#titan coming out of the sea

[almita1114]

From our Oregon trip this past weekend. Love the beach, it was the perfect cold foggy weather.

[batcavescolony]

I just explained this to someone and I thought I'd make a post for it on here too.

Shrouds in Percy Jackson are like this right?

But their siblings decorate and make them out of silks with decorative embellishments on them?

The empty ones are burned after a quest to symbolise that the person they were made for came back from a quest ALIVE.

The lack of cemetery at chb shows that when they burn Silena, Charlie, Luke, Lee, Castor, everyone's shrouds, they have their bodies in them. They're being cremated.

[thebraxiatelcollection]

+

[gayahithwen]

The thing that gets to me the most about OceanGate (and there’s many), but... the fact that it’s the fucking Titanic. Like, this could’ve been just a generic failure. This could’ve been about allowing people with more money than sense to go explore the sea floor, see coral reefs from a new perspective, view icebergs from below, whatever.

But no. It’s specifically the Titanic. The ship declared to be unsinkable. The ship whose builders refused to bring enough lifeboats, because it would compromise their aesthetics, and make their rich customers uncomfortable to see them. Which famously sank on its maiden voyage.

And here comes the OceanGate CEO and without a hint of irony, has gone on record saying shit like this:

You know, there’s a limit. You know, at some point, safety just is pure waste. I mean, if you just want to be safe, don’t get out of bed. Don’t get in your car. Don’t do anything. At some point, you’re going to take some risk, and it really is a risk/reward question. I think I can do this just as safely by breaking the rules

And just... if you were writing a story to explore the hubris of rich people, how much more on the nose than that could you get?

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 1

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Explicit Content, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Switch Levi (WC: 6.7k)

( Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

-

The first time you see Levi, whispered-about-thug and recently-enlisted Scout, you think he doesn’t seem as scary as everyone paints him to be. Sure, he has a hell of a glare, but that’s not the thing that sticks out.

No, what is most striking is the loneliness.

How alone he looks, shadows like bruises under his eyes.

.

.

.

Levi is lost.

He’s not lost in the physical sense, of course.

Levi very well knows where he is. He has repeated these words to doctors so many times he’s starting to sound like a broken record: My name is Levi Ackerman. I come from Paradis Island. I live in Marley.

No, Levi isn't lost physically.

Rather, Levi is lost in the ways often described in novels. Those cheap-thrill books Erwin liked to read so much, the kind that ensured suspense and chest-clutching moments. Usually, it involved a character going on a journey and finding the thing they lost.

“It’s all a metaphor, you see?” Erwin once pointed out.

But Levi did not see the point of metaphors back then, and he certainly doesn’t get it now.

Levi was a soldier for most of his life: so that he could aid the fight against titans, so that Erwin’s vision to help humanity could come true, so that Hange would not be alone in shouldering the weight of it all, so that the world would not crumble under Eren’s actions.

Now, three years after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, his body is changed, and his mind… well, that's the thing that’s lost, isn’t it? He’s still sane, he knows that, but… there's ways he feels himself slipping.

The first two years after the Rumbling were by far the hardest. There was so much to rebuild, so much to do. Levi spent most of his time in makeshift hospitals and infirmary tents. Refugees all around. People who had lost everything, who were in search of a new home, but who lacked the means to do so (Levi never thought he’d have to witness the sight of starving children all over again).

And then, one day, a new start.

Onyankopon was the one who discovered Mare a year ago. He told Levi that it would be the perfect place to retire from his soldiering days. "Mare," Onyankopon said, "is the town where sky meets the sea."

Levi isn’t sure what to make of that idiom; there’s no such thing as a place where sky and sea connect. Another metaphor, perhaps—another thing that flies right above his head.

But he decided to take Onyankopon's proposal there and then. Levi had been idle for far too long, and there was still fire in him, a will to push on.

To keep going, just as he had in the past.

A month later, Levi moved into his new home.

His one-story cottage is located by the edge of town, overlooking a cliff that descends into sandy shores. It is far enough from the crowds, just the way Levi likes it, while still remaining close to all necessities—just ten minutes away from Onyankopon's home.

Aside from that, everything else is just… strangely ordinary.

Because Levi now has a roof over his head. He has a garden, where he grows herbs. A patio, where he watches sunsets. He gets money from Marley for his so-called war accomplishments (accomplishments is a strange word for murder, he thinks). He sees doctors, all kinds of doctors—specialists that didn't exist back on Paradis.

What keeps him going through it all are his routines. Levi has always been a creature of habit, and that much hasn't changed in his new life.

There’s tea, for one. Despite all the special blends available here in Marley, Levi still prefers the tea he drank back in the Underground, made from cheap black tea leaves—over-extracted, with no added sugar. Piss water, Kenny used to call it, and maybe the old geezer had a point. The tea is bitter to its core, much too strong for anyone to stomach (“I’m going to be on the shitter for days after this,” Hange once declared after trying it.). And yet, Levi likes it this way. 

There’s his knife, the one Kenny gave him decades ago. Levi still keeps it in his boot or tucked under his pillow. He doesn’t hold it out of sentimentality per say; Levi just doesn’t see the point of throwing it away.

As for other patterns in his life, Levi likes to keep busy. Levi sees his doctor on a weekly basis. He works part-time at the local carpentry shop. He tries to improve his body on a daily basis, even when his mind fights him against it. His leg hurts some days; it’s at its worst when it rains. Over the last year, Levi's regained some of his mobility, enough that he can sometimes walk using a cane when his legs aren't too stiff, though most days, he uses a wheelchair. It frustrates him, sometimes, his reduced range of mobility—he misses pushing his body to the limit—but the physiotherapist ensures him that he is just where he needs to be. He feels coddled, and that annoys him.

Then, there are the people in his life. Scarce as they are, they are all that is left of his past and Levi clings onto scraps of conversation where he can find them.

Most of the brats of the 104th are living their own lives. Levi is relieved to see that. When the war ended, he worried that they would linger too much, but they never did. They moved on.

Falco and Gabi, rowdy kids they are, travel from Liberio to see him. They tell him how Falco is taking flying lessons, how Gabi is part of a youth association that’s going to make Marley a better place.

Onyankopon is another familiar face—a talkative one at that. Every time the man stops by Levi's house, he brings something new to show Levi. Sometimes, it feels like Onyankopon is on a personal mission to get Levi up to speed with the new world. Coffee, typewriters, vinyl players… there doesn’t seem to be a thing Onyankopon doesn’t want to show him.

All these machines are met with a somewhat lukewarm reception on Levi’s part.

All except one.

Because if there's one invention Levi is inclined to think is useful, even if a part of him equally loathes it, it's the telephone. Onyankopon was ecstatic about it, and his enthusiasm eventually rubbed off on him too. It's not that Levi likes to use it—the sound waves, the grated voices… they remind him of the sound of planes and machines, of war and guns, and that gets his heart palpating to the point where he sweats (because Levi’s learned that with his growing age, his body sweats faster than ever before, so much so that Levi sometimes has to wash twice a day).

But the first time Levi hears a familiar sound—your voice—on the receiving end of the telephone, his breath stops. His clammy fingers tighten around the phone, and he glances at Onyankopon, who only gives him a thumbs up in response, two dimples appearing on his lifted cheeks.

Levi decides then that the telephone might not be so bad after all.

“Levi,” your distorted voice sounds from the other side. “Can you hear me?”

At first, Levi doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen phones, of course; he remembers Hange using them to communicate with Zeke and the Azumito clan. But he never thought he’d use them personally, and that makes his brain go blank.

“Shit, I think I lost you,” you say, the sound of crumbled papers resonating across the line, “Jean, I think the tele-thing you gave me isn’t working properly. Can you—”

“Hey.” Levi’s voice bleeds into the machine, rough like sandpaper. “I can hear you.”

“Oh, good, I thought I wasn’t using this correctly. Gee, isn’t this just unbelievable? Onyankopon promised me he’d work to set up a phone line in your house, I’m so glad it worked! I know these things are costly but, you know, at least we get to talk, even if it’s brief. Of course, I’ll still write you letters on top of that! And hey—Levi, are you still with me?”

“Yeah, dumbass. You’re the one going on a monologue.”

“I’m just excited! Can you blame me? I haven’t heard your voice in… a long time.”

Levi’s heart jolts in his chest, clinging to the fact that you’re excited to hear him, but mourning the time passed since he last heard your voice. He’s all aware of how long it’s been (347 days, by his account).

“I can’t wait to see you next month,” you add in a lower voice, as if you were trying to whisper into the phone, words only meant for him to hear. “I’ve… missed you, 'Vi.”

Levi’s throat feels thick when he hears your familiar nickname for him. His mind buzzes with words, words he has long thought about, words he wishes he could tell you.

I’ve missed you too. I want to see you again. Please come back to me.

All things he thinks to himself, but doesn’t say out loud.

Instead, he manages a breathy, “Mhm,” because more feels impossible right now, especially with Onkyankopon so close by.

“How are the brats doing?” Levi asks instead.

“Oh, they’re good! Armin cut his hair recently. He looks like a blonde mini-you or err… I suppose he’s taller than you now.” If you were standing by his side, Levi would definitely have glared at you. But you chuckle, oblivious to his souring mood. “Guess he always did admire you a lot; I think he’s learned a thing or two from your leadership style.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Doesn’t glare at everything that moves like you, though.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “Still haven’t lost your shitty sense of humor, I see.”

“Hey, you always found me funny.”

“I never laughed.”

“But you always found me funny—I could always tell.”

“Delusional thinking can get you a long way.”

“Anyway.” You huff with an indignant tone. “Aside from that, Reiner and Connie have changed a lot too! Reiner is still pining over Historia…”

“Disgusting. She’s a married woman.”

“Yeah… weird, right? I keep telling him to move on, he’s got so much going for him now. But he’s hopeless like that, they all are. Besides that… well, Jean grew his hair! Think he’s secretly trying to impress someone. He’s applying pomade and everything.”

He hears the sound of muffled protest, “I am not, Doc,” blending with your sentence. It is followed by your hearty laugh as you seemingly tell Jean to scram.

“That aside, they’re all good. Growing into real adults, you know? It feels like yesterday I was doing their first medical checks... just stupid teenagers. Your old Levi squad, huh?”

The second Levi squad, he wants to correct.

“Yeah, sounds like they’re still a real handful,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle. A comfortable silence follows, one that reminds of old times—you and him sitting in front of the fireplace; him reading his reports, you drawing. The cracking of the phone lines almost sounds like splitting logs now, and Levi feels warmth spread from his lower belly to his torso.

He hears your breath through the phone, like you were leaning closer. “Hey, so… less than a month, yeah? You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I told you already, didn’t I?”

“Because if it’s too much, you can still say no.”

“Adler, I promised I’d take care of you all, and that’s gonna be the case until I’m buried below ground.”

“Don’t speak like that, Levi! It’s morbid.” Levi hears the sound of your laughter again. He wonders if your eyelids are crinkling, the way they always do when you laugh too loudly. “But, hey, thanks. I really appreciate your help, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder what it is like, your new life.”

“S’nothing special.”

“Sounds to me like you’re still selling yourself short.”

“And sounds like you’re still talking nonsense.”

After a year of not seeing each other, you are finally coming back to Marley.

You are finally coming back to him.

Levi wonders what you will think of all the ways he’s lost.

.

.

.

Section Commander Erwin Smith seeks you out in the infirmary one day. He tells you that there’s a wound he wants you to check, one he supposedly got during the last expedition.

“I have the new recruit’s file with me. You might have seen him around,” Erwin says as you inspect the wound. "His name is Levi."

In lieu of a response, you give him a nod, not thinking much of this observation. This is probably just trivial small talk. 

You should have known better. Erwin Smith isn't known for triviality.  

“I’d like for you to keep an eye on him.”  

You pause at Erwin's words, eyes shifting away from the stitches. “What do you mean by that, sir?” 

Erwin leans back in his chair. His gaze is clear. “Presently, Levi is flighty and hot-headed. He’s just lost his friends. He refuses to get a medical check. As it stands, this won’t work—I need to know that his condition is stable to place him on my squad. I need him operational.”

“With all due respect, most of these duties you’ve listed fall outside my medical jurisdiction.”

“I know.”

You raise a brow. Erwin shoots you an eyeless smile. You finish the stitch. Erwin pulls his hand back, admiring your work, and shifts his focus back on you.

Waiting on your answer.

“I’ll... I'll see what I can do, sir,” you finally say. 

Erwin stands, interlinking his arms to the back. “I should tell you he’s from the Underground. Will that be a problem?”

“No, sir…" You rise to your feet as well. "Though, knowing this, permission to speak my mind?”

“Please.”

“May I ask what’s so… special about him? If rumors are to be believed, you went through quite the trouble to get him.”

“I didn’t think you listened to gossip, Dr Adler.”

“I don’t. But if that wound on your hand speaks for the labors of your efforts… well, I think I have cause to worry.”

A low hum vibrates out of him. “What’s so special about Levi, you ask?” Something lights up across Erwin’s face. The intensity of the pendulum swinging his way. “Why, I believe Levi can alter the fate of humanity.”

.

.

.

Today is the day.

The morning shines brightly over the little town of Mare, an endless cerulean that speaks of summer and new beginnings. The sun peaks over the horizon, lingering where the sky meets the sea, a ripple of lavender and peach glimmering over the reflection of the water.

At this time of the day, the wind is at its strongest, a breeze that blows the long strands of grass to one side. Beyond the valleys, there's footsteps dotted across white beaches, only to be ushered out of existence as the waves roll in.

Mare. This little town was nothing but fire and dust three years ago. Today, everything has changed. Houses have been rebuilt, trees replanted, and life has begun sprouting again.

Levi wonders what you will make of it.

He spent the first hours of the day cleaning his house from floor to ceiling—a painful undertaking. The cleaning material stings his bad eye; the positions he has to adopt to clean makes his leg hurt. But cleaning has always helped to ground him, and that much hasn’t changed here.

Luckily, he wasn't alone in his task.

“Yo, Levi! You ready?” Onyankopon calls out. The man came early to help Levi get the house ready, and he's now driving Levi to the train station.

“Yeah.”

Levi grabs his favorite cane, an elegant stick made of thick wood from up north. For the occasion, he’s wearing his nicest navy suit, silver cuff-links, and a matching hat—a gift from you, something you bought him the day the Survey Corps first set foot in Marley. You thought it suited him and Levi’s inclined to agree: he doesn’t look half-bad.

The drive to the train station is uneventful and quiet. Onyankopon asks him if he is nervous, which Levi denies. He's not nervous, not really. He just needs silence to gather his thoughts.

After a year of not seeing each other, he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely.

Will you be happy to see him?

It’s ridiculous, really, all this uncertainty. In all his years as a captain, Levi never stopped to linger on hesitations, on regrets. No matter what it was—grief, rough expeditions, political coups—he trusted his comrades, he trusted Erwin. Levi trusted himself.

That it would be you, now of all times, who makes him this agitated, seems a strange twist of fate. Perhaps it is his growing age that has turned him into a sentimental fool, perhaps it is the knowledge that it is you, perhaps it’s because Levi doesn’t quite know what to make of the uncertainty... but Levi feels restless.

It took Levi by surprise, your letter. Three months ago to the day. Can I stay with you, Levi? you'd written. Just for a little while, until I figure out what it is I want to do next.

You were gone for a year, helping the Alliance become delegates of peace. Now, Armin and the rest are ambassadors, and Levi no longer needs you letters—he gets to read all about their exploits in the newspaper.

And yet, you never stopped writing to him. Levi's glad of that.  

Following all of this, it was decided: of course you could stay with him. Yes, he would help you. When it came to you, there was little Levi wasn’t prepared to do.

And so, with Falco’s and Gabi’s help, he made sure everything was well-suited for your arrival. He purchased a bed, a night table, and a wardrobe. He built you a desk, with the help of his boss at work. All of it was arranged into the spare room in his house.

Levi remembers Gabi teasing him. “Is she your sweetheart, Mr Levi?”

Levi had just finished hanging a mirror on the wall when she said this; he scowled at the teenager. “No.”

“S’just, it’s an awful lot for an old comrade.”

“Shut up, nosy kid.”

But Gabi raised a point. What were you to him, exactly?

Levi doesn’t know the answer to that question, not exactly. He considers all the people he’s cared about in his life, and he still falls short in finding the right word to describe what you are. He cares for you, that much he knows—he’s cared for you for a long time. It isn’t the same care that he feels when he thinks of his mother, of Isabel, of Furlan, but it’s just as deep. Love, some might call it, but Levi has seldom witnessed it, so he doesn’t know what to make of his feelings.

He supposes if he had to label what the two of you are, it’s connected. Remnants of an old system, a memory of a past when all that mattered was reclaiming the Walls. Two survivors who carry the legacy of those who sacrificed themselves for the cause.

Not that defining it truly matters. Levi’s long accepted his role as the one to carry the torch. He has found stability and peace this way.

Only, Levi wants more for you, even if it means being far away from him.

Yes, it will have to mean being far from him, won’t it? He’s too lost for it to be any other way. He knows that. And yet, it doesn’t stop that tiny wisp of something he sometimes feels in his heart at the thought of you—like air, it fills his lungs, begging to be ignited (if you would choose him, he thinks it might).

But Levi’s life was always that of water, and he knows he will drown you if you come too close, like everyone else he has cared about.

.

.

.

You glance at the injury on his forearm, gushing red. Those damn cadets, ganging up on the new recruit. Erwin’s gamble won’t pay off if everyone else is hostile to his new prodigy.

“Hey. It’s Levi, right?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to yours and you realize it's the first time you're up close to him. His eyes are striking. Freezing gray, like pale moonlight.

“Who the hell are you?” he mutters with a deep baritone.

You give him your full name. “But I actually prefer to be called by my last name, Adler, if you don't mind.” His face stays blank. You sigh. “Listen, Levi, I don’t want to butt into your private affairs... But I just came to tell you this: any injuries you sustain from now on, come to me directly, alright?”

"Please. Those cowards were outclassed. They only landed a hit 'cause they played dirty."

"Even so. Don't let that deter you from seeking help; it's important to take care of injuries before they worsen." A pause, one where you weigh each thought carefully. "That said, you also have my word. Those cadets will be punished for what they did to you."

“Yeah, whatever.” Levi glances at your hands for some reason— transfixed by the way you press on his wound with a clean cloth. “So, what are you, some kind of doctor? You heal people?”

Your lips tug into a half-smile. “I certainly try.”

.

.

.

The train groans as it comes to a stop. Levi knows you dislike trains; even on Paradis, when Hizuru helped to install train tracks across the island, you  blanched at the idea of riding in one.

So Levi isn’t too surprised to see you step out of the train carriage on wobbly feet, your face a little grayer than he remembers it to be. He takes a step forward, walking into the smoke hissing from the train, avoiding the throngs of travelers passing by. He removes his hat, just to make it easier for you to recognize him.

As soon as you do, your expression lifts.

That smile.

Levi could see your smile for the rest of his life and never tire of it. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, and it tugs at his heart, like a bird flapping its wings.

That you choose to run towards him—your travel bag swinging against your hip, arms dangling by your sides—is no great surprise. If there is something he knows about you, it is your never ending supply of excitement. It makes him want to smile back, but his mouth slightly parts instead.

“Levi,” is the first word that greets him, that swirls through the air and fills his lungs. You seem to catch yourself just a breath away from him, rooted to the spot in front of him. You dip your head down, coy amusement on your features. “It’s really you.”

Levi swallows loudly. He can hear his heartbeat climbing to his head, and he wonders if you somehow can hear it too.

“Your hair has grown,” you say. In the last month, Levi's only kept up his undercut; the top is getting longer now. He knows he should get a haircut, but he's experimenting letting it grow. “It looks good… it suits you.”

The coil in Levi’s stomach tightens. He shields his expression by tilting his head and placing his hat back on his head. 

“Hey, um…” 

“Just spit it out, Adler.”

His peripheral catches a crooked smile. “Would it be alright if…if I hugged you?”

Oh.

That certainly isn’t what Levi expected you to ask. No, he expected many things just not... that.

In his stupor, Levi can't think of the right words to say to you, so he manages a nod instead.

(He’s grateful you ask before you touch him—you always ask.)

And unlike your earlier display of excitement, full of frenetic energy, your hands treat him with more care. They interlace gently around his back. Levi feels his chest lock as your fragrance sweeps across his brain. The scent can only be described as one thing... Home. Levi grows stiff, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he just lets them dangle along his body. You stay put just for a few seconds longer, and when you break apart, there’s something akin to relief on your face.

(Relief for what, he doesn't know.)

Your hands briefly linger on his forearms. “Just needed to do that. My brain can’t make sense of the fact that you’re really standing in front of me. Like you’re not a figment of my imagination, you know?”

Levi’s gut reaction is to glance down. He doesn’t want to see all the ways you inspect him, all the ways he falls short of the portrait you have of him.

His face hardens and he takes a step back, sheltering himself. “C’mon, we’ve been standing here long enough.”

“Alright,” you answer in a tone that’s no less bubbly than before. “Show me home.”

As you walk in tandem, away from the train tracks, Onyankopon comes to greet you. He envelops you into a hug where he lifts you off your feet. You chuckle, patting his shoulders, and when Onyankopon’s eyes find Levi’s, there’s a glint in them that Levi swears is speaking volumes of Onyankopon’s thoughts.

A look that seems to indicate: Should’ve kissed her, you damn fool.

Levi promptly ignores that look. Instead, he sets his glare in an altogether different direction.

The walk back towards the car is painful and slow. Levi tries not to let it show, but coming with his cane instead of his wheelchair really was not his brightest idea. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation shooting up in his leg; his knuckles turn white the more he leans on his cane.

You take notice.

“Is your leg hurting?” he hears you ask.

Levi dismisses your concern with a one shoulder shrug. “S’fine.”

It’s not fine. Levi overexerted himself with cleaning today. The sun is too strong. His leg is throbbing.

Despite that, Levi has no intentions of telling you all about that, because you have a tendency to care, to shower him with attention he doesn’t want, and right now, he just can’t deal with it.

You stop right in front of him. “Hey, are you sure? I can—”

“I said it's fine, didn't I?”

Levi's ears are ringing as he steps past you.

Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t mean to snap at you just now. He’s just no good at this, don’t you see? Already five minutes in, and he feels like he fucked up.

(It's like there's poison on his skin; Levi wants to peel it off.)

But you don’t even seem to pay his temper any mind; you hum and turn to look at the train station’s newsstand instead. From the corner of his eyes, he watches you purchase three lemonade bottles, a hand-out for this summer day. 

The drive back is filled with more words than the journey here. Onyankopon and you engage in easy conversation, talking about all manners of things—how the 104th brats are doing, how the world is looking three years after everything that transpired, how Onyankopon’s husband and family are faring.

Levi sits in the passenger seat next to Onyankopon while you sit in the rear. That doesn’t stop you from leaning forward, your hands resting on the head of the seats as you talk (“Put your seat belt on, Adler.” “It’s on!”). Occasionally, your fingers even tap his left shoulder, a heads up for you to point to interesting things you notice outside. Levi tries to ignore the sparking sensation that’s engraved in his skin.

(Sometimes, Levi wonders if your touch is actually electric.)

“What about you, Levi?” Levi feels your attention settle on the back of his head, drilling heat into his nape. “What do you make of your new home? Mare, the town where the sky meets the sea.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. And he means it—the town is just that. Fine. “The townsfolk are nosy, you’ll fit right in.”

“Consider my interest piqued. I can’t wait to see your new life.” You hum. “I’ve never started over. Not like this. I mean, I suppose I did, once. The last time was when I first enlisted for the Survey Corps a decade ago… phew, that brings back memories. I remember the looks I got from everyone then—they all thought me very strange to enroll.”

“That’s because you were a suicidal maniac, enrolling to save the lives of soldiers who’d soon be titan fodder. Normal civilians usually have safer aspirations, Adler.”

“I’m not sure if you’re one to talk, Ackerman.”

Levi huffs at that. The portrait that flashes through his mind is vivid, as were the words that went alongside them: Him, an ex-thug from the Underground and you, the crazy doctor. A pair of strange misfits, the Survey Corps' gamble in every sense of the word.

“Oh, Walls!” You’re gasping at something behind him, and Levi glances up to see what you’ve seen. It’s the sea—all shades of blue and as mesmerizing as ever. “This is where you’ve been living? Your descriptions in your letters do not do this place justice.”

“What? You expected me to turn into a poet?” Levi grumbles.

“No, but look at this—ugh! It’s everything. The valleys! The beaches! The bay! This feels just like…” you let your voice trail off, not finishing off your words, but Levi knows what you meant to say.

This feels just like the way it was when we first saw the sea.

And yeah, Levi sees your point. The sea here truly does glimmer like jewels, the way Armin always described it, and the breeze does carry that scent of salt that feels like it’s cleaning the air out of his lungs.

Just like it felt to witness it the first time.

“This must be what paradise looks like,” you say.

And just as they pass a curve of the road, something new comes into view: between the soft clouds, a flying boat appears—not one carrying weapons, but instead, carrying with it the tale of a youth whose only sin was a passion for flying.

.

.

.

The medical check is done in silence.

Levi is underweight. His lack of sun exposure has left his skin and eyesight sensitive. You prescribe things to help, though you think some ailments might be a lifelong battle.

When it comes to checking his heart rate, however, that’s when you realize the full extent of Levi’s upbringing. Levi undoes his shirt and your eyes take in the cost of his survival—Levi’s torso, marred with scars. Some of them seem recent, while others are old, stretched-out skin that tells you enough.

These come straight from his childhood.

Just how much violence has Levi witnessed in a single lifetime?

.

.

.

“So?” Levi asks, looking directly at you. He leans his weight against the door’s frame leading to your bedroom, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can redecorate if you like.”

“Why would I do that? This is perfect.”

Levi thinks you might be touched, but he isn’t sure—he was never good at reading your more subdued emotions. Anger, sadness, happiness: those, he can read. Everything in between becomes more complicated.

You continue to step around the furniture of your bedroom, inspecting it like you are discovering details of a new kingdom. Your fingers fumble over the bed frame. “These bed sheets are my favorite color.”

Levi knows. He picked them for a reason.

(He’ll never tell you as much.)

“There’s drawing supplies in the desk drawers,” he says.

He hears it then, the way you suck-in your breath, catching it in the back of your throat. He swerves his attention onto you, only to find you fixing the desk with a stupefied expression.

“You remembered?”

There’s bewilderment in your tone.

Why do you seem surprised? Isn’t this the least you deserve? Levi almost says that there is even more—that he has all your sketchbooks from Paradis, that they were recently delivered by his request. But he abstains from it. He thinks it might be too much right now, though whether it’s too much for him or for you, he’s not sure.

Instead, he just replies gruffly, “It was hard to forget.”

You take a step towards him, eyes softening. “Levi, thank you so much.” You gesture at the room. “For all of it.”

Somehow, those words make Levi want to look away. It isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate you expressing your gratitude, but he’s never known what to do with it served on a silver platter. He prefers to ignore it when he can.

“S’not a big deal.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing towards the carpet on the floor. “Couldn’t let you starve on the streets, now, could I?”

“Hah, I don’t know,” you say softly. You've moved to the windows, your fingers feeling the beige curtains. “You might be underestimating me. I can be very persuasive; I’m sure I’d manage to survive out there.”

“Please. You wouldn’t last a day out there.”

You scoff at him, feigning offense. “And why not?”

“You’d want to help some poor fucker giving you puppy eyes, and they’d just end up mugging you.” Or worse.

“Well, alright. You got me there.” You glance away, raising your fingers to run along the scar on your cheek.

Levi follows your movements, studying the way your hands conceal your old injury. He wonders if it still hurts, if you forget it is there only to be reminded of its existence when you catch your reflection in the mirror.

It happens to him, sometimes.

“Seriously, thank you.”

The gentleness in your tone cradles his ears. Levi takes a step back.

“No need to get emotional on me.” he mumbles.

You chuckle. “Still. Sometimes, it’s good to say things out loud.”

“If you say so.”

Levi turns around, fumbling with the handle of the door. 

But just as he’s about to head out, to leave you to unpack, there's a distinct sound that comes from the other side. Levi hears that familiar "Meow," before he sees the tabby cat sliding in between the cracks of the door.

“Oh..." you say, "what's this?” 

Right. Levi probably should have mentioned this minor detail in his letters.

“Scout,” he supplies, eying the kitten currently rubbing her head against his right leg, a loud prrr vibrating against his calve.

“You… you got a cat?”

"Yeah."

"Like a pet?"

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, tapping a rhythmic beat of five counts against his forearm. “Do you need to get your eyes checked or what?”

You ignore his surly attitude, the same bafflement still present in your tone. “And you named him Scout?”

“Her. She's a female cat.”

You look down at the cat for a moment, your eyes wide like saucers. Then, with a low, hushed tone, you let out a strangled, “Walls, you're a cat dad,” before pinching your lips tightly, like you were trying very hard not to burst out in fits of giggles.

Levi’s jaw instantly clenches. “Stop laughing.”

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“You were about to.”

“Yeah, alright, I was about to.” And then, as if saying those words out loud gave you the right to do as you please, you stifle out a snort, shooting up a hand to cover your half-contained laughter.

This time, Levi doesn’t bother hiding his glare.

Paying this interaction no mind, Scout looks at you with a quizzical stare, her big, green eyes taking you in. Just like you, the feline creature is now discovering the new room and the furniture that goes with it, and she now seems to want to understand what to make of the new occupant that is to share this space.

And so, with a last parting mrrp, the cat skitters towards you, her fast steps tiptoeing against the oaken floor. In response, you crouch down, outstretching a delicate hand in Scout's direction.

With a combination of grace and suspicion that only cats are really able to muster, Scout sniffs your fingers, her slit pupils observing your every movement. Whatever she was looking for must have pleased her, because not a moment later, she lets out a high-pitched mewling sound and rubs her cheeks against your digit.

A smile forms on your lips.

And when you look back up, there’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes Levi’s heart skip a beat. "Oh, she's cute," you coo, scratching Scout's chin. "How old is she?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"I don't speak cat, Adler."

"She didn't have an owner?"

"No, she was alone when I found her."

"Oh."

Levi had found the kitten half-dead under some debris less than three months ago; no one in town knew where she had come from, or how old she was. Most likely, her mother had abandoned her, but it was hard to know for sure.

All he knew is that the kitten had been alone, and that was enough for him to want to help the frail thing. Taking her in was only meant to be a temporary thing and yet, here she still was. 

"Well," you interrupt his thoughts, head tilting as you inspect Scout, "I reckon she can't be more than four months old."

Levi lets out a grunting sound, not really knowing enough about cats to refute or agree with your observations. Instead, he half-turns away, grumbling parting words, “I’m gonna make us some tea while you unpack.”

“Your bitter old tea, huh?”

He means to ask if you’d prefer something else, but it comes out all wrong, again. “Got a problem with that?”

Shit.

Your eyes lock with his.

And your smile widens. “Not at all. This feels like being home.”

Levi clears his throat, turning away. Home. Is it really like that?

No, of course, it’s not.

Home doesn’t exist anymore.

And he’s not the same man you once knew.

-

A/N: This story has been in the works for the last year, and it's been a very precious project for me. This fic seeks to shed some light on Levi's life after the war, with its ups and down - but ultimately, it's a story of love and healing <3 Furthermore, English isn't my mother tongue, so you know the spiel - don't hesitate to let me know if you spot mistakes, but pls be patient!

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[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part four.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part three. / return to part one. | masterlist

Night comes around.

You do not call.

In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.

As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.

Don't call.

Just don't call.

It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.

Going out is an option.

Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.

Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.

It was him.

Right there.

Right in front of you.

Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.

No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise. 

He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—

Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.

Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.

(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)

So you make a final decision:

You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.

(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)

Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too. 

Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.

Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.

He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.

The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.

Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.

He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.

They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.

Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.

Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.

Would he know?

That you’re Scarlet.

His, in some made-up world.

(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)

The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.

Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.

(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)

As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.

He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.

This is torture.

You miss him.

But you still refuse to call.

Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.

Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.

The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.

If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.

You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.

Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath. 

A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.

(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)

In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.

“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.

(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)

You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.

Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.

“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”

“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”

You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.

“And Connie?”

“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”

“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”

Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”

“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”

“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.

You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days. 

Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.

Damn it.

Enough wallowing.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”

From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.

Armin and Jean.

Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“Nope, I’m solid.”

“Good here.”

“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”

“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”

You don’t stick around for that aftermath.

Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.

You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.

Success.

You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface. 

Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.

Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself. 

It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.

An hour.

All you need to do is last one whole hour.

Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—

“Is this seat taken?”

A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.

The seat.

The one next to you, where your purse lay.

Way to go, dumbass.

You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.

“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.

“Hold on, let me just move—”

Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.

Wait.

Levi?!

His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.

The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.

The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.

Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.

“...my stuff.”

Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now. 

Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out. 

Maybe your drink will be poisoned. 

You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.

Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.

Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.

Silence.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.

Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own. 

It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.

You need to get up.

Excuse yourself out. 

Leave.

You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.

“How’s your phone?”

Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t. 

The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.

“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.

Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.

His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.

You have to apologize.

This is crossing a line.

You need to—

“So—”

“I’m canceling my subscription.”

You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.

When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.

From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.

“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.

“I— how come?”

You repeat his question in surprise.

Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.

“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”

He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.

“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“I’m actually here with friends—”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling. 

“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”

Why isn’t he freaking out?

Shouldn’t he be freaking out?

Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.

“What can I get you?”

You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks. 

“I—”

“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”

Then he has the audacity to glance your way.

“Pineapple, right?”

Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?

Is this a flex?

(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)

“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.

The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.

For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.

He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.

You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.

This is real life.

The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.

If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.

Why didn’t you say something?

“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.” 

When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.

“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”

His brows pinch with amusement. 

“On Mars, or…?”

Oh.

He’s joking.

He’s actually joking about this.

You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”

No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.

“So you’re not…”

“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”

Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.

Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.

“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”

You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.

He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.

“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.

“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.” 

Levi shrugs, sipping his drink. 

“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”

“I just…”

You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.

“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.” 

Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.

“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.

“Not like that!”

“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”

He’s not angry.

Hell, he’s conversational.

Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.

Might as well be honest.

“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”

The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.

The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.

“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”

At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.

“You don’t… want me to leave?”

Levi shakes his head.

You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.

It feels intimate.

Too intimate.

“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”

“Right.”

“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”

You blink, not following. “Huh?”

“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”

Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.

“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Levi… was sorry?

The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.

“I… just said I crossed the line?”

“When?”

“On the phone?”

“Okay, duh, but when?”

“Our last session.”

“So that was real.”

Levi actually got off to your voice.

If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.

He considers his next words very carefully. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Then he sips more before shaking his head.

“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”

You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”

He makes a noncommittal face.

“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”

“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.

“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."

Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.

“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."

He takes a pause.

"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”

You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.

"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."

Ten minutes.

That length of time strikes something in you.

“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.

Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder. 

“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”

Ten minutes away, is your implication.

His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.

His eyes narrow. 

“The complex on Junction Ave?”

“Yeah," you say.

“Right across from—”

“The Reiss deli.”

That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“You say the word shit a lot.”

“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.

“Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)

He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”

“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit.

You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”

Have been right above me this entire time.

Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought. 

Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?

Right.

You’re here with friends.

“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

You swipe the screen north and type a reply.

[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.

Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.

[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????

[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!

[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted

[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar

“Looks urgent.”

“Huh?” 

You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top. 

“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.

Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave. 

“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”

Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself. 

“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”

He nods once, setting his drink down. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”

Levi trails off, sighing heavily.

“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”

Something nestles itself between the lines of his words. 

Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.

“Do you really mean that, Levi?”

That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies. 

“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.

“So Levi’s your real name?”

He nods.

“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."

Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.

"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”

Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?

Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?

Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one: 

“Are you single?”

That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.

(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)

“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”

“Very,” you promise back.

“And my job doesn’t bother you?”

You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.

He isn't asking to marry you.

Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.

“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”

Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over. 

You smile in return, sipping your drink.

It's the truth.

He may not really know you, but he knows you.

Just as you're beginning to think you know him.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.

Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.

Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”

Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top. 

His skin is smooth. 

Heated. 

Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.

One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.

“—give me a call.”

Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.

You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.

A call.

Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.

Not the Scout Services Hotline.

No — his number.

Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.

Annie knows.

She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.

On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.

Zero through nine appear.

Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.

One ring.

Two.

By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

Levi Ackerman.

Knowing his full name warms your heart.

Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.

Searching for you.

You smile to yourself.

"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."

Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.

Be selfish.

"Are you free for some tea now?”

.

FIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.

In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)

The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[inkcurlsandknives]

Hi Tumblr I'm an Asian fantasy author fleeing the sudden death of all my other social media sites 👋 I've used Tumblr for years as a fandom lurker and rarely posted but in light of all my other communities imploding I guess I'll have to figure out how to be actually active on Tumblr and find bookish and writerly folks here 💜 say hi if that's you 🥺

If you love diverse filipino fantasy with bipoc leads, angry bi women clawing for space in a world that's always rejected them and soft boys who'd do anything for them, awesome elemental magic based on early Filipino shaman/ babaylan/katalonan mythologies and the Tagalog creation story, and the Bakunawa/Laho the 🇵🇭 sea dragon 🐉 and drowning colonizers then I hope you'll keep an eye out for SAINTS OF STORM AND SORROW coming in June 2024 from Titan Books

[swe3tte4rs]

" My mom is so beatiful! " - Batfamily x Model!Batmom headcanons

Request: Batmom headcanons where batmom’s a model & the coolest mom ever?

Author's note: Thank you anon 🫶! Here is my second request, so I hope you like it. I didn't know what to put for the title so I settled for this one.

And it will also take me a while to upload the Zatanna x reader oneshot 🤗.

Again I clarify that my main language is not English, so sorry for the spelling errors 😿.

TW: nothing!! Just fluff I think

Nightwing / Dick Grayson

Since he met you, he was fascinated with your beauty and elegance.

He loved when you went to galas and you wrapped him up in your long elegant jacket while you picked him up in your arms and let him fall asleep like that.

Dick didn't miss any of your shows or commercials.

I bet he has your older shows saved on his computer.

A model and cool mother at the same time? Wow, Dick couldn't ask for more.

You are his only support, the only one who was there and loved him no matter what.

Dick will always ask your opinion about what he wears or what haircut he will get.

He goes crazy every time he hears someone say "Your mom is hot."

"It's not my fault that my mom loves me and yours didn't love you, fucking slu-"

I feels like he would play with you by imitating your walk just to annoy you.

Always showing off his mother, yesyesyes.

The YJ and Titans members would be very jealous of him; because you treat him very nicely and send him food, without saying that you drown your son with love.

Jason Todd / Red Hood

When he was Robin he was dwarf and plump. I and other people agree 😇

Jason loves the support you give him and keep giving him.

And he also loves your delicious food, he probably asks you to prepare some for him every time he goes out on patrol.

I just imagined him (when he was Robin) bringing you a bouquet of flowers bigger than him once you finish the show, seeing you with those beautiful and big eyes 😭

I bet he sometimes got scared when he saw your face on a commercial billboard.

And he keeps doing it, only he spits out whatever he's drinking when he sees you in TV. (Without him knowing that you participated as a model in X brand)

He loves and continues to love your attacks of kisses on his face.

Yes, he would also ask you for style advice, but only once a year, he is very proud when it comes to his clothing style.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!! HOW DARE YOU HAVE A FUCKING POSTER OF MY MOM?!?!"

Damn Jason, your mom is a model, what do you want them to do?

Tim Drake / Red Robin

He has a love-hate relationship with your love attacks.

Tim, like his other siblings, would not miss any of your shows, or the parts in which you appear.

He would help Barbara to make sure no one wants to sabotage you at one of your shows.

If given the choice between your food or the support you give him, Tim would jump off a bridge. (jk)

"Bro, can you shut the fuck up and stop saying how beautiful my mom is? I already know that."

Tim gets embarrassed every time he is with his friends and you call him (by phone XD), because you start reminding him that he is very handsome and he need to eat something. But it irritates him more when his colleagues ask to talk to you.

Damian Wayne / Robin

I think he wouldn't care about your job

He's like, the most attached to you.

After your shows he would be attached to you like a flea.

Also at the galas.

Damian was surprised that you were so kind and loving towards him despite the things he said to you before him had that mother and son connection.

I think that at first Talia wouldn't like you, but after several talks with her and assuring her that you're not going to do anything to Damian, you could even be friends.

Oh yes, he wouldn't care about your love attacks, as long as it's not in front of his friends.

"Yes mom, yes I ate the food... Yes, I know you love me. *sighs* I love you too mommy..."

You're like Jon's second mom.

His favorite days are pool or beach days, he likes to enjoy the sea while spending time with his mom.

Cassandra Cain / Orphan

Cass is the vice president of your fan club.

Cass loves you infinitely.

She has an album full of photos of you and her after the shows.

She doesn't like the idea of you parading in swimsuits.

She would always ask you for clothing tips and advice.

Cass likes, loves, and admires having a mother who understands her and can be herself with her.

She wouldn't care if you show her love in public or private. She always gives you more love back!

Skincare routine between you and her.

You always make sure that she is fashionable but also has her own style.

She would have a lot of admiration for you.

I feel like she would hardly take any notice of "your mom is hot" because she thinks they are flattery.

But if they go overboard and insult you, Cass wouldn't hesitate to give them a good beating. Nobody messes with her mommy.

I think she would have you as her wallpaper. A photo of you and her on your birthday or on her birthday.

Stephanie Brown / Spoiler

She is the President of your fan club.

Throughout the parade she is like "how boring, I want to leave" until you finally appear, it doesn't matter if the outfit you wore is ugly, she would applaud you with all her might.

"WHY DID YOU AGREE TO DO A BIKINI COMMERCIAL?!?!"

I feel like she gets angry every time anyone tell her "she's super hot" (you), and Steph is like "the nosebleed I'm going to give you is going to be hot."

Every time she sleeps over at the mansion she joins you and Cass's skincare routines.

She loves you because every time you talk there is some laughter.

Steph appreciates and adores the support you give her as a mother figure.

You rarely have love attacks towards her.

But she adores them.

Every chance she would go shopping with you.

Duke thomas / The Signal

Just let me...

Duke is your photographer.

He had a hard time opening up to you at first, but you were just great and so sweet to him.

He doesn't react like his brothers do when they tell him "your mom is hot", rather he would feel uncomfortable.

Only if they insult you would he get serious.

He likes that you are always there to support him every time he goes out on patrol or comes back from patrol.

You and Duke's connection started when you tried to get him to distract himself from the harsh reality of his biological parents, like going to the park and all that.

He is embarrassed when you have your love attacks towards him. It doesn't matter if you are alone or in public, he will be embarrassed every time you have those love attacks.

I feel that when you go with him to buy clothes, you spend a lot of time because you can't decide what clothes to buy him.

But in the end you end up buying everything for him.

Barbara Gordon / Oracle

Yes, I added Barbara, okay?

In my AU there was no love affair between her and Bruce 😇

The one in charge of making sure everything goes well at the shows.

Sometimes she sees you as her mother, sister and best friend.

Barbara always sends you messages; according to her so as not to lose contact, which is a lie because you know it is purely on a whim.

I don't think you have love attacks with her, just a simple kiss on her cheek or forehead.

Although sometimes she envied the attention you gave to your children.

Barbara would value and care for you deeply.

[You can add more headcanons if you like <3]

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[sophiethewitch1]

The titanic thing is disappointing for a number of reasons, but first and foremost finding out that this site isn't actually pro eat the rich is dumb as hell. You guys remember the French Revolution? The American wealth disparity is much worse then it was then. The term 'eat the rich' comes from a poem where the poor eat the rich because there is nothing else to eat. Stop being morally neutral and start thinking about how much better your life and the people you love's lives could be if these guys knew how to share. Think about the dog you couldn't afford to bring to the vet and died because of it. Think about the homeless man down the street. Think about the 600 refugees who recently died at sea in Greece. Idk, one life is not worth a hundred, but that's just me.

[thealtoduck]

Headcanons for Children of minor Goddesses…

(Nephele, Psyche, Ino/Leucothea)

——

Nephele (Cloud Goddess of hospitality, generosity, loyalty, peace and shyness)

They tend to have hair as fluffy as the clouds.

Their cabin is simple on the outside but very comfortable on the inside. The furniture has a cloud theme and is known to be very comfortable.

Since Nephele was molded by Zeus from a cloud to be in the image of Hera a lot of Nephele’s children share features with the Queen of the Gods. Because of this Hera has a small soft spot for children of Nephele.

Because they are half-siblings with the centaurs they occasionally receive party invitations from them. To which Chiron always advices them not to go because of how… wild centaurs get.

They don’t have that many poweful abilities but their powers are still helpful.

They have the ability to induce a feeling of peace and relaxation with their presence.

They can physically touch clouds and stand/sit/lay on them.

They are known to be one of the most peaceful cabins at camp and are usually not very strong fighters.

They prefer to help out in the infirmary with the Apollo cabin, their powers helping the injured relax through the pain.

Song I associate with them:

——

Psyche (Goddess of the soul)

They are very beatiful, no suprises there…

There’s also not very many of them as Psyche prefers to stay faithful to Eros, though they do show up every now and then… there’s usually no more than one at camp at a time.

When they are claimed a set of butterfly wings show up on their back. They don’t actually work though it’s just for symbolism.

Their cabin is decorated with a stained glass window of Psyche and Eros. The inside has invisible servants, just like Eros and Psyche’s palace.

Speaking of Eros, he loves Psyche’s demigods even if they are not his and sends them gifts on their birthday. Step-Dad of the year.

Putting aside their mothers feud they get along suprisingly well with Aphrodite’s cabin.

They usually wear colorful clothes and accessories to express their emotions or mood that day.

They have empathic powers, and can see the colour of people’s souls as if they were mood rings. And through touch they can stronger sense what might be effecting someone’s emotions.

Their empathic abilities make them basically lie detectors as they can both see and feel when a person is lying.

They are VERY resilient. If you give them a mission they will finish it and come back even if they lose all their limbs in the process.

They are very loving and caring and are willing to go to Hades and back for the ones they love.

Song I associate with them:

——

Ino/Leucothea (Goddess of the sailors)

One of the common feature Leucothea’s children share is that they have dewy skin.

Their cabin is mainly nautical themed on the outside and on the walls on the inside, there’s a wall painting detailing Ino’s transformation to Leucothea. The furniture and beds take inspiration from that of old cruise liners, such as the Titanic.

The floor of the cabin can also open up to a indoor pool, where they can practice their swimming or just hang out if they feel like it.

Compared to most other children of sea deities they can come off as rather arrogant and snobby, no one know specifically why this is.

As for their powers and abilities:

They are all expert sailors, they know how to use any type of boat, just by instinct.

They are all expert swimmers and can swim at very high speeds (using hydrokinesis to boost themselves).

Minor hydrokinesis, they can mainly only control the water around them while they’re actually in the water. They struggle to do it out of water but with pratice they can learn to do that too, though not to the degree of someone like Percy.

They can breathe underwater and are unaffected by any amount of pressure changes.

Like Percy they also have a nautical sense and know their exact location and coordinates when they’re out on the water.

A lot of them chose to use celestial bronze cutlasses over regular swords.

Song I associate them with:

[teojira]

TEDDY! I checked ur old blog and saw u have a this one :3, and i saw u write for the KAIJUUUS? bro i love godzilla sosososoosoOSOSOSOSO MUCH, if you're down for it, could you do some headcanons of being Godzilla's favorite human?, ofc platonic, (i dead ass love this gigantic lizard sm i made a wedding pic art as a joke cause someone said marry the damn lizard and i said fine i will, and i wanna clarify twice, it was a joke, i just love large lizards)

[Being Goji's favorite human headcanons] [platonic]

Summary: What being a huge lizard titans human entails!

Warnings: None! Just platonic companionship between you and the Big guy.

Word count: 650+ words

A/N: Omg Tama :(( I'm so happy to see you're here from the call of duty blog!! It's always a joy to see you in my notifs 🫶 ofc I got you, Godzilla headcanons comin right up! I hope these are okay!

- Being Goji's favorite human comes with alot of good, but alot of bad as well.

- It makes you special. There is no documentation in any of Monarchs database of him having any explicit connection to humans, no country, no specific race, and you're seemingly the first person in history. But that also means you're under their control due to your ties to the Kaiju.

- He doesn't visit nearly as much as he wishes he could, despite you both being connected by seemingly fate. He is the king of monsters, bro is busy! He has to keep the balance.

- Monarch learned the hard way that you cannot be housed at a base, it sets Goji off, so they literally have to place you on a private island somewhere for when he does come to see you, he can't destroy anything.

- Contrary to most of the publics opinion, he IS sentient. He knows what he does. Destroying usually comes with the territory when he has to fight a threat, but visiting you isn't so he makes sure not to crush your home, bellowing to let you know he's come to see you.

- He doesn't know why he cares for you, but it feels right, coming to you and curling up on the sand, waiting for you to come closer.

- Goji has ever been touched by one other human without intent of harm, Serizawa. He still remembers how comforting it was, how a small little human seemed to care for him when he was at his lowest.

- He enjoys when you pet him, more often than not being more than okay with the touch. It also helps that you take care of any issues he may have due to him being in the water extremely often, and he gets the occasional barnacle.

- The first time you took one of him, he snarled so loud that it sent you flying onto your back in fear, his large head whipping around to see just what the fuck you were doing.

- You explained to him calmly that you were removing the parasites from his scales. All you got was a huff in return. But he did turn back and rest his head again, so you figure that was him saying it was okay.

- It's hard to spend quality time with the titan due to just how BIG the fucker is, but he allows you to climb up him and make your way to his head, he's eerily still when he feels you on him, he knows his strength and size and one wrong move and you fall, shattering your legs.

- He would definitely bring you back things he's found in the ocean. What do you mean you're not interested in this deep sea squid that's the size of 3 school buses? He got it just for you! (You let Monarch take it to study, but you pretend to Goji that you are taking it for yourself.) (He lets out a pleased rumble at providing for you.)

- He somehow has the uncanny ability to find you no matter where you go, one time Monarch took you to the Japan base for a meeting that they deemed you necessary to attend.

- Imagine everyone's shock and awe when he appeared, roaring in a rage as he slouched down to the ground, not relaxing until you ran out in view, frantically waving your arms.

- He takes all his naps on your private island, curling into a little ball, it's the best rest he has had in years, only thing to make it better is when you join him, bring a blanket or bring a little air mattress and sleep out there with him, it brings him so much joy. If lizards could purr, you're sure he would be.

- Where this Goji, there is Mothra! She wants to see what caught his eye for the first time in centuries, she cares for humans more than he ever has, so she takes a liking to you immediately. So she visits you when she's able to, usually chirping and letting you touch her fuzz.

[dalishious]

Notes on Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain from The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilgaurd

ELGAR'NAN:

With Solas, we established that hair loss would be the only outward indication of an ancient elf's age. Elgar'nan wear sa wiga ttached to his crown.

The shards of lyrium around his collar were each taken from a slain Titan during the war between the first elves and the Titans. They have become corrupted by their time in the Black City.

Elgar'nan uses an eclipse shape language, a reference to being the god of firie and shadow.

His costume was meant to reflect the general or dictator archetype; he proudly brandishes the medals of his previous conquests as a symbol of authority. The badges on his coat are more modest at the bottom but become more and more ostentatious as his victories (and his pride) increase. He also wears around his neck a vial of dust, taken from the same spot where his spirit self-formed his body from the dust.

GHILAN'NAIN:

Goddess of monsters. Mother of the Halla. Ghilan'nain was once an elf chosen by Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, to become a god as reward for her devotion to the world's animals. She then became part of the elven pantheon.

She is the goddess of monsters, creating countless twisted creatures. She has modified herself so much over the years that whatever her face may have been, its long forgotten.

Her mask tells the story of how she was made the youngest of the gods. On the first day, she struck down the monsters of the air. On the second day, she drowned the giants of the sea. On the third day, she killed the beasts of the land.

Ghilan'nain's horns are meant to reflect a hunting bow in reference to Andruil.

Ghilan'nain is our sinister mad-scientist god, using her blighted magic to create horrors out of Thedas's people and wildlife. She mutates the darkspawn into even more powerful and "efficient" forms, for example, and also warps the Antaam who foolishly come to her for power.

Ghilan'nain wants to restore the old elven empire so she can continue her work. Analytical and curious, she sees everyone as potential stock for experiments (except for fellow god Elgar'nan, with whom she gets on well). Ghilan'nain is pitiless about her work—she'll happily slice open a hundred people for parts—but she's got a soft spot of pride in her monsters once they're complete.

[demensrage]

k for keep it open for me ⚊ • . with eren jeager

summary: what starts out as a simple conversation ends up in an extensive exploration, where your lustful lover can't seem to get enough of you, drunk on all your body can give him.

cw: established relationship, oral (f. receiving), tits sucking, face riding, eating cum, fingering.

word count: 2.4k

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

You were lying on the bunk, curled up in your boyfriend’s arms while he playfully picked at your hair, gently stroking it and alternating between slow massages that relieved the stress from your body. Moments filled with peace like these are what you love to have, where the weight on your partner's shoulders no longer existed, even if just for a moment.

It took you a long time to get him back. After cleaning the island of the titans, your boyfriend was never the same again. He would disappear for hours, and when you looked for him, he was always in the same place: the ocean. Staring at the horizon with a rage that made your heart shrink, fracturing your soul into a thousand pieces.

Now everything seems to be going well. You can enjoy his little smiles, the stolen kisses, and the fleeting midnight conversations, like tonight. Where you decided to forget everything and remain wrapped in the warmth that emanates from each other's skin, filling your hearts with the calm they deserve; after so long, you deserve to steal those moments.

“The sky looks so beautiful. Lately, the nights have been filling the sky with stars,” you whispered, listening intently to the beating of his heart. He was relaxed; you knew it from his slow, deep breathing, the rhythm of his heart, and the softness of his voice.

“It’s more beautiful when the sunset falls. The color blends never cease to amaze me,” he murmured, his voice as low as a whisper that mingled with the movement of the wind. “When I see the sunset, I think of you.”

You lifted your head, resting your chin on your hands on his chest. Your eyes shone with excitement; you were overflowing with love and grateful every morning for having Eren as your partner. You had faced difficulties, yes, but love was never a fleeting thing.

“Why?” you asked curiously, ready to delight in his words, which had long ago screamed, hated, and loved at the same time. His duality was merely another projected form of his fragmented soul.

“You are as beautiful as one,” he confessed, lowering his gaze to connect with yours, one hand gently caressing your cheek. “You are warm; everyone loves to see you, and your colors reflect how I see you. You are vibrant.”

“Your eyes, like the sky at its peak, are a deep sea that evokes the calm of a perfect day,” Eren continued, his voice a whisper that danced in the air. “Every hue of the sunset is a reminder of the light you bring into my life. Without you, the colors fade, turning gray and cold, like a forgotten canvas.”

You smiled, feeling how Eren's words wove a warm blanket around your heart. The connection between you both was palpable, a golden thread that intertwined your souls, overcoming every obstacle life had imposed on you. “You’ve always had a special way of seeing the world,” you said, letting laughter bubble up like the murmur of the nearby river. “Even in my darkest moments, you manage to find the light.”

Eren tilted his head, his intense gaze fixed on yours, as if trying to unveil all the secrets you held. “Because you are my light, my inspiration,” he replied, each word laden with sincerity that enveloped you like the warm embrace of sunset. “With you, I've learned that even the most difficult moments can transform into something beautiful if there is love. Your love is the beacon that guides me.”

You moved closer to him, feeling your heart pulse faster. His eyes, so deep and filled with affection, urged you to come even closer. With a softness that almost felt like a whisper, you pressed your lips to Eren’s, the contact igniting a spark that coursed through your entire being.

The kiss was tender and passionate, a perfect blend of love and promise. You felt as if you were floating, as if the world around you faded away, leaving only the echo of your hearts beating in unison. Eren responded to your touch with a tenderness that enveloped you, his hands caressing your back, pulling you closer to him.

One of Eren’s hands took your leg, helping you climb onto his lap while his lips continued exploring yours with captivating sweetness. The touch of his skin was warm and electrifying, and you felt completely immersed in that moment. His kiss grew deeper, as if each contact spoke of a love that had endured the test of time and adversity.

With one hand resting on the pillow where his head lay, you felt safe and cherished. That simple position was a reflection of the trust you shared; you were there, in his world, feeling how each beat of his heart resonated with yours. Eren looked at you, his eyes filled with desire and tenderness, while a playful smile danced on his lips between each kiss.

As his hands glided smoothly down your back, they slipped under your skirt, his hands caressing your backside with a fervor that made you shudder. Eren couldn’t get enough of you; every touch was a declaration of his desire, a palpable yearning that drove him to explore every inch of your body. The mix of passion and need was intense, and you could feel his breathing quickening, almost erratic.

Your skin burned under his touch, each caress provoking a torrent of sensations. Eren enveloped you with a voracity that left you breathless, his desire spilling over with every brush. There were no limits in that moment, only the urge to lose yourselves in each other.

You surrendered to the intensity of his caresses, allowing the world to fade away around you. The combination of his warmth and your submission created an atmosphere charged with electricity, where each second felt eternal, and time held no meaning.

His kisses trailed down your neck, biting the soft skin with an intensity that made you tremble. Eren's hands slid firmly down the neckline of your blouse, pulling the fabric apart more and more as his desire grew. His touch was direct, almost eager, and the urgency in his demeanor made it clear he couldn’t get enough of you.

He pushed you closer to him, the contact of his body against yours raising the temperature in the air. His mouth continued its descent, leaving marks on your skin as his hands moved confidently, without reservations. You let yourself be carried away by the intensity of his desire, feeling the atmosphere grow increasingly charged.

He took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking eagerly as if he were completely lost in the moment. Eren, addicted to kissing you and touching every part of your body, seemed to have no limits. You leaned further into him, pressing your chest against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath and the brush of his tongue.

Small moans escaped your lips involuntarily, each one a response to the intensity of his touch. His need for you was palpable, and you surrendered to the sensation, pleasure flooding every part of you as he continued to explore.

He deftly moved your panties aside with a skill that showed his confidence. Eren was ready to indulge in what he loved to do. His hand slid between your legs, his fingers quickly finding the spot that made you moan. The pressure was intense and deliberate; he did it with a clear purpose.

You arched towards him, letting out a sigh that was a mix of pleasure and need. His fingers worked with skill, exploring every nook, every curve, while his mouth remained busy. His attention was total, focusing on how you echoed his movements.

Eren pushed firmly, his fingers taking you to the edge, while his lips moved to your neck, leaving marks of his desire. The combination of his caresses and kisses made you lose your senses, taking you to a state of pure surrender. Each touch was more intense, as if he were marking a path toward imminent pleasure.

His movements grew more urgent, and your moans increased, filling the space between you. You felt completely exposed, yet at the same time, in the safest place you could imagine. It was a blend of vulnerability and power, where you surrendered to the need of what was happening.

With each passing moment, the air thickened. Eren showed no intention of stopping; he was determined to take you where you both wanted to go. You responded to his movements, feeling how each caress heightened the tension in your body.

“Move your hips for me,” he said, keeping his fingers still, inviting you to pursue your pleasure using his hands. The pressure in his voice was clear, a stimulus that made you want to please him while surrendering to the need that enveloped everything.

With a deep breath, you began to move your hips to the rhythm you desired. The sensation of his touch, so firm yet so gentle, intensified with each movement. You felt the connection deepening, as if each impulse sent a current of electricity through your body.

Your hips rose and fell in sync with the growing pleasure, and Eren watched you intently. His eyes were fixed on you, admiring how your breasts moved in harmony with each of your movements, the rhythm creating a hypnotic dance that kept him completely captivated.

Every thrust of yours seemed to intensify his desire. The way you surrendered to pleasure made him want more; each moan that escaped your lips filled him with energy. The connection between you was palpable, a game of power and surrender fed by mutual desire.

With each movement, you felt the tension building inside you, like a taut string ready to snap. You needed him closer, so you moved your hips, trying to close any gap that might exist between you and his mouth. Grabbing your legs, you pressed them against your chest, feeling the pleasure intensify with each movement. The position allowed you to surrender completely, and that pressure inside you grew stronger.

Eren, always attentive, let himself be carried away by your need. The way you wrapped your legs around him excited him even more, and his movements became more intense. Your moans mingled with the sound of his mouth working, and each time you felt his tongue exploring, a shiver ran through your body. The intensity grew, and each thrust of your hips made him deepen his focus, enjoying the way you surrendered to that unrestrained pleasure.

Eren didn’t stop; his hands gripped your hips, keeping you under his control while you sought more. You let yourself go, making it clear that you wanted everything from him, that each caress, each lick made you want more. The line between pleasure and need blurred, and all that remained was the desire to surrender completely.

The pressure inside you grew, and you knew you were on the brink of a climax you couldn’t avoid.

“You feel so good; I could spend hours here,” Eren murmured, his voice thick with desire. His words resonated in the air, filling the space between you with a palpable intensity. The way he reveled in you made him feel more possessive, hungrier, and that connection only heightened the urgency within you.

“Don’t stop,” you said between moans, feeling how the need began to take over. Your body responded to his touch, and you clung to that sensation, surrendering to what was happening. It was a moment of pure indulgence.

Eren looked at you eagerly as he settled on his back, his gaze fixed on you, reflecting an uncontrollable desire. “Sit on my face,” he ordered, and you didn’t think twice.

You positioned yourself over him, feeling his warm breath against your skin. The connection between you felt even more intense in this new position, where you now had control. You slowly lowered yourself, feeling how his mouth welcomed you, the pressure of his tongue and lips enveloping you immediately.

Pleasure surged, and you couldn’t help but let out a moan. The way he moved, his devotion, made you feel as if you were on top of the world. Your hips began to move, searching for the perfect rhythm as he delighted in you, savoring every moment.

Eren seemed to be in ecstasy, his hands gripping your thighs, guiding you firmly. Every movement you made, every thrust, only intensified the voracity of his desire. You felt powerful, completely absorbed in the moment as you held him captive between your legs.

You gripped his hair tightly as you moved your hips, feeling the pressure inside you increase. “I’m so close,” you told him between moans, sensing that climax was just a step away. Every movement you made was synchronized with his mouth, intensifying the pleasure coursing through you.

Eren reacted to your words, his gaze filled with desire and satisfaction. His hands remained clasped around your thighs, pushing you toward him as you sought that point of no return. The combination of his tongue and your movement became a storm of sensations, making everything around you fade away.

“Cum for me,” he replied, almost like a whisper, urging you on. The connection between you was palpable, and you let yourself go, feeling the pleasure build in your abdomen. It was as if the world stopped, and only that moment between you existed.

With each thrust of your hips, the wave of pleasure intensified, making you lose control. The sensations accumulated, and you could no longer resist. Eren seemed to revel in your surrender, his devotion to you only making you want to give more, to feel more.

“I’m going to…,” you started to say, but the words faded into a moan as you finally let yourself go completely, the climax bursting forth in an explosion of sensations. Pleasure enveloped you, and in that instant, everything else faded away, leaving you at the mercy of waves of satisfaction.

Eren swallowed and consumed everything you had to give him, his devotion palpable as he enjoyed you to the fullest. Every movement of his mouth on you was ravenous, as if he wanted to absorb every sensation emanating from you. The way he surrendered to you intensified the wave of pleasure that continued to flow through your body.

You let yourself be carried away by his hunger, feeling how he held onto you, completely immersed in his task. There was nothing but the warmth of his mouth, the brush of his tongue, and the pressure of his lips, creating a torrent of sensations that kept you on the brink of ecstasy.

[pumpkinbxtch]

hi! I love your Apollo fics sm can I please request a fic we’re the reader is Percy’s older sister and she finds out there’s like a prophecy of her marrying Apollo and then like they eventually meet and fall and love and then what there marriage is like

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

— part i | part ii | part iii | part iv |

☆ radiostar is playin': hot rod by dayglow...!

summary: There is a prophecy waiting for you to listen to it and although it may not be something you expect or consider possible. You know what they say about prophecies…they can't fail to come true.

warnings: none BUT long read, literally. got out of hand and i couldn't stop writing. that's bad? oh, fuck me, i'm sorry. a/n: i appreciate your request, thank you (although I think I changed it a little, sorry). HEAR ME OUT I feel like I owe a lot of love to those who love Apollo, so that's why I didn't entertain the idea of ​​making this long. Hope you like I know it's long, but I promise I did my best to make it bearable and fun, I swear. 😭

“The sea and the sun are not far away as they look…”

They told you to stay away from the attic of The Big House, but they never told you why.

“Only he can go up”, they said, and it seemed stupid to you because he was your younger brother; you were supposed to protect him.

“It's very dangerous”, they told you while Annabeth went up, even though you were a couple of years older than her.

“Only if you lead some quest, but…” but no, because as the years went by, they made sure to remind you of your place. They told you that you were powerful, smart, and capable, because, yes, you were Poseidon's firstborn, but not the chosen one. That was Percy, your brother. Did it hurt? Yes, as an older sister, you tend to aspire to greatness and be an example, but you didn't die; you got over it.

“What does it matter? Less work for me” you said as you watched your brother's back on all the missions. Anyway, you ended up stuck in his destiny.

“His destiny. But then, what's mine?” you wondered. Then, when you took a step near Rachel Dare's cave, they stopped you too.

“It's–”

“Dangerous.” You completed the familiar phrase with a look of disgust, avoiding Chiron's eyes. He just looked at you with pity, thinking to himself that if you went in there, you could cause more trouble for your father or Olympus… Or everyone; it would be a war among all the Olympians, something they didn't need with Titan Kronos already on their heels.

Dionysus gave you his typical mocking smile, the same one that made you want to grab the can of Diet Coke and throw it right at his disgusting Christmas-reindeer-red nose.

“It would be so interesting, but we don't need it,” he said as he dragged you away from Rachel with Chiron.

You weren't stupid, you knew there was some good reason. But damn, those fossils were sneaky and never let you get to your redheaded companion, who also avoided you like the plague. Between those two things, you never managed to achieve it. Even less so after you ended up fighting on the Argo II with your new friends, straight from real Greece.

Oh, man, if you had thought Kronos was a damn old grump, Gaea was an old ball-buster. You didn't even have time to think about your future when you didn't know if you had one.

After the second war is when you started to throw in the towel about the future. You realized that the last thing you wanted to know at that moment was whether you would have to fight against twelve more Titans, return to Tartarus, or travel to Alaska again.

New Rome became your new home, and you only waited for Percy to catch up with you along with everyone else. That is, until you returned home to pack new things and didn't find your brother studying just as he should be.

— Mom? — You asked when she came back from shopping.

She gave you that look, and you cursed.

— Relax, he'll be back in a while; he just went to drop off Apollo or well, now he's Lester because apparently he's no longer a god but Zeus…

— Wow. Wait, what?

As a hero of Olympus, touching, seeing, or talking to the gods was never impossible for you; in fact, it was much more usual for your taste, and although you had been through too much already, that was new. So, you found yourself immediately traveling to Long Island Sound on the back of a Pegasus, looking for your brother. You wouldn't let Apollo, Lester, or whatever he called himself now take your brother away to distract him with his godly stuff that surely wouldn't lead to anything good.

— Where's Percy?! — You shouted in the dining hall, making the campers flinch.

Chiron got up from his seat, and from there, he smiled at you, but it only put you in a worse mood.

— Dear, it's been a long journey. Please, sit and eat with us.

You lowered your head without taking your eyes off Chiron and tightened the dagger on your belt. There was no reason for it, you knew, but you couldn't help feeling that fury after knowing everything you had been through. Percy deserved a break.

— Where's my brother? — The pause between words made the campers squirm in their uncomfortable seats. They had heard about you, about everyone. to be exact, in the third lesson of history in their camp classes.

— He left Apollo and Meg in a field not far from here — Chiron decided to sit back down and began to spread the tablecloth nervously. — He probably should have already reached home while you were flying here.

You sighed, and as you relaxed your body, everyone seemed to feel relieved.

— He has exams, Chiron — He nodded, and you made your way to the table where he was.

— In fact, there are problems, and apparently, he promised to come back this weekend — Your eyebrows furrowed again, and Dionysus laughed.

— Girl, shouldn't you be in New Rome?

— I went home for a few more things, also taking the opportunity to see my family, and it turns out that my little brother was helping an ex god who can't fend for himself, risking his studies. — You replied without looking at him — And speaking of brothers, you should control yours, Mr. D.

The god of wine snorted, and you formed a mocking smile. — Insolent.

— Miss Jackson — Chiron intervened, and you softened your gaze toward him — You can stay tonight, you know you're welcome and after all, it's too late to travel on Pegasus.

You didn't argue with them; you'd never put your pegasus in danger. So, for the first time in a long time, you returned to your cabin, the same one you shared with Percy and Tyson for so many years, and you had to admit that you missed him. At dawn, you were preparing to travel, and you left at the moment you thought no one was watching you, how wrong you were because a few meters away, Apollo was hidden behind the cabin piles, admiring you from afar.

— She… — He felt his heart tighten, and his gaze unfocused. He cursed his mortal body for how weak it was.

— Pervert! — Meg shouted, alerting the other campers who turned confused, and Apollo blushed.

— Shut up, I'm not a pervert — He smiled exaggeratedly at the others, pretending a smile and letting them know that everything was fine.

— You saw her — Said a voice behind him once Meg was far enough away to hear. The brunette turned and smiled sheepishly.

— For a second — Apollo replied, avoiding his old friend's gaze; embarrassment nibbled at his body, and it became evident once his cheeks glowed.

Chiron had never seen him… like that, so young, embarrassed, and notably imperfect, but despite Apollo's opinions about his recent change, he thought it suited him well, even found it amusing.

— You remember…

— I remember it well, Chiron — Apollo blushed even more — That's why I didn't approach her; dealing with my father's wrath is enough. Now I don't want to annoy Poseidon or I'll probably wake up dead on the lake shore tomorrow.

He played with the tips of his sneakers as buried them in the rocks on the floor; he looked like a scared little boy, but Chiron didn't judge him.

— I think you know what it means when she's around when you're close.

The ex god didn't want to pay attention, but he knew he was right.

— Although I remember who she is… there’s a problem. I don't remember how to avoid her…— Apollo's blue eyes looked directly at Chiron's, and the urgency on his face told him he was telling the truth. — If I don't know now, it's going to be harder; all I can do is hide if she's near.

— We've lasted many years with this circus, and as much as I respect the lord of the seas, I don't think this will last long. And you know what's more stubborn than a son of the sea god?

— The sea god — Apollo raised his eyebrows in annoyance, and Chiron resisted rolling his eyes.

— Fate, Apollo. You know it well, things are written. The prophecy is still there; it exists, and all we've done is delay the inevitable.

The brunette nodded with annoyance and waved his hand dismissively.

Although he wanted to pretend that he didn't care, the anxiety of what was to come ate at him. He knew very well that it wouldn't take long for you to discover what all these years had been hidden from you. If Apollo reflected better on that, he wasn't sure he wanted to continue keeping it to himself, either, 'cause those years had been torture for him. Yeah, he knew that you weren't yet mature enough for your mind to be stained with the weight of a prophecy that, unlike the others, not had to do with some quest or some imminent danger that threatened the entire world; but now you are in college, he couldn't wait for you to know.

The thing was, your father thought that the one who could be in danger was you, his precious daughter since Apollo was selfish, arrogant, and immature to have been around for eons. Poseidon could not fully explain the reason The Fates had woven such a destiny for you. So, until things had and could happen at the right time, in the right way, he warned Apollo to be close to you and he knew so well that be such an idiot idea to make him angry.

Before his thoughts could swallow him, Apollo shake them off and sigh to Chiron.

— Right now, I have a bigger problem. I think we've found something.

— Where?

— Here — Chiron frowned, and Apollo looked towards the camp's forest. — My dear friend, you have the Grove of Dodona here, in your playground.

Apollo didn't know that of all the decisions he had made in his life, avoid you was the best one he could make, because even if you had met that day or before, with the things that were about to happen to him, he wouldn't come back as half the man he was.

“Things at the moment, in time” the fates whispered in some place.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Start Something

Summary: GR63 + "Don't start something you can't finish." 🥧🏈

Song: Gigi Perez - Sailor Song

Author’s note: First time writing George and it's with a black Queen! aka Lewis' sister! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 16.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

In the dazzling world of Formula 1, where speed and fierce competition ruled, George Russell had always thought that nothing could distract him from his relentless pursuit of victory.

Raised amidst the roar of engines and the cheers of euphoric fans, he had turned a passion nurtured in go-karting into a career in racing. Joining Mercedes was a dream come true, a feather in his cap, and the stepping stone to establishing himself amongst the giants of the sport.

Yet, as George settled into his role alongside the legendary Lewis Hamilton, fate decided to introduce a new element—a distraction that made his heart race in ways no car ever could.

That distraction stood at the heart of the Mercedes garage, your laughter intertwining with the mechanical precision of pit stops, your presence an ethereal glow that drew every eye.

Y/N Hamilton, Lewis’s younger sister, with your long, flowing black braids and captivating smile, had transformed George’s world.

From the first moment he saw you, casually leaning against the garage wall and teasing your brother about his tire choices, George felt something shift within him.

You had a spark, a vivacity that permeated through every conversation. Every playful banter between you and Lewis made his heart flutter.

Unlike the calculated strategies and adrenaline-soaked races he were used to, you were uncharted territory, an alluring enigma that he found impossible to resist.

There were something intoxicating yet daunting about you—you were Lewis’s sister, a protector of the family name, and that made George hesitate. In a sport where boundaries was often blurred, this one felt resolute.

When the races ended and the teams dissipated back to their homes, George's thoughts lingered on Y/N like a lingering tune.

He would catch glimpses of you in the paddock, joking with mechanics, stealing the occasional insightful chat with engineers, and even cheering from the pit wall.

Everything about your captivated him—the way your laughter harmonized with the thundering engines, how your eyes sparkled when you spoke about racing, and the warmth of your presence that pulled everyone in closer.

George tried to tell himself that he had experience with women, with dating, and that he could easily approach you. But as he watched you from afar, the typical confidence he exuded on the track melted away.

You were untouchable, wrapped in the aura of familial loyalty; your brother was a legend in the sport.

Asking you out felt like challenging a titan.

You were the sister of Lewis Hamilton, a seven-time world champion, and that distinction brought its own kind of attention. People flocked to you, drawn in by your radiant smile and laughter.

Yet, amid the glamorous chaos surrounding you, there was George Russell, the promising young driver from Mercedes.

His piercing blue eyes often met yours in fleeting glances, a moment of light amidst the sea of noise, but when they did, his usual bravado seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a shy, vulnerable side of him that was rarely seen.

As you took your place near the track—the energy of excited fans thrumming in rhythm with your heartbeat—Lewis nudged you gently.

“Look at George over there,” he said, pointing to where George stood in his paddock, fiddling nervously with his cap. There he was, the confident driver to the world, yet utterly bashful in your presence.

You chuckled softly, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. “What’s he doing?” you mused, tilting your head to get a better look.

“Probably trying to figure out how to say hello to you without blushing,” Lewis teased, a grin stretching across his face. “It’s hilarious, really. I’ve never seen him shy around anyone else.”

“Maybe I should go say hi,” you suggested playfully, feeling a small thrill at the thought.

You had developed a mutual admiration with George over the months—not just for his driving skills but the warmth behind his reserved demeanor. Their playful banter only added to the chemistry you felt building with him.

“Go for it. But prepare for him to fumble like a rookie at the last corner,” Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bracing yourself, you made your way through the throng of team members and media personnel, your confidence buoying you along.

As you approached George, he looked up, and his handsome face fell into a genuine smile, although the faintest blush tinted his cheeks.

“Hey, George,” you greeted, injecting cheerfulness into your voice.

“Uh, hey! I—um... hi!” His words tumbled out like loose marbles as he fumbled with his helmet.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lewis says you’re a little shy around me. Is that true?”

“Shy? Me?” He pretended to scoff, but his shy smile betrayed him. “Nah, just... focused on the race. Really important stuff, you know?”

You leaned a bit closer, observing how unlike his usual self he was around you. “Sure, Mr. Focused. But the race isn’t happening for a while. Don’t you have time to chat?”

His gaze softened, his nervousness dwindling as he began to relax. “Right! Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about you tell me what this weekend means to you,” you suggested, curious to know more about his passion.

George’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, the world around you faded. “It’s everything. The adrenaline, the competition—it’s like... like dancing on the edge. When I’m out there, nothing else matters; it’s just the track and me.”

You watched him talk, captivated by the passion in his voice. “That sounds exhilarating. I can’t imagine how it feels.”

“It’s—” he paused, catching himself, “It’s even better knowing you’re here. Really.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you searched his blue eyes for sincerity. “Why’s that?”

He dropped his gaze, appearing bashful once more. “I don’t know. You just bring a different kind of energy. It’s nice.”

Before you could respond, Lewis appeared, draping an arm around George’s shoulder. “Look at you two! I knew you’d scare him out of his shell,” he laughed. “Do you need a tutor in flirting, George?”

George shot him a mock glare. “I don’t need a tutor. I’m just... um, focused.”

“Sure, focused,” you interjected, suppressing laughter. “Give it time, Lewis. Maybe he’ll crack.”

“Oh, he will. Just wait until he gets back from the race and needs someone to celebrate with,” Lewis smirked before giving George a friendly nudge. “Break a leg out there! But not literally. We still need you alive for the after-party.”

With a final flip of his cap, George knew it was time to shift his focus. “Catch you after the race?” he asked, his tone growing a little more assured.

“Definitely,” you replied, giving him a smile that felt like a secret promise.

You stood beside the barriers, a proud family member soaking in the electric atmosphere that only race day could provide. George, Lewis's teammate at Mercedes and an up-and-coming star in his own right, had just come off the track after a hard-fought race.

As the cars roared by in a cloud of tires and adrenaline, your heart raced—not from the high speeds, but from the anticipation of welcoming George back.

“Georgie! You did so well!” you yelled, waving your arms as he approached the garage, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

George's expression softened, and a weary smile tugged at his lips. He was exhausted, but your encouragement infused him with energy.

“Thanks! It was a tough one out there,” he replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear the dizzying effects of the race.

As he drew closer, you could see the way his hair clung to his forehead, the remnants of the incredible effort he had just put forth.

Your heart fluttered, and as you often did, you reverted to that endearing nickname. “You’re such a little champion, Georgie! I’m so proud of you!”

George blushed, a swath of crimson spreading across his cheeks. “I’m not that little,” he protested weakly, trying to play off the nickname, but the smile on his face betrayed him.

You laughed and stepped closer, an undeniable warmth spreading through you. It was a little game you played, this teasing; you loved seeing him squirm, and you loved even more how he would pretend to be annoyed while secretly reveling in the attention.

George took a step forward and embraced you tightly. The warmth of his sweat-soaked suit pressed against you, the mingling scents of adrenaline and engine oil surrounding you both.

The hug was a blend of camaraderie and something deeper, something you both tried hard to ignore yet felt every time you were together.

“What a race! I thought I was going to lose it at that corner,” he said, pulling back from the hug but not entirely letting go of your hands.

“Corner ten, right? I was holding my breath! But you kept your cool,” you grinned, feeling the intensity in his eyes as he recounted his experience.

“I tried to channel my inner Lewis,” he joked, but there was a flicker of sincerity in his tone. It turned into a soft admiration that you couldn’t help but notice.

George had an undeniable respect for your brother, but was he beginning to look up to you too?

“You should!” you teased, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “Just don’t forget who’s been cheering the loudest for you!”

George chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear, y’know. I can hear you through my helmet.”

“Oh, you think I’ll mute myself because you’re a big-shot F1 driver now? Not a chance!”

The banter was light, but beneath the surface, there was a palpable tension, an unspoken bond that lingered in the air like the scent of burnt rubber.

Excitement crackled in the air as fans buzzed around the barriers, their cheers mingling with the distant roar of engines. Amidst the whirlwind of team activity, George Russell leaned against the open door of the Mercedes garage, his arms crossed as he watched the sea of enthusiastic supporters.

"Hey, try and shoot your shot with my little sis, even though she will reject you," came the teasing voice of Lewis Hamilton, who had just stepped out of the hospitality suite, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

George’s eyes darted to where you stood, chatting amiably with a group of fans. With your effortless grace and radiant smile, it was difficult to imagine anyone being brave—or foolish—enough to approach you.

Lewis shrugged lightly, as if he had just made a casual comment about the weather.

What he didn’t know was that George had been harboring a significant crush on you for longer than he cared to admit.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” George said, trying to sound nonchalant. He could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

The last thing he wanted was to confess to Lewis how he felt about you, especially since Lewis had made it quite clear that you had rejected quite a list of drivers before.

“You sure? I mean, you never know,” Lewis teased, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eyes.

George turned his gaze back toward the fans, pretending to be absorbed in an ongoing autograph session, while internally he sighed.

His heart raced as he watched you bend down to sign a cap for a young girl, the way your laugh rang out like a bell, how genuine and warm you were in your interactions. Truly, anyone would have a hard time coming to you with all that positivity surrounding you.

George sighed, pushing away from the door. "I have to get ready for the next session," he replied, waving a casual hand to dismiss the increasingly tempting idea of approaching you.

"Suit yourself," Lewis said, an amused expression crossing his face as he stepped back inside.

With heavy footsteps, George made his way to his car, but his mind was still fixated on you.

How was it that you could have such an undeniable effect on him?

Just before he climbed in, he glanced back, hoping to steal one more look. The moment he did, he caught your attention; you waved at him, and a smile graced your lips.

He froze, caught between the instinct to wave back and the fear of making a fool of himself.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to raise his hand in a hesitant wave, heat flooding his face. It was ridiculous—he was a driver in the elite world of Formula 1, yet here he was, acting like a schoolboy with a crush.

Later that evening, during a team dinner, George found himself at a table scattered with familiar faces. Lewis, animatedly recounting a recent on-track incident, commanded attention while George half-listened.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of you again, this time engaging with a couple of other drivers who were undoubtedly vying for your attention.

“God, look at her,” one of the drivers muttered, casting a flirtatious eye your way. "You think she’d notice if I shot my shot?"

“No one’s shooting anywhere, mate,” George snapped, surprising even himself with the sudden flare of jealousy. “She’s Lewis’s sister.”

The driver rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean she’s off-limits. She’s not a trophy to be won, you know.”

As the evening wore on, George made a conscious effort to not think about you. He should focus on the upcoming race and the important decisions that needed his complete attention.

Still, the thought of you lingered in the corners of his mind.

Then, as fate would have it, you entered the dining area, searching for a seat. Spotting George at the table, you smiled and made your way over.

“Mind if I join?” you asked, your voice warm and inviting.

“Of course not! I mean—I mean, please!” George stammered, his heart racing again. Mystery of how to act around you descended into chaos in his mind.

You chuckled softly as you settled into the seat opposite him. “What are you talking about? I saw you glancing at me during the signing session today. I thought you were going to knock someone over with how tense you looked!”

He couldn’t help but laugh nervously, the kind of laugh that felt more like a burst of squealing excitement than anything else. “Yeah, well… it’s just, I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “Not good at handling fans? But you’re a driver! You basically live under a spotlight,” you retorted playfully.

“More like I’m good at racing cars, not at charming beautiful women,” George admitted, taking a sip of his drink.

“Beautiful women? Now I’m curious. Have you been talking to anyone?” You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

George felt himself blush at your inquiry. “Only one, I suppose…but you probably wouldn’t care for that,” he said, trying to deflect.

“Try me,” you said, leaning back in enjoyment of the banter.

Before George could respond, Lewis appeared, swinging a hand around your shoulders. “There’s my sis! I hope you’re not stealing my teammate’s heart!”

George felt his face turn crimson. "That’s— uh, not happening, Lewis.”

“Blushing? Wow, I’ll have to tell the media about that,” Lewis laughed, holding on to your shoulder like a protective brother.

Not wanting to seem awkward, you quickly intervened. “Chill, Lewis! We’re just getting to know each other.”

George stole a glance at you, his heart racing yet again. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could open up about his feelings—just maybe.

But then came the reality: fear tightened around him again. What if you rejected him too? Would that ruin everything?

“Anyway,” you said, breaking the momentary silence. “What’s your take on the race tomorrow?”

George plunged into a conversation about strategy and his excitement, but in the back of his mind, the wish that he could simply tell you how he felt hung between you like an unmentioned dart.

As the dinner carried on, with laughter and snippets of conversation bouncing between you and the others, George realized he’d have to take a leap of faith at some point.

“Hey, would you… want to catch up after the race? You know, just us?” He fixed his gaze on you, uncertainty sprinkled with a hint of determination.

Your smile widened, an invitation hanging on the edge of your lips. “I’d love that, George.”

╚═ * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * ═╝

The sun dipped low on the horizon as George paced in the paddock, his heart heavy with disappointment.

It had been a tough season.

He could still hear the cheers from last year, the adrenaline pulsing through him as he crossed the finish line, grinning widely with the trophy held high above his head. But this year was different.

This year, every race felt like a battle against unseen foes, and his performance was slipping.

You hadn't been to any of the races this year, and it gnawed at him. George had always believed in the idea of lucky charms, and you had been his.

The way you would wrap him in a soothing hug after a bad score, whispering encouraging words in his ear. It had brought him a confidence he didn’t even know he needed.

He would always think of those moments, of your laughter echoing in his mind, propelling him forward when he felt like giving up. “Just do it for her smile, Georgie,” he’d remind himself, drawing strength from the bond you shared.

Now, he stood alone on the edge of the pit wall, wind whipping through his hair as he tried to shake off the feeling of dread that hung around his neck.

There was no one here to call him ‘Georgie’ like you used to, no teasing remarks about being a baby even though you were just a year older and a few inches taller.

The void you left felt so immense, filling the space where hope and encouragement had once thrived.

As the cars tore down the track, he struggled to push himself to focus. The roar of the engines was an ominous reminder of the struggles he faced.

Every corner he took felt unmotivated, every lap just a task to be completed rather than a race to be conquered. He could almost see you in the grandstands, waving your hands, your infectious energy lighting up the day.

But all he could see now were empty seats.

During the race, he made a few mistakes, his mind wandering to what you might say if you were there. The frustration built in him until finally, it burst. Ignoring the instructions from the team, he pushed the car harder than ever.

His only thought was “You need to do this for her,” and for a brief moment, it worked, igniting a familiar fire in his chest.

But then, as luck would have it, that very push led him to misjudge a turn, and he felt the tires screech in protest before the world spun around him.

Silence fell in the aftermath of the crash, and as he peeled himself out of the car, the reality hit him. There were no cheers, no warm embraces waiting for him, only the medics’ concerned faces.

Anguish swelled in his chest. All of his efforts to make you proud had culminated in this moment of humiliation.

As he sat on the sidelines, bandaged and dejected, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. He suddenly remembered the last race of the previous season, the way you had been waiting for him in the pit after his win, your arms wide, your smile brighter than the sun.

“See, Georgie, I told you it was going to be okay!” you had exclaimed, laughing as you wrapped him in an embrace that made all the struggles worth it.

The thought of that memory stirred something in him. Determination bloomed within his heart. In that moment, he resolved he wouldn’t let year’s disappointing results define him.

He would find a way to get back on track. He had to, if only to find a way to bring you back to the races to see him rise again.

As the team carried the wrecked car away, George stood up, swaying slightly but determined to shake off the remnants of defeat.

One thing was clear: he needed you, his lucky charm, back by his side. The next race was just around the corner, and he would make sure you would be there—no matter what it took.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a warm glow on him as if signaling the start of something new.

Just as he was about to turn and walk away, he felt an inexplicable warmth, a flicker of your spirit. He smiled softly to himself. “Next time, I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

George took a deep breath as he watched Lewis scroll through his phone, the bright screen illuminating his relaxed expression. His heart raced slightly—today felt different.

He had been trying to find the right moment to ask Lewis about you, the woman who had captured his thoughts regularly since he joined Mercedes.

“Hey, George! Do you need something?” Lewis looked up just as George was approaching, his face lighting up with casual interest.

“Uh, yeah…” George hesitated, his mind racing. “I was just wondering where Y/N has been these days,” he managed, trying to sound as casual as possible.

The words came out more like stutters than coherent speech.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a grin breaking out on his face. “My sis, huh? Do you miss her that much?”

George felt the heat rise to his face, and he was sure he resembled a well-cooked lobster. “I was just wondering,” he said defensively. “That’s all.”

“Well, apparently she found something she wants to do and set off doing it. She didn’t give any details, though,” Lewis replied, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

“Oh, okay,” George replied, disappointment seeping into his voice. He had hoped for more, some hint of where you might be or when you might come back. “That’s...uh, good for her.”

“Should I call her for you?” Lewis teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile.

“No! I mean, no thanks, Lewis! That’s all I needed to know. See you!” George replied quickly, his nerves overtaking him as he turned to leave.

As he walked away, he could hear Lewis chuckling behind him, which only made his face feel hotter. George couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to know more about you.

You two had developed a close friendship through Lewis, sharing countless late-night conversations in the garage and daring adventures that seemed to bind your souls together.

The soft rays of the autumn sun filtered through the white curtains of your new apartment, casting a warm glow on the walls. You sank deeper into the plush couch, pulling a cozy blanket around you as you surrendered to the soothing embrace of a nap.

The chirping of birds outside formed a gentle background melody, lulling you further into restful oblivion.

Just as you began to drift off, the shrill ring of your phone broke the serene silence. Groggily, you fumbled to grab it from the coffee table, squinting at the screen. It was Lewis. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and answered.

“Hey Lewis! Is something wrong?” you asked, concern lacing your voice, knowing that he was supposed to be at a big race in just a few hours.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lewis replied, his tone light and cheerful. “I’ve gotten a sick teammate.”

You shot straight up, your heart racing. “Oh no! What happened to Georgie?” you asked, brain already filling with worst-case scenarios.

“It’s not that kind of sickness,” Lewis laughed, a laugh that felt like a warm embrace over the phone. “I mean lovesick.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, but also felt a knot form in your stomach. “Oh, you shouldn't scare me like that!” you said, half relieved, half annoyed.

“Sorry, sis, but I couldn’t help it!” Lewis chuckled. “He looked so sad when I told him you were on an ‘adventure’ and didn’t know when you were coming back. You really did a number on the kid.”

Heat crept to your cheeks. Georgie had been such a sweet boy, a devoted fan of Lewis and his racing, but more so of you, it seemed. “Did he ask where I was?” you inquired, feeling strangely shy.

“Oh, definitely. He practically pouted when I told him,” Lewis laughed again, the sound brightening your mood even more. “I mean, he is missing his number one fan, I get it.”

You smirked, feeling a flutter of happiness at the thought. “Well, who wouldn’t miss me? I’m pretty amazing,” you jested, tossing your hair back dramatically for effect.

“Yes, yes, the most amazing person on the planet. All hail the fearless adventurer!” Lewis replied, his tone mock-heroic, making you giggle at the absurdity of it.

“I wish I had my cape,” you grinned, “but really, what’s this about him being lovesick?”

“He’s been moping around like a puppy who lost its favorite toy,” Lewis explained, his voice turning more serious. “I honestly think you’ve left quite an impression on him, sis.”

Now you felt shy again. “What am I supposed to do about that? I’m off on my own journey, and I didn’t mean to make him feel, you know, this way.”

“I don't know,” Lewis said thoughtfully. “But maybe it’s worth talking to him? Just to clear the air? He thinks you’re out doing some grand adventure, which you are, but he’s worried he’s lost his shot at it.”

You bit your lip, considering. The thought of Georgie missing you tugged at your heartstrings more than you anticipated. “I guess… I could give him a call or something. Maybe a video chat?”

“Definitely! Give the poor kid a break. Plus, I’d love to hear the shenanigans you two would get into,” Lewis encouraged.

You felt a stirring of excitement at the idea. “Okay, I’ll do it! But if I end up causing him to fall head over heels in love with me, I’m blaming you,” you joked back, “It’s all your fault for egging me on!”

“Hey!” Lewis exclaimed, sounding mock-offended. “I’m just a brother trying to save his teammate's spirit here! I’d never want that kind of drama on my hands.”

You could hear the laughter in his voice and it made you feel more at ease. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Just keep an eye on Georgie, will you? And make sure he doesn’t drive himself to distraction before our talk.”

“I’ll send him your warmest regards,” Lewis promised, “And I expect full reports of your ‘adventure’ when you get back home.”

“As if I’m not already planning to regale you with tales worthy of royal storytelling!” you declared with mock seriousness.

“Perfect! I can already picture the enthusiastic crowd gathered for your triumphant return!” Lewis teased, and you both burst into laughter.

After the call ended, you put your phone down and stared out the window, contemplating the golden leaves dancing in the mild breeze. Who knew?

Perhaps this adventure was about more than just finding yourself. It might also be the path that led you toward an unexpected connection, one that had stirred beneath the surface, waiting for its moment to bloom.

And Georgie? Maybe he was one of those surprises along the journey.

George sat on the edge of his driver’s room chair, the weight of disappointment pressing down on him like the thick heat of a summer day.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating a world that felt far too bright and unjust.

He couldn’t shake the image of the checkered flag unfurling just as he crossed the finish line, his heart sinking as he realized he was in 17th place—a rank so low, it felt like a personal failure.

Outside, the celebrations for Lewis echoed through the walls. His teammate had pulled off yet another impressive race, scoring 6th place and basking in the accolades from fans and team members alike.

George could almost hear the cheers and laughter of the other drivers as they recounted their thrilling overtakes and nail-biting moments. But all he could feel was bitterness clinging to him like the stale odor of spilled fuel.

He had let himself down, and in turn, he had let down the team who had worked tirelessly to give him the best chance possible.

His thoughts spiraled into dark territory—if only the car had performed better, if only he had pushed harder, if only he hadn’t made that last-minute decision to take the inside line.

Not that it mattered now; the race was over, and all that remained was the sinking feeling of defeat.

After the debriefing, George had retreated to his room, avoiding the glances of his teammates who knew better than to engage him in conversation. He appreciated their silence, but it added a new layer to his frustration: the isolation.

A part of him longed for the comfort of a familiar voice, someone to tell him it was just a race, that he could come back stronger. But that supportive presence couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Why hadn’t you come?

You’d been a pillar of support, a reminder that racing was about passion, not just the numbers on a scoreboard. But today, you weren’t here, and he felt that absence like a gaping void.

George slumped back onto the couch, the weight of his disappointment crashing down like the checkered flag at the end of a long race. Seventeen place.

It wasn’t where he saw himself landing, not after all the preparation he had gone through for this event. His usual drive was throttled by anger and frustration, and there wasn’t much anyone could say to lift him out of this funk.

He rolled his head to the side, staring at the wall, half-listening to the muted sounds of the race venue still bustling outside. The excitement felt like a distant echo, so far removed from his own bitterness.

His phone sat silently on the desk, an uninvited messenger of expectation. It vibrated quietly, then rang out—it was family, probably. They’d be calling to soothe him, to assure him that he had more races ahead and that this one outcome didn’t define him.

But in that moment, George couldn’t muster the patience. He didn’t want to hear their words, wrapped in kindness, when all he felt was regret. He turned his head back toward the wall, letting the phone ring out.

But seconds later, it rang again—a familiar ringtone that made him sit up. They weren’t giving up easily. Just as he was about to dismiss it again, the third ring pulled him in.

With an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself off the sofa, his feet leading him to the desk. He picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. His heart dropped.

It was you.

The image of your face, lit up by the screen, chased away the haze that had settled over his mind. His stomach twisted as nostalgia teamed up with excitement, and he quickly answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Georgie!” Your voice danced through the receiver, a melody that tugged at his heartstrings. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his nickname escaping your lips. “How are you doing?”

“I got 17th place today,” he muttered, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I know, I watched the race,” you replied, unfazed. “I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

George's heart ached at your words. He wished he could feel your warmth surrounding him, erasing the chill of loneliness that had settled in. “Where did you go?” he said softly, laying down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “You've just... disappeared.”

“I've just gone to find my own path, you know?” Your voice was tinged with a weariness he could hear even through the phone. “Did you miss me?”

“Should I lie?” George joked, but the jest had a bittersweet edge.

“Nope, only the truth,” you insisted, making his stomach twist in knots.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. It had been months since they had last seen each other, months since laughter had filled the gaps between them, and the thrill of their shared dreams had become mere echoes.

As silence settled between them, George could picture you—a smile that could light up any room, laughter that could dissolve his worries.

He missed the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your passions, how every conversation turned into a palette of colors that painted hope into his often grueling life as an F1 driver.

“Are you still there?” you finally asked, as he remained lost in thought.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, pulling himself back into the moment. “I was just... thinking about how life is different now that you're not around.”

“I feel the same way,” you admitted, voice softer now. “It’s strange, isn’t it? One moment we were inseparable, and the next, it feels like the world pulled us apart.”

George sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you think it’ll always be like this? Just... drifting apart?”

“I hope not.” Your voice was resolute, but the uncertainty lingered. “I think we’ve both been chasing something, but maybe our paths will overlap again.”

“Maybe,” he echoed, though he felt a pang of doubt. The F1 circuit was ruthless, and the more he advanced, the more it consumed him.

Success came at a price, and that price had meant sacrificing time with you, with the person who had always seen him beyond the flashy cars and the roaring crowds.

“Let me know what I can do to help,” you joked lightly. “Send you good vibes? Or maybe I should crash the race tomorrow and cheer you on?”

He chuckled, grateful for the banter amid his anxieties. “I’d love that. The distraction could help.”

As your laughter echoed through the phone, his heartstrings tugged as they always did.

How could someone so vibrant and full of life care enough to check in on him? In his eyes, you were effortlessly beautiful, with a spirit that could light up even the darkest corners of his fears.

“Alright, I’ve got to go. I need to call Lewis and congratulate him,” you announced, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah, see you soon?” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the thought of your absence felt like a weight in his chest.

“I hope so. Bye, Georgie!” you sang before hanging up, the sound leaving an aching silence behind.

George tossed his phone onto the desk and took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling.

The vibrations of the engines revving echoed in his mind, but it was your voice—your laughter—that settled in his heart.

“So you talked to my sis then?” Lewis called out, his tone teasing.

George halted mid-stride as he walking past the hospitality room, his confident demeanor faltering for a brief moment.

Heat crept up his cheeks as he glanced back at Lewis. “What? No, I didn’t—”

“Come on, mate. It’s written all over your face!” Lewis laughed, the sound infectious. “I saw you two chatting before on the phone. What’s it got to do with racing, huh?”

George chuckled nervously, an undeniable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We were just discussing the dynamics of the track...”

Lewis nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with genuine warmth. “Just be yourself, mate. If she can see the real you, I think you’ll be just fine.”

As George nodded, ready to head back to his garage, a newfound determination surged within him. . . .

George Russell leaned against the cool metal of his car, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins like the roaring engines that surrounded him.

He had just experienced a whirlwind of a race, finishing in second place—a personal victory, considering the challenges of the season.

As he peeled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow, he locked eyes with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, who grinned with pride.

"Not half bad for a young gun, eh?" Lewis teased, clapping George on the shoulder.

The camaraderie they shared gleamed like the trophy that would soon be presented to the race's champion—theirs was a friendship forged in the heat of competition.

"Better than I expected," George replied, his voice laced with uncertainty. While the roar of applause from the crowd filled the air, George could only think of one thing: you.

George had hoped you would be there to witness his triumph, to celebrate the moment that felt like it had been carved out just for him.

Tonight marked a holiday celebration that provided the perfect opportunity for the team to let loose, and Lewis was determined that George would join in the festivities.

"Time to celebrate, mate! You need to unwind."

George sighed, running his fingers through his tousled hair. "I don't know, Lewis. Maybe I should just head home."

Lewis shook his head vigorously, his face alight with mischief. "No way! I’m inviting you to our little soiree. Get ready—you need to dress for the occasion!"

Before George could protest, Lewis dragged him to the team's hotel. A little while later, George found himself staring at the mirror, adjusting a fitted black t-shirt and tailored trousers that felt disconcertingly foreign on him.

It wasn't his usual racing attire, and it certainly didn't feel like something you would want to see him in.

"What if my sister comes and you look like a runaway groom?” Lewis quipped, laughing as he helped George complete his look. “She hates it when guys dress too formally.”

The playful jab made George forget his reservations momentarily. “Alright, alright. You win. But if she laughs at me, I’m blaming you.”

“Perfect! Let’s bring on the night!” Lewis said, grabbing George's shoulder enthusiastically as they headed toward the club, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

When they entered the venue, the bass from the music thrummed through George’s chest. Familiar faces filled the space—Charles, Lando, Carlos, and other drivers were scattered throughout, already in vibrant spirits.

A few cheers erupted the moment George and Lewis stepped into the atmosphere of celebration.

"George! He finally shows!" Lando shouted, raising a drink in acknowledgment. George waved back, but a piece of him felt distant amidst the noise.

The pounding music blended with raucous laughter, but amidst the revelry, George's thoughts remained fixed on you.

As if sensing George's distraction, Lewis clapped a hand on his back, leaning in closely to shout over the music. “How’s it feel to be a podium finisher?”

“Great! But I don’t know... It would be better if you-know-who were here,” he admitted, keeping his tone light, yet tinged with sincerity.

Lewis raised an eyebrow knowingly. “You’re still hung up on her, huh?”

“C’mon, she should have been here to celebrate.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself! Come on, let’s find you someone to cheer you up!”

Before George could respond, a young woman, strikingly beautiful with warm eyes and an inviting smile, approached him. “Hey George! Wanna party with me?” she said, her lips curving in a playful manner.

George hesitated, a knot forming in his chest at the prospect. She was gorgeous, no doubt, but all he could think about was you—how much he missed your laughter, your warmth, and the effortless way you lit up a room.

“Thanks, but I think I’m just going to sit this one out,” he said politely, offering her a smile even if his heart wasn’t in it.

He turned away and made his way to the bar, needing a moment to collect himself. The bartender raised an eyebrow as George ordered a drink, and as he took a sip, he swore he could almost feel the tension release… but it didn’t work.

Instead, all he felt was a longing tugging at his heart, reminding him of the vacant space left by your absence.

George nursed what was supposed to be a single drink. But suddenly, what began with one drink turned into three, and now the room was spinning as he clutched the table for stability.

He chuckled nervously, acknowledging how quick he was to forget the limits he set for himself.

“Just one more sip, and I’ll head out,” he muttered to himself, yet deep down, he felt the pull of the crowd, the booming music, the laughter that was too easy to lose himself in.

But as he stood to leave, the earth shifted beneath him. He wobbled precariously, a laugh escaping his lips when he felt a warm presence wrap around him.

“Woah, Georgie! Let’s not fall now!” The voice was melodic. It sounded like you—the very essence he had been searching for on a night filled with hollow connections.

He turned slowly, squinting against the neon lights, and was met with a face that mirrored yours. Same bright eyes, same hair that danced whimsically with every sway of her body.

Was he delusional?

“You look just like her,” he slurred, momentarily forgetting his desire to escape.

“Let’s get you some fresh air, okay, Georgie?” she said, her hand still clasping his arm with a gentle but firm grip. He couldn’t muster a response; he simply nodded, following her through the throngs of dancing bodies until the blaring music was a distant thrum.

Once outside, the crisp night air hit him, refreshing but still dizzying. She led him to a bench in a shadowed corner, shielded from the rest of the clubgoers.

“Come sit over here so no one sees us,” she said, patting the surface beside her.

George obeyed, sitting down heavily as he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stared at the woman beside him for what felt like minutes, captivated by her resemblance to you—your features, your voice.

Every detail seemed to stitch his heartstrings tighter, tugging at the loneliness that lingered like an unwanted guest.

“Oh Georgie, why are you crying?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she reached out to wipe a tear that had escaped the confines of his drunken haze.

“I miss her,” he muttered, leaning into her soft touch. He couldn’t believe he was pouring his heart out to a stranger, yet it felt inexplicably right and terrifyingly real.

“Who?” she asked gently, coaxing the truth from behind his barriers of inebriation.

“Y/N,” he admitted, not catching the way her breath hitched at the sound of your name.

“Is she that important to you?” Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper engulfed in their little cocoon of semi-darkness.

He nodded quickly, the gesture almost frantic. “She was everything… and I was nothing, I really messed up,” he confessed, tears emerging anew as he dove into memories of laughter, late-night conversations, and the electricity that sparked every time you smiled at him.

Sensing his vulnerability, the woman shifted closer, her hand delicately resting on his forearm.

“Tell me how you messed it up, George. Maybe it’ll help,” she encouraged, her eyes reflecting understanding that was almost uncanny.

“I—” he started, the words fumbling in his mind but finally tumbling out. “I was always too focused on racing. I was so caught up in being this driver that everyone would love and I lost sight of the love I had always wanted. I thought she’d always be there, that I could ask her to be mine one day.”

The woman bit her lip, absorbing his words. “Sometimes we don’t realize what we might have until it’s gone,” she replied softly, a note of sadness tainting her voice.

“I’ve reaching out, but it feels like there’s this wall between us now, one I built up without even knowing,” he continued, his heart racing with equal parts regret and hope.

“I miss her laugh, the way she could find joy in the simplest of things. I miss…” His voice trailed off as he blinked back more tears.

“Love is powerful, Georgie,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You need to fight for it.”

He turned to face her fully, the realization hitting him like a pit stop at full speed. This woman could not only have been a reflection of his heartache, but perhaps also the voice that pushed him to find clarity.

“But what if she doesn’t want me?”

“Then you’ll have to accept that, but you haven’t even tried yet, have you?” she challenged gently, her expression earnest. “You’ll never know unless you do.”

George inhaled deeply, the words resonating within him. Maybe this stranger—this woman who wore your likeness—was simply a guiding light.

“Georgie, listen to me,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “You have to reach out before it’s too late. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

As the night wore on, he felt the weight of the world lessen just a tad. The fire in his heart reignited, and he made up his mind. He would call you, declare what he could no longer hide.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes that held so much warmth and wisdom.

"You're welcome Georgie," she said, bringing him into a warm hug which also reminded him of you. . .

George Russell groaned as sunlight streamed through the curtains, each ray piercing into his consciousness like tiny needles. Rubbing his temples, he tried to dispel the pounding headache that greeted him with cold indifference.

He glanced around the room, finding a stark contrast between the chaotic remnants of a night perhaps too wild for a professional Formula 1 driver and the calming colors of his well-organized space.

The clothes he had worn the night before were folded neatly on his desk—a testament to a gradual descent into maturity, or perhaps just a diligent hotel staff.

For a fleeting moment, he contemplated the irony of being a high-speed driver yet feeling this slow and uncoordinated.

Then, his phone buzzed like a mosquito in the dead of night, drawing his attention. A text from Lewis griped his curiosity: "Hey George, apparently Y/N was in town. Did you see her?"

George’s heart dropped into his stomach. Y/N?

The name echoed in his mind, accompanied by fragmented images of the previous night—a soft laugh, the swish of a black dress, and a set of mesmerizing eyes that had entranced him even as the liquor clouded his memories.

He cursed under his breath. She had been delightful company, and it gnawed at him that he couldn’t remember every detail.

He was too drunk. Too engrossed in the moment. Was she the stranger from last night, or just a fleeting wind?

He could almost hear Lewis’ voice in his head: You need to get your act together, George. You’re a professional, remember?

Ignoring the nagging voice, he replied to Lewis, "No, I didn’t see her. Things got a bit out of hand last night."

As he sat up, still groggy from sleep, he stared at the wall, deliberating over how he had ended up in his pajamas, yet again.

“Hangover bunks,” he mumbled to himself. “Last night was intense.”

With a sigh, George tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching as he surveyed the mess around him.

Despite it being a day off, his thoughts were far from the circuit and more focused on the woman he couldn't seem to shake from his mind: you.

“Focus, Russell,” he muttered. “This isn’t about you today.”

He hastily made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. The hot water felt fantastic against his skin, washing away the remnants of the previous night's events.

He found his mind drifting to the way you had smiled at him, how your expressive eyes sparkled under the sunlight, how the world around you seemed to fade away when you spoke.

George didn’t realize he was smiling in the shower until he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Flushing, he mentally slapped himself.

“There’s enough pressure today without thinking about… her,” he chastised, but in truth, the thoughts wrapped around his mind like a twisted tire, always returning to you.

Rinsing off, he dedicated himself to his skin care routine, that brief moment of self-care morphing into an involuntary meditation over the more meaningful moments shared with you.

As he applied moisturizer, each swipe was a daydream filled with giggles and shared glances, the feelings dancing just beyond his grasp.

Despite military-style discipline on track and media channels, his heart raced more for you than any car he’d ever driven.

George stood before the mirror in his apartment, adjusting the collar of his light blue button-up shirt. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the polished floor, and as he ran a hand through his hair, he thought about how long it had been since he last saw his family.

The whirlwind of racing circuits, late-night parties, and media commitments had left little room for moments that mattered. Today, however, he decided to change all that.

Breakfast with the family seemed more necessary than ever, so he slipped into a comfortable pair of dark jeans and polished off his look with fresh sneakers.

His family home was situated just outside of town—a charming two-story house filled with memories that flooded back with every step he took toward it.

George felt a familiar buzz in his chest, a blend of excitement and apprehension, as he reached the door and knocked.

“George!” Alison exclaimed as she swung open the door, her face lighting up with warmth and happiness. “Look at you! Come in, come in!”

“Hi Mom!” He embraced her lightly, still cautious after the night before where he had indulged a little too much at a celebratory party. “Is Dad here?”

“He’s in the kitchen with Benji,” she motioned toward the heart of the home, a space filled with the mouthwatering smell of pancakes and crispy bacon. “Cara’s still getting ready.”

As he entered the kitchen, the sight of his father, Steve, flipping pancakes was a comforting reminder of all the mornings spent devouring breakfast together as a family.

Benji, with his youthful enthusiasm, was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!” Steve called out teasingly without turning around.

“Very funny, Dad,” George replied, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “I was just busy winning races and celebrating my victories, you know?”

“Celebrating a bit too hard, I hear?” Benji raised an eyebrow, smirking knowingly. “You were looking a bit worse for wear yesterday on the media feeds.”

“Oh, come on! I had a couple of drinks,” George shrugged, trying to shrug off the mockery. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“So you claim.” Benji snickered, settling back down on a stool at the kitchen island as George poured himself a cup of coffee. “But really, man, what’s up with you? You’re more moody than usual—don’t try to say it’s just the fatigue of being an F1 driver. You know we’ve seen a different side of you.”

As they ate breakfast, the laughter and chatter wove seamlessly through the small kitchen. George was content just to be around them; the little quirks and affectionate jabs felt like home.

Jokes were told, stories were shared, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Alison asked with her gentle smile, genuinely curious about his schedule as she placed a fresh stack of pancakes on the table.

“Honestly? I just wanted some family time,” George admitted, a flush tracing his cheeks. “I’m still living out of a suitcase, my schedule is crazy, and I miss you guys. Just needed this.”

The conversations gradually shifted from the racing world to memories of childhood, and George sat back, letting the familiar warmth take over him. Yet, even amidst the laughter, he couldn’t shake the thought of you.

Your smile had become his driving force lately, the light that punctuated the chaos around him. But every time he allowed himself to dwell on you, a layer of embarrassment washed over him.

As if sensing his distraction, Benji slid into the seat next to him, nudging him playfully. “So what lucky lady is running ‘round your mind, mate? Or is it still Y/N stuck in your head?”

George jumped, caught off guard. “What? No way!” His denial came out too sharp, and he immediately regretted it as the teasing glint in Benji's eyes grew brighter.

“Come on, bro, I’ve seen how you look at her,” Benji said with a chuckle. “You’re gonna have to stop denying it sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I just…think she’s really cool or something.” George tried to save face but was only met with knowing expressions from the whole table.

“You’re blushing, George,” Cara chimed in as she strolled into the kitchen. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she carried herself with an unhurried grace. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Benji replied with a grin that hinted at his amusement. “Just George being shy about his potentially crippling crush.”

“Whatever!” George exclaimed, hiding his face behind his hands as warmth cascaded down his cheeks. “You guys are ridiculous!”

“Hey, it’s just us,” Alison said softly, overjoyed at the candidness, even if it came with a bit of teasing. “If you like her, it’s great! You should tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t even know if she feels the same way,” George replied, desperate now to change the subject. “But we’ve just been…friends, you know?”

“Well, sometimes you have to take risks, son,” Steve chimed in, his voice steady and reassuring. “Life is too short to hold back on what could be something special.”

The conversation changed topics, but George's mind raced back to the allure of what could have been. He felt the weight of his family's expectations and hope.

It was new… this desire to open his heart to someone beyond the racetrack.

As breakfast wrapped up, George found himself distracted again, daydreaming about you, thinking of how he could break the casual barrier between just friends and potentially something more.

The heartfelt banter of family lingered in the air, but as he slipped into the warmth of nostalgia, he realized that in whatever direction life took him—whether he was conquering the circuits or fighting for love—family would always anchor him, grounding his ambitions in the realm of the heart.

With a gentle nudge from Benji, reminding him that life is fleeting, George resolved to take a chance when it came to you.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the family home as George finished his late afternoon workout. The aroma of his mother's famous chicken alfredo wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the scents of garlic and herbs.

As he entered the dining room, the laughter of his siblings—Cara and Benji—echoed off the walls. Their noise was a welcome distraction, but today, George could hardly shake the thoughts swarming in his mind, particularly the thought of you.

“So George, what would you want for your birthday?” his mother, Alison, asked as she dished up the alfredo, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I don’t really need anything,” George replied casually, forcing a smile, but his thoughts drifted once more to you.

“Come on, at least think of something,” Cara chimed in, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. “How about a new racing suit? I hear they could use some updates.”

George chuckled, shaking his head. “I'm fine with what I have. Really, I’m just happy to spend the day with you guys.” Lying was a skill he had mastered well as a race car driver, but today it felt heavier than usual.

Benji, ever the inquisitive one, nudged him playfully. “Really? Not even a new car? You know, maybe this time, something that goes faster than a snail?” He burst into laughter, and soon the others joined in.

Their playful banter felt comforting, a light fabric draped over the layer of tension woven into his heart. George broke bread with his family, occasionally laughing at their jokes.

“Okay, George," Steve finally spoke up, his father’s tone a mix of authority and affection. "If you truly don’t want anything, how about a day at the go-kart track this weekend? Just the family. No fans, no pressure. Just us.”

His father’s eyes were warm, radiating the kind of understanding that came from years of navigating the complexities of family life.

George loved the suggestion—spending time with his family without the trappings of his racing career—but a part of him felt guilty for wanting something more than just this tight-knit gathering.

“Sure, that sounds great! I just need to clear it with my team, but I’d love that.”

Alison smiled and carefully placed a hand on his arm. "You know we’re proud of you, love. Just don’t forget to breathe once in a while. Life’s not just about the fast corners and tight turns.”

He met her gaze, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for her unwavering support. “Thanks, Mum. I appreciate it.”

After dinner, the family split up—Steve and Alison went to the living room to discuss weekend plans while Cara and Benji challenged each other to a board game in the adjoining room.

George found himself standing outside for a moment, the cool evening air bringing him a sense of clarity.

He leaned against the porch railing, staring at the stars emerging against the deepening twilight. The sky, a blanket of possibilities, made him think of you and how special you made him feel.

Just as he opened his phone, eager to see if you had messaged him since they last spoke, his thoughts were interrupted by Cara’s voice calling out.

“Hey, George! Come play!” She tugged at him, not realizing he was lost in thought.

He smiled and gave a small wave, reluctantly putting his phone away.

It was easy to get immersed in the game, to enjoy the competitive spirit that thrummed through their laughter—yet, every moment seemed to pale in comparison to the connection he felt with you. . . .

The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, a sensation that George Russell had long ago come to associate with the thrill of racing.

The vibrant colors of the paddock seemed to pulse under the Mediterranean sun as he wandered through the area, lingering a bit too long at the sight of the cars glinting under the sun.

He had just returned from a brief holiday with his family – an exhilarating few days spent go-karting at a private circuit that had reminded him of his roots.

He could still hear the laughter of his siblings, Cara and Benji, and his parents, Alison and Steve, echoing in his ears.

George, ever the competitive spirit, zoomed past his family members, reveling in the thrill of victory as he crossed the finish line.

“First place, as usual!” he declared with a playful smirk painted on his face, lifting his helmet to the cheers from his family.

“The only reason you win is because you’re the only one who takes it seriously!” Cara laughed, tossing her hair in a mock gesture of frustration. “How convenient that the racing driver is racing!”

“Someone has to keep this family in line. Besides, I’m just showing you guys how it’s done!” he shot back, ruffling Benji’s hair as he walked by, eliciting a squeal of protest.

As their laughter echoed around the circuit, George felt a rare lightness.

It reminded him of carefree days before the bright lights of the paddock overshadowed everything; days filled with family and simplicity.

But the holiday had waned quickly, and soon, the thrill of Formula 1 would call him back.

It was Thursday, the day of calm before the storm of race week. George meandered through the complex, past various teams—crewmembers bustling about, preparing for another race.

The atmosphere felt electric, but his mind drifted back to the previous week's bliss with his family.

As he sauntered, he overheard the voices of two men, each seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Curiosity piqued, George positioned himself closer, intending only to eavesdrop briefly.

“I remember when Y/N came over to me and showed me around. I swear Mercedes uses her to get more fans. She’s so pretty for a whore!” one of them laughed, the words dripping with contempt.

“Yeah, she did the same with me. To be honest, I only came to see her, but she hasn’t been here in months. I wish she gave me a performance, that slut.” The other man joined in, his tone equally disdainful.

He felt a swell of anger—with no outlet in sight, anger was all the more potent. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms tightening as he fought back the urge to confront them, the response simmering just below the surface.

He could visualize the headlines in his mind already: “George Russell Loses His Cool!” and he couldn’t allow that. Not here.

“Is that why you left?” he thought sadly, memories of you stinging his heart involuntarily.

“Hey, you guys want to keep it to yourselves?” George said, stepping forward, his voice cool but eyes blazing.

The two celebrities turned, surprise washing over their faces, and then derision. “What’s the matter, George? Can't handle a little talk?” One of them sneered, crossing his arms as if to project power.

“I just think it’s pathetic,” he replied, his anger simmering, careful not to escalate the situation while still making his point. “You’re just proving how small you really are, talking about someone who’s so much better than you’ll ever be.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away, the adrenaline pumping through him, the conversations of others muffled by the growing storm in his mind.

He didn’t want to feel possessive over you, but that was almost impossible when he witnessed so many men trivializing your worth.

He would make sure that those two were banned from the paddock by the time you came back.

The rest of the day wore on, yet George felt the tension deep inside him.

By that evening, he found himself sitting in a quiet corner of the paddock, contemplating his next few days, trying to push away the bitterness of the day.

George’s phone buzzed unexpectedly in the pocket of his racing suit. He hesitated for a moment, torn between professionalism and curiosity.

He finally glanced at the screen; it was you. Your name lit up like a beacon of hope amidst the pre-race chaos.

“Hey, Georgie!” you said cheerfully when he answered, your voice cutting through his anxiety.

“Hey Y/N,” George replied, his brow furrowing slightly at the unexpected call. “What’s up? Watching the race?”

“I just wanted to tell you that on live television, you look like you’re about to beat someone up. So cheer up before there’s another rumor,” you teased, laughter dancing in your tone.

George looked up instinctively, eyes darting to the camera that had been trained on him moments before. He quickly realized that the camera was still aimed at him, trapping him in his moment of serious concentration.

He instinctively smiled, waving at the camera, which quickly shifted to another driver.

“Thanks, Y/N. Are you really watching the race now?” he asked, curiosity swirling in his chest.

“Of course! I’ve always been watching the races, Georgie. I have to support my favorite driver one way or another,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice unmistakable.

His heart raced faster, not just from the anticipation of the race ahead, but from the warmth of your words.

Your voice lingered in his thoughts, making him feel lighter and more buoyant. “Do you have your lucky charm with you?” he asked, shifting the conversation.

“Of course! I still have the tiny figurine of you from the last race at Silverstone. It brought you good luck, didn’t it?” you wittily remarked.

He chuckled, “Well, let’s hope it works its magic again. The last one wasn’t so bad, thanks to you,”

As he navigated through the twists and turns of the race, George couldn’t help but imagine you cheering from the stands. He could almost picture you, hair blowing in the wind, laughing and shouting for him.

It fueled him, a burst of energy propelling him forward through the tight corners.

“Are you keeping your eyes on the track, smart guy?” you teased, snapping him back into the present.

“Always! I’m in fourth place in the championship—just trying to keep my head in the game. You’re distracting me,” he admitted with a hint of a smile.

“Distraction isn’t always a bad thing, though. Just think of me as your good luck charm.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” he said, slyly.

“Mmm, I don’t know — maybe it’s my irresistible charm,” you quipped back, your playful banter continuing even as the race progressed.

George took a deep breath, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead. He could see the leading cars weaving around each other—an intricate dance of speed and precision.

But who else could mirror that thrill of competition but you?

George had always been the quiet type, the kind of man who found solace in solitude but who also longed for the warmth of another soul—the warmth of your soul.

It had been two years since he last laid eyes on you, since he had held you in his arms like you were the very air he breathed.

The distance between you felt almost unbearable after being stitched with frequent calls and video chats, allowing him to hear your laughter and see your smile, but still leaving him hungry for the presence he had once taken for granted.

He missed everything about you: the way your laughter danced in the air, filling the empty spaces around him with joy, and the sharp, floral scent that clung to your skin—a delicate reminder of the beauty you exuded.

He often found himself lost in thought, contemplating the contours of your face, eager to memorize each line and perfectly imperfect feature once more.

How could distance feel this heavy when they shared a bond that had once tethered your hearts together so tightly?

It was a Friday afternoon when George found himself in a familiar café that he used to visit with you. The place smelled of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, the air buzzing with quiet chatter and laughter—yet it felt devoid of life without you beside him.

He absentmindedly stirred his coffee, giving in to the memories flooding his mind. A couple at the corner table laughed, and for a moment, it felt like you were there, your amber laugh reverberating in his heart.

They've talked about their weeks, shared the minutiae of their lives—your tales of new places you visited, his stories of late-night work grinding—but sometimes, beneath the surface of your conversation flowed the unspoken truth of your hearts.

Despite all this, he couldn’t shake off that familiar desire for something more tangible, more real. One could only drown in the virtual so long before gasping for the realness of pure, unfiltered presence.

For weeks, George and you had been discussing his birthday, a date he held dear. He had never been one for grand celebrations—his family had always kept things simple, focusing on the quiet joys of life rather than loud revelries.

He had looked forward to spending this birthday with you, perhaps sharing a cupcake at their favorite café or taking a long stroll under the stars.

Yet, as the day drew closer, he sensed a distance growing between them, a subtle divide that gnawed at his heart.

“I really want to see you,” he said the last time they spoke.

You had chuckled, but your laughter was tinged with an undercurrent of regret. “I wish I could, George. I’ll definitely call you on your birthday, though. That’s a promise.”

He had nodded, trying to be understanding, but the thought of spending his birthday without you left him feeling strangely adrift.

He understood that life could get hectic, but part of him wished you could understand how much he cherished your companionship, especially on a day that felt so significant to him.

George stood outside his parents' home, his heart racing. It was his birthday, and while he had envisioned a peaceful day celebrating with just a few close friends, his family evidently had a different idea.

As he knocked on the door, he took a moment to straighten his shirt, a navy blue one he had borrowed from Lando’s closet a few weeks earlier.

“Hey George! Happy birthday!” His mother, Alison, flung the door open, her bright smile lighting up the dim hallway. She drew him into a warm embrace, her familiar scent making him feel comforted despite his growing apprehension about the day ahead.

“Thanks, Mum,” George said, returning the hug graciously before stepping inside. As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the living room—a cacophony of friends and family mingling in celebration.

“Happy birthday!” the chorus rang out, friends and family alike raising their glasses in unison. The sheer number of faces surprised him, but what caught his eye was an unexpected figure among them.

“Hey George!” Lando chimed in, appearing out of the crowd with a cheerful grin plastered on his face.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a beautifully wrapped gift, handing it over with an exaggerated flourish. “For you, mate. I hope it’s as amazing as you are!”

“Thanks, Lando,” George replied, holding the gift carefully as he looked at the whimsical wrapping. “You know I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of today.”

“Well, too bad. Your family thinks you deserve a big bash, and I agree!” Lando’s eyes twinkled mischievously, but George couldn’t help but feel a warm glow at being surrounded by friends.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” George teased back, scrutinizing the package in his hands.

“Oh, but I did,” Lando said dramatically. “Besides, I brought you something that’s definitely not small—just like your party!”

George rolled his eyes playfully but felt gratitude wash over him. His friends were his anchor, especially Lando. Before he could get any deeper into thought, Cara, his sister walked into the room.

“Happy birthday, George!” she said, handing him a present as well.

“Thanks, Cara!” he laughed, accepting the card and marveling at its haphazard charm.

“Can’t wait for you to be added into the ‘old age’ groupchat,” she quipped, winking at him.

George chuckled, feeling the familiar banter that grounded him. Despite the overwhelming party atmosphere, moments like these made him feel at home.

His father, Steve, emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “George! Happy birthday!” His dad clapped him on the back, a grin stretching across his face. “Alison made your favorite—lasagna! And the cake is a surprise.”

George felt his stomach flutter at the thought. His parents had taken such care to prepare everything, and for a fleeting moment, the earlier dread of a party dwindled, replaced by a sense of appreciation.

“This is a great party, Dad,” George admitted. “But really, you could have let me plan something smaller.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve replied, feigning innocence. “Now, come on! Let’s get this party started!”

As the evening wore on, George found himself at the center of attention. Friends returned from the buffet table back to him, drinks filled with laughter and jokes.

Among them was Alex, who came striding across the room with his signature confidence.

“Happy birthday, mate! Ready to get older?” Alex flashed a smirk that matched his casual tone.

“With your banter, I’ll feel ancient by the time this is over,” George shot back, good-naturedly punching Alex’s arm.

As the festivities continued, George finally found a moment to settle into a quieter corner with Lando. “So… what’s in the box?” he asked, nodding toward the carefully wrapped gift.

“You really want to know?” Lando leaned in, the playful grin returning. “Okay, but it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Promise, just show me.” George couldn’t hide his curiosity any longer.

Lando tore the paper off with excitement to reveal a high-performance gaming console. “I thought you might enjoy something new to blow off some steam between races!”

“Lando, this is amazing! But you didn’t have to go all out,” George said, his grin widening with genuine surprise.

“Of course I did! You deserve it. Besides, now you’ll finally let me win at video games,” Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where the party was in full swing. Laughter mingled with the chatter of cars racing around the circuit, and the enticing aroma of grilled burgers filled the air.

Yet, as George stood near the brightly colored table overflowing with gifts, he couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at his heart.

He smiled at Lando, who was animatedly recounting a wild karting story, but his thoughts were somewhere else—outside the boundaries of this cheerful gathering.

His mind wandered to you, the one person he had secretly hoped would show up, despite knowing you wouldn’t be there.

“I swear, I was like a ghost out there,” Lando laughed, mimicking how he’d crashed into the barriers last weekend. Everyone erupted into laughter, but George found it hard to join in.

He picked at the icing on the cake, wishing it could somehow conjure thoughts of you instead.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, mate. Everyone knows you’ve got the skills,” Alex said, slapping Lando on the back.

“Yeah, man! Maybe one day you’ll get a chance to drive for real,” Lewis chimed in. The good-natured ribbing continued, but George felt more and more like an outsider.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—just a notification from a group chat. He swiped it away, already knowing it wouldn't be from you.

“Earth to George!” Lando waved a hand in front of him, snapping him out of his reverie. “You good, mate? You've been kinda quiet.”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking,” George replied, forcing a smile. The rest of the crowd had congregated to discuss the upcoming F1 season.

They analyzed teams, speculated who would dominate, and recounted past races as if recounting epic tales from a shared history.

With a heavy heart, George pulled his phone out, staring at the blank screen. He had sent you a message earlier in the day, but there had been no reply.

He tried to brush it off—maybe you were busy—but deep down, the ache remained.

“George!” Cara's voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you going to open your presents or what?”

“Yeah, I’ll get to them in a bit,” he replied, glancing at the colorful packages decorated with ribbons and bows. He wanted to open them, but a weight sat on his chest, tethering him to a world where you were missing, and nothing felt quite right.

There was a knock at the front door, but George didn’t pay much attention as Lewis, his older brother, ambled over to answer it. The chatter of their family echoed around him, a thick tapestry of warmth and laughter that felt alien.

George’s thoughts drifted; all he could focus on was the memory of you—the way you laughed, how your eyes sparkled when you talked about your dreams, and the way everything felt right when you were around.

“Hey, George!” Cara chirped, breaking his reverie, waving at him with excitement. “Open my gift!”

He offered her a weak smile, still lost in his own world. As he finally picked up a present wrapped in shiny paper from her, he felt a sense of heaviness lift, if only temporarily.

Unwrapping it, he revealed a gleaming silver watch that seemed to catch the light and dazzle.

“Oh thanks, sis,” he said, genuinely trying to summon enthusiasm. However, as he glanced up to thank her, he noticed that Cara's attention, along with the rest of the room, was drawn to something behind him.

Curiosity tugged at him, and he turned around slowly.

Standing just inside the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow from the hall lights, was you. A tired smile played across your face, but it was unmistakably you.

His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight of you—the way your braids cascaded around your shoulders, framing your face, just as he remembered.

“Happy birthday—!” you began, but before the excitement of your return could fully settle in, George dropped the watch onto the table and rushed toward you.

He enveloped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar scent he had missed for years.

You felt warm against him, as if the distance of the past few years hadn’t existed. The world around him faded, and in that moment, it was just the two of you.

“It’s really you,” he muttered, half in disbelief.

“It’s really me,” you replied softly, squeezing him tighter as if you were afraid he’d let go and vanish again. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” he said, pulling back just enough to analyze your face. His ocean eyes, alive with wonder, traced the contours of your cheeks.

You could see the spark of recognition flaring in his gaze as he took in the changes—your brown braids, longer now and cascading over your shoulders like caramel waterfalls, framing your face.

Your cheeks were fuller, your eyes a deeper shade of warmth, enhanced by the quiet confidence that had grown in the time you had spent apart. You wore a radiant smile, one he had missed more than he could ever express.

“You’ve gotten prettier,” he noted, almost as if he couldn’t believe his words, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the compliment unfurling something warm and bubbly within you. “I guess time can be kind in some ways.”

“Or cruel,” Lewis quipped from the other side of the living room, rolling his eyes with a teasing smirk on his face. “Right guys! Why don’t you get a room after everyone leaves?”

His laughter rang out, piercing the moment like a bubble popping, but it only made the warmth between you and George swell.

“Shut up, Lewis!” you shot back, playfully swatting at him, though there was no real malice in your tone.

Alison was setting the table in the background, chuckling softly at Lewis' antics.

“You should let them have their moment, Lewis. Two years is a long time to be apart,” she remarked, casting a knowing glance towards you and George, whose cheek was now tinged with a shade of red.

“Yeah, it is,” George added, his voice softer now.

The light banter and teasing faded into the background as the reality of the years apart seeped back into the room, reminding you both of everything that had happened.

“Best birthday gift ever,” he muttered for only you to hear, his voice laced with a mix of sincerity and sweetness. You giggled, the sound a little breathless.

“Since when have you been so bold?” you teased, leaning closer to him across the table. “The Georgie I remember used to be so shy of me.”

“Things change, you know?” George shrugged, though a sheepish grin danced on his lips. “Some of us grew up. And besides, it’s hard to be shy when you have someone worth being bold for.”

Your heart fluttered even more at his words, and you felt the heat rise in your own cheeks. “Well, maybe I was just waiting for you to catch up,” you shot back, attempting to maintain your composure. “It only took two years, but here we are.”

“Two years was rough,” he replied earnestly. “I mean, who knew how hard it would be? I missed your jokes, your laughter. You always knew how to make everything better.”

And just like that, the conversation turned into something deeper, filled with unspoken feelings and lingering glances.

You and George had shared countless moments over the years—playful arguments, late-night chats, and the comforting silence that only came from being around someone you genuinely cared for.

Alison cleared her throat, cutting through the burgeoning tension. “Alright, lovebirds, while you two are busy contemplating the meaning of life, how about we celebrate George’s birthday? I brought candles!”

You both jumped slightly, like deer caught in the headlights, as Alison revealed the large cake decorated with the bold letters “Happy Birthday, Georgie.”

The lightheartedness was a welcome distraction, allowing you to shake off the moment of vulnerability.

“I can’t believe they managed to get my nickname on it,” George said, staring at the cake in disbelief.

“Of course they did. I made sure to keep that tradition alive, along with picking your favorite cake,” you grinned, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

“You helped?” he asked, astonished, raising one eyebrow in that way that you always found charming.

“Couldn’t let my best friend have an average birthday cake, now could I? I had to make it special,” you replied, leaning back against him.

“Come on, son, blow it out!” she called, carrying the cake as if it were the crown jewel. The candles flickered, waiting for George's breath to extinguish them.

You quickly moved out of the way, wanting to ensure that everyone got the perfect shot of George, the birthday king. Just as you were about to slip away, George’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back into place.

“Stay, I don’t want you to run again,” he muttered against the top of your head, his voice low and warm.

You pouted slightly, playfully nudging him again. “I won’t run, but you do realize it’s your birthday, right? Shouldn’t we be getting you to center stage?”

“Not without you,” he insisted, his grip tightening just a little. “Plus, you make me look good.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, your heart racing in the way it always did when he held you close. “You’re practically a supermodel next to me.”

Alison stood expectantly in front of you two, the cake reflecting the sunlight. “What are you two lovebirds doing back there? Come on, the world needs to see this stunning cake and its dashing contender!”

You stepped in front of the cake, and George followed suit, his hand never leaving your waist. The cake was a masterpiece, layers of chocolate stacked high, adorned with colorful frosting and surrounded by sparklers.

It demanded attention, and everyone moved in closer.

“Blow it with me?” George asked when the spotlight was finally on him, a charming grin illuminating his face.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, warmth flooding through you again as you took a moment to gather your courage.

You smiled, nodding. “Anything for the birthday boy.”

“Alright, everyone!” Alison called out, raising her hands like a conductor ready to lead an orchestra. “On the count of three! One… two… three!”

“3, 2, 1!” the crowd yelled in unison, and your breath hitched as George turned to you, his eyes brimming with exhilaration.

In perfect sync, you both leaned forward and blew out the candles, the flames extinguished with a puff of laughter, cheers erupting around you.

That moment was magic— the noise faded, and for just a heartbeat, it felt like it was just you and George, suspended in time.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your heart racing. “But I don’t think it can come true if you’re going to keep holding on to me like this,” you added playfully.

“I have everything I need right here,” he quipped with a wink, drawing soft laughter from your lips, but inside, you felt something deeper.

After the cake was cut, the room began to dissolve into familiar pockets of conversation and laughter, filling the air with voices both soothing and celebratory.

You found yourself catching up with Lando and Alex, the three of you reminiscing about old times while trying to vouch for who had the craziest stories involving the birthday boy.

Just as you were getting to the good part of a particularly funny story involving a mud pie and a runaway dog, you felt a familiar tap on your back. Turning around, you were met by George’s shy smile.

“Yes, Georgie?” you asked, unable to suppress the brightness in your voice.

“Can I have you for a second?” he replied, his words almost a plea.

You excused yourself, the curious gazes of your friends following as you stepped outside with George. The cool night air wrapped around you like a refreshing breeze, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation.

George reached for his suit blazer, his fingers brushing against your arm as he placed it over your shoulders, the fabric warm and intoxicating.

“Here, sit,” he said, guiding you to a pair of empty chairs on the patio. The stars shimmered overhead, their light casting a silver glow upon the garden.

“Thanks,” you smiled, settling into the chair, feeling the weight of his blazer envelop you like an embrace. You glanced back at the door, music and laughter faintly echoing inside.

After a brief pause, George leaned back, his gaze fixed on the stars with an intensity that made your pulse race. “You’re not getting away that easily tonight, you know?” he said, his voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence.

You smiled, playful. “Oh? What am I in for, then? A secret surprise?”

“Something like that.” He turned to you, his expression earnest. “I just wanted to talk, you know, without the noise.”

“Okay,” you replied, a slight tremor of excitement weaving through your words. “What’s on your mind?”

He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Can I ask where you’ve been for these two years?” The question hung in the air, almost palpable.

You knew he was going to ask this question, but not so soon, and his earnestness caught you off guard. A cocktail of old feelings bubbled up inside you, a mixture of nostalgia and trepidation.

“Yes, you can,” you began, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I went to find my calling, and I did.” You could see his interest spark like fireflies in the dark, and it emboldened you to continue.

“I started a charity from scratch, without anyone knowing who I was, which was hard.”

“What kind of charity?” George leaned forward, his intensity growing as he focused on your words, pulling you in.

“It’s for at-risk youth—teaching them art and giving them a place to create without judgment. I wanted to give back in a way that could light up their lives, you know?”

“That’s incredible!” George’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “You’ve always had such a big heart. It must have been tough, though.”

“It was,” you admitted, a shadow sliding over your smile. “Finding the right people to trust in a world that’s sometimes cold and unwelcoming… it took time. But then someone found me.”

You paused dramatically, relishing in the curiosity that painted his expression. “And I did some modeling.”

“Modeling? You?” George chuckled, his laugh rich and melodic in the stillness. “That’s wild! But I can’t picture you strutting down a runway.”

You laughed lightly, the sound easing the knot in your chest. “Neither could I! But it was for charity, so it felt right. They let me use my platform to promote the awareness of youth issues. It became more than just about looks; it was about the message.”

George's brow furrowed in curiosity as he relaxed against the chair behind him, crossing his arms. “What kind of outfits are we talking about here? Like, designer pieces or…?”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you pulled out your phone. “Oh, you’ll see. Not exactly designer, more like a collection of ‘what was I thinking?’”

With a few taps, you flicked through the pictures, showcasing outfits that ranged from a bold royal gown to a muse pearl dress. “Here! Look at this one! I call it ‘A Colorful Catastrophe.’”

George burst into laughter, shaking his head. “You know, you could have just gone with your regular jeans and a t-shirt, but you chose to make a statement.”

“Yes! And they said it made a big impact, which is what I care about and I could keep some of the dresses too,” you said, your smile softening as you scrolled to the next picture.

“They’re being posted today, and however much it makes will go to the charity.”

George looked genuinely proud as his gaze shifted from the phone to your excited face. “So what's the name of this charity?”

You hesitated for a second, enjoying the suspense before delivering the punchline. “I’m glad you asked; it’s called Georgie.”

His eyes widened, and the laughter suddenly evaporated from the air. “You named it after me?” His voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nodded, your grin widening. “I didn’t have any names for it, so they said to name it something I care about. And that was you, so happy birthday, Georgie!”

George felt a strange warmth flood through him, almost overwhelming. He blinked back the sudden threat of tears. “Thank you,” he managed to say, placing a steady hand on your thigh as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

You smiled brightly, appreciating the bond that had grown between you over the years. “No problem! I forgot to mention the ridiculous pictures of you that are also getting posted, thanks to Lewis,” you giggled, already anticipating his reaction.

“Lewis?” His expression quickly morphed from touched to mortified. “What kind of ridiculous pictures? Please tell me they’re not the ones from the summer at the beach 3 years ago! You know that I was just being silly!”

“You mean the ones where you tried to do a backflip and ended up in the sand instead?” You laughed harder, clutching your stomach.

“Oh yes, those are definitely included! But wait until you see the one where you’re trying to get the seaweed off your shorts. Priceless.”

“You’re very lucky I love you,” he sighed, so softly that you almost missed it among the haze of laughter.

Both of you froze, caught off guard by the shift in atmosphere that hung in the air.

“Did you mean that?” you asked after an agonizingly long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.

George’s blue eyes widened, and for a split second, his expression was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping to the ground as if searching for answers in the fallen leaves.

“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t plan to say it,” he trailed off, his voice hesitant and soft, almost as if he were afraid of how the truth would change everything.

You smiled, trying to ease the nervousness that had settled between you like an invisible barrier. “Never seen you look at me like that before, Georgie.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, the unmistakable hint of a blush creeping up his neck. “What do you mean? Like… what? How am I supposed to look at you?”

His sudden defensiveness sent a flicker of amusement through you, but you moved an inch closer, wanting to make the moment lighter, yet also more profound.

“Like it’s the first time you’ve really seen me,” you teased, watching as he avoided your eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” you continued, the glint in your eye coaxing him back to the conversation.

“I—” George opened his mouth, then closed it as though battling with unspoken thoughts. “I… just thought I could keep things light between us. You know? Friends and all.”

“Friends?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a convenient excuse, isn’t it? Especially when I can see how much you want to kiss me.”

George’s breath hitched, a faint blush creeping back into his cheeks. But instead of stepping back into his comfort zone of playful banter, he shifted closer until there was barely any space left.

This was how your flirting had always worked—tease, blush, repeat—but something was different this time.

His hand moved from your thigh up to your waist, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress, pulling you slightly toward him. You weren’t expecting that.

“I’m not the George from two years ago,” he muttered, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and searching. His voice was lower now, a tone that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

“Then prove it to me,” you teased back, though your heart raced at the challenge slipping from your lips.

In one swift move, he closed the distance and crashed his lips onto yours. It was a kiss fueled by two years’ worth of unspoken feelings, shared moments, and all the times you had skirted around this very confession.

Your heart soared as you melted into him, every nerve in your body ignited with warmth.

But just as you began to lose yourself completely, a burst of cheers jolted you both back to reality. You pulled away, breathless, and looked around to see George’s family and friends engulfing you in applause.

“Finally!” Lando shouted from the crowd, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Took you long enough!”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you felt a rush of embarrassment wash over you. Bursting with a mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, you buried your face in George’s neck, hiding from the teasing eyes that surrounded you.

“I can’t believe we just kissed in front of everyone,” you murmured, your voice muffled.

“Let’s not get shy now,” George chuckled, rubbing your back in gentle circles. “We have to finish what we started.”

A playful smile danced on your lips as you looked up at him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish because I will make out with you in front of everyone right now, Georgie.”

His gaze brightened with playful challenge, “Be my guest; I would love that.” He narrowed his eyes as if daring you.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. “You know they’ll probably get their phones out, and then it will go viral,” you said, your heart pounding in anticipation, a knot of excitement mixing with a sprinkle of embarrassment.

“Let them! I’m ready to show the world,” George declared, his confidence shining through.

You laughed, feeling surprisingly emboldened by his words. “Alright then, you asked for it!”

You leaned in, a smirk plastered across your face, but George grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, capturing your lips once more.

The kiss was soft and tender at first, but as the moment embraced you both, it deepened into something more passionate, filled with the promise of everything that had been left unsaid.

Somewhere in the background, Lando exaggeratedly whistled. “Get a room, you two!”

The sounds of laughter grew louder, but you hardly noticed as your world shrank to just the two of you. Every cheer from George’s family, every sidelong glance from friends, faded into a gentle hum.

When you finally pulled away once again, breathless and slightly dazed, George’s eyes sparkled with happiness.

“Wow,” you said breathlessly, your cheeks flushed. The cheers turned into supportive whoops, filling the backyard with positive energy that felt like pure joy.

“Are you sure you’re not just going to run away? Because if you leave me here to face them alone, I might seriously regret this,” he said with a teasing wink, attempting to lighten the mood.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged him gently. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Georgie. I’m here to stay, for better or for worse.”

“Good,” he said, pulling you into a side hug, “because I’ve spent way too long waiting for that kiss. I’m not about to let you run away again.”