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harryslittlefreakk · 2 days ago

Text

the one

summary: y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

warnings: light angst, made up town, CHEESY writing, smut that’s more making love than fucking

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: hi guys 💘 long time no see!!! GO EASY on me im rusty!!!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door creaked as it swung shut behind you, sealing out the bitter November wind with a low groan. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights bathed the room, casting long shadows over the oak bar and a few worn leather stools scattered around it. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and a faint hint of wood smoke. A couple of locals sat quietly at a table near the back, their low voices blending with the soft hum of an old jukebox playing a slow, bluesy tune.

“Thank God,” you muttered, the day’s tension melting from your face as the warm air settled around you. You let your head roll back, savoring the first reprieve from the cold. The chill that had reddened your cheeks and numbed your fingers slowly eased, the warmth brushing over your skin.

Winter was settling into Windermere, and you’d never gotten used to it. Your parents found a strange charm in the grey skies and biting winds, bundling up and going about their routines. But for you, it felt suffocating. Each year, November swept in like an unwelcome guest, forcing the town to become even smaller, with people huddled indoors, glancing suspiciously at anyone passing by.

The town seemed cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of fires and the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot. It was a season that left no room for secrets, not when every movement was magnified in the stillness. With everyone tucked away, the chances of slipping by unnoticed were slim, forcing your teenage rebellion to thrive in only the rarest pockets of solitude, under the cover of long, dark nights.

“Please, just something hot,” you said, voice weary as you rubbed your hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them.

The bartender eyed you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he planted his hands on the bar.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you,” he mused, reaching down to grab another glass.

Your head snapped up so quickly that your neck clicked, and you rubbed the sore spot as a frown knit your brow. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He was older, scruffier, and somehow more devastatingly handsome than the last time you’d seen him. You blinked a few times, half-expecting him to be some kind of apparition conjured by the cold. But he was real. Your Harry was really standing in front of you, in the last place you’d ever thought you’d find him.

“I didn’t- I tried to find you,” you stammered, your voice catching as your gaze drifted over him.

He was taller now, his once-wild curls a little more tamed. Those same green eyes that seemed to cut straight through into your soul. His sweater clung just enough to his arms to hint at the strength beneath, and tattoos traced up both arms in intricate, dark patterns, curling from his wrists to disappear under the fabric, each one telling a story of the years he'd spent without you.

The decade you’d missed was written across him in lines and ink, yet somehow, seeing him now made you feel like that eighteen-year-old again, waiting for her best friend to realize he loved her too.

“If you’d looked hard enough, you would have,” Harry muttered, his eyes trailing over your face, taking in the flush of cold still lingering on your cheeks. Your lips pressed into a tight line as you dropped your gaze to the worn wood of the bar. You couldn’t tell him that you hadn’t found him because you hadn’t wanted to.

He was a reminder of a version of yourself you’d left behind - a girl who thought she had to earn love instead of knowing she deserved it.

He stood there, still holding the empty glass, his gaze traveling over every inch of you he could see. His eyes lingered on your hands for a moment, his expression hardening before he turned away.

Even through his sweater, you could see his back muscles tense, a reminder of just how much had changed. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting glass sent an involuntary chill down your spine, though you blamed it on the cold draft from the door. But deep down, you knew it was Harry’s presence that stirred something old and haunting within you.

He turned back to you after a few minutes, setting a mug of hot cocoa down in front of you. His hand was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders as he slid the glass toward you.

"Exactly how we used to have it. On the house," he said, voice low, eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to a spot just over your shoulder. You hesitated, your fingers wrapping around the glass, the warmth dancing across your skin.

“Christ. Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The burn of whiskey flooded your throat, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in your bones.

He still didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you’d been doing all these years. Didn’t ask why you’d come back. There was a time when you were sure he’d have asked, a time when he would have read every expression, every flicker in your eyes as easily as a page in a book. But now, the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, woven from years of things left unsaid.

"Heard you were getting married,” Harry said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. The words were hesitant, almost vulnerable, but his eyes had a guarded edge, as if they were holding back an ocean of questions. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if to steady himself.

“Not anymore,” you told him with a soft shake of your head, your voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the jukebox. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over him, noting the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet weight he seemed to carry now, like shadows that hadn’t been there before. He was still Harry - but this version of him was one you didn’t know. Or maybe it was you who didn’t know herself anymore.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you stayed here, Harry.”

It was true. You didn’t know anything about him. You’d never asked your parents, though they would definitely be privy to what was going on in his life. They knew that whatever had or hadn’t happened between the two of you had contributed to the way you left, so they had made no attempt to keep you updated.

“I didn’t. Came back for my grandma’s funeral and the pub was about to be sold to a chain but no one could afford to take it on. So I did,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to his feet as he spoke.

You sat back a little, memories of afternoons spent at this very pub flooding your mind. Trying to sneak notes out of the tip jar, Harry coercing his grandma to pass you both shots. “She loved it here,” you whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you traced a finger along the bar. “I had no idea she passed Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Forty years of her life behind this bar,” Harry nodded solemnly, his jaw tense. “I couldn’t let it go.”

There was a glimmer of the Harry you knew when he said that. It was the part of him that first drew you in. He was cheeky, stubborn, but his loyalty to his family was unmatched. Beneath the external rebellion, he was sentimental and kind, the first to fiercely defend any of his loved ones, the last to leave one behind.

You had no idea how you’d ended up so disconnected from him. You’d only spent five minutes in his presence, but it felt like the first five minutes you’d ever spent with him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was loaded, more meaningful than any small talk you could have tried to fill it with. It felt as though one wrong word would break whatever fragile truce had settled between you.

Finally, Harry sighed, leaning his forearms against the bar, hands fidgeting with a bottle cap, rolling it over and over between his fingers.

“You left,” he said softly, as if the words themselves had been weighing him down. “And I waited, you know? For a while. I thought you’d come back. And then, when you didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a long pause, each word sinking heavily in the quiet room, reverberating through you. You felt a pang of guilt - maybe shame - at hearing his side of it laid bare, the rawness in his voice making it hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know how to exist here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt flimsy, inadequate, but they were all you had. “I needed to figure out how to do it on my own.”

“And did you?” he asked, something sharp and almost accusing in his tone.

You hesitated, because you weren’t sure how to answer that. Had you? The years had passed, but you weren’t sure you’d changed as much as you thought you would. You’d found your independence, learned to stand on your own - but there was still a part of you that had never let him go, that had held onto the version of Harry you’d left behind.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter. “I thought being back here would answer that for me.”

You turned away from him, your heart pounding as you glanced around the pub, taking it in. “It’s changed a lot in here,” you mumbled, never feeling less at home than you did in that moment.

“The whole town has changed.” Harry shrugged, his jaw tense as his eyes followed yours.

The atmosphere had shifted when you turned back to face him, an unmistakable tension settling between you. Harry’s gaze was hard, guarded and defensive, like he was bracing himself against something.

“That’s not a good reason to leave.”

“What?”

“That’s not a good reason to leave,” he repeated, arms folding over his chest. “Are you staying?”

“For now.”

“You hurt a lot of people,” he continued, his tone harsh, bitterness dripping from each word.

“I spent my entire teenage years thinking about everyone else. Selfishness isn’t a crime,” you shot back, pushing your empty mug towards him.

“It’s not. But that doesn’t stop it hurting people.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning your forearms against the bar. “People, or you?”

Harry looked past you at the last patrons filing out, circling around the bar to see them out and lock the door behind them. The silence was thick, stretching through the distance between you.

“People,” he answered finally, those green eyes not quite meeting yours. How had it gotten to a point where you openly lied to each other? A tiny part of you thought that if you ever crossed paths again, you’d fall into your old routine, Harry with the cheeky grin and bad ideas, you with the doe eyes and willingness to follow his every move.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you mumbled, pushing yourself off the stool.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry stalked back to the bar, a heavy hand slamming a bottle of whiskey down in front of you. “Have a drink with me, and tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

You swallowed hard, your body tensing as he sat down next to you. “The truth?”

“Whatever was so bad that you had to leave without even saying goodbye.” His eyes were dark as you looked up at him, his fingers drumming against the bar.

“It’s not even important anymore,” you sighed, feeling the lie settle heavy in your chest. You took a swig of the whiskey, shivering as the heat slipped down your throat, trying to steady yourself. But he was watching you too closely, reading you like an open book. Before you could react, he tugged the bottle from your hands, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Pull the other one," he said, voice low. "Whatever happened kept you away for a decade. Did someone hurt you?"

You almost laughed, bitter and tired. He was looking at you now, his gaze sharp and searching, like he was ready to drag the truth out of you no matter what it cost. But you were lost in your own head, your eyes tracing the tattoos winding down his forearms, lingering on the familiar lines and symbols. He was exactly the man you had always imagined he’d become - steady, solid, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But you had never expected to see it like this, up close, with your own eyes.

You reached for the whiskey, snatching it back from him and knocking it back with a grimace. “It was you, Harry.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unguarded. “Fuck. I realized I’d put my whole life on hold, waiting for you to notice me.”

He froze, his hand suspended in the air, and for a second, there was no sound but the creak of the barstool as he shifted, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. He scratched his head, his eyes falling shut as your words sank in. You could see him wrestling with it, with everything that had been left unsaid all these years.

“And running away was better than just telling me?” His voice was softer now, hurt creeping into the edges, and it made something twist painfully in your chest.

You shook your head, feeling a thousand things you could never say. “How was I supposed to tell you? Hi, Harry, my good friend, I love you, and I’m about to devote my life to you.”

“Something like that,” he muttered, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he finally met your eyes. The silence stretched again, thick with years of missed chances and the weight of what could’ve been.

You both sat there, lost in the quiet. It felt fragile, this moment, like the whole world could split open with one wrong word.

“It wasn’t just that,” you muttered, watching your feet swinging under the stool. “I couldn’t exist here anymore. It gets to a point where it’s suffocating.”

“But you really couldn’t just tell me?”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, your face hot with the blush that spread across your skin. His dark eyes held you, unblinking, and the weight of everything unspoken made your heart pound. He leaned forward, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, as if he was bracing himself for something he’d waited too long to hear. You tried to look away, tried to hide the vulnerability in your expression, but his gaze was unrelenting, drawing the words out of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you said, voice tight with restraint. You tried to keep your tone casual, but you could feel the way it trembled, betraying you.

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his face serious. His jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration in his eyes that he tried to temper. It was like he already knew what you were going to say, yet he needed to hear it from you, needed confirmation for the ache that had been buried under years of silence.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “It’s embarrassing, H.” Your eyes darted away, unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “I changed my whole life because of a crush. I moved somewhere where no one knew me because I was scared of everyone here knowing me too well. I got engaged to the first man I properly loved, and he still didn’t match up to you.”

Harry’s face softened, but he looked pained, his lips parting as though to speak. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, his shoulders stiffened with all the things he had wanted to say, to ask. But when he reached for you, you placed a hand over his, silencing him for a little while longer.

“I thought about you every day for ten years,” you said, feeling the words tear from your throat, your eyes bright with unspilled tears. “And now we’re just sitting here like strangers. Do you get that?”

He let out a bitter laugh, a rough, quiet sound that cut through the stillness. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar as if he needed the support to hold himself together. “Do I get it?” he repeated, his voice low and raw, his brows drawn in with years of buried pain. “I’ve lived the same ten years as you, except I didn’t get the privilege of knowing where the fuck you went or why.”

He looked down at your hand over his, and his fingers slowly closed around yours, his grip warm and strong. He was still, tension held tight in the curve of his shoulders, in the soft way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, as if afraid the moment might slip away. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking, and his other hand rose slowly to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. You could feel your pulse quicken, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, with the intensity in his eyes, softening into something tender, something hesitant and aching.

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours until the last second, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him. But you didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and gentle, as though he were savoring every second, every taste. You could feel him melt into the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The moment you kissed him back, he exhaled against you, letting go of some tightly held breath, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent. His hands moved down to your waist, strong and steady, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the heat between you, the years of longing pouring into this single kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his breaths came rough and shallow. Without a word, he tugged his sweater over his head, baring his skin, the tattoos winding over his chest and arms like stories you’d never gotten to read. Your fingers traced along them, the tip of your nail gliding over the ink, and you could feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew serious again as he leaned down, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, his hands sliding down to your hips, lifting you up onto the bar with ease. You gasped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugged your skirt up, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

In that moment, you were no longer strangers. His face softened, his eyes warm and almost reverent as he looked at you, a quiet promise in his touch that maybe, finally, there was nothing left between you but the truth.

Harry’s mouth found your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive skin. “That’s for leaving me behind,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sting. He moved to the other one, his teeth nipping at you for a second time. “And that’s for making me wait a fucking decade.”

Your breath comes out in shallow moans, your hands planted on his shoulders. That damn butterfly tattoo, the one he’d always told you he would get, almost taking flight as he pants against you, his eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned in closer to your core as you widened your legs, his nose nudging against the wet spot on your panties.

“Ten fucking years,” he repeated, his voice husky. He looked up at you with a plea in his eyes, waiting for you to allow or deny his next move.

“Please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against him as he reached out, pulling your panties aside with a quick hand.

Your gaze landed on the window, the dim lights practically inviting passers-by to peep inside and catch you in the act. But when Harry’s mouth found your slick, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, for the first time in your life - whether you became the town gossip or not.

His movements were rough and unrelenting, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue flicked against your clit, appreciative murmurs vibrating against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his thumb took over the pressure on your clit, rubbing circles against the nerves as you writhed. His tongue licked at your slick with an intensity you’d never know before, his free hand slipping under your jumper to grip at the curve of your waist. Tingles spread from his touch, the lust taking over your body as pressure built in your core.

Without warning, Harry pulled away, pulling your legs around his waist as he stood up. A needy whine fell from your lips as your high dissipated, the soft skin of his abs rubbing against your entrance.

“You made me wait. You can’t handle it now?” he murmured, his lips warm against your neck, the whiskey still hot on his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time, the ancient wood creaking under his feet. You looked around the apartment as Harry weaved through the dark, brushing against tables and knocking over a stray glass, too focused to care. The room smelled faintly of him - whiskey, smoke, and that earthy, familiar scent you couldn’t place. It was messy, cluttered with books and clothes, but your heart warmed with an odd sense of belonging the moment you crossed the threshold. Your clothes came off at some point during the journey, a trail of knits and underwear reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s, but one that would only lead you to the person you were before you knew how it felt to be fucked by Harry Styles.

He stumbled slightly, caught himself, and half-laughed, his hands steady on you as he dropped you onto the bed. You landed with a gentle bounce, your heart racing, heat building in your chest. You needed to pinch yourself in case it was all a sick dream. All those days of stolen glances and lingering touches that meant nothing and everything, all those years wondering where he was and what lucky woman hadn’t run away from him.

For all those years, you’d told yourself he was stuck in your head because of the what ifs. What if you stayed, what if you’d forged a life together, what if you hadn’t acted on hormone-driven impulses.

Harry was intense, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to look away, but the idea of actually being with him had always felt like a distant dream. And yet, there he was, breathing ragged and close, his weight settling beside you, hands resting on either side of your head as he held you in place with a gaze that felt as if it could unravel you.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and edged with that same maddening confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. His tone was challenging, almost taunting, but there was something vulnerable lurking in his eyes.

You took a breath, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always have.”

His smirk softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, and you could sense the weight of all the things he’d never said hanging thick in the air. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was nothing held back - no restraint, no hesitation. Just an undeniable pull between you, finally given permission to break free.

“One condition,” Harry rasped, leaning down to press kisses across your bare chest. “When you leave, you keep in contact this time.”

“I will, Harry. I swear. If I leave,” you grinned up at him, your nails scratching at the base of his head.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he traced a path down to your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “If?” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He pulled back slightly, catching your gaze with a look that was both playful and deadly serious. “I’m not planning on giving you a reason to run.”

You felt the weight of his words, the lost time between you settling heavy in the air. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I won’t this time, I promise,” you whispered, fingers tightening around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, praying your kiss would convey how deeply sure you were.

Harry looked at you for a long moment when he pulled away, studying your face as if trying to memorize every detail, as though he wasn’t sure you’d really stay.

His eyes dropped to your tits as he reached down to stroke his cock, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb grazed over the wet slit.

You pawed at him impatiently, biting back the whimpers that threatened to spill out of you as he lined himself up at your entrance with one last look into your eyes.

You felt your life altering in front of you, your trajectory changing to what it could’ve been a decade before, fate pulling you and Harry back onto the same path, the one your should’ve always been on.

But when he pushed himself into you, that familiar pressure tinged with pain, the feeling of being filled like his cock was the missing fucking piece - your mind was clear. You wrapped yourself around him, your body fighting to be as close to him as possible, your moans syncing to his thrusts.

“Harry,” you whimpered, mouth falling open as his free hand found your clit again, drawing your body back to how close it had been to climax.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fucked into you, his thumb unrelenting as it worked at your bud, his strong body overpowering yours.

Your hips bucked into him, your legs starting to quiver around his waist as you writhed and jerked, your moans mixing with the deafening slaps of skin-on-skin contact.

“It’s mine, this is mine,” Harry growled, his possession tipping you over the edge. His. That was all you’d ever wanted to be.

Your orgasm came on strong, your body tingling and tensing from your head to your toes, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your back arched into his chest.

Your walls were fluttering around him, your pussy desperate to milk him for all he had.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as he stared down at you, committing the image of your high to memory, the first thing he’d want his mind to see when he woke, the last thing he’d see before sleeping. His hand slipped under you to the curve of your ass, angling your hips to allow him deeper, his cock hitting spaces you didn’t even know you had.

“This is just the warm up,” he grunted, pulling his cock from you at the last minute, his come spilling onto your chest, your lips curling into a smirk.

“I think there’ll be plenty more of that,” you whispered, pulling his lips back onto yours, barely unable to kiss him with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

mehhh i don’t know about this one … but ive been itching to post something 👉🏼👈🏼🥹

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a-calico-rabbit · 3 days ago

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…apparently, disturbingly similar to þe llama. I can’t feel my blood flowing (usually, and þat’s by choice—it hurts like hell), but i have great night vision, am fairly silent in my steps when I try (odd, given i’m 6’4 and 245 lbs) and can move many muscles individually—at random. I just occasionally remember how and suddenly i’m in absolute control, and þen it goes away after like a minute.

I am almost identical to my faþer and grandfaþer (we do not speak of him (grandfaþer). Please pretend he does not exist) in þat I can visualize anyþing, to þe point þat I can imagine myself doing someþing after having done it once, feel how it works, and develop þe skill by imagining myself doing it, which is how I practice most þings. Also, we’re all ADHD, Autistic, dyslexic, dyscalculic, hypersensitive to pain, have clicky joints (i.e. all our joints catch when moving, and can dislocate at random), and are inherently smartasses wiþ a penchant for crafting. We also all have chronic occular migraines, delt wiþ horrible growing pains, and a hell of a lot of oþer shit I can’t remember (oh! Bad memory) þat makes me þink my bloodline is cursed. We also all (all family sons) have þe middle name “keith”.

I am addicted to finding random muscles þat I don’t know how to move and repeatedly trying out different visualizations until I can get myself to move one. It’s fun.

I have a near encyclopedic knowledge of minecraft and can tell you almost anyþing, as long as it doesn’t have to do wiþ numbers þat aren’t obvious powers of two.

I can see in extremely fine detail up close, to þe point þat I can distinguish þings on þe edge of microscopic scale. But I can’t see jack shit at a distance.

I am hypersensitive to light, and color blind. I see very well in low light.

I’ve been playing minecraft since I was 5, and almost noþing else.

I love fermented foods, and have yet to find one I didn’t like. Except for alcoholic beverages, of which I only like ciders and sours (bitters are ok, but need sour). And I can’t stand sweets, to þe point þat glazes and frosting make me puke if I taste þem too long. I am hyposensitive to flavor and smell, but my hypersensitivity to touch means I have a great sense of texture, so most of þe food I make is spiced to þe nines and has unique and strange textures.

I love writing, but am absolutely terrified of it. Þis does not extend to drawing landscapes, but absolutely does wiþ animals.

I can speak in a robot voice by inhaling as I talk and modulating þe trill.

I speak and write wiþ my signature weird combo of sophistication and crass ass wording because I am very, very dyslexic, and forget half of my vocabulary at any given moment, so I have to change it on þe fly to come across at all. I also stutter and halt often. I also cannot memorize text. If i try to say someþing verbatim it will come out wrong, and I will stutter a lot. I can spell mostly correctly because when I was little I was obsessed wiþ doing so, and practiced a metric fuck-ton to get it right. I also didn’t understand academic writing rules because I couldn’t (and still can’t) remember þe words þat refer to þe parts of þe stuff, so I just read myself to an elevenþ grade reading level at fourþ grade and figured out þe rules þey used to sound good. To þis day I can’t write an essay for shit, because everyþing comes out like a story.

I love cheese.

For some reason, no matter where I go, nor when, lights seem to flicker and burn out faster around me. Especially strange, given I usually keep þem off.

I have a gameboy, which I only use to play tetris.

I have a commodore 64 and SX-64 in my room—þe SX is my dad’s, but þe basic bitch is mine.

I, and my faþer, like many autists, can hear electricity running þrough shit, which is annoying as fuck.

I like oranges, and generally dislike beetles. Unless þey’re rolly-pollies. Love þose dudes.

Light makes me tired, but gives me bad sleep, and for good sleep I need absolute darkness, as a tiny bit of light will keep me up for hours. I also need enough noise to drown out my þoughts.

I love golf, but haven’t played in years—since my grandpa (þe good one) died, really.

I am sensitive to emotion, and can usually tell if someone is a good person or not based on vibe. Þis was best used when þe image of þe guy who was used as þe stereotypical discord mod/subredditer/neckbeard was going around. I just got þe impression he was nice, and was having fun being a dude in a suit in þose photos. Fuck all ya’ll þat gave him hate. Also, linus and mr. beast give similar, bad vibes.

I quadrice (at least) downed a þing of salt for a joke. I don’t know why I keep doing it. I hate it and it lingers but when I see a nearly-empty container of salt I judt get þis urge-

I like meat fermented and well done, or fresh and rare as þe day it was born. Þere is no inbetween.

I am in constant pain from my skin, joints, muscles, bones, eyes, head (have had one, long headache for þe past decade) etc.

I have an uncanny ability to find shit out about shit, and am very good at navigating caves. Þat comes from minecraft.

My hair color changes wiþ þe seasons, but is always some form of brown wiþ gold-red highlights, and silver strands (only ever one at a time þo).

Þat’s enough for now.

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

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mynicosensesaretingling · 2 days ago

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Mic Check: Feelings Engaged

A Bono x fem! (Y/N) reader story

Summary: When Bono’s radio mic goes haywire , (Y/N) offers her colleague a helping hand, leading to an unexpected moment of intimacy between the pair with the teasing comments from Lewis only adding fuel to the fire.

Warnings: None except it’s been written in my notes app

Notes: I wanted to write something for Bono for so long now , since he’s so incredibly dear to me. So now I just did- anyways I hope there aren’t any mistakes and that you enioy this little story x

—-

It’s a bustling Friday practice session at the track, and the air is filled with the familiar sounds of mechanics working, engines revving, and the steady hum of team radios crackling to life. Bono stands in the Mercedes garage, his eyes flicking over the various data streams on the monitors in front of him as Lewis sends feedback through the radio. There’s a calm professionalism to him, his headset settled snugly over his ears as he keeps his cool amidst the chaos of the session.

(Y/N), working a few stations over, is equally immersed in her role, running through telemetry data and keeping an eye on the numbers as they stream in. It’s her second full season working with the team, and although the work is often intense, the environment feels like home. Especially with Bono around. There’s something comforting about his expertise, his quiet focus—and maybe, though she’d never say it aloud, something undeniably attractive too.

Attentively watching the data presented to her , the buzzing noise of the track outside the garage slowly but surely becomes more of a background noise to (Y/N) —until she hears Bono curse softly under his breath. Looking over at the engineer, she finds him fiddling with the mic on his radio headset.

“I’m losing audio,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his fingers rapidly tapping at the small mic attached to his headset. The frustration is clear on his face. His eyebrows drawn together in a frown, as he tries to fix the issue without missing a beat in his ongoing strategy communications.

Without thinking much about it, (Y/N) walks over to the man, noticing his struggle. “Need a hand?”

Bono looks up, his brows slightly raising, surprised by her offer. “Yeah, I think the mic’s loose. Keeps cutting in and out,” he says, his voice lower than usual, the usual steady control in his tone replaced by just a hint of frustration. Stepping closer, (Y/N) notices the faint flush creeping up his neck as he tries to juggle the malfunction and his job.

“Let me take a look,” she says, voice gentle as she steps right in front of him. Bono’s eyes stay fixed on her for a moment before he gives a small nod, lowering his head slightly so she has easier access to the mic. It’s the simplest of gestures, but (Y/N)’s heart skips a beat—being this close to him, especially in the middle of the chaos of the garage, feels strangely intimate.

(Y/N)’s hands lift to adjust the mic, her fingers brushing his cheek ever so slightly, as she reattaches the microphone more securely. His skin is warm under her fingertips, and the moment she touches him, she notices the slightest inhale from Bono, though he stays incredibly still, as if he’s afraid to move.

The garage feels smaller now, the noise fading into the background as (Y/N) concentrates on the mic, trying to focus on the task but fully aware of how close she is to the race engineer. Every brush of her hand sends a spark of awareness through her body. Focusing on the task at hand she feels Bono’s eyes on her form, though he’s trying his best to keep it professional.

“Okay, try now,” (Y/N) murmurs, stepping back slightly to give him some space. Bono clears his throat, his hand reaching up to adjust the mic himself, fingers brushing where hers had just been. He’s back to business in an instant, but there’s an edge to his voice as he speaks into the mic.

“Lewis, do you copy? How’s the connection now?” Bono’s voice is steady, but the slightest tension remains in his shoulders as he waits for a response.

There’s a brief pause before Lewis’s voice crackles through the radio, loud and clear. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear, Bono. Thought you’d left me hanging there for a minute,” Lewis teases, but before Bono can respond, Lewis’s voice returns, this time with a playful lilt. “Wait a minute… was that her fixing your mic? That surely sounded like her voice ,mate.”

Bono’s reaction is immediate—he lets out an exasperated sigh, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, but keeping her focus on him, (Y/N) can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Lewis, focus on your out-lap,” Bono says, his voice firm but with a warmth that betrays his usual stoicism. Slightly shaking his head, he’s trying to suppress his embarrassment, but the smile that’s breaking through is impossible to miss.

“Oh, I’m focused,” Lewis replies, his tone mischievous. “Just thought I’d ask. Should I leave you two to it, or are we going to talk about strategy?”

Glancing back at (Y/N), Bono catches her eye for a brief moment, both of them sharing an amused, slightly embarrassed look. There’s a tension between the pair, but the humor in Lewis’s words manages to cut through it, making the moment feel lighter.

Bono lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he taps on the mic. “Yeah, let’s focus on the strategy. We’ll debrief later, Lewis.”

The radio crackles again as Lewis’s laughter comes through. “Sure, sure. But, just saying—‘bout time you two got close. We’ve all seen it coming.”

Bono’s face flushes at that, and he quickly turns back to the monitors, his fingers tapping at the keyboard, pretending to be fully immersed in his work. (Y/N), on the other hand,feels a mixture of embarrassment and… something else, as she walks back to her station. The way Lewis spoke, as if everyone had noticed the way her and Bono seem to gravitate toward each other, leaves the woman flustered. Was it really that obvious?

“Well, uh,” Bono calls , clearing his throat again, “thanks for fixing that. Shouldn’t have trouble now.”

(Y/N) nods, her heart still pounding as she tries to shake off Lewis’s teasing. “No problem,” she says through a slightly awkward chuckle. There’s still something hanging in the air between them, something unspoken.

Bono glances over at her once more before looking away, his lips pressing together like he’s holding something back. For a second, it feels like he might say something, but before he can, the team radio crackles again.

“Bono,” Lewis calls, his voice still carrying that teasing edge, “when’s the next date? Need me to clear the schedule?”

(Y/N) can’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head as Bono rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible, Lewis,” he mutters, though his voice is lighter now, the moment of tension dissolving into something more comfortable. He presses the radio switch again, sighing dramatically. “Focus on the driving, will you?”

Lewis just laughs in response, clearly pleased with himself, and Bono, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual professionalism, can’t help but let out a soft chuckle as well.

As the practice session winds down, the garage starts to return to its usual rhythm, but the brief moment of closeness between herself and Bono lingers in the back of (Y/N)’s mind. Every now and then, she catches him glancing in her direction, and when her eyes meet his, there’s a flicker of something unspoken—a spark that neither of the two can ignore.

And though nothing more is said between the pair, there’s an undeniable shift. (Y/N) can still feel the weight of his gaze, the soft smile that tugged at his lips, and the teasing words of Lewis echoing in the back of her mind.

Maybe Lewis was right—maybe it was about time.

#f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #bono x reader #peter bonnington x reader

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act-nat-ural · 12 hours ago

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Classroom Crush

It had been a few weeks since Kiyoomi first noticed you.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t get crushes. He was meticulous, focused, and, in his mind, too busy with volleyball and his personal space to indulge in such frivolities. But there was something about you that caught his attention—a girl two seats in front of him, always scribbling in a notebook or staring absentmindedly out the window during class.

He didn’t know when it started—maybe it was how you carried yourself, or how your eyes seemed to light up when you talked about something you loved, even if it was just a passing comment.

But no matter the reason, it was undeniable now: Kiyoomi had a ridiculous, inexplicable crush on you.

It was a typical Monday morning, the sunlight streaming through the golden slats of the classroom windows. Kiyoomi sat in his usual seat near the back, his posture stiff, trying to avoid any kind of attention. His fingers were drumming on his desk absentmindedly as his gaze kept flicking toward you. You were two rows ahead, sitting by the window, completely engrossed in a book.

He knew nothing about you—well, nothing beyond the fact that you always sat in that seat, and you were quietly kind. He’d overheard you laugh once or twice when talking to your friends, but most of the time, you were serene, focused, and almost always reading or writing.

It was a little tragic, how his crush had never even had the chance to be something real. He had barely spoken to you—maybe three words at most: “Excuse me” when you accidentally bumped into him on your way to class last week, and “Can I have a piece of paper?” when you forgot your notebook. It was painfully insignificant, but his heart still beat faster whenever he saw you.

Today, however, he couldn’t concentrate. Your scent—the same perfume you always wore—drifted toward him as you shifted in your seat. You had just opened your notebook to write something. He found himself absentmindedly staring at the way your hand moved, the grace in every line you drew, even how you bit your lip in concentration.

“Kiyoomi?”

His head snapped up, his gaze snapping back to his desk before he realized it. His eyes met the professor’s, who was now standing at the front of the room, waiting for his answer.

“Sorry, what?” Kiyoomi muttered, wiping his hand across his face in frustration.

The professor raised an eyebrow, but before Kiyoomi could dig himself into a deeper hole, you spoke up, a soft but audible voice from the row in front of him.

“He was probably just distracted,” you said with a smile that almost made him lose track of everything around him.

Kiyoomi froze.

You had spoken to him. His heart did a strange little flip in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything except the warm, easy way your words had come. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah,” Kiyoomi muttered, trying not to make a bigger fool of himself. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You shrugged, a small smile still on your lips. “It happens,” you said casually and then turned back to your notebook, the conversation seeming to end as quickly as it had begun.

Kiyoomi’s mind raced. That was it? That was the only conversation he’d had with you in weeks? But it felt like something more. His heart couldn’t help but keep replaying the way you’d spoken to him—so effortlessly, so kindly.

The next day, you weren’t in class.

Kiyoomi tried to ignore the knot of disappointment in his chest, but it was hard. He spent the entire class time distracted, glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting you to walk in any moment. But you never did. By the time the lecture was over, and he packed his things, he was already overthinking. Maybe you were sick. Maybe you had dropped out of the class entirely. Maybe you weren’t even interested in… whatever this feeling was.

He was halfway out the door when a voice stopped him.

"Sakusa!"

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he turned around so quickly that his bag swung awkwardly at his side.

There you were, standing near the door, your book bag slung over your shoulder, eyes scanning the room for him. You were alone, and you looked a little hesitant.

Kiyoomi swallowed hard. "You... you missed class yesterday."

"Yeah, I was feeling sick," you said, offering a small smile. "I didn’t want to bother anyone with it."

Kiyoomi found himself nodding, even though he wasn’t sure what to say. The silence between you two stretched for a beat, and then, impulsively, he blurted out:

“Do you want to... maybe study together sometime?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

He had barely said anything to you in all this time, and now this?

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know... I just thought... Maybe we could,” he stammered, feeling heat creep into his face. “Like, you know, if you ever wanted to, or whatever...”

You laughed—a soft, genuine sound that made Kiyoomi freeze, staring at you in shock.

“I’d like that,” you said, your voice warm. “Actually, I’m always looking for a good study buddy. You don’t mind math, right?”

"Not really," he replied, the edges of his lips curling into a shy smile.

"Great," you said, the smile now fully blossoming on your face, “I’ll text you the details later?”

Kiyoomi nodded, though he could hardly contain the flood of excitement rushing through him. This was real. This was happening.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Kiyoomi."

—

You walked into class a little earlier than usual, glancing around for an empty seat. Your eyes instinctively fell on the spot where you usually sat by the window, but today, there was a different kind of pull in your chest. The seat next to Kiyoomi was open.

You hesitated for a split second before shaking off the uncertainty. It’s just a seat. Just sit down, you told yourself. You’d spent the entire night thinking about the conversation from yesterday, about the way he’d looked at you with those piercing, quiet eyes, and how he’d blurted out that invitation to study together. You had to admit that his awkwardness was kind of endearing.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way over and sat down, silently hoping you weren’t making a mistake. But when you settled into the seat, the quiet thrum of the room didn’t feel so uncomfortable. There was something calming about being close to him, even if you hadn’t exactly exchanged much in the past weeks.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kiyoomi glance toward you, but when you looked directly at him, he quickly shifted his gaze down to his desk, his posture as stiff as ever. You couldn’t help but smile. Even when he was trying to hide it, he was still so obvious. You wondered if he was nervous, too.

Class started and you opened your notebook, pretending to focus on the lesson, but your mind kept wandering back to Kiyoomi. He was beside you, his gaze drifting toward the window as the professor launched into the lecture. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention—his pen tapping rhythmically on the desk in a pattern you could almost set your watch to.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why did he want to study with you? You barely knew each other, and now you were supposed to spend time together after class? He’d barely said anything outside of casual requests or off-hand comments in passing. But somehow, yesterday, when you’d spoken, it felt easy. As if it wasn’t strange at all.

The professor’s voice faded into the background as you stole another glance at him. His eyes were still distant, but his lips were curved slightly, like he was lost in thought.

You wondered if he was nervous, too. It was a silly thought, really—Kiyoomi Sakusa, nervous? He was one of the best players on his volleyball team, he was smart, and composed, and everyone knew how intensely focused he was. But you couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked when his gaze flickered to yours for just a moment before he shifted uncomfortably.

The class continued, but you couldn’t keep your focus. You did catch Kiyoomi looking your way a couple more times. Each time, his gaze would dart back to his desk like he hadn’t meant to. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up inside.

It wasn’t like you had any more experience with these things than he did, but for some reason, today, things felt a little different between you two. You could feel the change, even if it was small.

The bell rang again, signaling the end of class. You packed up your things slowly, unsure of how to move forward. The conversation from yesterday was still fresh in your mind, and now that the moment had arrived, you weren’t sure what to do next.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at him. He was already standing, stretching his arms above his head with a casual air about him. His face was still serious, but there was something softer about the way he carried himself today.

You stood up and made your way toward the door, your heart hammering in your chest. When you reached the threshold, you turned back, catching his gaze. For a moment, neither of you said anything, just locking eyes for a few seconds that stretched longer than they should’ve.

“Um... Kiyoomi?” you said, voice a little quieter than usual.

His gaze snapped to you, but instead of the usual guardedness, there was something almost... warm in his eyes, like he was waiting for you to say something.

"Yeah?" he responded, his voice surprisingly soft. It made you pause, and your stomach did a little flip.

You took a step toward him, feeling a little less confident than you had intended. "I... um, I guess we can meet up later? If you're still up for it?" You looked down at your shoes for a moment, feeling a little awkward, but you couldn’t help but notice that the heat in your cheeks was starting to build up.

He didn’t respond right away, but when you looked back up, you found his usual stiff demeanor had softened, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He nodded, his expression still slightly unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in the air between you.

“Yeah. I’ll see you after practice, then,” he said, the words coming out smoother than you expected. His voice was still quiet, but it held a certain finality to it that made you think that, yes, this was real. This was happening.

“Okay,” you smiled, and this time, it was easier to meet his eyes.

You walked out of the room, your heart racing, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up in your chest. You weren’t sure where this would go, but for the first time in weeks, you couldn’t wait to find out.

note: i wrote this instead of sleeping 😕

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #hq #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x female reader #fem!reader

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d0llcuries · 3 days ago

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ICE-CREAM FOR TWO

pairing(s): reiner braun x fem! reader

summary: you hated him for dragging you to marley, for every stolen chance at freedom. you expected the feeling to be mutual as you rented him for four long years but it wasn't. what better way to address this than ice-cream!

author's note: uh, i guess i write for aot now. blame my cousin and her insistence on getting me addicted to this stupid show for the possibility of inaccurate writing. i love reiner pls send requests for aot 🤲🏽

the market cradled you today in a way almost cruel, with its heat and grit pressing close, air thick with burnt coffee, iron on the breeze, syrupy traces of cotton candy and caramel inviting you into the hic et nunc, although you didn’t want to be. you hated this noise, this heat, the whole crowded mess of voices folding together like waves. you hated how it almost felt like home. you hated how you could almost trick yourself into calling it that if you tried hard enough. a mirror showing something soft, distant, something that could’ve been yours in some other life. no matter how warm the market held you, the truth settled somewhere beneath it all. this land is borrowed, marley is not home, and no amount of rose-tinted glass could change that.

under a washed-out sky, baskets burst with flowers like muted fireworks, children racing in loops, dogs tangled and nipping at their heels. you thought about reiner before you saw him. he was sitting across the square, shoulders hunched as if he were carrying every brick and stone of marley on his back, the same as he’d carried those in paradis. he looked like he was far away, somewhere only he knew how to reach. you still saw that ghost of the soldier you thought he was back then, before everything came apart.

you’d told yourself you wouldn’t go near him, wouldn’t let him know that, after all this time, you’d never quite stopped noticing him. you wonder why you think of him so much, why he takes up all this space in your mind even when he's not near. it was strange how close you were and weren’t, your lives spooled together and then split, moth-eaten like old twine.

but then gabi’s voice broke into your thoughts.

“hey, yn! can you buy us ice cream, please? come on, it’s not far! the ice-cream stand's like.. right around the corner, and i haven’t had any in soooooo long!” gabi stretched out the ‘so long’ ensuring that you felt every inch of the ache that came from a whole season without the taste of frozen sugar. she practically sang, her sticky hand finding yours and pulling before you’d had a chance to respond.

before you knew it, you were standing at the old ice-cream stand, faded to a dull blue, the wood bleached and splintering under too many hot days. the vendor, an older man with sunburned skin and tired eyes, barely lifted his gaze as he rattled off the list of flavors available.

while you hadn’t chosen this home, you chose these people, or maybe they chose you in some inexplciable way. the days of resentment, the times you’d longed to be anywhere but marley, softened over time. gabi, falco, and udo, each of them with their bright, trusting faces had managed to bring out a warmth in you that you’d forgotten was there. you hadn’t planned to love them, but they’d worked their way into the little cracks between loneliness and anger, without effort or warning. it felt like love. you loved them.

“please, please, please?” gabi’s voice tumbled out, each please more insistent than the last. you pressed your lips together, trying to chase away the smile that wanted to break free, but there was no stopping it. the vendor cleared his throat, glancing at the line of customers that was growing behind you, and that pressure paired with gabiʼs nagging commenced the immediate collapse of any resolve you’d held and any remaining choice you had.

“alright, alright,” you murmured. “three, please,” you said, “two caramel swirls… and a chocolate.”

you pull the coins from your purse, and slide them across the vendor’s counter, a quick glance past the crowd where you know reiner’s somewhere out there, not close but close enough. you dig back into your purse, pull out enough for an extra ice cream, and place it on the wood. “and one more, vanilla.”

the vendor didn't blink. he handed you the cones with a practiced indifference, the soft edges already drooping in the heat, melting faster than they should. gabi snatched hers right away, giving a quick “thanks!” but not really looking at you. she didn’t need to, her appreciation was in her wide-eyed grin and the way she immediately started devouring the cone as if she’d waited years for it. udo took his with a quiet “thank you,” glancing at the cone like it was the first good thing he’d seen all day. falco gave a small nod, not meeting your eyes, as if the simple gesture was too much kindness to take all at once.

you glance at the extra cone in your hand, and you think about the boy—no, man—you had brought it for.

your gaze flickered to the square, and there he was, his silhouette made of pale, ghostly gold and all the fragments that cling to it. the blond of his hair catches and curls like a match struck in silence as he rests on the bench with moss staining its feet in a green kiss. “stay close. don't wander off,” you murmur to gabi and the boys, a mother’s instinct in a stranger’s affection. the market seems to swell as faces blur into patches of color and shadow.

usually heʼd be the one buying them the sweets, trailing behind like he belonged to the children, not the other way around. he’d slip coins to the vendor, barely seen, to make sure the kids stayed kids, get them something sweet to carry home sticky on their fingers. his presence made the kids feel safe. that was his gift to them.

he didn’t see you, not at first, lost in whatever he’d wrapped around himself, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes focused on something far off, his expression pulled into that mask of solemnity that’s so familiar it hurts. there’s a ghost of a frown in his brow from spending too much time thinking about things he didn’t want to think about. it was only when you were close enough that he looked up, startled, it was clear he wasn't expecting to see you. there was a tension in him, he sort of resembled an animal caught between choices, wanting to flee but rooted to the spot.

“i thought you’d want one,” you said, holding the cone out. it wasn’t often that you spoke to him this way, or at all. not about something as simple as ice-cream.

he stared at it first, then up at you. for a heartbeat you thought he might actually refuse it, let the ice-cream coat your hand with melted stickiness just to spite you for they way you resented him for the past four years.

“they give that to you for free?” he said, his eyes drifted somewhere just beyond the market stalls, like he was only half-invested in the jab.

something in his tone snagged, left a thin, invisible cut. he had every reason to say it, you supposed, but it still bruised in a way it shouldn’t. “no,” you shot back, trying not to let his offhand remark knock too hard against the satisfaction you’d felt just moments ago. “i bought it for you.”

with a breath soft as surrender, he looked up at you, and you could feel it, the way he saw you, had always seen you, from the days you were both cadets stumbling through ranks and routines. he’d always thought you were pretty, even when thought you didn't interact often.

the word devil was supposed to define you. reiner was trained to see you that way, to let a thick wall of prejudice stand between you both, forged over years of lessons and oaths. in marley, they pressed that word into people like you, used it to shape you into something repulsive. it was easy to believe it as a child, to see you through the war-stained images they painted, to think of you as something marley’s soldiers had been trained to conquer and devastate. but somehow, that wall never felt as solid with you. he tried to keep it up, you could tell from the way his gaze would shift from warm to cold so quickly, his jaw setting hard as if he was gripping some old lesson, forcing himself to remember why he wasn’t supposed to care. and you hated him for it as much as you didn’t. it was like he had stolen every sense of belonging from you, yet kept a fragile piece of it alive in himself, offering it back in little moments you refused to trust.

he’d always figured he’d have to wait, maybe forever for that forgiveness, if it came at all. for four years, he’d held onto the hope that one day you might look at him without that burning hatred in your eyes. over time, he’d let that hope slip through his fingers, learning to live in the shadow of what he thought he’d ruined.

but now, standing here, he felt something he hadn’t dared to let himself feel in a long time. the way you looked at him was different—not hardened or distant, but softened, like there was warmth in you meant just for him. it was subtle, but it caught him completely off guard, a look that lingered a little too long, the edges softening just enough for him to see something he’d once believed was lost.

he wanted to say something, anything, to reach out, but he found himself rooted, afraid to break whatever delicate understanding hung between you. he’s always been so careful with you, so mindful of your boundaries. your gaze didn’t waver, and he felt it like a quiet ache, as if, finally, there was a chance your view of him had changed.

he took the cone with hands that were larger than you remembered, rough and scarred and cracked in places. in his grasp, the small offering looked absurdly delicate.

“thanks.”

you settle on the edge of the bench beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, but not quite touching.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice subdued, as if he was suppressing emotions that he couldn’t articulate.

“i wanted to,” you reply simply, the words soft but steady, a quiet confession hidden in plain sight. it’s not much, just a simple act of kindness, but it feels like more than that, like a tentative step toward something new, something neither of you quite knows how to name.

“i’m not good at this,” he admits after a long pause, the unexpected confession falling between you. he doesn’t look at you, eyes locked on the melting drip tracing a path down his knuckle.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “good at what?”

he’s quiet for a moment, so quiet that the hum of the market seems louder, pressing in from all sides. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hesitant. “being close. to anyone.”

you shift slightly, your knee brushing against his leg. it’s so slight it could be an accident, but it’s not. “well, you’re here now.”

he looks up at you then with an unconcealed reverence that makes your heart lurch in your chest, eyes softening around the edges, holding that mix of confusion and hope that makes him look almost boyish. “yeah, i am.”

the silence stretches, but this time it’s warm, inviting. you can see him wrestling with something, the way his jaw tightens, loosens, the way his thumb traces a line across the wood of the bench as if trying to ground himself.

“it’s strange,” he starts, eyes flickering to yours before darting away again, “this..” he nods to the space inbetween you, “feels like more than i deserve.”

your gaze lingers on him, and you swallow back the pool of savila resting on your tongue. “maybe we’re both not good at this,” you whisper, a shy honesty threading through your voice. “but i think we could be.”

he blinks. “you think so?”

“yeah,” you say, the word barely more than a breath but heavy with everything you mean. “i do.”

and for the first time in years, he lets himself believe it.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun aot #reiner braun x you #reiner x reader #reiner x you #aot #snk #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader

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del-thetiredwriter · 4 hours ago

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Twisted Wonderland / Otome Au

Warning: Yandere , gn reader, English is not my first language.

Notes: Okay I know I have many other au in waiting but I just liked the idea and write this instead. I hope you like it . Please share your thoughts with me.

Summary: One day, you opened your eyes and found yourself in Twisted Wonderland. And the task the System gave you is to get one of the lead characters love meter to 100% by the end of the main story and reach their happy ending.

You slowly opened your eyes to the sounds of the voices. It was dark… and it sounded like someone was punching to something ? You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t. As you tried to understand what was happening, a screen and two options appeared in front of you:

> What’s that noise?

> Is it morning already?

You clicked on one of the random options.

“I better hurry up and find that uniform before someone spots me… Urgggh… this lid weighs a ton!”

Who was talking like that?

“Try this on for size! Mya-ha!”

Suddenly, blue flames spread everywhere. You wanted to scream but you couldn’t even move, let alone talk. Two options appeared in front of you again.

> BWAAAH?!

> F- fire?!

What were these options? You clicked on a random option.

“Now to grab the goods… What?! You ain’t supposed to be awake!”

When you opened your eyes, a talking cat? And a strange room? But for a second, something seemed familiar…

Two options appeared in front of you again:

> A talking… weasel?!

> F-floating coffins?!

You clicked the first option. With your click, words without consent came out of your mouth again.

“How… How DARE YOU! I am no WEASEL! I’m Grim , sorcerer extraordinaire!”

The cat shouted? But wait a minute Grim? Now when you look carefully, this room, these scenes were just like the game you played, Twisted Wonderland.

“Tch. Whatever. You…human! Just gimme your uniform, and be quick about it! Cause if you don’t…you’re gonna regret it!”

Two options appeared in front of you again:

> S-somebody help!

> Getting roasted alive by a weasel!? What will I dream next ?

You clicked on one of the options on the screen and your legs started running on their own… when you finally stopped, two options appeared again on the screen that you thought was invisible to everyone except you (Grim never talked about the screen, that's why you came to this conclusion).

> Where am I?

> If this is a dream, I'm ready to wake up now.

When you clicked on one of the options, Grim's voice came from behind you.

"Foolish human! Did you really think you could slip away from ME? Now unless you wanna get burned to a crisp,take off that- Me-YEOW! That hurt!what gives?"

Just like in the prologue of the game, the man you thought was Crowley came. You weren't listening to Crowley while he was saying something. You were trying to understand the strangeness of the events. Everything seemed real, as if it couldn't be a dream, but you weren't in control of your body… Two options appeared on the screen that you thought was invisible again:

> Student…?

> Gate…?

You clicked on one of the options. Then Crowley gave you the explanations you know. And two options appeared on the screen again:

> So those coffins are like…gateways?

> I think something blew the lid of mine.

You quickly clicked an option. Apparently this screen was only visible to you. The man you thought was Crowley had never talked about this screen… Two options appeared on the screen again and you clicked the option you chose… Crowley’s answer confirmed your guess. You were in Twisted Wonderland?..

The screen appeared in front of you again.

….

The movement restrictions have been lifted. You have regained your ability to speak and move. Now you can talk and move as you wish.

….

Y/N L/N Welcome to Twisted Wonderland.

Main quest: Reach your happy ending with your true love before the main story ends.

Track the love meters of the protagonists to find out their love for you, and increase their love meters to 100%. Reach your happy ending before the main story ends.

Time limit: End of the main story

Punishment: Death

….

You opened your mouth, you could move! But wait a minute, is everything real then? As you recall, Twisted Wonderland wasn't an Otome game. But if everything was real... what would you do?

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Red-haired, tough and disciplined Heartslabyul dorm leader. If you follow his route, you will start at zero, but with the end of the prologue and the start of Book 1, his interest in you will drop to minus due to your friends Ace, Deuce and Grimm. Especially if you argue with him one-on-one, his love percentage, which is already at minus, will drop even more.

But don't worry, Riddle, who feels ashamed and regretful for what he made you go through after the overblot he experienced at the end of the first book, can increase his love percentage from minus to zero or even plus.

It will be easier to approach Riddle after the overblot incident. Especially after the overblot he experienced, while people stay away from him, your being by his side will fuel his love for you. So you can expect sudden increases in his love meter.

He likes to have tea with you, attend unbirthday parties and have study dates. Especially when you ask him to explain a question you are stuck on, he literally melts when you approach him while he is explaining the question to you. He will have difficulty of maintaining his facial expressions and tone of his voice.

However, there is one thing you should pay attention to. That is Riddle's controlling personality. Although he is fine in normal mode, the same cannot be said for dark mode. For this reason, you should be careful in your choices. Although some choices increase Riddle's love level, they can put him in dark mode.

In dark mode, Riddle initially isolates you from your friends under the excuse of studying without you noticing, then this progresses and before you know it, he even chooses the tea you drink. He controls your entire life. In dark mode, Riddle does not want you to be interested in anyone other than himself or be friends. Everyone is a potential threat to him. If you do not stop him in time, he can go as far as imprisoning you in his own room.

Trey Clover

Tall, kind and helpful, the vice dorm leader of heartslabyul. If you are following the Trey route, I recommend that you do not expect a sudden increase in Trey's love meter, unlike Riddle. Although Trey is affectionate and gentle, you can raise the love meter very slowly, and after a while, you may not be able to raise it at all.

Trey usually likes to help you with your studies and bake with you. However, he swears that your baking dates will be the end of him. When you giggle and wipe his face when he get flour on his face, when you lick your finger to taste the cream, or when you feed him something with your own hands, his heart beats so fast that he swears he will have a heart attack.

But he always reminds himself to control himself. He is your reliable, gentle, and loving senpai. He scolds himself for thinking such things about you. Because of this, your relationship progresses a little slowly.

Although Trey is a sweet, affectionate, and calm person, some of your choices and words can put him in dark mode.

It is very difficult to distinguish the difference between Trey in dark mode and Trey in normal mode. He never shows anything, he is always smiling, calm, and affectionate... This is what makes him dangerous. He manipulates you without you even realizing it. Going out with friends? Oh, Trey bought you tickets to the movies you wanted to go to, but if you don't want to go, you can go out with your friends. Did you make a new friend and are you spending "too much" time with them? Trey heard some nasty gossip about them... It was all your choice. Trey didn't force you to do anything.

Cater Diamond

Bright, social butterfly, 3rd year heartslabyul student Cater Diamond. If you follow Cater's route, it won't be hard to meet him, but it won't be easy to get close to him. Although Cater seems like a cheerful, relaxed, fun and friendly person, it won't be easy to pass through his walls. If you remember the fine details about his from the scenes you played in the game before and use this information to get close to him, it can be easier to get close to him.

You usually go on Cafe dates with Cater. And whenever you go out, Cater doesn't forget to take dozens of photos. Every time he takes a photo of you, he tells you how sweet and cute you look. He also doesn't forget to upload the photos he takes to magicam, after all, everyone should know how compatible a couple you are, right? Additional information: Cater loves to wear matching couple clothes with you. You can see that Cater's love meter increases especially when you wear matching clothes on dates.

Appearing closer to others or not revealing your relationship, hiding it or making small mistakes will cause Cater to have doubts and once the seeds of doubt are planted, it is hard to turn back. In dark mode, Cater does not show anything, just like Trey. He just smiles… With his social skills, it will not be difficult for Cater to isolate you. You see, rumors about you are everywhere and you have nothing to do but cry on Cater's shoulder. Because of the rumors, no one talks to you anymore and you are becoming more and more lonely. But don't worry, your prince charming Cater believes in you and is by your side.

Ace Trapolla

Ace Trappola, a mischievous first-year student of Heartslabyul. The first person you meet, although your first meeting was not that good, you quickly became close friends, just like in the game. Since you are close friends and in the same class, it is not very difficult to get close to Ace and increase his love meter since you spend most of your time together. The only problem is that he and Grimm are always causing you trouble and Ace is annoying.

You usually go out with Ace to cafes or on study dates. Even though Ace doesn't like studying, he likes it when you get close to him while explaining topics or explaining solutions to problems or when he watches you study. Why else would he go on a study date with you? Another activity Ace likes is when you watch him practice basketball, after all he wants you to see how cool he is. Ace also likes movie night and playing cards at the Ramshackle dorm and he visits the Ramshackle dorm often. He loves the way you get angry when you lose in every game, especially when you catch him cheating.

Now let's talk about Ace's jealousy problem. If you are not careful and neglect him, it can put Ace in dark mode. In dark mode, Ace reveals himself a little. His jokes and words are especially focused on breaking your self-confidence. However, he tries not to show it. He doesn't give you a chance to spend time with others and starts to show possessive behavior. He doesn't let you question him. He manipulates you into thinking you are inadequate and that he should be your only concern.

Your only concern should be Ace, after all, you should be thankful to him for being with a weak, magicless person like you.

Deuce Spade

Deuce Spade, a first-year student of Heartslabyul who helps you in every way, and who gets into more trouble as he tries to stay out of trouble. If you are following the Deuce Route, it won't be very difficult for you to get close to him. As in the story line, you meet in the prologue section. Since you are in the same class, you have the opportunity to get very close to him.

You usually make him study in your free time. You try to help him with the subjects he has difficulty with. Honestly , Deuce is as grateful as he is embarrassed about this. Spending your valuable time with him makes him feel special.

When you find out about his not-so-pleasant past that he hides, comforting him and encouraging him on his path to becoming an honor student increases his love meter a lot.

It's not easy to get into the dark mode Deuce route so don't worry. However, if you do get into dark mode Deuce will become more Clingy than usual. He's always afraid that you might leave him. If he sees you close to someone else he might get into a fist fight with that person when you're not around. But please don't leave him, you're his everything!

60 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 5 hours ago

Text

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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yu-huuuu · 3 days ago

Text

Second Chance — Itachi Uchiha

[🌸] So, in my writing class I had to practice different points of viewI've done that before but it's fun as fuck haha

characters: itachi uchiha

genre: a type of angst ; fluff in the end (?)

warnings: none ; modern au ; fem! reader ;

reader, is referred as: 'love, sun, refuge...' yes, yes, it is cheesy but girls I don't know your name 🗣️🗣️🗣️ the day one of you tells me your name I will make the character call you that way, haha

...

The night had fallen with a calm, silent chill, like a blanket that covered everything it touched. Itachi was driving his car, focused on the wheel, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, his love. Eight years had passed since she disappeared from his life, and every day since then had been a quiet battle, an internal struggle to understand how he had let her slip away.

He had made too many mistakes, but the biggest of all was letting her go. He thought he had time, that she would always be there, but life taught him in the cruelest way that time does not forgive anyone.

She, who had been his sun, his love, his refuge in a world that demanded too much. But in his arrogance, in his obsession with work, with keeping his life neat and under control, he had let the only person who truly mattered fade away. And now, there was no way to stop the pain of losing her.

'What if I never find her again?' he thought, tightening his grip on the wheel. 'What if she's gone for good?'

When he saw a familiar figure walking on the sidewalk, he could hardly believe it. It was her. His heart skipped a beat in his chest, and doubt disappeared in an instant. Without thinking, he parked the car sharply, leaping out of the vehicle and rushing toward her, not caring what anyone might think of his reckless behavior.

The cold night bit through his coat as he ran toward her.

"It's you…" he whispered her name breathlessly, and when she saw him, her eyes widened in surprise. But what struck him the most was when he saw who was next to her. A child. A young boy, no older than nine, who looked at Itachi with curious eyes that seemed strangely familiar.

Itachi stopped in front of her, his gaze fixed on the child. 'What does this mean?', he thought. The boy looked up at him, unafraid, as though he recognized him from somewhere, which left Itachi even more confused.

"I…" his voice trembled, and she stood silent, unsure of what to say, though her eyes spoke volumes of years of pain and resentment. It was she who broke the silence, her voice soft but firm.

"Why are you here, Itachi?" she asked, her tone distant, as if she were still carrying the scars of what had happened years ago.

He didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t explain in words what he was feeling. There was only one thing he could do. He stepped forward, quickly pulling her into his arms with the urgency of someone who had lost everything and just wanted to get back what little was left.

His love, clearly surprised, tensed in his embrace, but in the end, she didn’t pull away. The hug lasted longer than either of them expected, charged with a mixture of repressed emotion and guilt. When they finally separated, the two of them locked eyes for a long moment, as though trying to find an answer there.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I don’t know what I did. I didn’t know how to value you. I thought I’d lose you if I opened up, if I told you how I felt. I didn’t know how… But I never stopped thinking about you. Every day, every damn day, the only thing I wanted was to be with you." His voice was low, sincere, full of regret.

His love looked at him in silence, her eyes sweet but tired. She couldn’t forget what he had done. She couldn’t forget how he had let her go, how he had discarded her without a second thought. But there was something in his eyes, something in his tone that told her he was no longer the same man he had been back then.

"Do you really feel that way, Itachi?" she asked, her voice almost broken. "Because if you had done this before, I wouldn’t be here… Not with him…" She gestured toward the boy, who was still watching them with curiosity, as if not fully understanding the situation.

Itachi turned his gaze to the child. At that moment, something clicked inside him. The boy’s eyes… it was like looking at his own reflection. The surprise hit him like an electric jolt.

"Is… is he mine?" he asked, though the answer was already dawning on him. The boy smiled shyly, looking at his mother and then at him.

She sighed deeply, as though her whole life had been condensed into this one moment. "Yes. He’s your son, Itachi. When I left… I was pregnant with him. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was saying it for your money. I didn’t want you to think that I was just another woman who wanted you for what you had."

Itachi felt like the world was crashing down on him, but not in the way he expected. He had lost everything: her, him, the chance to be a father in the boy’s life. All because of his lack of courage.

"… I… I’m so sorry."

She looked at him silently, her face a mixture of contained emotion. "I don’t know if I can forgive you, Itachi. But… he needs to know who you are. And you… you have the right to be part of his life, if you truly want to be."

The boy, in the meantime, had been silently watching the scene. Finally, he stepped forward, looking at Itachi, and without thinking too much, he fixed his gaze on him. "Who are you?" he asked in his innocent voice, his tone so pure it cut through the tension in the air. "You look just like me. Are you… my daddy?"

Itachi, for the first time in years, was left speechless. How was he going to explain everything he had lost to a child so small? How could he possibly do it right after all the damage he had caused? But it didn’t matter. What he did know was that he wasn’t going to let him and her go this time.

"I’m… I’m your dad", he finally said, his voice soft, more vulnerable than he had ever sounded.

She watched him in silence, her face a mixture of emotion. "He’s a good boy, Itachi. Just… promise me you won’t let him go, that you won’t leave him like you left me..."

Itachi nodded slowly, understanding that he hadn’t just lost her, but had let go of the chance to be the man she needed. But if there was anything he could do right now, it was to be the father their little one deserved and prove that he was worthy of a second chance to be her partner and her husband in the future.

"I promise", he murmured, his voice firm, though full of vulnerability.

Their little boy, seeing that both of them seemed to reach an understanding, smiled, unaware of the full gravity of the situation. But something inside him told him that from that moment on, his life would change forever and that it would no longer be his mother and him against the world.

...

Extras ;;

"Mom, is this man— my dad going to live with us?" your little son asked innocently, after a while. Clearly confused with the idea of where the man who said to be his father could sleep.

You on the other hand looked at him and, for a moment, smiled tenderly. You bent down to stroke the little boy's head. Though you laughed when you saw his curious look.

"Maybe, little one. Maybe"

#itachi uchiha #itachi x reader #naruto #naruto shippuden #itachi #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi x you #uchiha itachi #uchiha itachi x reader #different povs #naruto x reader

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hearts4werka · 2 days ago

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NNN day 5 | Whispers Of Madness

summary: ever since one unfortunate day, you havent felt the same mentally. The dark entity that now permanently stabled a special place in your mind, making you go more insane with each passing minute. Whenever you try to reach out for help to the one person you trust, being your best friend matthew he always argues that nothing is actually there and your brain is messing with you but you know more than youve lead onto. Are you going to finally shatter and possibly lead to murder, or maybe finally banish the evil living inside of you?

warnings: ANGST, demon possession, dark entity, murders, mental health issues, satanic language, dark topics, suicide, police involvement, heavy language, blood everywhere, choking, skin bruising, mysterious black goop, viewers advisory is supervised! Proceed continue reading caution!

authors note: somehow we’ve made it to day 5 of consistently posting fics wohoo !! This one took me a portion of my time and this week has been pretty busy for me so I’m surprised I got this far, hope yall enjoy this bc I surely did writing it

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

Ever since that unfortunate night, I have never felt the same mentally nor physically. A constant demonic voice mocking my every move and slowly driving me towards insanity, flashes of a dark entity remain stuck and impossible to get out of my mind, making me want gouge my eyes out to escape through death. Sometimes i dont even recognize myself in the mirror, just noticing each and every one of the changes in my physical apperance as well as my behavior and I think if others noticed them too or do am I the old me to them? or have I never actually changed and my mind can somehow create physical forms of different versions of me on its own?

- The night of the incident

I slowly stirr awake in the middle of the night due to strange noises my ears keep picking up, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand I glance out the window to see nothing but pitch-black ahead of me. The soft moonlight being the only available source of light pouring into the room, my eyes scan the dark room for a possible source behind the strange noises. Its almost like whispering but not human whispers in particular, almost like a demonic voice... yeah no, demons dont exist so there no such possibility. Just to be sure Im not going completely insane I do a double check but now looking harder into the dark to try and justify the source of the noise is nothing harmless.

Thats until I see something dark looming in the corner of my room.

It appears to be a shadow but with a dark and demonic energy radiating off it, my eyes scan the whole silhouette and get stuck on a pair of brigh red eyes staring down at me becomes imprinted in my mind permanently which sends a cold chill down my whole body, making me rise in awareness and fear, my body immediately waking and becoming completely stiff, my abilty to move vanishing from my grasp of control. The dark shadow figure starts to step closer to me and my instincts kick in, subconsciously backing away from the proximity of the red-eyed creature as it stands at the foot of it. "W-who are you?" I shakingly breath out, my mind becoming consumed with fear and theories that this could possibly be the end of my life.

The red-eyed figure doesnt make a sound or a single move, my breathing now labored and heavy as it continues to stare down at my shaking form. Feeling completely vulnarble and defendless, it’s like theres no escape and I've been trapped, even cornered in the dark depths of my mind. "Agite... Tenebrae... Abyssi..." I hear a faint demonic whisper, identical to the ones I've heard before and realize where its coming from. Suddenly I get a shock down my whole body, almost as if a feeling of being possesed or something possibly entering my soul and attaching itself to it.

I convince my overthinking mind its nothing and Im just imagining things now, this is not real. Demons dont exist and they surely can't possess you, right? it cant be real, its not. Shaking my head to throw away any possible negative thoughts left behind and lay my head back down on my pillow, attempting to sleep of the demonic energy I still feel coursing through my veins. My mind manages to slowly drift off to sleep, my eye lids falling heavy as I slip into unconsciousness but the demonic whispers still remaining surrounding the shell of my ears.

- A month after the incident - Present day

A sudden snap of Matt’s fingers in front of my face kicks me out of the negative energy in my mind, him giving me an unamused expression and sighing. “You seriously weren’t paying attention again?” He annoyingly huffs, his lips becoming a thin line as his arms cross over his chest. “I’m sorry, I was just-“ while I am in the middle of my sentence and want to explain myself, the demonic whispers cut me off and start whispering in my ear until I look around and see him. The red-eyes creature. No matter how hard I want to take my eyes away from him, they just refuse to move alongside with my body. Just becoming frozen all of a sudden, “What? Are you good?” He stammered visibly shadowed with concern, his eyes darting around the room to find the spot my eyes are stuck on but is met with a simple empty room.

“What are you staring at?” He pondered, still in desperate search to find something I could possibly be staring at with such horror contouring my features. My breath starts to become more deep and shaky, the same feeling I felt coursing through my veins every time it appears, it’s almost like it’s making its appearance known before hand. Matt finally snaps me back to reality, jerking one of my shoulders to give him a response to his worried questions, when I look at Matt’s face and back where it was standing. It’s gone. It’s not there anymore. “Where did it go?” I mumbled with a trembling bottom lip, becoming tense and more aware of my surroundings. “What do you mean by ‘where did it go’ ? You’re fucking freaking me out Eli.” He inquired, still anxiously looking around before moving closer to me. Immediately noticing me tense up for some reason he doesn’t have the knowledge of and I just wouldn’t speak about it.

“It’s fucking not there anymore! It’s gone, again!” I clutch Matt’s arm into my chest, seeking any comfort and safeness I could get a grasp on. The whispers start again, this time approaching me closer until I feel a faint icy breath breathe down my neck which makes me flinch. “ǨḐlēʃ-tū yǫur crēāṭōr, ǝLizaʊƃth…” my hands immediately go to cover my ears, the satanic words echoing in my head and bouncing off every wall, almost delivering me a headache. Under my breath I keep begging it to stop, to release me from the hellish cage it’s trapped me in against my will just to torment and demolish all that’s left of my soul that it hasn’t destroyed yet. My mental health wasnt the best before and it just got worse after, I reached out for help to everyone I could but they either called me schizophrenic or ‘completely gone off the rockers’ by professionals, refusing to help me and ignore the actual issue.

“Is it this again? Seriously Eli, you have to stop scaring me like that!” He argues, becoming slightly annoyed. No matter how much I tell him about this mister lurking in the shadows, he just says ‘you need to get some professional help or go to a psychiatrist’ but when I tell him the stories regarding the ‘getting professional help’ that they ignore me and don’t believe demons actually have a possibility of existing. “You didn’t believe in this demon shit and always denied it, why do you suddenly act like you got possessed by a damn demon or something?” In that moment it hits me, the realization and theory of being actually possessed by a demon hits my head and if we’re an object I would possibly get a concussion.

“I’m not! It’s just that… oh, forget it. It’s gone now so it doesn’t matter.” I state, taking a deep breath to wash away all of the emotions I’ve been feeling at once in a single moment. It’s shocking how much my body can take and has taken ever since it appeared in my life, or does it? Maybe my mind likes to think and make it seem like I’m doing good but in reality I’m loosing my mind completely? When is it going to end? How do I make it end? Questions rise in my head as I start to overthink and get my anxiety to an impossible level. “Eli, what the fuck has been happening with you? You seem completely psychotic like those possessed girls in horror movies.”

“I-I don’t know what I am at this point, please just go home and stay safe. I’ve scared you enough already I don’t want to give you a heart attack” I breathe out, gesturing for him to go away as I my ears perk up with the demonic soft whispers coming back, the dark figure standing right in front of me. I immediately cover my ears as the whispers get louder and louder, suddenly I feel a pair of cold hands wrap around my neck and pure force starting to pull me upwards into the air. I become short on breath as Matt freaks out and quickly runs over to my body in the air, now being face to face with the black figure. My arms immediately attempt to remove the arms off my neck for more air but it only tightens its grip, Matt pulls at my feet but it’s not much affective. The red gloomy eyes staring into my soul and twisting my insides with the dark energy possessing my body.

The world around me becomes silent and I can’t hear whats happening around me. “Ǩo ǃàdêr ȯf Ḑoom, ʔou Ƀhall kjømbāť ʔo ʃiln Ǫne ȯf ḏhe ʔeḥples ȯf Ꮑȯvær lǟv or ʔe ťæpt ǝn ḟi ʃhyād ǷārtǤ, ȯy ʗhǯice ElizǞbeth. ȶime Ƀ is spiraling ȯut…” the sentence constantly keeps being repeated until my ears start to bleed but I don’t feel blood coming out of my ears, some kind of cold black goop starts to escape through my ears as I finally get released. Falling back onto the ground with a loud thud and coughing hysterically, the pain and bruises spreading across my body as well as deep purple marks saturate my neck. I feel this sudden urge, something driving me up to my breaking point, willing to do anything to escape this hell.

Matthew quickly runs over to me, examining my body and the bruises left as horror and concern fill his features. “A-are you okay? Are you bleeding anywhere?- oh fuck!” He stammered, noticing the mysterious black goop coming out of my ears. His eyes were so focused on my body he didn’t notice it at first, seeking as if he couldn’t handle all of this happening at once and neither was I but he was scared out of his mind when I was left with no emotions in my face. My mind backtracks to the demonic words spoken to me and somehow I feel I know what to do, I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like I’m some kind of puppet in a show being controlled on how I’m supposed to act, I pick myself up and walk towards the kitchen while ignoring the concerned questions falling from Matt’s mouth.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this but I can’t live like this anymore, he follows behind me and into the kitchen. My body starts to almost move on its own as if someone else had full control over it, reaching into the drawer where all of my knifes are kept and pick up the sharpest blade I own. Rising it into the air and turning to face Matthew, his anxiety immediately spikes to ungodly levels as he puts his now trembling hands. “What are you doing with that? Elizabeth, put it down!” Desperate demands leave his mouth in attempt to make me out down the possible weapon in my possession but I don’t listen, as much as I don’t want to do it, I might be my only way of escaping.

I charge at Matthew and stab him in the chest multiple times as hysteric cries leave my mouth while he screams bloody. His blood squirts all over my clothes and stain them, he falls to the ground and quickly I jump on top of him to weight him down and deliver a stab to immobile his arms, more blood covers our clothes, faces and the floor all together as I continue to cry out apologizes and explanations. “I’m sorry… I have to do this, I’m so sorry, Matt I’m sorry but I have to…” I cry out as blood and tears run my cheeks, to end the miserable pain he is experiencing I swing high into the air, gripping the handle of the bloody knife with both of my hands before apologizing for the last time and plunge the knife through his head which kills him in an instant.

My hands finally detach from the knife and immediately go up to my face, wiping off the blood and pouring tears from my face. Loud sobs fall from my mouth at what I have done, I just killed my best friend. Out of pure cold blood I killed my best friend, I-I’m a monster, a psychopath and everything fucked up. I am the demon… the demonic figure whispers another sentence in the weird language it has been using ever since trying to communicate to me but now it sounds more evil, like curses stuck to my name by the black shadow and following me around anywhere I go. “Ǫne lǻst stȅp ǵhǵn ɓe dǿne, ȵaM Ƀǿ̃e ȅt Ƀe ǵhǵe ȶǿ Ƿȯrld ȩfree, hāv ǵʍоḏ tɼȯ ḏon sǿlf ɴǿw. Ḕdǿn ḥesīṭȅte, ȅLīzǝbeth.”

The same feeling of knowledge runs down my spine, realizing what I’ll have to do next in order to be set free. My hands go back and take the knife out of Matthew’s dead body and line the sharp tip with where my heart lies, I close my eyes shut and with one swing I plunge the cold bloody knife into my heart. My body falling down next to Matthew’s already dead one, hearing the faint sirens of police in the distance as I slip into unconsciousness but by the time they make it to the kitchen, my body disappeared and only with the bloody knife left on the ground. It was evident two people have been killed in the process regarding the blood bath that was created but no matter how long or how hard they searched for my body, it was just gone. Almost as if a dark entity dragged it down with them to the deepest pits of hell…

Guestlist!

| - @sturnioloblues - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @luvvs4chriss - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

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simpforpeterp · 18 hours ago

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stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

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