#there were years and years of memories there

[metamatar]

some of you are being outflanked from the left by the jacobin. lol.

For many loyal Democrats, this will not compute. The Biden economy, party-loyal pundits have said over and over again, is tremendous — low unemployment, strong GDP growth, slowing inflation, a booming stock market — and anyone unhappy about it must simply be brainwashed. Out of view in this self-congratulatory hall of mirrors were the constant statistics that said otherwise: evictions up past pre-pandemic levels, record-high homelessness, cost-burdened renters at an all-time high, median household income lower than the last pre-pandemic year, inequality returning to pre-pandemic levels, and food insecurity and poverty growing by large double digits since 2021, including a historic spike in child poverty. Here’s another thing you might not have heard. Largely due to a trick of history, including the COVID-19 pandemic and a Democratic-controlled Congress, Trump was partly responsible for the creation of what the New York Times called “something akin to a European-style welfare state” in 2020 that reduced inequality and even helped some Americans improve their finances for a short spell — and under Biden, all of it went away. Sometimes that happened due to factors outside Biden’s control and sometimes because of his own decisions, but it always took place with little fight from the president, and it contributed to the ominous rise in hardship under his tenure. That meant not only adding to people’s already onerous monthly expenses — in one case in a self-imposed October surprise that made student loan repayment much more unforgiving for tens of millions of borrowers just before voting. It also saw twenty-five million people being thrown off their public health insurance, many of them in some of the battleground states Harris lost last night. Recall that one of Biden’s attack lines against Trump four years ago was that Trump was going to strip twenty million people of their health insurance. This might have been mitigated had the president passed the flagship policies on his agenda, helping people weather the storm of rising living costs. Those that he did enact he sometimes self-sabotaged. (...)

As a result, Harris’s run was a major downgrade from the 2020 Democratic effort. Biden’s never-passed ambitions to historically expand the social safety net became firmly relegated to distant memory, never to be revived; only the child tax credit and a modest expansion of Medicare benefits survived. The campaign combined a sharp rightward lurch on foreign policy and immigration with a handful of laudable populist proposals to ban price gouging and help out first-time homebuyers (while largely avoiding the national 5 percent rent cap that Biden desperately took on before dropping out and that had earlier made its way into the Democratic platform). Beyond the Medicare proposal and vague promises to protect and strengthen Obamacare, the idea of reforming the broken US health care system — one of Americans’ biggest and most anxiety-inducing costs — was almost entirely absent from the campaign. When voters in a Univision town hall came to Harris with their bleak personal stories of suffering under the health care system and asked how she would solve them, she could give them nothing, because her only real major health care policy was for those over sixty-five and already insured under Medicare.

[qqueenofhades]

I don’t have any words right now for what’s happened. Where in the fuck do we go from here?

I don't know. I really, truly don't know. We can't sugarcoat how bad things are going to get, and we can't pre-emptively give into it anyway. This is going to be an unprecedented time in American history (if, sadly, not world history) and the forces conspiring to make you obey will gain much of their power from you doing so in advance, without a struggle. It seems fair to say that America as it has always been historically constituted is over, and may not return in our lifetimes, but we also do not know that for a fact. If nothing else, the fascists will find it very hard to cancel competitive elections, and we cannot sit back, throw up our hands, conclude that voting is clearly meaningless, and let them do that. There are a lot of other things that we need to do, but that's one.

There are various postmortems to be written and nits to pick, but Harris was thrown into an impossible situation and did the best she could in 100 days. Even her critics agree she ran a pretty much flawless campaign. But this country simply decided that a well-qualified black woman could not be preferred over the most manifestly and flagrantly unfit degenerate to ever occupy the office. They decided this for many reasons, not least because large swathes of the country now live in curated misinformation bubbles that, under Government Czar Musk, will only get much, much worse. They were helped by the cowardice and complicity of the "mainstream media" that could have ended Trump's career exactly like they did to Biden after the first debate, but chose to preserve the profits of their billionaire oligarch owners and did not do so, giving Trump the benefit of the doubt and normalization at every turn. They also hounded Biden relentlessly over the four years of his presidency, never reported on the good things he did, and drove him to the historically bad approval ratings lows for a president who was by any metric, quite successful (and will quite possibly be our last ordinary American president for a very long time). Along with the searingly ingrained racism and misogyny and misinformation, Harris could not overcome that.

Democrats clearly had a messaging problem, but it's also true that the country, quite simply, does not care about "democracy" when the economy is perceived to be at stake. Not to over-egg the Hitler parallels, but yeah. This is how Hitler returned to power in 1933 -- on the backs of widespread economic collapse of the Weimar Republic; voters decided they just didn't care about the overtly fascist stuff, which he then proceeded to you know, do with genocidal vigor. Except the American economy in this case was actually doing well, which makes it even more baffling and indefensible. Enough people simply memory-holed Trump's crimes (aided at every turn by SCOTUS, Mitch McConnell not convicting him after January 6, Merrick Garland being far too slow and timid, the corporate media), liked the racist fascist behavior or felt that it wasn't a dealbreaker, and decided that in this election, he was the "change" candidate. It's insane by any metric, but that's what happened.

The country is deeply sick. We do not know what will happen. It's going to get bad. Barring a miracle, we will not have federalized abortion rights again in my lifetime, and there will be widespread attacks on public health, women's rights, immigrants, transgender people, and other vulnerable people. Even and especially the ones who voted for Trump. Never Thought Leopard Would Eat My Face, etc. Alito and Thomas will swiftly step down and allow their seats to be replaced by 40-year old wingnuts hand-selected from the worst the Federalist Society has to offer. SCOTUS is gone for the next generation at least. There is very little prospect of it being ever fixed in the foreseeable future.

Trump will never face a scintilla of consequences for his previous crimes; all the open federal cases will be closed as soon as he takes office and fires Jack Smith. The best we can hope for is that he dies in office, but then we get Vance and the cadre of alt-right techno billionaires ruled directly from the Kremlin. Putin is celebrating this morning and with good reason; he's gotten everything he wants. Trump will egg on Netanyahu in Gaza and abandon Ukraine. Democracy across the world will remain even more fragile and badly under threat. Authoritarians will be empowered and American withdrawal from international systems will percolate in very dangerous ways that cannot and will not be fixed in the short run. I really hope all the leftists who celebrate this as the "defeat of the genocide candidate" will enjoy all the genocide and suffering that's about to come. And yes, I do think the Israel-Palestine war fucked us in a large way. Jewish voters perceived the Democrats as insufficiently pro-Israel due to the presence of far-left antisemitism, even as the far left attacked the Democrats relentlessly and never targeted the Republicans. Arab voters abandoned them, possibly deservedly. What would have happened without the war? We don't know. You get the historical period that you get. Netanyahu and Trump can now do anything they want. Hope it was worth it.

As I said, I can't sugarcoat it. We are going to be paying for this in some form for the next decade, and probably longer. I'm not as absolutely shattered as I was in 2016, but I am much, much angrier. We all thought, we all hoped, America was better than this. It isn't. That, however, is something that has also happened before. What we decide to do next will shape how the next chapter unfolds.

This would be a great time to stock up on needed medicines, renew your passport online, and anything else you need to do in preparation for next year. Many of us simply do not have the wherewithal, whether financial or otherwise, to leave the country. I don't know what will happen with me. I don't know what will happen to any of us. This was utterly avoidable and yet, America didn't want to avoid it. At some point, there's nothing else you can do. You can point to media cronyism, Russian influence, etc etc., but the fact that two of the most qualified presidential candidates who happened to be women have now lost to Trump twice makes it unavoidable. The virulent rightward shift of young men (of all races) in particular paints a grim picture as to how the reactionary misogyny of the 21st century is going to essentially undo most of the progress for social and gender equality in the 20th. The patriarchy has been a problem for most of human history. Doesn't really seem like it's going to change.

The end result of this, however grim: we're still here. We are still living within our communities. If (and this is a big if) Democrats can retake the House, they can put some checks on the process for the next two years. At this point, we are in full-out buying-time, trying-to-prevent-the worst mode. We could have continued fixing things, but we won't be doing that. We will only be trying to preserve ourselves and our friends and our smaller spheres of influence. It sounds very trite to say that we have to have courage, but we do. There's not much else.

It's going to be an awful winter. We have two and a half months to see this coming and know how bad it's going to be, and... yeah. I don't know how soon the buyer's remorse will inevitably set in, but it will. Tough luck, people. You voted for him. You get the country that you decide to have. But the rest of us are also here, and what Gandalf says is still true. We wish the Ring had never come to us, we wish none of this had happened, but we still have to decide what to do with the time that is given to us.

I don't have a lot more. I'll probably be logging off for a while. I don't need to look at the internet for.... yeah, a long time. (Will I do it anyway? Probably.) I don't know what else to leave you with, aside from again:

Do not obey in advance. Do not act as if everything is foreordained and set in stone. Fascist regimes end. They always do. We are going to have to figure out how, and it will suck shit, but the alternative is worse.

Take care of yourselves. I love you.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: Yeti Orders

Danny Fenton gets sent to Gotham by a worried FrostBite who thinks he's overworking himself. Danny will do no hero work for an entire year on his Yeti doctor's order to let his core heal from overuse.

He was even shipped through a portal to a similar universe with almost exact ectoplasm levels so that his usual foes would not bother him. The plan was to hide as a human in Gotham, letting his poor core get the much-needed rest.

Frostbite's contacts—whoever they were—managed to set up Danny's fake identity, complete with a home to call his own.

It was a somewhat run-down place, but it was isolated from the rest of the city due to some gas leak a few years back. It was safe to move into, but no one wanted to face the memories of the tragedy. Danny lives alone in the far corner of the city and loves it.

Danny is also told to try to avoid any high-stress-inducing work, so with that in mind, he finds himself applying for a job at the public library. He's a just age out of the system orphan who moved to the big city to try and make a new life for himself.

Every day, he skips onto the city bus, which stops just outside his street; he rides towards the center of Gotham, picks up a latte and some new pastry at the cafe near his work, and spends days filing away books. He gossips with his co-worker Barbara about his nonexistent love life and starts to feel normal for the first time since he was fourteen.

Danny giggles with Barbs about the most eligible bachelor under forty list two months into his medical retreat. He is swooning over Bruce Wayne- though Babs makes a face - when the door to the library is kicked open.

The two librarians gasp as a group of men wearing question marks march in a group of tightened people at gunpoint. Danny doesn't have time to react before two barrels point at him, and a man yells for them to join the group.

He is forced to kneel alongside random citizens unlucky enough to have been caught on the street. Babs is knocked off her chair to the ground. The man laughs as she tries to drag herself closer to the group, which causes Danny's core to flaar in rage.

Two hours go by, with everyone on their knees, surrounded by guards. They are hostages, but what for, Danny doesn't know. All that he can pray for is for everyone to stay calm until help comes.

Sadly, that doesn't seem to be the case when a baby wakes in his mother's arms and won't stop crying. The guards quickly lose patience with the panicking woman until they drag her away from the group and rip her child from her arms.

Danny can't stay by and watch anyone, not with the gun being pointed at a little one.

He ignores the ache his core thumps with as he prepares to change into Phantom and save everyone. Yes, Frostbite will be angry, which may set back all the healing he's done, but Danny doesn't think he has a choice.

"I'm going-"

A crash from overhead interrupts his battle cry as a figure drops down on the main guard. Danny watches, amazed, dumbfounded, as the person does some quick flips, kicks, and punches, dancing out of the way of bullets and taking down the kidnappers one right after the other.

They didn't even use powers. Just some form of martial arts. It was amazing.

Soon, the figure stands, surrounded by bodies, and really, this should be on a poster; it's such an excellent shot. The person, now that he's not a blur bouncing around the room kicking ass, looks like a man with a with a metal staff. He has a red and black costume, with a long black cape on his shoulders.

He walks over to the woman, handing her back the baby that he managed to save mid-punch. She clunches to her child, sobbing so hard she shakes and the man carefully offers her some comfort.

Danny might just be in love.

"Is everyone alright?" a new voice asks suddenly, right in the middle of the circle of hostages, causing Danny to release a scream. Seeing as everyone stops to turn to him, he is not proud of the fact. Danny glances at the newcomer who spoke, feeling his face heat up.

This one is mostly in blue, but his outfit is obviously made from the same material as the bo-staff man. He has an amused smile on his lips, which should be illegal.

"Don't mind, Danny," Babs says as someone helps her back into her chair. "He's not from Gotham. This is his first Bat encounter."

Everyone nods like that makes sense, no longer staring at him like he lost his mind. More and more Bats eventually show up, having defeated the Riddler- apparently a man who regularly kidnaps people to make riddles out of?- and everything gets sorted.

The Bats stay long enough for the police to show up and haul the goons to jail. Witness statements are taken. The medics treat anyone injured, and in all the chaos, the Bats vanish.

Babs closes the library early, sending Danny home with a relieved smile and the next two days off. At that time, he finds out everything he can about the Bats, and he is amazed that a whole clan of them is running around saving Gotham.

Danny quickly realizes that he doesn't need to be Phantom here. The city already has heroes keeping her safe.

Instead, he becomes the Bat Clan's number-one fan. Buying a laptop just to join fan forums, watch old footage of the Clans, and join the BatBurger loyalty program.

By the time the Libary reopens, Danny caved into the urge to write fanfiction. He uses Phantom as his username, figuring no one would ever know. He may enjoy his yeti orders a little more now.

Meanwhile, Babs is showing Tim the fanfiction about Red Robin falling in love with a civilian. She laughs at how much Tim gets into it because Danny really does have a talent for the written word.

"Has he written anything else?" Tim asks once he catches up with the latest chapter.

"He just posted a new story about Batman falling in love with Bruce Wayne," Babs says, watching the numbers on his views rise. "It's only five chapters so far, but apparently, the world-building is amazing."

"Phantom wrote that the Bats were a ghosts of some kind." Dick yells from where he is also reading the Red Robin fanfiction, "Frankly, I'm flattered by how hot he made Nightwing sound."

"You sure he's not a threat?" Tim asks, clicking open the new fic with barely concealed glee.

"No. Danny has a weak heart. Per his doctor's orders, he can't be in any stressful situation. He's just a sweet kid who became our fan after the save from Riddler." Babs says, "I highly doubt we'll see him near the cape scene."

[celuere]

I want you all over me.

pairing: feixiao x fem!reader

context: feixiao having never experienced a single mating cycle in her life was always something she has been relatively relieved about. That is until she met you

cw: feixiao has a dick here because I said so, breeding, mating press, feral feixiao, HSR didn‘t have any lore on how Foxians reproduce so I had to get creative, story takes place after she wiped the floor with Hoolay, biting 

First work on my iPad with the new bluetooth keyboard I ordered, truly a life changer. Not even my fever will stop me from writing Yuri. and also huge thanks to Ray for helping me with the gradient, not all heroes wear capes. Some of them are axolotls!

NSFW utc, MDNI!

Have you ever wondered if Foxians can enter a heat? Well, they do. Just not the way you think. There are a lot of factors that play an important role in a Foxians heat cycle.

For once their relationship status is a strong factor. Are they single, taken or even married? Are they happy in said marriage? Do they want to reproduce with their partner?

Then there is their age. A first Foxians heat cycle is usually triggered in the late 20s, some may experience it earlier, some later. There are even recordings of certain individuals not experiencing a single mating process in their entire lifespan, simply because they didn’t want to, have never found the right person and variety of other reasons. A Foxians urge to reproduce along with the frequencies of their cycles may decrease with age.

Now, once having lived through a mating cycle you are considered „Mature“. No, it doesn’t refer to your mental capabilities, it‘s simply the medical term for Foxians that can reproduce. Because until you didn’t live through at least one of these unbearable cycles, your ability to reproduce is -so the doctors call it- sleeping.

In the young days of the Xianzhou, where arranged marriages were still a thing, a certain medicine was to be used if one or both parties weren’t already mature to trigger their first heat, so they may produce an heir. That was until said medication was banned for good.

Once mature you only develop a steady, balanced heat cycle that may only occur when you’re in a happy, fulfilled relationship. A few may live through it two times a year, others every two months or even just once every year.

And during the actual thing? Unless not separated from their s/o, Foxians become extremely grumpy and frustrated, it‘s better to not bother them during this time. Just avoid them all together. They reach their breaking point once they’re reunited with their partner again. Be sure you won‘t be leaving the house or rather the bedroom for the next two or three days.

Feixiao usually was never bothered by the fact that she didn’t mature yet, never once was it a problem for her. Quite the opposite. Seeing how her Foxian friends and coworkers seemed to disappear off the face of society for a good few days actually relieved her. It meant no interruptions in her training schedule and left no room for distractions.

That was until you came along.

At first the general didn’t think much of it when you first started dating. She‘d touch herself to the memory of you, how good you‘d took her cock into your wet pussy last week, moaning and clawing into her trained shoulders as you begged for her to go faster. To fuck you harder.

She first didn’t think about how annoyed she got over the week because of the smallest thing, recruits being stupid, Jiaqou annoying her, she even gave Moze a whole earful when he tried his luck on her again. Only feeling better during the mornings and evenings she‘d spent with you in her arms. 

It reached a certain point on a Friday Night. Jingyuan sent her home after she almost lost her shit at Hana because of a simple misunderstanding from her side.

„Come back once you’ve calmed down.“, he said. 

The funny thing? Nobody was angry with her. Not Jingyuan. Not Jiaqou. Not Moze. Not Hana. Nobody. Everybody already knew what was going on with the Merlin‘s Claw. Except for the poor woman herself.

Or you.

Once Feixiao opened the door to your shared home and inhaled your scent, it‘s as good as over for the both of you. 

Poor you was just dusting off the shelves in the living room when your girlfriend practically threw herself right at you, hands clawing your shirt and pants right off of your body. Even your underwear covered too much for her liking. 

Her body felt too hot. The general had the impression she‘d burn to ashes from the inside out if she didn’t bury her already throbbing cock inside your cunt within the next moments.

„F-Fei, what- Hah!“, a bite mark on your most sensitive part on your neck never sounded better to her. 

She needed you carnally. Fucking wasn’t enough. She needed to breed you throughly until neither couldn’t think straight anymore. Until all that’s left inside of your spent pussy is her cum. 

„Quiet, darling.“, leaving your neck with a mark that will surely take on a pretty purple color during the next few days. Goodness, she might as well died without the tightness of your cunt.

In between the fog of clothes flying to the floor, sloppy kisses and Feixiao‘s growling right into your ear, you didn’t even notice when exactly she shoved her length into you. Suddenly she was all over you, inside you, digging her claws into your skin so she could drag you on and off her cock in a faster manner, soon forming creamy ring around her base that drove her close to madness. 

She wanted nothing more right now than for you to carry out her babies, the sheer thought only fuel to the fire that’s seemingly devouring her from the inside.

She didn’t try to angle her hips to hit your weak spot better, she didn’t care how you’re supposed to cover up the bite marks on your neck and shoulders, not even your beautiful tits were spared of her teeth.

„Fckin‘ take my cock into that pussy… g-get it all i-in there…“, she‘d mutter as she watches you melt over her for another time, your mixed juices oozing out on the sides whenever she‘d fuck back into you. That sofa will probably have to be replaced when she is done with you.

When your legs were pressed up against your chest that was probably the moment your soul disconnected from your body. Her using you more or less as a personal fleshlight was more than you could ever handle, even when she fucked her third load into your cunt, you just hoped she would keep on fucking out her heat with you.

If every cycle felt like this for her, Feixiao could only pray to Lan to be blessed by this amazing occurrence once every month. The warming sensation of your pussy tightening around her dick every so often, those pretty moans spilling out of your mouth with each time she rolled her hips against yours, only adding to the already torturous pressure against your cervix. She could go on like this for days. 

There was one time where she accidentally slipped out when pulling back, never in her life did something piss her more off than seeing her dick outside your cum-filled pussy. Her hands immediately went back around your hips and then she pushed herself back in. With one, smooth thrust you welcomed her back inside your warmth, that absolute guttural moan the both of you let out was surely to be heard outside by any random passerby.

But don’t think she will be done with you after a day. She‘ll make sure you fall asleep with your pussy warming her dick and she‘ll make sure you also get to wake up with it, only so she can mess you up all over again.

Maybe being mature isn’t so bad after all.

[funkylittlebats]

This reminds me of a story about a family friend's mother. She did woodcarving, and a lot of it, especially when she retired. Onw of her favorite things to carve was fish, boats, and other things one might find in or around the ocean. She entered several competitions, even placing on a nationwide comp if memory serves. I mean when she carved it was indistinguishable fron whatever she was mimicking. Truly mind-boggling skill.

Eventually she decided she was too old and didn't want to compete anymore, so she went to a lot less competitions the year she decided to quit. She didn't even do any statwide competitions that year, nothing that required more than a 5 hour round trip was considered.

Her penultimate competition, she got to create one of her favorite things—a sea floor scene. So she came prepared, put her best foot (or rather, carvings) forward, and submitted a truly breathtaking scene. I wish I had a picture of it, but I don't. Anyway. She came 4th. Didn't even podium. She took it in stride, of course, she knew her skill and she was also perfectly fine with not winning every little thing.

But she got to talking with one of the judges after the awards were distributed, just some friendly chat, sharing their passion for the craft. Then the judge said "you know we actually wanted to give you first for your carvings, but you used real shells so we couldn't :/"

So she walked over to her display, picked up one of the heftier chisels, and cracked into a shell, revealing the wood grain.

Then left.

I want to tell a story to the artists and would-be artists out there.

When I was 19, I made a large oil painting of the nerd I would eventually marry. I poured all my attention and care into this painting. It's the only art I have from back then that still holds up as a work I'm proud of today.

I entered it into a judged show at the local art center. It got an honorable mention. I went to see the show with my beloved model. One of the judges came up to talk to me, and highlighted that all the judges really liked the painting. It would have placed, except, you see, the feet were incorrect. They were too wide and short, and if I just studied a bit more anatomy-

I called over my future wife, and asked her to take off her shoe. Being already very used to humoring me, she did. The judge looked at her very short, very wide little foot. Exactly as I'd lovingly rendered it. I would never edit her appearance in any way.

The judge looked me in the eye, and to his credit, he really looked like he meant it when he said "Oh I'm so sorry."

Anyways the moral of the story is that all of those anatomy books that teach you proportions are either showing you averages, or a very specific idea of an idealized body. Actual bodies are much more varied than that.

So don't forget to draw from observation, and remember that humans aren't mass produced mannequins. Delight in our variation. Because it's supposed to be there.

[cmdrfupa]

Kento took a step forward when he notices that his blonde hair is slowly getting to a pale silver. The roots shining as he intently stares at the first few streaks in the mirror. A slight frown of surprise crosses his face as he runs his fingers through it, almost trying to see if they are real, contemplating the significance of this unexpected change.

“Remember we’ve got 2 potential homebuyers coming today after 3. Did you want to move anything around before then?” You spoke gently as you walked towards the bathroom noticing Kento look at himself. “Ken?”

His strict and rigid lifestyle had shaped his existence for years, but this moment marked a stark contrast to the strict regimen he's lived by. It's as if his hair was reflecting the toll of the pressure and stress he's endured.

It's a jarring sight, a symbol of the transformation he's undergoing.

“Did you notice these? The grays?”

You reached up, catching the close shave of his undercut and smile at his reflection. “We’re on each other practically every 2 seconds. Of course I noticed.”

“And you said nothing?” Eyebrow raised, Kento turned to you and kissed your palm. “Big fan of old man Kento?”

“Pffft, please.” The chuckle you let out was a slice of life to him. “I thought you were hot when you were 26 and I still think you’re hot at 44. You’re becoming a silver fox.”

He laughed but he was completely preoccupied by this new found piece of himself.

He was aging.

“Stop thinking, baby.”

“I’m not, honey.”

You squint. “Let me reiterate. Stop overthinking.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist from the side, resting your head on his chest. “When did we get to this point? I qualify for silver fox status after what feels like we just finished school.”

You bring your fingers up the back of his head and gently graze his scalp. “Years of wisdom and achievement via your roots. I have a few of my own sprouting at the center of my head. You’ve conquered a lot in life. I think it looks great on you.”

These hints of aging didn’t represent a loss of youth, but rather a testament to the years of life he'd lived and survived. Evidence of a journey filled with memories and growth. He starts to see the gray hair not as a symbol of decline, but as a badge of honor, a mark of the wisdom and resilience he's gained along the way. He kissed your cheek and lifted you up.

“A house, putting a kid through college, buying property on the beach,” He helped you onto the bathroom counter and smiled. “The grays are like a trophy.”

“A trophy, exactly, Mr. Nanami. Though I feel like we are missing a big key factor here.”

“Hm? What’s that?”

You leaned in, gently kissing his jawline. “You’re totally a DILF now. I have the hottest dad in this city.”

[vintagegeekculture]

I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

[aboutcustardcreams]

Wake up call

Agathario x reader

Another scene I'm deeply in love with is Agatha and Rio's fight happening in the first episode. So, here it is what would happen with r joining it.

Rio leaned closer to Agatha with a lopsided grin, “I’ve missed you,” she purred, tracing her former lover’s jawline with the curved blade in her hand. 

Agatha’s chest rose and fell, an expression of pure hatred flashed upon her blue eyes, mingled with a hint of something else, mabe fear. “I hate you.”

Rio lolled her head back and laughed bitterly, “course, you do.” 

The day you and Agatha vowed to never see her face anymore, her heart shattered until nothing was left of it. But she was Lady Death, meaning that no matter what you wanted, someday your paths would cross again and that’s what kept her going. 

You had just parked in the driveway, when an explosion coming from inside the house alerted you. On your way back from the grocery store, your memories came back one by one, and you almost hit a pedestrian or two at the realization that you and Agatha had been trapped under a spell for about three years. And now that you were ‘awake’, you were pretty sure she was too. You quickly got out of the car and stepped inside, silently praying that Agatha was okay. 

Last person you thought you’d see was Rio. 

“Drop the dagger now,” your voice came out sharp and dangerous. 

Both witches snapped their heads towards you. Your eyes locked with Agatha’s first. She breathed a sigh of relief at your sight, her blue orbs filled with all sorts of thoughts. 

“Hello, mi nena,” Rio quipped, tone softening at the sight of you. “Glad you’re awake too. Agatha and I were just.. catching up, right?”

You took a step closer, keeping your eyes on Rio. “I see– rude of you to start without me,” there was a hint of sarcasm in your voice, that both witches grasped. “Now, don’t make me repeat myself, you know I hate it.” 

“Uhm, I don’t know.” Instead of listening to you, Rio pushed the blade deeper against Agatha. The witch struggled to keep the blade at distance, trembling while doing so. 

Your hands turned into fists, a gust of wind rose up around you. Objects started levitating, the chandelier in the lounge room swayed and Agatha’s lips curled upwards, happy to realize your powers were still part of you. 

The vibrancy of your magic brought back all sorts of memories of the time you three spent together. “Looks like our sweet girl over there is in control of her powers. How does it feel, Agatha?” Rio asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t you resent her like you resent me?” 

The purple witch was quick to shake her head, scoffing to herself at the same time. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

When she looked at you, she saw one of the most incredible witches she ever had the pleasure to meet.

“You’re nothing like her.”

Rio let out a whiny sound, “why does she get special treatment and I don’t, huh?”

In the meantime, your irises turned the same color of your magic, a bright hue of silver and enveloped your entire body as well. 

“She did everything she could, while you–” she winced when the tip of the dagger pressed further against her skin. “What, huh? What are you blaming me for? I’m the natural order of all the things baby, and you know it. You always knew it!” 

When she pushed the blade further closer to her skin,  Agatha’s grip on Rio’s wrists loosened and the dagger scraped her. While Rio grinned at the sight of Agatha’s blood flowing so deliciously from her collarbone to her chestline, you levitated from the floor and your palms opened wide, exploding with your magic. 

“You’re nothing!” 

Rio let out a strangled yelp, as her body was thrown on the other side of the corridor. Agatha let out a sigh of relief, mouthing a fragile thank you in your direction as you rushed towards her. You didn’t say anything at first and simply hugged her, your heart thumping in your chest at incredible speed. 

“Are you hurt?” 

She shook her head, but you knew better. While that small cut wasn’t anything serious, you knew the pain in her heart was greater. You pressed your lips together, giving her a skeptical look. With a flick of your finger, you healed the wound on her skin,  and for some reason, it made Agatha feel even worse, but she didn’t say anything to you. 

Rio pulled herself up, stretching both arms and legs, “Ahw, did she make it better?” 

Agatha growled, fingers wiggling as if she could actually summon magic. 

You immediately stood in front of her, “don’t come any closer,” you warned her. 

The Green Witch hummed and her brows knitted in a frown, “where did I see this scene before?”

You swallowed thickly at the painful memories she was able to bring back with such ease. You had so many questions going on inside your head, the most important would probably be, why? Why the betrayal, why the lies, why the pain? 

“Cut the crap, Rio,” Agatha snapped, worrying about your sudden discomfort, “what do you want?”

She fake pouted at her angry tone, “you used to be much nicer to me,” with the tip of the blade, she moved a strand of hair from her face. And when you scoffed, a dark shadow passed through her eyes, “I’m just missing the old days. I want you back– in a way or another, meaning that if I have to kill you both, I will,” she added the last part with a strange look in her eyes. Almost hysterical. You only had a couple of seconds to react. Rio’s dagger flew in your direction, missing you and Agatha by a nose, as you shoved her to the side, shielding her with your body. 

Agatha grunted at the sound of Rio’s giggles, “I’m gonna kill her.” 

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, “it’s not possible, unfortunately.” 

Propping yourself up, you helped Agatha do the same. 

While doing so, you spotted the dagger behind you. You pointed at it to Agatha with a nod of your head. She was closer to the weapon so she lunged forward to grab it. Rio ignored her and focused on you. She gave you little time to anticipate her move and with a yelp she sprung forward, fuelled by her magic. Before you knew it, her fingers tightened around your neck and squeezed. 

Her head lolled to the side, and watched you with a mixture of nostalgia and admiration, “naughty, naughty–”

“Let her go!” Before Agatha could even make an attempt to stab Lady Death on the shoulder, Rio sent her flying in the lounge room, her back hitting a cabinet that after the impact, crashed on top of her.  

Your eyes snapped open, as you squirmed but to no avail, “Agatha!” 

“Do you remember pain, my love?”

“I never stopped feeling it since the day you betrayed us.”

You still resented her for the things she did. And you probably would for the rest of your life. Her face dimmed and her lips pursed into a grimace; the grip around your neck loosened, but she didn’t let go. Was that disappointment settling in her chest? 

“You’re so clueless about the things I did for you.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes, but despite them a choked chuckle slipped from your lips. She did nothing for you, nor for Agatha and even less for Nicky. She only took, betrayed your trust and hurt you in the most inexplicable way. 

“All you did was make things worse.”

Rio snarled at your accusation,“you knew that messing with the Fates wasn’t without consequences!” 

Your answer came out in a faint, yet determined whisper, “you were the one to send them my way.” 

In the meantime, Agatha straightened herself out, wincing at the pain in her arms, as shreds of glass cut through her skin. She scanned the surroundings  in search of something, anything that could be used against Rio. While her eyes landed on a wooden tray, Rio blasted you against the wall behind you with full demoniac force, her voice distorted as well, sounding deeper and animalistic, “I had no other choice!”

Agatha mentally screamed at the chunks of plaster coming down at you. 

You whimpered, feeling Rio’s body towering over yours, “sorry, did it tickle too much?” 

Despite the dizziness, you found the sassiness to roll your shoulders, “No.” With the corner of your eye, you spotted Agatha coming your way, holding something in her hands. Realizing what it was made you almost chuckle. “But I bet this will.” 

Before Rio could ask you what you meant, the purple witch hit the back of her head with an angry growl and a deadly stare in the eye.  

“Dark Mother, I’m so sick of her,” she muttered, glancing back at you. 

You chuckled briefly, before erupting into a fit of coughs. Your throat felt on fire because of Rio. You were pretty sure it was bruising already for how much she squeezed. Agatha kneeled in front of you, her fingers hovering over your neck, but barely touching it, for fear of causing you extra pain,  “I’m sorry about–” 

“Don’t. The ‘s’ word isn’t allowed,” you chided her softly. She nibbled the inside of her cheek, blinking back the tears from her eyes. She hated feeling powerless, even more now considering you could really use some of her purple as backup.

Noticing the veil of sadness in her eyes, you tried to cheer her up, giving her a playful nudge, “what you did was rather hot by the way.” 

She snorted out a laugh, “are you turned on, love?” 

A playful smirk tugged at your lips, “maybe.”

She pulled you closer, tugging at the fabric of your blouse. Her forehead adhered against yours and you closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to inhale her sweet. Her hand ran from your collarbone up to your chin, her thumb gently grazed your bottom lip, pushing it down and making you smile. When you reopened your eyes, you took her hand in yours, and intertwined your fingers together in the attempt to brush aside all the worries you spotted in her eyes. 

Rio let out a frustrated growl, “Good job, Agatha. I’m impressed. A little higher and that would have really hurt.” 

On instinct, you tried to move Agatha behind you, but she resisted, making you frown. 

“Ugh!” Rio swept her tongue over her lips, “the way she would throw herself in Hell for you really warms my heart.” 

You said nothing because it was true. You would do the craziest things for her, just like you did for Nicky. 

Agatha smacked her lips, almost laughing in her face. “Please, you don’t have a heart.” 

Rio locked eyes with her, and for a moment you spotted a veil of hurt in her brown orbs. “Yes, I do,” she argued, before dropping her voice into a softer murmur, “it’s black and it beats for both of you.”

Agatha said nothing, while you couldn’t bring yourself to be quiet after that colossal lie, “you’re pathetic.”

Her gaze narrowed towards you; a flash of fury dimmed her features. “Madness turned you into a real brat. Perhaps you fancy another ride?” 

You swallowed thickly and turned stiff. Those words stung painfully, there was no point in hiding it. You hated how easily she could bring back the memories of your trauma, making you feel as if you were reviving it all over again. 

A single tear slipped from your eye, but you were quick to wipe it. Agatha’s hand found yours and squeezed; she felt your magic tickling her skin, it was mirroring your emotions and she knew it would burst soon. 

“You’re a monster,” Agatha’s voice came out in hiss. 

Then it happened. You let go of Agatha’s hand and tackled Rio on the floor. Her back hit the ground with force, and despite that, she laughed. You pinned her wrists above her head, digging your fingernails into her skin, wishing to hurt, to tear the skin apart, and make her feel even an ounce of the pain you endured because of her. 

Agatha’s eyes widened both in shock and surprise at your outburst. 

“My, my, aren’t you sexy when you’re mad?”

You smacked her across the face. Hard. 

“Woah, okay girl–”, she conceded, calling a truce, “tell me what you want.” 

“I want you to get the fuck out of my life.” 

Rio lifted her chin up, a dark chuckle escaped her lips, “All roads lead to me, mi nena. Whether you like it or not, you’ll die. Why can’t we speed up the process?” 

“You’re not allowed to kill us,” your voice dropped in an icy growl. 

“I second that,” Agatha quipped. 

Rio scoffed amusedly, “are you sure about that?” Before you could respond with another sassy remark, she headbutted you straight on the nose. You fell to the side, letting go of Rio’s wrists and allowing her to flee from your grasp. You groaned and cursed under your breath, when she kicked your side with the boot of her shoe. Agatha took you in her arms, as quickly as she could, then started crawling backwards with you firmly pressed against her chest, “you okay?” 

“Fine,” you croaked out, in annoyance. 

By the look on your bloody face, she realized you’d very well use a break. 

But Rio seemed to have other ideas, the knife was back in her hand as she approached you. 

“Wait, just wait a damn second–” Agatha held out a hand towards the Green Witch, while the other remained wrapped around your underarms. 

Rio hummed and traced the tip of the blade with her fingertips. 

“This isn’t what you want. Plus, I don’t have any powers so it’s not exactly a fair fight, is it?” She gave a nervous chuckle, hoping her words would buy you some time to recover. “Don’t you want us at our best?” 

Rio grinned, with a devilish light in her eyes, “Horizontal, in  a grave?”

“Not exactly,” she muttered, “I mean, in full control of our powers. Just let me get my purple back, let her recover and if you really want to– come back and find us.”

Your breath hitched, it was hard to breathe properly with the blood clogging your nostrils. You summoned your magic, and despite being a tad weaker, you knew it could heal you if given proper time. 

“Why don’t you take mine?” Rio’s suggestion made your stomach lurch. 

“That’s cute,” Agatha mused. “But you know that would kill me.”

“Then what about hers?” 

It didn’t seem like a terrible idea to you. But Agatha’s answer was categorical, “No.” 

You looked up at her, noticing the hesitation in her features. Maybe fear too. Truth was, she didn’t trust herself to do such a thing, not to you. You knew she found immense pleasure in sucking away powers from witches, she knew it was wrong, and for years the only reason why she did that was to keep Nicky alive. That’s the reason why you helped her do it. As a mother you could back up from your responsibilities and as a witch, you learned the hard way that in order to survive you had to do all sorts of things. 

There was something about your magic that scared Agatha. You were the only necromancer witch she ever crossed paths with, so she wasn’t sure she would be able to pull away from you, once she got a taste of your forbidden  magic.

Rio pursed her lips in a grimace, “you’re such a coward.”

“She isn’t,” you argued back. 

When Rio finally put the dagger down, both you and Agatha frowned in confusion. “Show me, then. Blast her. Help her restore her purple.” 

“We aren’t doing this, Rio,” Agatha insisted rather adamantly. 

“I’d think about it before making a decision, my love,” Rio leaned closer, her voice soft and eerily calm. “You see, I'm not the only one that wishes you dead. I’d expect guests at sundown.”

You frowned at her words, “who do you mean?”  

Rio’s eyes flashed with excitement. “The worst of them. The Salem Seven.” 

For a moment both you and Agatha fell quiet. You felt Agatha turn still behind you, and your heart ached for her. You turned to face her, as the grip around your middle loosened. 

“Hey, I’m here, Agatha,” your voice came out both firm and tender. “It’s going to be alright”

Rio laughed softly at that. She shoved your shoulder in a playful way, “I have a feeling we will meet again, very soon.”

She paused where once it stood the front door, “Hasta luego,” she waved her fingers before stepping out of the house. 

You considered Rio’s words, and as much as you wished to find another solution, there wasn’t really another way to restore Agatha’s powers, especially not in such a short time. 

“Maybe–”

“Don’t,” she cut you off, sharply. 

You raised your hands defensively, “Fine, sorry. But I think we should at least think about it.”

When she didn’t respond, you decided to give her a moment. Pushing yourself up, your eyes darted to the mess around you. There were pieces of furniture pretty much everywhere, shreds of glass, plates and cutlery and even sections of ripped wallpaper, along with chunks of plasters, “this is not how I imagined to spend this Friday…” you hoped your little joke would put a smile on Agatha’s face, but she remained motionless. 

Agatha started to regret having woken up by Wanda’s spell. Now not only was she awake, but she had no power, the Salem Seven and Rio wanted her dead, her house was falling to pieces, and on top of that, you were in potential danger because of her. The only reason why she survived the loss of Nicky was because of you. But if she lost you too…

She clenched her eyes and took a deep breath, refusing to dwell in such thoughts. 

“Uhm, Agatha?” You were wrong to think nothing else could surprise you that day. 

She made a hum sound, finally getting on her feet, face turned towards you. 

“Why is there a gagged boy in our wardrobe?”

[writerdownbookworder]

“I don’t understand why you can’t help me!”

The angry girl slammed her hand down on the table.

I sighed. “Look, ma’am, I have security, and I’m not afraid of calling them. You need to calm down.”

She gritted her teeth. “Can you give me anything? A hint? A city? A state?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. If you speak to the receptionist, she will issue a refund, along with something special for your trouble.”

The girl stood up in a huff. “Some matchmaker you are. Why can’t you help me?”

I sighed again. “I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you, is that you don’t have to be with your soulmate. Soulmates are overrated. You can be with anyone you choose. Some people never find their soulmates and are perfectly happy. Or you can choose to be happy without a partner. Get a dog. Adopt a kid. Move in with a friend. This doesn’t mean that you have to be alone.”

The girl rolled her eyes and flounced out of my back room. A few minutes later, I heard her arguing with the receptionist loudly.

“Why couldn’t you help her?”

I yelped in surprise as my apprentice appeared behind me, emerging from the closet.

I groaned. “Jason! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason grinned. “I think this makes 237.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and made a note, presumably marking this event as number 238. He snapped it shut, then looked at me seriously.

“But for real, why was she so mad? Could you not see her string?”

“I could see it,” I said quietly. “But it wasn’t red anymore. I couldn’t be the one to tell her that.”

Jason nodded slowly. “What does that mean again? I know the string gets brighter when you are close to the other person. Doesn’t it turn purple if the other person is with someone else? Was her string purple?”

I shook my head. “It was black.”

Jason thought for a minute before shaking his head. “I don’t remember that.”

“Jason,” I groaned. “You’ve been my apprentice for over a year! Anyway, black means the other person is…dead.” I shuddered, the memories resurfacing.

His face was suitably remorseful. “Sorry. I forgot, I didn’t mean to…”

My eyes were unfocused as I flew down memory lane. The first time I remember seeing the strings, when I learned what that meant, seeing my own.

Then the less pleasant memories. Telling people who their soulmate was, only to have them upset that it wasn’t who they wanted. Finding my soulmate, only to watch my string turn black after only a few months. Figuring out how to sever a string. 

The receptionist knocked on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. “Sorry, I just locked up. Thought I would go ahead and give you the day's earnings before I leave. See you tomorrow?”

I nodded and watched her leave. Then I looked at the money on the table in front of me and started counting it. 

It might not be the most pleasant business.

But it sure paid well.

Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.

[levandright]

i want to request a riki fluff drabble! soulmate au but it's the reincarnation type where they receive or dream memories of their past when they reach a certain age.

-⭐ anon

Eternal Bond

pairing : riki x fem reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, enemies/rivals to lovers, past lovers, soulmate au, riki calls you his sweet dove, highschool au ୨ৎ word count : 842

synopsis. in a world where everyone has soulmates and gets memories of their past lives when they turn seventeen, you’re completely shocked to find out that riki—your biggest rival since elementary school—was actually your soulmate in your past life. back then, you were his kind, devoted fiancée, a noblewoman engaged to a rebellious prince, and the two of you were totally in love. but in this life, all you and riki do is compete, pushing each other harder every year. ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : thank you for requesting this ⭐ anon <3 i had a lot of fun making this! hopefully you like it. my requests are very much open so feel free to send one <3

you had braced yourself for it since your birthday months ago, but nothing could have prepared you for the shock of remembering your past-life memories. the truth that your past self had been engaged to him, to riki, was something you could barely wrap your head around. he, the rebellious fourth prince, and you, the kind and loyal fiancée. it seemed unreal—especially since, in this life, riki was your biggest rival, the person you’d been trading snide remarks with since elementary school, and someone you were constantly trying to outdo.

but the memories didn’t lie. he was your soulmate. that fact settled into your mind, slowly softening the sharp edges of your rivalry with him. it was confusing, but no one else understood why you’d suddenly started holding back in arguments or why you’d bite your tongue when he’d tease you in class. it felt silly at times, but the warmth from your past-life connection began to weave into your present self, and try as you might, you couldn’t hide the change.

of course, riki wasn’t an idiot. he noticed. you could feel his eyes on you more often, watching you closely whenever you crossed paths. there was a spark of suspicion behind his gaze, as if he were waiting for you to slip up. as much as you feared he’d figure it out, there was also a secret, thrilling hope that he would. so when december 9th rolled around—his seventeenth birthday—you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d remember his past-life connection as quickly as you had.

the day came, and you tried your best to avoid him, slipping through the halls and sneaking into class a few minutes late. for the morning, it worked. but you knew that wouldn’t last.

lunchtime came, and you slipped into the library, hoping to find a quiet spot where you could just be alone for a while. you settled into a corner near the back, buried in a book, trying to ignore the anxiety stirring inside you. but then you heard footsteps, and when you looked up, there he was. riki.

he stood by the table, arms crossed, a glint of determination in his eyes. you froze. “you can’t hide in here,” he said, his voice casual, but you could tell something was off. he wasn’t leaving.

riki walked toward you, and with each step, your heart raced. before you could react, he slid into the chair across from you, leaning in slightly.

“care to explain yourself?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

you blinked, feigning innocence. “explain what?”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze intense. “you know exactly what i mean. we’re soulmates,” he whispered, low and filled with frustration. “and i find out now of all times? you could’ve told me earlier.”

your heart hammered as you nervously glanced around the library, thankful it was mostly empty. “i didn’t know how you’d react,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands.

riki let out a frustrated sigh, the tension rising. his eyes were no longer playful. “so you thought you’d just pretend nothing had changed? watch me get all confused about why you’ve been acting… different lately?” his voice dropped, and his gaze softened for just a moment. “what, you thought i wouldn’t notice?”

the silence between you both was thick, charged with so much unspoken emotion. you avoided his gaze, biting your lip. “i didn’t want to make things weird… especially with how we’ve been.”

for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes studying you carefully. and then—bam—he leaned in suddenly, placing a hand on your wrist, his touch sparking a reaction deep inside you. you jolted slightly, memories flooding back in waves, overwhelming you.

he tilted his head with a teasing grin. “you talk too much, you know that?”

before you could protest, riki closed the gap between you, his lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss, almost hesitant but filled with all the weight of your shared past. it was as though time had folded in on itself, and for a second it was like the two of you had never been apart.

when he pulled back, his smile was faint yet triumphant. “my sweet dove. you’re still as stubborn as ever, huh?”

you stared at him, wide-eyed, your heart racing. his words, that pet name—it felt so familiar, so right and yet so foreign in this life. “you… remember everything?”

riki nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips, though it was softer than usual. “every last bit.” he leaned back, crossing his arms. “now that we’ve got that sorted, what are we going to do about this rivalry of ours?”

you blinked, a laugh comes out of you unexpectedly. “maybe we can take a break from it… just this once.”

he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “i’ll consider it… for my dove.”

and for the first time in this life, you felt something stronger than rivalry, something that bridged the gap between your past and present—a feeling that maybe, just maybe, love could make its way through everything.

perm taglist. @honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!) requests. open!

©levandright

[anonymous-existences]

DCXDP Prompt 7

Dead Serious Ship but with a twist(?) of a sort. And Good Parents Fenton's + Casper High Classmates knows Danny is Phantom.

• Damian and Danny were Teenage Sweethearts and Danny was in Gotham due to Amity Park Stuff with his parents still taking down the GIW, up until they turned 18 when Damian suddenly became distant. He started canceling plans, distancing himself from his beloved, even going as far as no longer calling Danny by their usual pet names.

From Lovers to Strangers.

• Danny is confused on why Damian is suddenly so distant, until Damian just disappeared, he never contacted Danny at all. Danny's mind is now cluttered with overthinking thoughts that range from negative to dreadful thoughts, at first it was worry that Damian died but he sees an article of Damian being alive and well.... and with someone. Danny feels his heart break into a million goddamn pieces and seeks refuge in his family's arms and moving back to Amity Park.

• Damian's reason of disappearance was apparently for Danny's safety as Ra's had taken particular interest in the boy that has Lazarus Running in their DNA as if it is their blood and for Danny's safety Damian decided to distance himself, a specific mission that required him a partner to take down a specific organization is where the article comes from(Writer can change the last part, either way angst is inevitable).

• 2-3 years later Danny comes back to Gotham because a Ghost of his had something from their grave stolen, and it was stored in the Gotham Museum. Although Danny hates it he stays as it is his duty as A Halfa (Or a Ghost King) to retrieve his people's items from the other side of the veil. Danny happened to attend a gala in one of these occasions and Damian spots him.

Damian and Danny Part :

• Danny feels dread and hatred whenever he sees Damian, Damian is desperate to get him back.

Damian becomes possessive and the Batfam finally tone him down after Danny slaps him, This is mostly angst of Damian being unable to have Danny back as Danny finally settles into the Ghost Zone and Amity Park.

Summary Danny holds a grudge after thinking Damian cheated on him and ghosted him, Danny is not fine and when he does come back to Gotham for Ghost King/Halfa Duties Damian tries to pursue him again which ends with a lot of Vigilante and Phantom shenanigans along with Robin and Phantom romance where they both don't know about each other's Civilian life and when they do more heartbreak and chaos ensue.

Damian wants Danny back so bad and regrets letting his Beloved Polaris go for a mission and for not trusting himself or his family to be able to protect Danny, Danny doesn't like Damian because Damian brings back memories of the last that he truly, really wants to forget because everytime he thinks about it he wants to cry himself to sleep.

My thought is bittersweet ending but that's on the writer's choice or inspiration of this, thanks for reading my crack. I'll see y'all later.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere

Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit

Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not

Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there. 

Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!

All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be. 

He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs. 

His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint. 

Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like. 

It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move. 

That simply wouldn't do. 

It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent. 

“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you. 

“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.” 

You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.

“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags. 

“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water. 

Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”

You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest. 

His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.

You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips. 

The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned. 

You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory. 

It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.

And then you stopped.

He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”

“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis. 

Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests. 

You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life. 

The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process. 

You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.

“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips. 

You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic. 

“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth. 

“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?” 

“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands. 

“Give me your hand.” 

The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs. 

You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis. 

Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.

“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.” 

“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”

It went on like that for a while. 

One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh. 

Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans. 

Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else. 

Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course. 

He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips. 

You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy. 

“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.

“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing. 

“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.” 

You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted. 

“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless. 

“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”

“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.” 

“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.” 

Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough. 

“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.” 

Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.

Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his. 

His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him. 

How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin. 

Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves. 

The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted. 

He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.

So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement. 

The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda. 

He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise. 

“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”

“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum. 

You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”

He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks. 

It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room. 

There was no way you could wave him off now.

Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied. 

You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer. 

His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.

He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut. 

“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder. 

“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point. 

You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing. 

“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction. 

“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck. 

His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right. 

“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”

He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.” 

“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against. 

“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you. 

You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.” 

“Want ya. Right here.”

“Want me to what?” 

Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”

You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again. 

“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”

Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.” 

His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow. 

But he still hadn't cracked. 

The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.

“Maybe some other time.” 

His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.

There it is. 

“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?” 

You forced a nod. 

“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive. 

He looked so fed up. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered. 

Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”

You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you. 

“Don't want you to beg.” 

You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away. 

His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans. 

After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him. 

You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity. 

“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened. 

“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb. 

“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.

“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location. 

“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water. 

You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back. 

“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.” 

Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank. 

“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action. 

Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.” 

Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan. 

Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding. 

“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”

You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.

Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented. 

Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to. 

The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly. 

You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder. 

Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax. 

He withdrew his finger and you whined. 

“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”

You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.” 

His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.

There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised. 

Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.

You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel. 

Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.

You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger. 

“Ew!” You gasped. 

You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor. 

At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.

The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest. 

“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.

“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further. 

“Y-you said you had condoms.” 

Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs. 

He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath. 

“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body. 

“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man. 

“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.” 

You didn't. Not one bit. 

“But I know ya'aint.” 

You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut. 

His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation. 

Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips. 

“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust. 

“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”

“Thought I was gonna regret it.”

Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”

He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace. 

It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had. 

Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made. 

“Get up.” 

You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked. 

Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed. 

The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust. 

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath. 

There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough. 

When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.

“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!” 

There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation. 

“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.” 

“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red. 

You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.

It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache. 

“Point stands.” 

Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist. 

The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest. 

He yanked your head to the side. You gasped. 

“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in.  

“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans. 

“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle. 

“More.” 

He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you? 

He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound. 

You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on. 

Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.” 

“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”

Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?” 

“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.” 

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air. 

You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly. 

Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it. 

It was barely a love tap. 

You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick. 

He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.

“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.” 

You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip. 

It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch. 

“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine. 

“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless. 

Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again. 

And again. 

Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him. 

As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick. 

He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.” 

“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling. 

He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you. 

“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you. 

Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like. 

You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate. 

The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss. 

That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping. 

Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together. 

It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation. 

“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”

“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.” 

He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back. 

The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.

The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it. 

“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”

A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat. 

Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.

In fights.

He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing. 

Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”

You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head. 

“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision. 

“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh-  fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-” 

He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you. 

Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it. 

“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl. 

“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size. 

“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”

“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.

“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips. 

“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.

You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”

That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back. 

“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”

“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”

Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”

“I'm serious.”

He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”

He nodded, going back to biting his cheek. 

“How'd you last so fucking long?”

A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.

“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.” 

That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses. 

“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own. 

“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled. 

“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.” 

“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”

Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[gghostwriter]

Time is a Fickle Thing

Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.

The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.

“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.

He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.

Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.

Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”

“What happens next?”

Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.

It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.

In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.

Still, scared even.

Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.

It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.

“Daddy, what happens next?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.

Everything about her was captivating.

“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”

“But—”

“Remember what we promised?”

She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”

“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.

As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.

“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”

He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.

“Is that it?” He teased.

She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”

Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”

Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.

“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.

Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.

“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”

“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”

She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”

“How about giving me a clue then?”

She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”

Oh.

That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.

“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”

She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.

“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”

He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”

Aurora nodded.

“And what about the best part?”

She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”

Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.

“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”

Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

He slowly crept out of the room.

“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.

Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.

Her first steps.

Her first tooth falling out.

Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.

In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.

Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’

It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.

He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.

And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.

Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.

Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.

She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.

Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.

“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.

He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”

You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”

“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”

There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”

“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”

You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”

“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”

“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”

Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

You gave him another kiss.

“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

"A Mother's Defiance"

Summary: Agatha x Rio x Reader Where in the scenario Nicholas never happened but the reader did and Agatha beg Rio not to take them, based on the episode 9 of Agatha All Along

A/n: I'm weak for Agatha and Rio being mother's

The forest was silent and heavy with mist, as if nature itself had drawn a veil over this secluded place. Agatha stumbled through the dense thicket, her hand pressed firmly to her belly, her breaths shallow and rapid. She could feel it—the heartbeat within her growing faint, slipping further from her grasp with every painful step.

“Please… stay with me…” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur against the rustling of leaves and the cold whisper of the night air.

Ahead, the shadows seemed to twist and shift, growing thicker and darker. A familiar presence manifested from the haze—a tall, cloaked figure who moved with an ethereal grace, as quiet and inevitable as the night itself. Agatha’s breath hitched. She knew who stood before her without needing to look up.

Rio. Her love, her partner, her solace… and the very embodiment of death itself.

The two women locked eyes, and for a fleeting moment, all the memories they had shared seemed to pass between them—years of devotion, secrets and laughter stolen in dark corners, and promises whispered under starlit skies. But tonight, there was no warmth in the gaze Rio held; her face was calm, but her eyes carried a sorrow too deep to fathom.

Agatha sank to her knees, her fingers trembling as they clutched her abdomen. “No…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “No, not them.”

Rio stepped forward, her hand reaching out as though to steady Agatha, but then she hesitated, her fingers hovering in the cold night air. “Agatha, my love,” she said, her voice gentle yet unyielding, as steady as the ticking of a clock. “You know why I’m here. You knew this day would come.”

A sob escaped Agatha’s lips, and she doubled over, cradling her belly as though she could shield the fragile life within her. “Please,” she gasped, looking up at Rio with eyes full of tears and desperation. “They haven’t even had a chance… our child, our hope… they haven’t even seen the world yet.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t take them away from me. Not yet. Please, my love, not now.”

Rio’s expression softened, and she knelt down beside Agatha, her face a mask of quiet anguish. She reached out, her hand cupping Agatha’s cheek with a tenderness that betrayed the sorrow in her heart. “You don’t know how much it pains me to do this,” she murmured, her voice laced with grief. “If there were another way, I would take it. But the balance must be kept, and I am bound to my duty, even if it means…” Her voice broke, and she turned her gaze away, struggling to keep her composure. “Even if it means taking this from you.”

Agatha’s face crumpled as she grasped Rio’s hand, pressing it desperately to her face as if she could hold onto her love’s touch forever. “Then break the rules,” she whispered fiercely. “Just this once, my love. You’re Death, yes, but you’re also mine. I’ve risked everything for us. I would give my life, my soul, anything… just to keep our child safe. Please…”

Rio closed her eyes, a single tear tracing down her cheek. Agatha could see the conflict tearing her apart, the war between duty and love waging a fierce battle in her eyes. “To defy the laws of life and death…” Rio whispered, her voice as fragile as glass. “It could unravel everything. It could destroy us both.”

Agatha shook her head, her grip tightening as she looked at Rio with all the fierceness of a mother’s love. “Then let it,” she replied, her voice fierce and unwavering. “If it’s a choice between losing you or losing them, then let it be me who’s lost. Just don’t take them, my love. I beg you.”

Rio’s composure wavered, her face contorted with pain. She glanced away, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the night. “You know that I cannot deny you… not when you look at me like that. Not when you call me by that name.”

Agatha felt a flicker of hope, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rio’s. “Please, my love,” she whispered, her voice filled with raw, aching desperation. “Save them. For me. Just this once.”

Rio’s shoulders slumped, the weight of her choice pressing down on her like the weight of the entire world. She reached up, cupping Agatha’s face in her hands, her thumb brushing away a tear. “If I grant this mercy… it will be borrowed, not forgiven. The debt will come due, and one day, I will have to return.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “When that time comes, nothing will stay my hand.”

Agatha’s tears streamed down her face, but she nodded, her voice breaking as she promised, “Then we’ll cherish every moment until that day. I’ll guard our child… with everything I have. Just give them a chance, my love. Please.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, Rio closed her eyes and began to murmur ancient words, a language older than the stars. The forest seemed to tremble, the shadows rippling as if in protest. Agatha felt a surge of warmth spread through her, and the faint heartbeat within her grew stronger, vibrant, a light against the darkness.

A gasp of relief escaped Agatha’s lips, and she sank into Rio’s arms, her sobs turning to laughter as she held her love close, clinging to the miracle that had been granted. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she buried her face in Rio’s shoulder. “Thank you, my love.”

Rio held her, her own tears falling silently as she pressed a kiss to Agatha’s forehead, a promise and a farewell all in one. “This life is borrowed, Agatha,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow. “One day, I will come to collect the debt, and no power will hold me back.”

Agatha pulled back, looking into Rio’s eyes with fierce determination. “Then I’ll protect them. I’ll protect us… no matter the cost.”

Rio’s fingers lingered on Agatha’s face, a final touch as the shadows began to pull her away, her form beginning to dissolve into the mist. “Until we meet again, my love,” she whispered, her voice carrying a promise of eternity. “Remember… I am yours, in life and in death.”

As Rio’s form faded into the night, Agatha clutched her belly, feeling the steady heartbeat within—a heartbeat saved by a love stronger than fate, bound by a debt that would one day come due.

The forest, now quiet, seemed to close around her as Agatha remained kneeling in the wet earth, her body trembling as she tried to catch her breath. The moment of peace didn’t last long.

Suddenly, an ache seized her body, sharp and overwhelming. She gasped, clutching her stomach, her eyes wide with fear. Her body, which had been so still just moments ago, seemed to come alive with the force of the contractions. The pain was unbearable, worse than anything she had felt before. It was as though her body was splitting in two.

“No… no, not now…” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she stumbled to her feet. The night air felt suffocating as her legs gave way beneath her. She dropped to the ground, pressing her hands against the earth, the sharp pain cutting through her like a blade.

The forest held its breath as Agatha cried out, her body betraying her with every agonizing wave. She could feel it now, the child within her, pressing against her, trying to force its way into the world. Their child. Her child.

Her tears mixed with the rain that had begun to fall, the forest around her alive with the sounds of her struggle. She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into the earth, willing herself to hold on, to keep fighting for the life within her. “You can’t… you can’t go… not yet,” she gasped, her voice broken.

With every scream, with every tear, the child within her fought to be born.

And then, with one final, overwhelming push, the pain shattered, and the cries of a newborn filled the air.

Agatha collapsed back onto the ground, her arms trembling as she pulled the tiny, fragile life into her arms. She held them close, feeling the warmth of their tiny body against her chest, their heartbeat a steady rhythm in the quiet night. She breathed in their scent, her heart swelling with a fierce love.

“You’re here…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re finally here, my love.”

The baby nestled against her, their cries fading into soft whimpers as they settled in Agatha’s embrace. She rocked them gently, her tears of joy mingling with the rain. For a moment, everything felt still. The world seemed to pause, and she held her child—her and Rio’s child—close, savoring the sweetness of this moment that had almost been taken from her.

And though the night was dark and the forest whispered all around her, Agatha felt a profound sense of peace. “I will protect you… with everything I am, my love. No matter the cost.”

________________________________________

A/n: Shall I turn this into a series?👀 Following the events of WandaVision and Agatha All Along???

[rizsu]

ꪆ୧ ── REAP WHAT YOU SOW ┊ LOVE TO LOSE ﹑ JJK. ⤿ starring: gojo satoru x fem!reader.

꒰ heart to none ﹢ if only he knew karma would come back to bite his ass a few years later. now he misses his ex while she's moved on.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: nothing much!! just moments of him suffering

co-parenting with satoru truly isn't all butterflies. as reserved and respectful as he is (to a selected few), satoru never hesitated to taunt you whenever you mentioned going on dates.

“a date? hmm, good luck with that.”

“if it happens to kick off, good for you, but i don't want him near my child.”

“how exciting! i hope it fails.”

those are just some examples of his behaviour. he's vocal about disliking you and the idea of sharing you. had he known beforehand he'd become slightly possessive, he would've avoided you and relationships altogether.

loving someone his mind hates but his heart longs for isn't an experience he'd wish upon his worst enemy — it's too much. the wretched feeling in his chest deepens whenever he's with the kid; scenarios of you being beside him at that very moment flashes before his eyes, but his pride's too high to crash whatever you're doing.

that doesn't stop him from texting, however. he never had an issue with double—triple texting you. if he had something to say (which is never anything important), he'll say it.

satoru: hey.

satoru: did you forget you have a family at home?

satoru: my child's asleep btw, we had fun all day.

you: my* child. not yours.

satoru: so what am i, an elf on babysitting duties?

you: sure if that's what you want. now stop texting my phone.

satoru: what if i'm dying?

you: i'd pop some champagne. throw something on the grill. light up a cigarette, even.

satoru: you don't even like cigarettes.

you: exactly. now bye i'll be there for six.

yeah, there's no doubt that you'll never entertain him again. he, too, wouldn't entertain himself if he was in your position. sure, he was an ass in the relationship but— you're both older and wiser. maybe you can put the differences aside and come together? a flat no is what you'd answer.

satoru doesn't even hear from you often; most of your activity reports come from your child who excitedly tells their father the details, wishing he was there.

“you guys had fun. i wish i was there too, bub.”

a sentimental tone settled in his voice. he's suffering the consequences of his actions, and he desperately needs you to help him through it.

just like old times: you'd be there for him, going along with whatever he needed to calm down. whether it's wanting to be in you or on you— as long as your arms were wrapped around him.

but it's all a memory now. a bitter one.

do you show your vulnerable side to the guys you date, too? do you hold them the way you held him? do they even know what you like? do they know you the way he knows you?

jealousy, regret, longing— everything mixes in his mind. his stomach aches. it feels as though his insides are hollow.

he adores your child. they look mostly like him, but the personality stems from you. the attitude, tantrums, even the way they hold things — it's all you. he guesses the kid's observed you and eventually picked up your habits. satoru relates; after all, he still has some of your habits he picked up.

as the clock ticks on, his fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. somehow, he found himself in your pinned chat— debating whether he should text or not. he's been typing and deleting for the past ten minutes. unless you're not on the app, there's no way you didn't notice the ‘typing...’ under his contact name.

satoru: i've been thinking.

(message deleted)

satoru: fuck your date let's get back together.

(message deleted)

satoru: or whatever you're doing right now. let me apologize — it's been years. our baby's four now.

(message deleted)

satoru: hey.

you: what's with these deleted messages?

you: are you okay?

he wonders. is he okay? would you come over if he said no? are you going to be mad if he re-sent what the deleted messages said?

satoru: uhhh yeah. everything's fine.

satoru: i'm bored that's why.

satoru: you should totally come over.

you: no.

you: talk to you later.

satoru: please? i'm serious.

you: fine.

satoru: might as well spend the night.

(message deleted)

satoru: thanks.

(message delivered)

“well fuck...” he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. he doesn't have anything to say nor do with you. actually, he does — he has quite a few, but he wouldn't push your buttons. he'd love to, but the chances of him receiving a slap is high.

[chilling-seavey]

Desiderio (gr63)

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

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

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

↳ Word Count: 21.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George pulled a polite smile, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or after?”

“Or after.” he conceded. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you whined, “Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too.” he responded easily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asked breathily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm…mhm…” you mumbled against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then added a gentle, “With me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really want that?” you questioned faintly. 

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

“Wait here.” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“George…” you withered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.” he breathed warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ.” George exhaled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice shower?” he asked politely. 

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

“My pleasure.” he replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At 9pm on a Sunday?”

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t convinced. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t.” you breathed. 

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