. If you went out you would look around the bars for her. You even stopped masturbating because you could only ever finish if you thought of Melissa. Eventually, with time you rarely thought of her. Some rare and rough nights she would plague your dreams, kissing you, fucking you, saying she loves you. Those nights you would wake yourself up and not go back to sleep. On the more lonely nights though, you would stay asleep, stay in the perfect illusion your mind created and wake up in a funk that would last a week. 

You were home for winter now and knew you were going to see Melissa at least once. You started mentally preparing ahead of time, and just hoped you would be able to be normal, but when you heard she was coming to stay for a few days you almost decided to just leave. Having no place else to go did pose a challenge, but you were worried about what those days would bring. She was coming to stay over for new years and you knew this setting was going to teach you a great lesson on self-control. You only hoped things wouldnt be awkward forever, and you hoped that your heart wouldn't fall out of your chest and into her hands upon your first glance.