#I COULD HAVE USED ALL OF IT IF YOU HAD JUST TOLD ME GEORGE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bucky-fricking-barnes · 8 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

1K notes · View notes

yazmarina · 4 months

Text

one slip (and falling back into the hedge maze)

alex albon x fem!reader

you and your best friend aren't sleeping together...right?

warnings/notes: smut, fwb setup, unprotected sex (wrap it up, friends), breeding, mild power play

a/n: there's this photo of alex making pancakes (see: fic header) and my friend and i went nuts talking about alex as your fuck buddy who takes care of you...

"Serious question, and don't laugh, but are you and Alex sleeping together?"

Having been in the middle of drinking, you feel the water catch in your throat despite it being, well, literally water. You cough and splutter, striking your chest with your palm to clear the liquid from your windpipe. Meanwhile, Logan laughs, slamming his hand down on the table as he watches you struggle as if all of this was oh-so-hilarious.

"What the fuck, Logan?" you demand, eyeing Logan the same way you would if he spontaneously grew another head right at this moment.

"Hey, don't blame me! George was the one that put it in my head," Logan deflects, raising his hands up as if to surrender.

"George?!" comes your incredulous reply. "Why the fuck is George speculating about me and Alex?"

Logan gives you an equally exasperated look. "He's Alex's best friend, duh. We were in the media pen together and we got talking. He said that you and Alex were being weird around each other and, in his words, not in an avoidance kind of way but in a 'they-refuse-to-be-more-than-five-feet-away-from-each-other' kind of way. It's throwing George off-kilter, or so he says."

You pause, unable to provide enough words in order to deny the accusation. Not that it wasn't true. Not when you were in Alex's room last night, his hand over your mouth while he railed you against the bathroom sink.

Logan raises his eyebrows expectantly at you.

"So? Are you sleeping together or not?"

Your throat runs dry and you fight the urge to cough again, because that's totally not suspicious at all. You muster up all the nonchalance in your body, shrugging and shaking your head as if everything you've talked about in the past five minutes was all a big misunderstanding.

"I don't know where you got that idea, Loges," you brush off.

"The two of you sit in each other's lap," Logan supplies.

"We used to do that when we were younger" you reply.

"I caught him with his hand in your back pocket the other day."

"It's a joke we have."

"Even the kisses on the cheek? The ones that might as well be on your mouth?"

You narrow your eyes at Logan. You feel your heart thundering and you're not sure if you're showing any other signs of lying. You've always been a bad liar. Your face could be a deep shade of red or you could be sweating through your shirt right now. You definitely feel every hair on your body stand on end with how nervous you are.

"Just because you don't have a friendship like ours doesn't mean you get to judge it, Sargeant," you say with a roll of your eye.

Oh, you are so fucked.

"George asked me the weirdest thing today."

Your head snaps up as you hear Alex exit the bathroom, hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist. It's just after qualifying and Alex had trudged up to his room, crestfallen as was the norm for him in the last couple of races, with him being stuck in perpetual Q2. He'd given you a keycard to his room at the beginning of the weekend, telling you to come and go as you please, and you very much were pleased to wait for him after today's disappointing session.

Nothing a little blowie and a hot shower couldn't fix.

"Did he ask about me and you?" You question, stretching slowly on the bed, burrowing further beneath the sheets. Alex meets your eyes, his forehead creased.

"How'd you know?"

You shrug. "Logan asked me the same thing today."

"And? What did you tell him?" Alex presses further, grabbing a pair of his underwear from the haphazardly packed suitcase on the floor.

"Nothing. I told him he was crazy for thinking that," you say, watching as Alex drops the towel, his ass in full view.

"Is he really, though?" Alex asks, turning back to you with a smirk.

Something about the way the warm hotel lights hit his face and the way his neck is still wet from the shower makes you want to crawl right up to him and ask if you could have a repeat of last night.

"Oh yeah," you respond sarcastically, throwing the covers off of you. Alex found you in your (his) oversized hoodie when he came back from the track earlier, but you've discarded it now to reveal the skimpy pajama set you had on underneath.

"We're totally not fucking on the low like a pair of rabbits," you add, grinning as you see Alex chuck his underwear back onto the pile. He crosses the room in two strides, climbing onto the bed and effortlessly positioning himself over you.

"I hate you," Alex says, but any actual reprimand is undetected as he smiles even wider down at you. "I just showered, babe."

"Guess you'll have to keep the mess in if you know what I mean," you reply coyly, sliding your hands down Alex's torso, down his chiseled abdomen, and further to where his cock stands half hard.

You take it into your hand and start stroking, Alex drawing in a breath as he feels you squeeze along the base.

"Fuck, you mean...?" Alex asks, his own fingers creeping up beneath your pajama top.

You nod. "Fill me up, Alex. Please?"

It's the 'please' that does it for him, a low grunt escaping Alex as he attacks your lips with such ferocity the wind is practically knocked out of you.

Alex wastes no time as he yanks your shorts down your thighs, underwear already sticky due to the anticipation. You shimmy and manage to get it down to your ankles, kicking your shorts and panties off unceremoniously.

"Get naked for me, baby," Alex whispers before kissing along the side of your neck, his rough hands hiking your top up over your bare breasts. You whimper, legs hooking around Alex's hips.

You manage to get the thin camisole off, throwing it in the relative area where you think your bottoms may be. Alex automatically latches onto one of your nipples, tongue circling the rapidly hardening nub. You gasp as you feel the faintest hint of teeth graze against it.

You have no time to process much of it, though, because you feel two fingers press against your cunt, searching but quickly locating your clit before rubbing tiny circles all over it.

"You're such a good friend..." Alex teases, chuckling when he sees your eyes roll back into your head, his finger having just slipped inside you.

"...getting wet for me like this and all."

Alex adds another digit in and drags them along on your inside walls, curling and uncurling in intervals, just how you like it. You cry out when he immediately picks up the pace, giving you no time to simmer in the sensation for too long.

"F-Fuck, Alex," you whine, hips rutting in time with the movements of his hand.

"We'll get there, sweetheart," Alex reassures with a laugh and you reach up to smack him in the arm.

"You're such an idiot," you manage in between gasps of pleasure. "Just fuck me already."

Alex withdraws his fingers and you spread your legs even wider, assuming that he would heed your demand, but Alex just slides further down the bed, leveling his face with your drenched cunt.

"I said we'll get there, _______," Alex repeats, much more serious now, his eyes peeking up as he presses his mouth against your folds.

You practically quiver at the use of your name, Alex holding your gaze as he wraps his lips around your clit. Your mouth flies open and you slap a hand over the lower half of your face, afraid that any sound that comes out now will surpass the thick hotel walls.

Alex draws slow circles over the sensitive nub with his tongue, sucking and licking here and there. It takes everything in you not to thrash around with how good Alex is eating you out. Your thighs practically lock around his head and he only groans, large hands gripping them even tighter in place.

You feel the familiar knot building up, your hips rocking against Alex's face. You're getting close despite Alex just getting into it. The way he plays your body like an instrument, wills it to bend to his commands– it brings you to the edge every time. As if no other person could know your body as well as he does.

And then it disappears, Alex frees himself from your grip, lips glistening with you, your arousal all over his chin.

"Not yet," Alex orders, hiking your thighs higher, pressing them closer to your body. Without breaking eye contact again, Alex aligns himself between your legs, angling himself closer.

The first slide in is always the best. Alex hisses as he sheaths himself inside you and you let a moan rip through you, hotel neighbors be damned.

You've been waiting for this the whole day.

Alex gives a few cursory thrusts, his sounds growing louder the more he feels from inside you. You lock your legs around his hips once more, pulling him even closer.

"You better make this orgasm worth it, Alex," you taunt, pressing your forehead against Alex's.

Alex merely wraps his arms around you, pressing himself fully onto you. His hips start to hammer down on yours and you yelp, your whole body rocking with the motions of Alex's thrusts.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, biting at the taut skin before soothing it with his tongue afterward.

"You know better than to run your mouth, baby," Alex says with a soft chuckle, a contrast with how hard he's pounding into you now. All you can say in response is a garbled mix of his name and a few swear words.

A moment later, Alex pulls away, face contorted into concentration as he readjusts your legs so they lay over his shoulders, giving him an even deeper angle on you.

"Oh fuck–!"

You're cut off as Alex rams into you roughly, evidently chasing his own release now. He pushes your knees closer to your chest and you have to laugh, albeit weakly, seeing as your best friend, the one you swore you weren't sleeping with, has you in a fucking mating press.

"God, Alex, what are we doing?" You choke out, the delicious stretch between your legs building up the pressure in your abdomen.

"You tell me," Alex says before leaning down to kiss you, teeth clashing and tongues darting out frantically. You're bent into yourself in a way that you never knew possible, but here you are, spread for and debauched by none other than Alexander Albon.

Alex moans into the kiss, thrusts getting shallower by the second. Every hit of his pelvis against yours, every drag of his cock inside sends you closer to what you wanted most.

"Come on Alex, give it to me."

Finally, Alex stills, his hips snapping up one last time as he cums deep inside you. He fucks you through his orgasm and you know it's sensitive for him in the way he whines, but a few final strokes are all it takes for you to cum around Alex's cock, vision going white and your nails digging into Alex's back.

You're both panting, breath spent and bodies aching. Alex carefully extracts himself from your hold, pulling out cautiously. You groan at the sensation and he giggles, seemingly amused at your discomfort.

To his credit, Alex rushes to grab the discarded towel he was using earlier, quickly handing it to you as you feel the...remnants of him spill out of you.

"Damn, you came a lot," you comment, slipping the towel between your legs. You meet Alex's eyes and the two of you burst out laughing.

"I was saving that for you," Alex says, settling down beside you, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. Your face scrunched up as he does so but you're smiling nonetheless.

"Gross," you deadpan.

"Don't say that when my children are literally inside of you," Alex warns.

You elbow him hard in the ribs.

You wake up, the smell of coffee the first thing registering in your mind. You roll over and are immediately hit with the wall that is Alex's shoulder.

Alex chuckles, raising his arm up so you can crawl into his side. You groggily pull yourself against his chest, head right against his heartbeat.

"Morning," Alex whispers. You groan in reply, still too sleepy to form coherent sentences.

"I ordered you breakfast. You can go back to sleep if you want to, but I have to go in a bit," he continues and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

You feel a flutter in your chest and your eyes fly open. Great.

"Thanks, Alex," you murmur, cuddling up closer to him. He doesn't say anything, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"Love you," you add.

And you do. Love him. As a friend or as something else, you'll just have to figure out.

Alex hums, tucking your head beneath his chin.

"Love you, too."

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #alex albon x reader #aa23

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desideriumwriter · 28 days

Text

Metamorphosis | F.W. x Reader

Summary: Fred has been acting differently since he got hurt during the War. You're not sure how many more of his outbursts you can handle.

CW: established relationship, mentions of a head injury, TBIs, migraines, blood, being cut from broken glass, yelling, arguing, crying, not proofread

WC: 4.3k

A/N: now this one is a rollercoaster

based off this request! | f.w. masterlist | navi

Things had been difficult since May.

Voldemort was dead and the war was over. But everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

Things were quiet for a while, people were quiet. Distant but united at the same time. It took a few months for everyone to try and go back to normal.

Now it was November, and Fred was still dealing with the aftermath.

Of course, a head injury from being hit with a spell and a literal stone wall falling on him would have its long-term effects. You’d already read the list over who knows how many times.

Memory loss, light sensitivity, aggression, problems with multitasking, communication issues, irritability, mood swings, forgetfulness, etc. The list went on and on, you hated how long it was.

You did research on it, listening to his doctors and picking up as many books you could find on head injuries or TBIs.

You even got your hands on some textbooks that muggle medical students used.

George and you took care of Fred after he came back to your shared space above the shop. He spent his first week after being discharged from the hospital at his mums, due to Mollys demands.

Things slowly went back to normal after a few months. Most things.

Shops reopened all along Diagon Alley, including the twins, people felt safe to go out and chat with each other again.

Life went back to how it was before the war began.

The cold weather was getting harsher and so was Fred.

You knew that the irritability and mood swings would come along with the injury. You just weren’t expecting it to be so constant.

Fred had his bad days and he had his better days. Today was one of those bad days.

You could tell he was really struggling remembering what was in stock and what needed to be made more of. You sat with him at the counter as he wrote down on a notepad what was needed. Taking notes was one of the things that helped him nowadays.

You saw him look up, the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder.” You said softly, it was the next thing that needed to be restocked.

“Right. That. Thanks.” He muttered out, crouching over to write it down, his hand shaky and handwriting a bit wobbled.

Frustrated with his shaky hands, he threw the pen down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard. I feel like I can’t properly do anything.” He groaned, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Fred, it's what the symptoms of a-”

“I know it’s a fucking brain injury. I’ve heard it enough goddamn times. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Fred spat out, ripping his hand from yours and walking past you. That was the fourth time he snapped at you today.

After closing that night, you sat on the bench right outside the shop. Elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands.

You were really trying here. Trying your best not to get mad at him, to yell and spit at him as he did you.

He was still your Fred that you loved. He was just a bit different now, and that was okay, he was still your Fred.

The door to the shop opened, the silly tune of the charmed bell playing as a tall figure stepped out. Fred stood to the side of you now, his frame blocked out the light shining on you from the street lamps. The only light now being from the inside of the shop, illuminating his and your face once you looked up.

You breathed in deep, closing your eyes for a second, trying to keep any tears from falling. The cold wind wasn’t helping.

“Hi.” He gave you a shamefaced smile.

George had definitely scolded him and told him to apologize once you went outside. It’s not the first time he’s made him do it in recent times.

“Hi.” You sighed.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to snap at you when you were trying to help me with what needed to be restocked, or when you offered to sort the mail.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling small. The feeling had become constant for him now.

“And before both of those, when you snapped at me in your office. Then in front of one of the cashiers.”

“I did?” He said softly, genuinely shocked. You nodded, brows knit together.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize. I don’t even remember that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so harsh.” Fred looked down, having the same expression as a kicked puppy.

“It’s okay, Fred. I know you don’t mean to.” You slowly nodded.

“I’m trying to not be so rude. I’m trying to be better, I promise.”

“I know, Fred. I know.” You sniffled.

The doctors said practicing patterns would help with cognitive ability. Patterning. So stocking the purple and orange mystery boxes in a pattern would be Fred’s practice.

He began to practice different patterns:

Purple. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

Then moved onto a bit more strange ones:

Purple. Purple. Orange. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

He was struggling a bit more than usual today, you watched as he did, and it broke your heart.

You sighed as you put your notepad away, pausing writing down the grocery list for now and making your way over to Fred.

You reached out, putting the next correctly colored box on the shelf for him. He grumbled out a ‘thanks’.

“I can do the rest for you. Go give your brain a break.” You breathed out a laugh, trying to be lighthearted as you picked up the large box filled with the remaining mystery boxes to be put away.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Fred mumbled out, paying you barely any mind.

“Fred, I can tell your stressed enough just let me-“

“Will you piss off? I said I've got it!” Fred didn’t mean to yell, especially in the middle of a busy store, he was just frustrated.

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and anger due to all the staring eyes of confused customers looking at the both of you.

“Fine, fucking do it yourself then.” You shoved the box into his hands. Walking off, pissed off as you threw off your hat onto the counter.

George murmured your name as you walked by, trying to put a hand on your shoulder, you shoved out his grasp.

You hid away in the back stockroom. George followed, entering a tiny bit after you.

You sat on a wooden box, leaned over with your head in your hands.

“You know he doesn’t mean it. He got blasted pretty hard, it’s just one of the side effects.” George sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You were so tired of those two words. Side effects. Yes, of course you knew what the side effects and symptoms were, that they wouldn’t be pretty or easy. But you were just so sick of hearing it.

You shrugged, lifting your head up.

“He's frustrated. With himself.” George sat down next to you, intertwining his hands into a ball. “He always feels bad after he gets angry.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to help him out but it’s like he never fucking wants it. He refuses.”

“He’s never liked help, always wanting to be so damn independent and stubborn.” George let out a weak chuckle and shook his head. “It took him five minutes to accept the money Harry gave us. Even after that he tried to tell Harry he’d give it back if he changed his mind.”

“I remember, I was there.” You smiled a bit to yourself at the memory, Fred was so adamant about Harry keeping the money, or at least most of it.

“Chocolate?” He pulled a small bar off one of the shelves, you shook your head. “It’ll make you feel better.” You persuaded, you let out an amused sigh and took it.

“You stole that line from Lupin.” Unwrapping it and biting off a small chunk.

“Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?” You let out a defeated nod and smile in response, taking another bite.

“He’s not gonna be like this forever. You know that. He’s gotten a lot better since May. Just, his moodiness will stick around for a little bit.”

“I know. I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

George was at Angelinas for the night. It took him ten minutes to stop worrying and finally go, constantly reminding you if you needed his help with Fred, if Fred starts getting mean, to send him an owl and he’d come back immediately. You shooed him off and assured him Fred and you would be fine, that he should go have a worry-free night with Angelina.

It was going well, you watched a short movie and shared some snacks and cuddles on the couch. It was all going so nicely until you both decided to get changed and go to bed.

You slipped on a night shirt talking to Fred about the movie as he opened the top drawer on the wooden dresser. The one that creaked and occasionally jammed from time to time.

Tonight was one of those times.

He pulled out a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, his eyebrows knitting together when he pushed the drawer and it barely moved. You looked over and frowned disappointedly.

“It’s stuck again.” You sighed, thinking out loud.

“I know.” Fred muttered out under his breath, you didn’t catch it.

You watched as he repeatedly tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just old, maybe tomorrow we could go window shopping for a new one?” You suggested sweetly as he didn’t respond, he just clenched his jaw as he continued trying to close it.

He used a terrifying amount of force as he slammed the drawer shut with one last push, causing the whole thing to ratter. The sudden movement and sound made you jump. You took a step back, Fred noticed. His expression faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned your body language.

“What, are you scared of me or something now?” He muttered, an attitude in his voice.

“No, I never said I was scared of you. You just…”

“What? I’ve just what?”

You were so sick of his attitude. You took in a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ve been acting up, you’ve been slamming doors, throwing things down when you’re frustrated, you yell more. At George and I especially. You’re unpredictable.” You let out quickly.

“Unpredictable? I have not been that bad. You’re dramatic.” Fred shot back, he was a bit hurt by your words, yet deep down he knew you were right. His actions had become surprising. But he was too damn stubborn and he was in the middle of a beginning argument, so he wouldn’t admit to it now.

“I’m not, you’re proving your point with how you’re being now. You’re being stubborn and defensive. You get angry and you yell at me. When I’m just trying to help! The doctors said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctors told you! Or those stupid books you’ve been wasting your time on!” All this yelling hurt his head. But the words were spilling out his mouth like a waterfall of poison.

“Have you considered your not being any help? If you really wanted to help you’d let me do shit myself instead of acting like I’m fucking stupid! You wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around me! You’d let me be instead of being a pounding in my head!” His chest heaved, his face slowly being filled with regret as he saw you. Taking a step back with the most painful stare at him, astonishment and hurt written all over your face.

He watched as you brought your arms up around you, holding yourself as if it was a way of shielding yourself from his words.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Your voice went soft. A small crack in your delivery of words as you rubbed your upper arm.

“No! Absolutely not! I just- I’m-” Here comes the sputtered out apologies, the regret filling him up immediately, you just shook your head.

“Forget it, I’m done with this conversation.” You barged out the room. That look never leaving your face, it will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed?” He called out as you went down the hallway.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” You shouted back, more of a loud mutter really. Fred said your name disappointedly, leaning against the bedroom door frame. You didn’t respond, you didn’t turn around, you made your way to the couch.

He didn’t run after and stop you. Knowing you’d give him the silent treatment and refuse to get in the same bed as him. For tonight only. Hopefully.

Though you tried to muffle and hide your sobs behind your hands, Fred could still hear it all the way from the bedroom. Those pained sharp breaths in that turned into wheezes, the little hiccups and whimpers of sadness you made when you breathed out were far too loud to be hidden.

You cried for two hours until you finally got a grip of yourself. Getting up and going down the hallway, not to get back in bed, but to see if Fred was.

You peeked your head in just enough to see his side of the bed, he was laying on his back peacefully, his eyes puffy. Had he been crying also?

He was relaxed now though, resting. At least he was getting some sleep. You quietly sneaked back to the living room. Lying back down on the couch and using a throw pillow for your head.

You couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t keep your eyes shut, couldn’t stop thinking, you couldn’t sleep. You missed him, you really just wanted to be next to him.

By the time the clock ticked to 2AM, you got up, tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Sneaking to your side of the bed, so carefully pulling back the sheets. You moved so carefully, so lightly, so gently as if everything was made of fine china.

You debated if you should snuggle up to Fred, not wanting to wake him. What if he got annoyed again? You really didn’t want to deal with another conflict.

You carefully scooted over to him anyways, testing your luck. You slowly wrapped your arm around his torso, ever so lightly laying your head on his chest. He began to move and your body immediately tensed up.

His arm hooked around you, circling your waist, the other arm reaching over, his hand softly placed on the side of your head. Your body went limp in happiness. You could start crying again from all the joy you felt in this moment.

This is how you knew Fred hadn’t become a whole other person than the one you knew before the accident. His hands on you, holding onto you so sweetly, just like he used to. There were still those little remnants of his true self hanging around. He was still Fred. He was still your Fred.

You woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight shining down on Freds side of the mattress.

You changed into more presentable clothes, hearing the chatter from downstairs and knowing the shop was open.

Going downstairs, Fred was nowhere to be seen while George was moving around helping customers and constantly casting spells to organize things.

Owning a joke shop was absolutely not a one man job.

“Where’s Fred?” You asked, looking around as you approached the counter. George was stacking cards.

“In his office. Another migraine.” He tucked in his lips, seemingly annoyed.

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna go out, probably window shop. Do you need anything?”

“Could you get some cabbage? And a few more quills and ink? We’re running low.” He said, swiveling his way out from behind the counter.

You may have stayed out longer than you meant to.

Thinking you’d be back before five, you got home at nearly eight instead.

You did some looking around in local furniture shops, and you picked up what George asked for. You mostly just walked around the quieter streets, needing to get away from all the noise.

By the time you got back it was a bit dark outside and there was a closed sign on the shop door. You unlocked and locked it quickly, moving upstairs tiredly.

The living room light was turned off, the moonlight from outside being the only thing that made the room somewhat visible. Fred was sitting on the couch.

“Hey.” You spoke softly.

“Hi.”

“Where’d George go?”

“He stopped by Angelina’s for dinner.” He said blankly. Everything felt so awkward.

“Oh. Have you eaten?” You asked as you set down the bags of supplies.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what’re you doing in the dark? Get some light in here.” You giggled as you flipped up the light switch, overhead light brightening up the room.

Fred quickly scrunched his eyes closed with a pained expression, he put a hand up to shadow his face.

Fuck. Light sensitivity. He was already dealing with a migraine, that’s why he was in the dark, and you turning on the light made it much more intense.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You blurted out as you hit the switch down, the room going darker again.

“Here, I’ll- I’ll get you a glass of water.” You sputtered out, running over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a glass, filling it up with cold water from the tap.

“No, you don’t have to.” Fred muttered out.

“Please, it’ll help. Just let me help.” You pleaded as you ran back over to the couch, sitting down and holding the glass towards him. He denied it again.

“Fred, just drink-“

“I told you! No!” He shouted, pushing your hand away.

The glass slipped out of your grasp. Hitting the floor and cracked into pieces, somewhere in the impact a small shard hit your lower leg. Nothing serious, it could be quickly closed up with a spell, but it was bleeding heavily already.

Fred realized what had happened once you felt the stung and winced, holding a hand over your small injury, crimson staining your hand and dripping onto your sock.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He panicked as he straightened up, patting his sides for his wand, he had left it in his office. He saw yours on the coffee table.

“Here, let me fix-” He reached one hand towards your wand, the other laying on your shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You said as you reached across, grabbing your wand and leaned your shoulder away from his touch.

His stomach twisted, the guilt was eating him up. He fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing what to do with his hands now that you refused his touch and his help.

You said a quick spell, the cut swiftly closing, skin looking unharmed and the only evidence of what happened being the remnants of drying blood on your leg and hand.

“I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” You said so quietly, almost a whisper. Fred stayed silent as he watched you get up and walk away, he wanted to cry.

You returned to the living room with a packed suitcase, quickly walking past Fred on the couch and to the chimney. His eyes stayed glued on you the entire time. You didn’t look at him.

“You’re leaving?” Freds brows knit together in a sad way, he sat up straight from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Not for long. I’ll be back.” You spoke, back facing him as you put down your small suitcase.

“Where?”

“A friends place. For a few days.” You didn’t tell him who, he would most likely send letters apologizing.

George was the one who suggested it surprisingly. Once he came home as you were washing off the blood, he told you to go take a few days to yourself.

“No offense to you, you’ve been doing great. But I’ve lived with him for nearly twenty-six years. I know how to deal with him when he’s mad.” He held your shoulders.

“I know how to deal with him too, you know.”

“Of course I do. But I know you’re worn out as well. You need to take some care of yourself. Focus on you for a few days.” You really didn’t want to agree with George on that, it felt rude to do it. There was really no good way of saying he was wearing you down.

“I’m sorry.” Fred spoke out.

“I know, Fred.” You let out a heavy breath. “I’m not mad at you. I think we should take a break from each other.” You tried not to let your voice wobble.

“You don’t mean a break up, right?” He stood up from the couch.

“No. Of course not.” You finally turned around, looking at his gloomy face. “We just need to spend some time apart, just for a day or so. Okay?” You kept your voice soft and nurturing, hoping it would hide the way your own words were breaking your heart.

"Can I just get a hug before you leave? Please?" Fred took a few steps closer, his steps cautious. You closed your eyes and nodded.

You didn’t want to look at him for too long, both of your faces were threatening to deteriorate into tears, and you couldn’t stand to see it.

He pulled you into him nicely, hands slowly and carefully wrapping around you like you would crack if he moved the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you.” He said softly, sounding like it was a plea for you to stay.

“I know.” You mumbled into his chest.

Fred’s injury didn’t bother you. The forgetfulness of struggles with certain things didn’t bother you, you didn’t care if he struggled to keep track with things.

It was just his anger. His outbursts. His shouting. That’s what bothered you, it was nothing like him. Sure, he’s definitely gotten moody or stubborn or annoyed before like during Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts or when a much needed shipment arrived late at the shop.

But you’ve rarely seen him truly mad, yell like he does now, the only time you can remember him like that is when he had to be held back from helping George and Harry beat up Malfoy after a match in his seventh year.

“I still love him, of fucking course I do. But he’s changed so much. it’s like,” You stopped, clenching your jaw and trying your best trying to keep tears from returning. “It’s like sometimes I look at him, and he’s a ghost, he’s a completely different man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“You’ve changed too.” Alicia commented, “You’re not as much of a hermit as you used to be.” She joked, poking you.

“Oh piss off.” You let out a breathy chuckle, face falling soon after. “I’m scared. What if he stays like this forever?” You whispered out, a small crack in your voice.

“He won’t. You told me already, there’s still that cheeky little Fred that you’ve always know still in him. He’s getting better day by day.” She tilted her head. “And fuck it. Even if he doesn’t, even if it takes a while, you gotta grow with him.” You looked at her, puzzled expression on your face.

“If you don’t grow with him, if you aren’t willing to go through that, then what in the hell are you doing?” She shrugged, laying back in her chair. “You’ve gone through these shitty times with him before, right? And you both made it through. What makes you worried you won’t be able to do it again?”

Alicia was right. You’ve gone through rough patches with him and made it out just fine. Casual disagreements, arguments and fights, yet you always made up. Leaving those arguments in the past and loving each other in the present.

“You staying another night?” Alicia asked you, taking a sip from her glass.

“No, I think I’ll go back. I’ll send an owl and tell them before I go.”

Once the green flames subsided and you stepped out of the chimney, dusting off your clothes. Fred came running into the room, a bouquet of all the flowers in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Feeling alright today?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

God, you hated the awkward tension in the air. It felt like this every time you had a conversation.

“That’s good. Uh, these are for you.” He stuck out the bouquet nervously, hand trembling. You put down your suitcase and stepped closer. A small noise of adoration left as you looked at the flowers, it was all your favorites.

“I may not be able to remember much. But I remembered these were always your favorite.” He let out an awkward laugh.

The last time you told him what flowers you liked was in year five. You took the bouquet from him with hesitant hands, surprised by the gift. Fred swallowed his anxiety before he began to speak again.

“I didn’t mean to be so rude. I just get so frustrated with myself, I don’t want to act like that anymore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you, you didn’t deserve it.” He moved to cup his hands around your face, bringing your teary eyes to meet his.

“I promise you I’m going to be better. I swear on everything. I will be better.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead, then pulled you into a hug.

You held on tightly to his torso, turning the flowers away to keep them from being crushed.

“I love you.” You said into his sweater, tears beginning to fall.

“I love you too. So much.”

tell me what you thought! <3

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley angst #request #requests

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f1girliefics · 1 month

Text

Their Reaction to You Being Pregnant - Preferences

A/N: Both planned and unplanned pregnancies below.

Daniel Ricciardo

It was a planned pregnancy and yet it hit you like a truck. You have been trying for so long, you almost gave up.

You planned a special dinner and even bought a special gift for him.

Little socks.

You gave it to him during dinner and watched as his face morphed into confusion.

"Isn't this too small for me to wear?"

"For you, perhaps, but not for our little one." you put him out of his misery as his smile grew bigger and bigger and tears fell from his eyes.

He would be so proud to finally become a dad.

Max Verstappen

Your pregnancy was unplanned but it was a nice surprise.

You had a stable relationship and you did talk about children before.

The way you told Max was not cute or romantic, you just basically blurred it out one day while watching TV.

"Come on Max! Your baby mama is craving some popcorn."

Oops.

He was shocked but then you spoke again. "I'm pregnant." to confirm what you just said.

Once he is able to close his mouth and talk, he will tell you that he is indeed happy.

"I just can't believe it!" he said.

"With the way you behaved for the entire summer break... I'm not shocked." you gave him a wink as he handed you the popcorn.

Fernando Alonso

He always wanted you.

Even if you were years younger. You didn't care about his age, you loved him.

It was a complicated love with many headlines.

Your pregnancy became one of the biggest, claiming you are a gold digger.

But Fernando didn't care for the headlines. He loved you and your baby.

Even if it was an unplanned baby, it was definitely not an unwelcome one.

"I would do anything for the two of you." he promised you the day you told him about your pregnancy.

Lance Stroll

You told him about your pregnancy on his birthday.

At first, he didn't believe you, but then he would be so thrilled he picked you up and spun you around for two minutes.

You had to tell him you would throw up if he didn't put you down.

Lewis Hamilton

You two would be trying to have a child for years when you finally get pregnant.

Both of you would be told by your doctor after weeks of hope due to your symptoms.

He would be so happy, he would shed many tears and he would be unable to stop hugging you.

On your way home, you would stop by to start and plan your baby's room.

George Russell

He would be in the middle of a meeting when you texted him. He could only check your messages after the meeting. George would drop his phone upon seeing the picture you sent.

5 pregnancy tests, all positive.

He would pick up his now broken phone and call you, rushing to his car to go home.

But you picked up the phone and you sounded so happy, it made all his worries lift off of his shoulders.

"We are having a baby George! I'm so happy!"

All his worries and doubts, out the window, the second he heard your laugh.

George will never forget that moment and how he cried of happiness at a red light.

Lando Norris

You two constantly joked about you getting pregnant.

When you started using pills instead of condoms, it was a constant joke between you two.

Lando did like to play with the idea of getting you pregnant.

But neither of you was serious until you took a test.

Positive.

"Okay, that is only a little plastic, the doctor needs to confirm." he would say and the next day you would be at the doctor's.

And the doctor did confirm, you were indeed 3 weeks into your first pregnancy.

You two sat in the car after the visit in silence.

Your mind was empty yet is was filled with thoughts.

"Let's grab something to eat before we go home." he would finally speak, making you look at him, you smiled when you saw the happiness in his eyes.

All your worries were gone because you knew you two can do this.

Oscar Piastri

To say that your pregnancy was a shock would be an understatement.

Both of you stared at the result for hours in silence.

Then, you finally spoke up. "Well, at least now we know I don't actually hate you."

He would laugh. He would laugh so hard that tears would fill his eyes.

You and your baby will be in good hands. Oscar would be the best father ever.

Carlos Sainz

You were on a vacation in Spain when you started to feel sick. You thought it would pass but Carlos insisted on visiting a doctor. This is when the news of your pregnancy hit you.

You didn't speak much Spanish, but that word, you understood.

Almost like a truck, it knocked all air out of your lungs.

When the doctor left, you turned to Carlos.

"Looks like we will have a little one running around soon." he spoke as he laughed but tears also left his eyes. "I'm so happy." he said, finally calming you down.

Charles Leclerc

After getting Leo, you didn't even talk about babies anymore. You were happy where you were in that moment.

But of course, the universe and a heated night had different ideas.

Your pregnancy was confirmed by the doctor and now you just needed to tell Charles.

You travelled to his upcoming race and had a plan.

But that plan all went out the window the moment he finished first.

Suddenly you completely forgot about everything and everyone as he hugged you close and you told him.

"Now our baby can say their father is number one!" you didn't even realise what you said.

"You're pregnant," he said and you nodded, crying from happiness. "PREGNANT!" he yelled as suddenly the trophy in his hand wasn't the most important thing.

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the0doreslover · 9 months

Text

Theodore nott | miscommunication

pairing: theodore nott x reader

warnings: angst to fluff, readers a bit annoying at first, use of y/n, mattheo riddle and hermione being a dream team, not much tbh, not proofread

summary: you get in your own head about people’s opinions and almost cost your whole relationship, but hermione and mattheo are not about to let that happen

it just wasn’t fair.

Because of the colours he wore he wasn’t allowed to love you?

He’s the one who holds you at night

He’s the one who helps you study

He’s the one who makes you smile

Bullshit, it was all bullshit. You were both happy loving each other in secret until a few weeks ago when he found you in the astronomy tower.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed a gentle kiss to the side of your face. You looked back at him and gave him a small smile.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you

“nothi-”

“don’t give me that, what’s wrong?”

“do you not worry about our future?” you sighed

“not really, why?” he unwrapped his hands from your waist and turned you to face him.

“do you think we even have a future?”

theodore took a step back “i do, do you not?”

“I just think” you looked down “we’re setting ourselves up for failure, Think about it theo, everyone will have an issue with us, which is why we have to love each other in secret. Why are we doing this to ourselves.”

he took a breath in “do you want to tell people about us? i don’t understand”

You felt bad, but you couldn’t explain it to him.

“No- no that would make it worse”

“y/n do you think this is fair” he scoffed

“think what is fair”

“us having to hide because people have their opinions”

“theo-”

“no! this is not how i want this to go, i love you” he waited for you to say it back.

“i love you” he walked closer to you lifting your head up with his hand.

he waited for a few seconds before sighing and turning towards the railing

“theodore” you could tell he was angry

“you had no issue saying it to me last night, or the night before that when you were practically throwing yourself at me-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you” you seethed “i think we need to seriously think about us theo”

“what’s there to think about?”

“well we clearly have an issue if you think this can work just like that” you walked away from him

That was the last time theodore had spoke to you in four weeks.

The valentines ball was tonight and you had no issue missing out, infact that was your plan. No theo, No point, even though you knew it was your fault, that stupid outburst you had on the astronomy tower had been haunting you.

“God why are you not ready? The ball is starting soon” hermione gasped at the sight of you in your blanket.

“i’m not going hermione”

“like hell you aren’t, get up and get ready” she snickered

“no, i’m really not going” you asserted.

She came and sat on the edge of your bed, her hair was pinned up and she was waiting to put her dress on. “What’s wrong? do you not have a date? neither do i, i’ll go with you”

“No hermione it’s not that i promise”

“then what is it?”

you sighed running a hand over your face “What would you do if i told you i loved someone”

“i’d be incredibly happy for you”

“but what if i told you i loved someone that everyone would have an issue with”

she thought for a moment “then i’d say tell theodore you don’t care what others think and you want to be with him.”

registering what she said you felt yourself smiling

“y/n we both know how bad it gets when you get in your own head, next time speak to me, we all know about you and theodore. You’re not slick” she laughed

“thank you mione” you pulled her into a hug

“you can thank me by getting ready, and fixing it with nott”

“how’d you know there’s something wrong”

“come on? sweats, seriously?”

That’s how you found yourself in the middle of the great hall with a glass of fred and george’s famous ‘fruit punch’ in a long dress and uncomfortable heels contemplating whether or not you should just go back to your dorm.

Theodore was in a similar position, he stood with a glass of ‘punch’ leaning against the wall watching his best friends dancing.

“Theodore stop being grumpy and come dance” pansy called out to him.

“i’m good thanks” he grumbled back.

He watched as mattheo walked towards him before leaning on the wall next to him.

“You’re a stupid man theo”

“tell me something i don’t know”

“you should go and dance with her”

“who?”

mattheo laughed silently before pointing his head towards where you stood looking bored and theodore’s breath caught in his throat.

“why- why would i dance with her?”

“you forget that i’m your bestfriend, you’re not slick”

“she doesn’t want to dance with me”

“For gods sake Nott!”

both boys looked to where hermione had magically appeared out of nowhere

“Go and dance with her!”

Theodore was in a bit of shock actually.

“You know what maybe i’ll go and dance with her” mattheo rolled his eyes and began pushing himself off the wall.

Theodore pushed him back and placed his drink in his chest. “No way that’s my girl”

Hermione and mattheo watched as he strolled over to you.

“We make a good team granger” mattheo smirked

“back off riddle”

“dance with me?”

“… yeah sure”

you sighed for what felt like the 100th time that night, you had sat yourself on a random table next to a few sobbing girls when you noticed theodore walking towards you.

Quickly you stood up before he got to you so you were face to face.

“Hi-” you both said at the same time making you both laugh slightly

“I’m sorry!” you quickly rushed out before he begun talking

“no, i’m sorry”

“what are you sorry for theo? i started it, i got in my own head can we forget about it?”

“You dressed up looking all gorgeous, i’ve already forgotten about it” he grinned extending his hand towards you “will you dance with me”

Grabbing his hand you pulled him towards you and smashed your lips onto his, wrapping your hands around his neck you felt instant relief when he reciprocated your actions and begun kissing you back.

When you finally broke the kiss, there was a shared understanding in your eyes, and with the taste of reconciliation lingering in the air, you and Theodore shared a knowing smile. The tension that had built up over the past weeks seemed to dissipate completely.

"Shall we actually go and dance now?" Theodore suggested, his hand still intertwined with yours.

A sense of relief washed over you, and you nodded,

He guided you toward the dance floor, and as you began to sway together, the world around you blurred, and all that mattered in that moment was you two, not anyone else who had an opinion, they could fuck right off.

“by the way, everyone knows. We’re not slick baby”

#harry potter #hogwarts #fanfic #x reader #slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini #lorenzo berkshire #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle

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delacoursshp · 1 year

Text

you wanted me to explain, right? i'll explain.

fred weasley x fem reader- no use of y/n, reader is in gryffindor, both are of age

warnings: smut, 18+, doggy, hot steamy n roughhh, unconsensual consent, spitting, sort of blowjob

this is a short, straight to the point story 😭 but i hope y'all enjoy! @delacourss.hp

"fred!" you yelled frustratingly, "fred, come here this instance!"

fred anxiously hurried from the boys dorm room to the common room where you had been standing.

"wussthematta?" he replied half-asleep, eyes heavily lidded with one hand rubbing his eyes, and the other scratching his firey red head.

the common room was entirely dark, except for your lit wand, which was pointing to a piece of parchment on the floor. your nostrils were flaring as your widened eyes and frowned brows signaled fred to look at the paper.

"uuhh," as he slowly realized what he was looking at, "uh, wow, wicked thing to do really, innit?" he yawned, pretending to be so oblivious.

"fred, gideon, weasley." you spoke in a dangerous tone. fred looked up at you, looking as if he was about to be cruciated. you pointed your still-very-lit wand up at him, making his face whiter than before and his vision blurred.

the piece of parchment showed a talently drawn woman, her clothes shed off and her tongue out. the woman seemed to look an awful lot like you.

"do i even have to speak? it's YOU who should do the explaining, fred!" you said angrily.

fred sighed and let his arms fall limp to his sides, still partly blinded by your wand. "how are you even assuming it's mine? you've got no proof whatsoever!" he told defensively.

you scoffed, drawing your wand away for him, muttering something that lit up the whole common room and then picked up the piece of paper, which now had clearly shown strands of red hair covering the thighs of the woman.

"oh come off it, it could've been george or- or ron!"

you gifted him a look of disbelief. "alright, so tell me you didn't do it then." you spoke firmly.

fred groaned. he had this issue ever since he met you, the one where he just fully can't lie to you. he closed his eyes in defeat.

"aaaalright, it was me. congratulations, now may i continue dreaming about perce eating rotten pies? it was a quit enjoyable dream" he asked, simply, as if this was nothing.

you yanked him by his ear, faces now cm's away from eachother. "i do, NOT, tolerate this piece of filthy work!" you grunted. fred 'ouched' in response.

you let go of his now red ear, picked up the piece of paper, held it next to your head, and handed fred your wand.

you waited impatiently, as fred just looked confused.

"well?? do it!"

"aughh", fred just groaned dissapointedly, "expelliarmus!"

a shot of yellowish red light flew towards the parchment, and it dissapeared out of your hands, leaving a few white dots on the floor.

you sighed in relief. "wasn't so hard was it? now, i'm expecting an explanation, so i hope you prepared one whilst i was waiting."

"oh, come on. you must have some idea why." fred said, tone low and soft, glaring at you like you were some sort of prey, "don't act so innocent, love."

your expression changed. can it be? no, that would be weird. you guys are friends after all. fred smirked and playfully winked at you.

"don't be silly, fred." you had decided to say. "c'mon, it's late, let's head to bed before anyone sees us."

you were glad you chose to change topics, it was getting a little awkward, which it never usually is between you and fred.

fred followed you but before you could land your feet on the stairs, fred grabbed you by your hips.

"you wanted me to explain, right? i'll explain."

"oh fuck! oh yes!" the boy relentlessly pounded into you from behind. the force of his thrusts were beyond powerful."fredd- freddie! rightt.. fucking... there. ah!" you moaned. fuck, it felt so good you never wished for it to end.

"mhmmm, yeah? you like that huh, love?" fred shakingly spoke in your ear, sending you goosebumps, which only added to your incoming orgasm.

your back was flush with his chest, and you struggled to keep your legs still. he snaked his arm around your waist as he fucked into you, his other arm too occupied rubbing your little clit.

this sudden but slight change made you grasp his hair with your right hand, the other hand trying to push his pelvis away as the pleasure became overwhelming.

"mmh, don't push me away. you know you want this." he groaned.

"shit, shit, shit!" you kept gasping. the man showed no mercy, as he lifted one of your legs by your thigh, so he could be even deeper, if that was possible.

"too deep, freddie! too f-fucking deep!" you screamed. fred only chuckled at your helpless noises, feeling so proud of himself that he could get those sounds out of your pretty lips.

he sped up his merciless pace, skin-slapping noises lewdly contrasting against your high-pitched moans and freds deep grunts."yes! yes!" you kept whining, as he hit your g-spot over and over again. your eyes rolled back, and, for a moment, all your senses blacked out, and if it wasn't for freds strong grip on you, you would've fell.

"aah, fuck yeah." fred groaned, as he looked down to where you were connected to see a splash of white, sticky, hot liquid all over his and your pelvis.

he quickly pulled out, spinning you and immediately shoving you down on your knees.

your mind was still hazey as you were still coming down from your high. looking up at him, you saw him look back while roughly stroking his cock. finally understanding his gaze, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

well fuck, this was just like the drawing.

"mm, keep looking at me like that, sweetheart." he said, in a strained voice. "i'm.. almost.." he moaned, "...there."

the sight infront of you was so delicious, you just had to do something about it. you licked his tip, kissed it and then spit on it.

fred seemed surprised, and stroked faster then ever, before shooting his load onto your tongue."ahaa, oh yeah.." he sighed.

you made sure, once his eyes opened, that he saw your semen covered tongue, and then you swallowed.

not even caring what it tasted like, but caring about how fred reacted, you giggled as you saw him smirk and raise his eyebrows as if he was impressed by your actions.

"you get it now, beautiful? was that a good enough explanation?" fred said, lifting you up by your arms, and carrying you to the gryffindor bathroom.

"mhm, that was a perfect explanation, fred."

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

aaaa! was this good?😭 goshh i hope so. gimme tips n stuff, i'd rlly appreciate it!! :)

#harry potter #cedric diggory #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley smut #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley fic #harry potter smut

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fastandcarlos · 3 months

Text

My Jacket Now : ̗̀➛ George Russell

A shiver ran down your spine as you looked across at the busy paddock. There were bodies everywhere and yet still you found yourself with a chill attacking you. In amongst the chaos your eyes landed on the tall figure of George, diving through the crowds of people, calling out his name, in order to capture his attention. His smile turned up as he noticed you before him.

“I was beginning to think you’d left to get ready without saying goodbye,” you joked.

You were bouncing on your toes in response to the cool. George quickly noticed, unzipping the fleece that he wore and wrapping it around your frame.

“I think you need this more than I do right now.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you put the fleece on properly. “Is George Russell actually giving up his beloved jacket right now?”

George nudged your side, “I can take it back.”

Your head shook as you felt yourself warm up, stepping forwards and pressing a kiss against his lips as George held your waist. “Thank you,” you whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” George chuckled, giving you a kiss of his own. “You better still be wearing that when I get back at the end of the race.”

Your head nodded at George’s instruction, “it’ll come back in perfect condition, I promise.”

George took a set back, admiring how beautiful you looked wearing a piece of his merch.

“George! Let’s go!”

You offered a smile to George, “go on, I’ll be right here cheering for you.”

“Wish me luck babe.”

“You don’t need luck.”

You took one last look at George before letting him go so he could finish prepping for the race. You stayed back in amongst some of the team, studying them all hard at work.

“Now you look like you’re really one of us,” one of them told you as you passed by.

A chuckle came from you as you looked down at the fleece, if anyone didn’t know better, you really did look like a part of the Mercedes crew now.

You remained where you were for most of the race, watching George anxiously. As ever, the race didn’t come without its moments, your heart being made to work a thousand times harder, flinching and hissing every near miss that George had, holding onto the sleeves of George’s fleece to try and calm yourself down.

The only time you could relax was when George crossed the finish line, cheers coming from around you as he came home in 4th, earning him and the team some huge points, having worked incredibly hard all weekend.

You stood back when George returned to the garage, letting him fist bump his team first. Once he eventually found you, his eyes looked nowhere else, arms open inviting you into his hold so that he could celebrate with you.

A kiss to the top of your head greeted you as George rested his head on top of your own. He was sweaty, and smelt a tad, but you were too proud to let that bother you, wrapping your arms around his thin waist at the same time.

“You were amazing out there, well done love!”

It always felt incredible to hear your compliments, especially after a race. George’s smile turned up knowing that you were proud of him - it was all that he ever needed!

“It’s cold now I’m out of the car, George joked, glancing down as you still wore his fleece. “I could really do with that jacket I left around here earlier.”

You tilted your head back to look up at George, “this is my jacket now, you gave it to me, finders keepers and all that.”

George gasped as you spoke, “I gave it to you!”

“But I look better wearing it, right?”

George went to speak but stopped. You poked your tongue as you realised that you had him stuck, he could never argue with you, especially when secretly he knew that you were right.

“You’re lucky you’re cute otherwise I’d be stealing that jacket right from you,” George smirked, tapping the tip of your nose with his own.

“Admit it, you’re just so in love with me.”

George nodded in agreement, “that I most definitely am sweetheart.”

Your smile turned up as George spoke, tightening your grip around him. “And I’m so embarrassingly in love with you too.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

#f1 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #george russell #george russell imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 reaction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #george russell x you #george russell x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 fic #formula one #f1 fic

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chilling-seavey · 6 months

Text

Enchanté (gr63)

↳ A/N Desperate to get back into posting my writing on here. Please take this 25,000 words of straight filth as my first solo George writing on my blog. How the times have changed. How I have grown.

↳ Summary: On a brief business trip to Paris, you find yourself enamoured with this handsome stranger and the fleeting promises he offers in the city of love

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

↳ Word Count: 24.5k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, basically pwp, one night stand, use of explicit language, oral (f & m receiving), rimming, exhibitionism, minor anal play, choking, spitting, spanking, some biting, squirting, overstimulation, use of derogatory names (slut etc.), George has a (very skilled) dirty fucking mouth, unprotected sex (and unprotected creampie...whoops)

The crowded Parisian bar was riddled with tourists who strived pathetically to appear as locals. From your spot at the bartop, you had a view of the classy interior that surrounded you and you found yourself people watching over your icy alcoholic drink for some entertainment that wasn’t the lively jazz music that filled the quaint venue. Your black heels hooked effortlessly on the foot rest of the leather bar stool and you haphazardly stirred your straw around your glass as your gaze passed over the crowd aimlessly before you turned to look over your other shoulder.

You weren’t overly familiar with traveling by yourself but when your company offered you an all expenses paid trip to Paris to network for the firm, you could never dream of declining. It had only been for a long weekend and as Saturday night was progressing, the realization that your short-lived trip to Europe was coming to a close was settling on your conscience. Although a little lonely, you had no complaints, and you decided to locate a bar to celebrate a successful business trip with a well deserved drink or two.

When the bartender walked up to you on the opposite side of the bar top, you glanced up at him just as he set another glass in front of you. Before you could remind him that you didn’t order another, he gestured farther down the bar and told you politely, “From that gentleman.”

He disappeared and you followed where he had pointed to locate the stranger who had bought you another drink. The empty stools that lingered between you felt almost meant to be as the vast expanse of bar made the otherwise crowded place feel like it was only you present. Said gentleman sent you a warm smile as he lounged meticulously on his own barstool, nursing an icy drink of his own, with his light hair styled in neat perfection and his collared shirt ironed crisply and tucked into slacks. You felt silly that you hadn’t noticed him before - his handsome good looks were enough to take your breath away for a moment - but maybe the intrigue of pathetic strangers pitched more entertainment than anything else.

You sent him a polite smile back and a silent slight nod in appreciation as you swapped out your nearly empty glass for the fresh one. He took that as his invitation and stood from his stool to make his way over to you and you looked away to keep from staring at him as he approached.

When he was beside you, he spoke gently, his voice smooth and rich in an accent that was too British to be a local, “Hope that wasn’t too forward of me…sending a beautiful stranger a drink from down the bar.”

You allowed yourself to look up at him with a polite smile, finding yourself warm under his handsome gaze, and you replied, “Not at all. I’m flattered.”

He gestured to the free stool to your right, “May I?”

You nodded and permitted him to join you.

Once he sat and set his own drink down on the bar, he offered his hand out to you, introducing himself as George. You politely took his handshake and introduced yourself in return, to which he let his hand linger in yours for a moment as a friendly smile pricked at his lips.

“What brings you to Paris?” he inquired.

He was facing towards you on the stool as if in a subconscious way of telling you that you had his full attention. You nursed the icy glass in your hand and let the cold condensation seep into your clammy palm as you told him about your business trip and your luxury design firm that paid for most of it. He was tickled impressed by that and pressed on about how the city was treating you and how you were managing there for the weekend.

“You’re talking to me like a local, but you don’t sound French.” you noted aloud, “So might I ask what brings you to Paris?”

George smiled faintly to the bar top as if he had been caught red handed, but he played it off with a modest shrug before looking back at you and answering your question, “Work, too. I’ve been here a few weeks just taking in the sights and letting the feel of the city feed my creativity.”

“Are you an artist?” you asked.

“More of an appreciator.” he stepped over the question before turning the conversation back to you, “Have you been able to see much outside of your tight schedule this weekend?”

You didn’t press him further about his personal life but you didn’t mind sharing some of yours, “A little, but not as much as I’d have hoped. It’s my last night so I’m afraid I might have to book a separate trip to see the sights like a real tourist.”

“Too bad.”

“I know. Then I’d have to pay for the trip myself and no one has that kind of money.”

“Do they not?”

You sent him a pointed gaze but his borderline ignorant statement was countered by his wide teasing smile.

He sipped his drink. You sipped yours.

Despite the fact that you were virtually strangers, you found yourself trusting him and you didn’t turn away his questions about you or your life even when he stepped around your inquiries in return. You spoke about art and fashion and design and shared thoughts on recent events and fads. His answers seemed to be shallow and simple but he pressed for depth with yours, luring you into more descriptions of architecture and design and artwork that spoke to you. He was hanging onto your every word, resting on his arm on the bar top with his aquamarine eyes staring unwaveringly into yours like there was no one else in the room.

Who was this handsome stranger and why was his attention sending butterflies through your stomach?

You found yourselves wasting an hour in that bar with the strangers you once watched fading into the background noise of the jazz music that surrounded you. After a weekend alone, it felt nice to have company and you made sure to tell him just that amidst a momentary lull in your conversation.

George gave you a smile and dusted his fingertips over your arm, sending shivers up your spine, as he said, “Can I take you to see some sights before you have to leave?”

“It’s kind of late for things to be open, is it not?”

“Not when you know your way around.” he countered.

You contemplated his offer since he was truly still a stranger, but you were in the city of love and he seemed respectful enough and you found yourself meeting his smile with your own, “Alright.”

George stood from his bar stool and took his wallet from his back pocket to slide his credit card over the counter towards the bartender. He then offered out his hand to you, “Shall we?”

You carefully set your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours so naturally, and you replied softly, “We shall.”

He helped you off the bar stool and the bartender returned his card to him and George thanked him, pocketed the card, and then gestured you towards the entrance of the bar.

“I haven’t paid yet.” you protested quietly.

“I paid for you.” George set his hand faintly on the small of your back, “Now come on.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” you replied bashfully as you made your way through the narrow bar and the crowds of late night patrons towards the door. “I wasn’t-”

“My pleasure.” he insisted, cutting you off with a smile.

He opened the door for you and you stepped outside into the crisp spring air. George was close behind you and soon you were walking side by side down the Paris sidewalks and passing many closed storefronts and lively nightlife restaurants and bars that lined the streets. The dark sky above was polluted with the city light but you still inhaled the lingering scent of French pastries and wines that made up the city of culture and dreams. You habitually tucked your arms over your chest as you walked, trying to keep yourself in that moment.

“Cold?” George asked.

“No. I’m okay.” you replied.

“I’d offer a jacket but I don’t have one on me either.” he chuckled.

You smiled to the cobblestones for a moment.

Your footsteps fell in steady time against the quiet streets together, walking among the gorgeous architecture side by side with the warmth of alcohol in your veins. With your arms still crossed over your chest, you looked over at George again to speak, “Do I get to know where you’re taking me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he countered.

“Well, knowing that I have said yes to going out with some stranger in the middle of the night in a strange city…I wouldn’t be surprised if this was just giving you a perfect excuse to kill me.”

George replied without missing a beat, “You’re too pretty to kill.”

“Oh,” you scoffed, “thanks, I think.”

You looked at each other from equal heights and you shared tipsy little smiles and he bumped your arm playfully so you knew he was teasing.

He led the way through the historic streets of Paris and down a few blocks until you reached a spacious green area and he stepped off the path and onto the grass, helping you step over the short rope fence that divided the sidewalk from the gardens. You found thrill in the feeling of his hand in yours so you didn’t pull away, even once you were safely stable on the grass alongside him. George let you hold his hand and his other slid into the pocket of his trousers as you walked side by side slowly.

The city felt so vacant and yet so full of life all in the same. It was dreamy. George tilted his head back to breathe in the nighttime air and he let it out with a hearty sigh.

“Nothing like being buzzed while walking through the streets of Paris to make you really feel alive.” he announced.

You giggled softly and nudged yourself against his arm, finding yourself staying warm from his presence and from the alcohol that had taken to your system, “Very true.”

Straight ahead, at the far end of the lengthy green space you strolled down, the Eiffel Tower stood out from the inky night sky backdrop out in its trims of gold lights and iron. It was nearly breathtaking and you felt the excitement in your chest as you mentally checked a sight off your bucket list. You had only seen it in passing on your short and extremely busy trip to Paris so this was your first time actually having a chance to admire the beauty of its architecture. Better late than never.

George led you to a nearby bench that faced towards the monumental structure and, without letting go of your hand, you took a seat together. The silence was peaceful between you for a few minutes, both of you just staring up at the Eiffel Tower glittering before you, just living in the moment with a friendly stranger at your side. A few people strolled past in the dark, making their way to their own late night destinations and a couple groups even stopped for pictures of the Tower before continuing on. Seemed as though you were the only two willing to sit and appreciate the man-made beauty with your eyes rather than your cell phones.

When George's hand left yours, you glanced over at him just as he draped his arm over the back of the bench behind you without tearing his eyes away from the beauty of world-renowned architecture. But at the feeling of your eyes on him, he looked at you too, sharing a calm smile through the peaceful night and you naturally felt yourself ease back into the curve of his arm.

“This okay?” you asked softly, hesitantly.

“Yeah.” George answered just as gently. “What do you think of our destination?”

You tore your eyes away from his handsome face to look up to the Eiffel Tower again and, with a small smile, you responded, “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s usually so crowded during the day…it’s nice to come past at night and just take a second to sit with your thoughts.”

“I was worried I’d miss my chance to see it.” you confessed.

“Good thing you chose to go drinking instead then.” George teased.

You scrunched up your nose with a faint giggle, “Shush.”

He lifted his hand from the bench and gently brushed his fingers through your hair before setting his arm properly around your shoulders. You could feel the shivers down your spine from more than just the chilly night time breeze and you felt your attention drawing to his gaze again. Had he always been that close? Maybe you should have figured he would be since you had gladly leaned into him when you sat down but now you were much more attuned to the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body. He was no more than a stranger to you but there was a pull in your chest to learn more, to figure him out.

“Why don’t you talk about yourself?” you asked him quietly.

He shrugged and glanced back towards the Eiffel Tower, “I don’t think there’s much to say. I’d much rather listen to you than drone on about myself…you’re much more interesting.”

He looked back at you with a calm smile.

You scoffed faintly, “I highly doubt that.”

“Miss big fancy designer on her all-expenses-paid international trips. No time for sightseeing but still has an unwavering appreciation for art and literature and everything good in the world. Everything that is just as beautiful as she is.”

His simple explanation of you had you licking away your bashful smile and looking away from him as if needing to hide your blush from the revealing light of the nearby street lamp. He danced his fingertips over your shoulder which sent shivers down your arm and you forced yourself to look back at him.

“I wanna know more about you, mister knows his way around Paris. Buying tourists drinks in bars and sweet talking his way through intelligent conversation about fashion and art and all the greats. I wanna know why no one has scooped you up yet.”

George shrugged with a faint smile on his lips, “I dunno. No one’s really caught my interest. I’m not much of the settle down type. I like to have the freedom to roam. Today, Paris. Maybe tomorrow; Milan. Athens. Monaco.”

“Ah, not a man to be tied down, are you?” you teased lightly.

“I’m 26. I have lots of time.”

“I envy that mindset.”

“You don’t think the same? Taking these years to focus on your career and travel? It seems you do.”

“That’s true.” you agreed, lolling your head forward again to admire the twinkling Eiffel Towel in front of you, “I just sometimes crave to be craved, y’know? Work and travel can only satisfy so much.”

“Love?”

“Yes, but even less than that I’d be willing to have. No one has ever really taken an interest in me despite my best efforts. I want to be one of those summer-fling, no strings attached, live in the moment kind of girls but…I guess that is not me. Not written in my cards.”

You weren’t looking at him but you could feel him staring at you out of the corner of your eye. It felt weird to confess such things to a stranger of all people but at the same time, you would likely never see him again so what did it matter. His fingers scratched gently over your shoulder and that same arm gave you a little squeeze.

“You cannot be telling me right now that no guy has tried to get with you.” he spoke in near disbelief.

You looked over at him again, your body resting so close against his side, and you answered honestly, “Nope. And believe it or not, you were the first guy ever to buy me a drink like that.”

“Well, I’m damn proud of it then. I don’t shy away from gorgeous women…unlike clearly every single guy from where you’re from.”

You set your hand on his thigh with a soft, “You flatter me.”

He set his opposite hand on top of yours, “You…are beautiful.”

One look into his eyes and your heart was thudding hard in your chest with a warmth that had to be more than just the alcohol in your system. You didn’t want to look away from him - not even to gaze upon the beauty of the Eiffel Tower just beyond. Instead, you kept your eyes on his and silently took in every inch of his handsome face as if to engrave it into a monument of your very own in your mind. You couldn’t help but worry about the night coming to an end, already getting so ahead of yourself.

George lifted his hand from yours on his lap to dust his fingers over your cheek and he tucked some of your loose strands of hair behind your ear in the late night breeze. You shivered at his ghostly touch and your eyelids fluttered when he caressed your jaw and held your face in his warm palm for a fleeting moment. But your eyes stayed locked through the moonlit night, illuminated by the sparkling Eiffel Tower nearby, and when he licked his lips briefly, your insides flip flopped in giddy anticipation.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Mhm.” you hummed contentedly without tearing your gaze away from his perfectly plump lips. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted to kiss them until that very moment.

George's thumb gently dusted over your cheek and he guided you in slowly to let his nose bump testingly against yours, causing you to instinctively turn your face towards his a little more. Your breath shuttered slightly in your chest with your hand resting motionless on his thigh, not wanting to move an inch in case you scared him off; this was too good to be true.

But in seconds, without hesitation, his arm around your shoulders pulled you closer just as his lips captured yours in a slow kiss by the guidance of his warm hand on your chin. Despite the cliché call for a swell of music and fireworks going off behind the Eiffel Tower, the silence that filled the Parisian streets in your reality rang in your ears with absolute perfection. You both stayed motionless for a few seconds, testing the waters, until George took the initiative to part your lips with his own and your head tilted just enough to go in for a deeper kiss.

With your hand still on his thigh, your other lifted up to rest on the back of his neck just to make sure he wasn’t going to move away any time soon. He certainly wasn’t planning on it, and the way he kissed you was proof of that. His lips were so pillow soft against yours and they caused the most beautiful butterflies to erupt in your stomach and right down between your legs from only the gentlest kiss. He was so tender with it like he was almost nervous you were going to break at the first touch but then it was your turn to take initiative and you ghosted your tongue along his bottom lip.

French kissing in Paris. Shamelessly, you mentally checked it off your bucket list once his tongue met yours.

In the wide open greenery surrounding the illuminated Eiffel Tower, you sat together on a bench without a care in the world, letting the night around you swallow up your public display of affection. It was so out of character for you but it was thrilling all the same and you swore you could have stayed there all night just like that. He kissed you slowly and sensually, his lips fitting so effortlessly with yours and his tongue teasing against yours just the slightest amount.

George gently took his hand from your face and set it blindly on your lap, sliding his warm palm over the hem of your tight pencil skirt and the outside of your thigh without taking his lips from yours for more than a second. Your body tried to arch against him from your spot at his side with his arm around your shoulders and you could feel him clutch you a little closer under his grasp, tilting his head to the other side for a change of pace through your kisses.

You could taste the remanence of alcohol on his tongue as you licked your way deeper into his mouth, your fingers holding possessively to the back of his neck and along the high quality fabric of the collar of his shirt. But he fought back insistently for his control as if he were determined to keep the lead of your passionate French kisses and you would never have dreamt of declining him that. In fact, you found yourself so easily succumbing to him that your heart was racing in your chest and you didn’t want to let him go.

His hand on your thigh left fire in its wake as he caressed you over the fabric of your skirt and dangerously close to the curve of your waist and your ass. In return, you slid your hand farther along the inseam of his slacks, earning a soft moan from his mouth into yours that you swore was the equivalent of angels singing. You couldn’t help but kiss him harder, desperate to taste more of him and those handsome sounds that you prided yourself on the ability to lure from his throat.

When George started to pull away from your kiss, you leaned after him to chase his kiss for more with a gentle pull to the back of his neck to get him closer. His low chuckle fell against your cheek as he refused your kiss and you settled for a dusting of your lips across the corner of his mouth and his smooth cheek. He smelt so good, so manly, so fresh, so foreign, and you just had to breathe him in for a second.

His hand rubbed over your thigh and then up your arm to gently grasp your bicep while he leaned his head back just enough to look you in the eye. Then, he offered with a voice so rich and smooth you felt it in your soul, “I have a complimentary bottle of champagne back at the hotel that won’t drink itself.”

His hotel was only two blocks away and neither of you really spoke on your walk over, and especially not about how you both seemed to walk a little quicker than before either. You were silently surprised by the five star hotel he led you into the lobby of, past doormen and sleek modern marble floors towards the elevators.

Once you reached the sixth floor, his room was only a few paces down from the elevator bay and he pulled the key card from his wallet and opened the door for you politely. You could feel your heart thudding against your chest and in your ears as if your pathetic inexperience was thrilled with the concept of being ruined by whatever lay behind the closed hotel room door.

The room itself was modest in size but decorated in modern finishes and furniture that matched the ritzy glamour of contemporary Paris filling the entirety of the well-known Pullman Hotel. He had kept his room generally neat with his suitcase resting closed on the floor beside the desk and only his laptop and a few belongings littering the surface. Just inside the entry to the standard hotel room was a mini bar where said bottle of champagne was resting in a half melted bucket of ice. With the door locked behind you, George stepped over to the bar and grabbed the neck of the green bottle to lift it out of the cold water.

Your eyes were locked on him in his pink toned button up shirt and flattering slacks and you licked your lips before speaking, “I’m just going to freshen up for a sec.”

George glanced over at you and cracked a polite smile, “Sure. I’ll meet you out on the balcony.”

You smiled right back, “Okay.”

The bathroom was just adjacent to the entry door and you helped yourself, closing the door behind you to take a second to pull yourself together. You had never been so reckless with a stranger before and if the past half hour was any inclination of where this night was leading, you were really facing uncharted territory. But you still wanted it so badly and the faint haze of alcohol in your body was enough to mute your anxieties for a little while, just enough to get you to give into the temptation that pulsed within you.

You took a moment to stare at yourself in the LED framed mirror and wiped the corners of your eyes free of the smudged eyeliner and mascara after a long day and then you fluffed up your hair a little, trying to buy yourself a few seconds before facing the rest of the night with your handsome stranger. He was waiting for you.

Across the modest hotel room, past the neatly made king size bed and blue upholstered lounge chair, you could see his silhouette on the balcony through the floor to ceiling windows and sheer curtains. As if drawn to him, you were right away drifting across the carpeted floor to the partially open glass door. George looked up at you when you emerged from inside and he sent you a smile and held out a filled glass of bubbling champagne towards you.

You thanked him softly with a polite smile of your own and took the long stemmed glass from his hand. Then, your attention was captured by the sparkling lights over the railing and, sure enough, the Eiffel Tower stood tall and proud over the darkened rooftops of the surrounding buildings, in perfect view from the balcony.

“Holy shit.” you grinned, reaching a hand out to rest on the railing so you could get a proper look to the right about 30 degrees with the famous monument right beside you. It was even closer than when you had sat together in the park and you peered over the edge of the balcony to look down the street to see the looming shadows of where the large iron feet of the tower rested in the tree lined concrete only a block away.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” George spoke from a step behind you.

“Incredible. I don’t even want to know how much this hotel costs per night with a view like this.”

George chuckled, “Worth it.”

“Seems so.”

When the initial awe-struck shock of your view tapered off, the two of you sat on the outdoor chaise lounge together with your glasses of champagne. Like he had in the park, George draped his arm around the back of the seat so he could angle himself towards you slightly to engage in conversation as you saw fit. But you were perfectly happy just staring at him for a little bit, finally able to get a good look at him by the illumination of the balcony light above you. He was so gorgeous. You wondered if this was real.

“Was it okay that I kissed you earlier?” he asked softly, reaching his thumb out from the back of the lounger just a few centimeters to ghost over your shoulder.

“Yeah. It was really…really okay.” you admitted with a bashful smile.

George mirrored your expression and then you both sipped your drinks.

“Haven’t been kissed like that in a while. And especially not by such a handsome stranger.” you said honestly, hoping he couldn’t quite see the pink of your cheeks in the limited light you were both bathed in. Flirting wasn’t necessarily your forté but somehow, your comment had him scooting a little closer.

“When was the last time you were kissed at all?” he pressed.

“Over a year or two.” you answered. “Maybe even more than two…”

George’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “That long?”

“Mhm.”

“Certainly didn’t feel like it.”

“You were leading.” you protested softly.

His fingers raised from the back of the chaise to brush your hair over your shoulder, “And you kept up effortlessly.”

You shared breathy chuckles before you pitched his same question back at him; how long had it been since he was kissed.

“Maybe a month.” he replied as he lifted his glass to his lips as if to hide behind it.

“Okay.” you scoffed playfully, trying to ignore the feeling that lingered dangerously close to that of jealousy in your chest, “So you’re a handsome art enthusiast who travels wherever he wants thanks to an undisclosed job and hangs out in bars to take tourist ladies back to your hotel room. Starting to see why you don’t feel the need to settle down, mister bachelor.”

“Hey now.” George tisked, “I’m not a player if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“Oh no, of course not.” you assured him casually, “I don’t kiss players.”

His lips perked up at the corner and you sipped your drink behind raised brows.

George’s head cocked to the side slightly, curiously, and he pitched a question to you, “Well, what do you think my intentions were when I invited you back here?”

It was a teasing inquiry that definitely put you on the spot but you had the wit to counter his remarks. You swirled your glass of champagne gently in your hand with an easy response, glancing out across the night covered city, “To try French champagne with a movie-esque view of the Eiffel Tower, of course.”

George stared at you with that sly little smirk, “Mhm.”

“Why?” you glanced back at him innocently, “Was there something else that you had intended from your generous hospitality?”

You were sure he had shuffled closer when you weren’t looking and you were almost as close together as you were on the bench moments earlier. His index finger twirled through your hair and then the back of it caressed your flushed cheek as he spoke softly, “Just to show you how a real gentleman appreciates a lady as beautiful and as fascinating as you.”

“Oh yeah?” you licked your lips habitually, your gaze drifting between his eyes and his lips, “And how might that be done?”

“C’mere and I’ll show you.” he whispered.

His voice alone had the ability to make your insides twist with lust and you didn’t need to be asked twice before you were leaning in those few extra centimeters to meet him halfway for another kiss. Your lips locked effortlessly as if the practice at the park came in handy and after your first one, he was pulling away just long enough to move in for more. His hand danced around the side of your neck and the pad of his thumb pressed gently to your jaw to guide you into your sensual kisses on the private hotel room balcony.

You both leaned into it at the same time, tilting heads and parting lips in unison with champagne glasses held forgotten in your hands. His soft moan into your mouth made your pussy throb and you gave him a little hum in reply, peaceful and content and not wanting him to stop. He read your non-verbal language perfectly as his hand cradling your face slid farther around the side of your neck and his fingers pressed in place there to pull you into him. Your free hand reached out to catch yourself on his thigh thanks to his insistence to get you impossibly closer but you gladly kept right up with his lips and his tongue that teased yours.

The night air felt hot in that moment and yet you didn’t want to stray even a millimeter away from him. In fact, when he tried to take a second to break away from your kiss for a breath, you reached up from his lap to grab his cheeks in your hand and pull his lips back to yours. His chuckle was warm and low against your mouth and you could taste it on your tongue as his pushed back against yours in retaliation. Your kisses were lustful and full of silent desire but they were slow and savouring as if each single kiss had your entire heart and soul put into each one. You sucked on his tongue greedily, earning another pretty groan out of his chest and he nipped at your bottom lip and gave you one more off center kiss before he was dropping his face into your neck.

Your hand that had taken to his cheeks slid around his shoulder instead and your mouth fell open, peacefully agape, as you stared out towards the Eiffel Tower in the near distance, sparking against the inky night sky, while your handsome stranger kissed up your neck. His lips were so heavenly and your eyes fluttered with bliss as he trailed open mouthed kisses across your tender skin, his hand still secure at the back of your neck, holding you in place. You could feel his warm breath leave shivers in its wake and you bit your lip instinctively as your senses were focused all on him.

You never knew neck kisses could feel that good and you let him know through soft hums of appreciation and the way your fingers grasped the back of his button up shirt. No one had ever kissed you like that and any hints of nervousness that had once grazed your mind were thrown out the window by his effortless touch. He sucked gently on your supple skin before soothing it with a modest lick and you leaned your head back so he could take the hint to let up from your neck in exchange for your lips again. Gladly accepting, you shared a few more loud sloppy kisses before he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip and gave it a little tug as he pulled away. Side by side on the outdoor chaise lounge, your eyes met in your close proximity, pupils blown wide, and your half-empty champagne glasses were still held in your hands.

George licked his lips and you shifted your hand from the back of his shoulder to trace the shape of them with the pad of your index finger. He spoke to you quietly through your touch, “You said guys don’t really take interest in you…so how far have you actually gone before?”

“Such a salacious thing to ask a lady.” you tisked in mock offense before bringing your hand back to your lap.

“Just trying to set our boundaries for tonight.” he protested with a handsome grin that he licked away.

“I will be comfortable with anything we decide to do.” you answered honestly and almost too easily.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” you pushed back at him. “I need a little sense of mystery too. You can’t be the only mysterious stranger here.”

He cocked an eyebrow behind a sip of his drink before answering, “Touché.”

“My experience is limited.” you elaborated slightly, “But I am more than willing to experiment.”

George swirled his finger around the rim of his glass with his eyes focused all on you as if he were debating his next move. You waited, willing to make him work for it a little, tucked up beside him in the Parisian night with a gentle breeze in your hair. You were sitting so close together that you could smell him and you wanted to completely engulf yourself in him that instant. There must have been something about the French air that just ignited this unfamiliar lust within you.

But apparently George was of the same mindset, undoubtedly sealed by the steamy kiss you had just shared, because his next question was so blunt that it nearly took the air from your lungs. He asked it softly, gently, with his hand trailing over your shoulder and your collarbones and down the neckline of your blouse, “So you’ve never had cum on your tits before?”

You stared at how he stared at you, and you replied with a whisper, “I’ve never had cum on anything before, to be honest.”

“Well let’s change that.” he pitched, “You wanna?”

You bit back your smile and nodded without hesitation.

He leaned forward to set his champagne glass on the outdoor table beside the bucket of melting ice and you rested yours down too, unable to smother the grin that was only growing wider across your face. The moment his glass was out of his hand, George was leaning back against the back of the chaise lounge and starting to unbuckle his belt. You tucked one leg up underneath you so you were facing towards him a bit better and you caressed down the front of his shirt with a gentle hand while leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth and, when he turned his head in your direction, you kissed his lips.

The sound of his belt buckle clanking faintly as he unpinned it had your insides stirring with lust and as you kissed him like you had only a few seconds before, you reached down to help him out a little. You were both impatient for it and thus you both broke your kiss to look down towards his lap as he finally got his belt undone and you took the initiative to pop the button of his pants and tug down the zipper. His hips flexed up towards your hand naturally with him lounged back on the chaise and his feet flat on the ground, so willing to let you take to him however you saw fit.

“Did you want me to suck your dick?” you asked softly as if nervous someone was nearby to overhear, with your hand still tucked around the waistband of his pants.

George stared up at you with sweet blue eyes and a sultry smile to match, “Yeah. If you want to.”

You exchanged a genuine smile with him before you were standing up from the chaise lounge and pitching, “On my knees?”

“However you want, gorgeous.” he answered smoothly.

You tucked your hair behind your ears and gently scooted the small outdoor table out of the way so you had room to sink to your knees in front of him. The floor of the hotel room balcony was cool and strenuous against your bare knees but your attention was focused on things other than your own personal comfort as you tugged at the waistband of his pants to start to shimmy them down his legs. George shifted slightly to help you take them off and he kicked off his shoes at the same time and discarded both articles to the side, leaving him in only his underwear and his button up shirt.

Your warm hands slid up his thighs and to his waist, allowing you to lean in towards his lap with your eyes set on the sizable bulge in the front of his underwear. It was almost embarrassing how quickly your mouth was watering and you licked your lips before leaning down to kiss him through the fabric, raising your gaze up to his face when you dropped out your tongue to tease over the shape. With a shaky exhale of anticipation, George brushed his hand through your hair softly to keep it out of your way and didn’t dare to tear his eyes away from you as your gentle hand moved to the front of his underwear and your palm rubbed over him warmly.

You could feel how hard he was already through the thin material of his briefs and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip lustfully to try and bite back the excited grin that came with the racing of your heart. In fact, you could easily wrap your fingers around the thick shape of his cock and give it a little squeeze just to feel it twitch in response with a soft groan from the man who laid before you. Leaning down towards him, you pressed a slow open mouthed kiss to the kiss of his pelvis that was peeking out from under his underwear and the hem of his shirt before giving him another one right over the Calvin Klein label across the waistband.

“Didn’t know you were such a fucking tease.” George said quietly, draping his arms across the back of the chaise lounge.

You smiled up at him proudly before linking your fingers in the sides of his underwear and started to pull them down his thighs, carefully lifting the snug fabric over his hard cock as you released it from the confines. His briefs were dropped haphazardly down his shins and he kicked them to the side to give himself free reign, unable to stop staring at the way you stared at him so wide-eyed and angelic.

With your hands resting sweetly on his thighs, you were shamelessly gaping at the first hint of masculinity that you had seen in ages and the first one you so desperately wanted to see. You didn’t even realize you could think a cock was gorgeous, but his was. Perfectly shaped with trimmed dark brown hair around the base and down over his balls, you couldn’t stop gawking at him. It naturally rested up against the dip between his pelvis and his thigh from how hard he was, swollen so thick and large that part of you wondered how you were supposed to fit the whole thing in your mouth. And the tip was so pretty and blush pink that you just had to reach out and gingerly dust your fingertip across it, making his cock twitch at your ghostly touch.

You then wrapped your hand around it to lift it up away from his body and angled it towards your mouth so you could purse your lips and let a thick string of saliva fall onto the head and it dripped down the side. George shuttered slightly and you looked up at his face again just as you dropped out your tongue and licked at the sensitive underside of his pretty pink tip. It was then quickly followed by another precise lick right up the shaft of his cock with your dragging your flat tongue wetly right along his flesh to taste every inch of him.

Both of you let out soft hums of appreciation at the same time and as George’s lips perked up at the corner at your mirrored responses, you wrapped yours around the head of his dick and slowly sucked on it. His head fell back slightly with a tight groan from his throat at the first feeling of your mouth taking him over and you caressed it with your tongue in messy swirls at the same time. But then you were pulling off him with a wet pop and you tucked your hair behind your ears again before taking hold of the base of his cock again to keep him steady as you sank your mouth down around him.

Like a true gentleman, your handsome stranger reached down with both hands to gently pull your hair away from your face and over your shoulders and into a snug make-shift ponytail in his grasp. With your hand still holding him steady, you gave him shallow testing motions of your warm wet mouth, making sure to hollow your cheeks on each up stroke to suck on him prettily.

“God, you’re such a good girl.” George exhaled with that honey rich tone of voice that made your pussy throb under your skirt.

You moaned around him at his praise and let yourself drool down his cock as you sped up your mouth a little with your hand starting to use your spit as lubrication to stroke him off at the same time. His grasp in your hair followed the motions of your head easily and he peered down at you through lustful eyes as you took his cock in your mouth like it was your day job.

“You like praise, baby?” he pressed on quietly.

You lifted up from his lap to look up at him with your hand taking over on his dick in quick pumps as you answered, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” George smirked softly back at you, his eyebrows raising when you dribbled more spit down onto his cock in your hand without tearing your gaze away from his.

Then you were sinking your mouth back down around him and taking him in against your tongue through plush drooly lips, matching the pace with your hand until the faint wet rhythmic squelch filled the private hotel balcony. It was hard to believe that even after having him in your mouth, you were still salivating for more.

George played to that perfectly as he kept holding your hair back in one fist as he spoke down to you in that velvet accent of his, “I know you can be a good girl for me and take more of my cock in your pretty mouth.”

Your eyes nearly rolled at his filthy words and you moaned in acknowledgement around him before gently shaking your head to get yourself deeper. Tears pricked your eyes slightly as you forced yourself farther down on him until the head of his cock was nudging into the tight confines of your throat. You gagged faintly around him but kept yourself bobbing your mouth along the length of his dick steadily until your spit was leaking over your hand and down his balls.

“That’s it,” he exhaled, “Just like that, baby, fuck.”

George tucked one hand behind his head, looking so handsome in that button up shirt and nothing else, his legs spread on either side of you to give you a spot to kneel with your face in his lap. You slid your free hand up his waist and tucked the hem of his shirt in your thumb so you could push the fabric up and out of the way slightly, only moaning around his cock when you felt the faint arches and valleys of his abs under your palm. You just wanted to give him everything.

The gags that were forced from your throat only got louder as you pushed yourself onwards and bobbed your head down on him a little faster, thankfully still quiet enough to stay within the open confines of the balcony you were on. Your grasp on his slicked up cock kept in time with your mouth in long twisting strokes, guiding your motions effortlessly.

“Fuck, baby.” George groaned, “Your mouth feels so fucking good, holy shit.”

Driven with lustful desire, you pulled off of him with your tongue dragging up the underside of his cock in your wake, and you gasped out of it filthily but still kept your hand around him securely as you pitched your plea, “Can I eat your ass too?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the salacious request that you offered with such an angelic smile but he nodded, “Yes. Yeah, baby, that’s so fucking hot.”

You grinned up at him and helped him lift his feet up from the ground so his body weight was resting back against the chaise lounge and he let go of your hair so both of his hands could grasp the backs of his knees to keep himself spread for you. You removed your hand from his dick to set both palms on his ass and spread his cheeks open, your heart racing in your chest and your throat as this handsome man laid spread before you, completely at your mercy.

“Has anyone rimmed you before?” you asked.

“No. But I’ve been curious.” he answered to the balcony above as if he were almost nervous to look at you.

“Good.” you leaned down and spit loudly on his perineum, “We’ll each have something new to experience tonight.”

“What’s that saying? What happens in Paris…” George said playfully.

You shared light laughter.

Then, he asked, “Have you ever rimmed someone before?”

“Nope.” you replied, “But you’re so fucking hot and it made me want to really badly.”

He couldn’t get another response out before you were leaning in and dragging your flat tongue right over his asshole, smearing your spit right across it and up to his balls.

“Fuck.” George lifted his head to look down at you.

You sent him a salacious smile from between his legs and slid your palms up the backs of his thighs before leaning in to swirl the tip of your tongue around his tight rim of muscle and you prodded at it gently. His mouth was agape as he stared at you in near awe, watching how you licked and kissed at his asshole until your right hand was reaching up to wrap around his hard cock to lazily jerk him off at the same time. He moaned lowly, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to try and keep himself quiet in the open balcony you found yourselves on.

Your hand around his swollen dick kept pumping him in messy flicks of your wrist angled up towards his abdomen while your tongue swirled and lapped at his asshole to pull another tight groan from his chest. It felt so good to bring him pleasure and you couldn’t help but drop your other hand down to gently grasp his balls in your warm palm, kneading them tenderly, and George’s head fell back against the lounge.

“Fucking hell.” he exhaled shakily. “God, this feels fucking insane.”

You giggled sweetly and kissed the doughy flesh of his ass and then gave him one last proper lick before you were rising up onto your knees properly and guiding his cock back into your mouth. He let out a tight grunt at the surprising feeling of your warm wet tongue taking to his aching dick and he heaved his head up from the back of the couch and reached a hand down right away to tangle in your hair again. But you were a step ahead and you were already starting to bob your mouth down around him in sloppy strokes, only made stronger by his little tugs of your head towards his lap that made you choke steady around him.

“I love how you gag when I push it deeper.” he said through his teeth, “Such a good fucking girl.”

You kept your other hand on his balls and cupped them in your palm and squeezed faintly, making his cock twitch against your tongue. You were honestly making a bit of a mess with the tears pricking your eyes and the drool slipping down your chin and over your hands that cradled him lustfully. George’s hand in your hair kept you going a little faster and his feet slipped off the edge of the lounger to rest back on the ground, spread nice and wide for your mouth to take as much of him as possible as his breaths fell heavier into the nighttime air.

But then he was slowing you down with a, “Fuck, okay, stop a second.”

You pulled off of him right away with a gasp for air, a thick string of saliva breaking away from the head of his cock and it dripped down your chin for you to wipe it away with the back of your hand. He sat himself up a little more from his slouching position and his hand took your place around his dick in those quick pumps.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” he asked, although his tone had just the perfect hint of demanding.

You licked away your grin at what you knew was coming and you hurried to unbutton your blouse in front of him from your knees. It was dropped to the side with his slacks and his shoes and you took the initiative to let your bra join it, too driven by the dangerous combination of lust and alcohol to overthink anything.

“Fuck, good girl.” he praised with his eyes glued to your chest and his hand keeping strong strokes around his cock.

You reached up to graze your fingers around your hardened nipples before groping your breasts in your full palms. George groaned lowly and shuffled a little closer to the edge of the chaise lounge, his feet still anchored on the ground with you kneeling prettily between them. His dick in his hand was right in front of you, just below eye level, and you pursed your lips to drip more of your spit onto the pretty pink tip for him to smear in with his secure hand in quick erotic pumps.

“You’re so fucking filthy.” he whispered strongly, “You’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

“Please.” you begged with a soft voice, peering up at him behind long lashes as your hands pushed your breasts together, “Please cum on my tits.”

“Fuck.” George groaned through his teeth, his biceps bulging with how close he was getting himself and the slick sound of his hand pumping his cock was apparent over your shared heavy breaths on the balcony.

“I’m your good little slut.” you breathed.

You could literally hear him choke over his next breath but that fact only brought a proud smirk to your face as you watched him succumb to your simply crafted words, his hand tugging faster at his cock with his jaw clenching tightly.

“Yeah, gimme it.” you whispered, “Cum all over me.”

In seconds, George’s face was scrunching up and his hand was shuttering on his dick just before he came with a moan that was smothered by his bitten lip. You watched with wide eyes as the first pretty white spurt streaked across your chest as your hands held your breasts together for him, giving him room to paint you in ribbons of creamy white.

“Oh my God.” you groaned heartily as you stared down at yourself and the mess he made, the last few drops slipping out of the tip and down the shaft of his dick towards his fist. Cheekily, you dropped out your tongue and lapped at the leaking slit at the head of his cock to clean him up a little and to watch how it made him flinch sensitively.

“Oh my God.” George echoed, his chest rising and falling quickly behind his pretty button up shirt while your eyes met.

You bit your lip excitedly at the realisation of what had just happened and the lust that had taken to your mind only flowed through you even stronger than before. You leaned up from your knees to push your lips on his in an off centered kiss and George gladly grabbed your cheek in his hand to keep kissing you. Both of you were greedy and sloppy with it without an ounce of politeness in sight as you French kissed overlooking the Parisian night sky and George’s hands ran up your hips and over your bare breasts that were still streaked in dripping cum.

You stood up between his legs without tearing your lips or tongue away from his, only mumbling into his kiss as you held yourself up on his bare thighs, “My pussy is so fucking wet.”

He danced his fingertips down your torso to the waistband of your skirt, “Can I feel?”

“Yeah.” you answered easily into his mouth.

George’s lips locked with yours again as his hand helped itself up your skirt until it was bunching around your mid-thighs and he could glide his fingers over your panties. Standing between his legs and bent over at the waist towards him, you held his face in your hands to keep kissing him even as he moaned into your mouth at the discovery of the soaked through fabric.

You didn’t stop him as he gently nudged your wet panties to the side to glide his fingers over your pussy, slicking them up in your warm arousal in taunting back and forth caresses. You shared deep moans into each other’s mouths, trying to stay quiet in the outdoor setting but it was hard when the lust that joined you together was unbearably strong.

“You’re fucking soaked.” George mumbled into your kiss, rubbing his fingers a little harder between your slick lips.

You sucked on his tongue as you pulled away from his mouth, offering bravely, “Wanna taste it too?”

He licked his lips behind his obvious smirk, “Yeah.”

You stood up straighter as if preparing to swap spots with him but George had other plans.

He gestured across the balcony, “Lean forward against the railing.”

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse.

While you turned yourself around to face the edge of the balcony and the city of Paris beyond, the sparkling Eiffel Tower to the right of the hotel urged you closer to the railing for an idyllic view. The darkness of the night provided sufficient shadows over your exhibitionist scene on the sixth floor balcony for you to feel too shy from any potential onlookers at street level with you in absolutely nothing from the waist up. George was right up behind you in an instant though with his hands on your body and his lips on your neck, kissing right up under your ear to make you shiver and you reached a hand back to tangle in his hair over your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

He had unbuttoned his shirt at some point as you could tell by the feeling of his bare chest pressing against your bare back and the sensation of his warm skin against yours was invigorating. But it wasn’t long before he was kissing down your shoulder and down your spine and sinking to his knees behind you, taking your skirt down with him in his greedy hands. You stepped out of it and let him toss it to the side before his hands were groping the flesh of your ass and he nudged his face right between your cheeks, guarded only by the thin lace of your panties.

George kissed teasingly over the curve of your cheeks and then sunk his teeth into the fabric of your underwear gently, earning a soft mewl from you as you leaned farther over the railing and he gave them a tug. Then they were coming off next and you were standing naked at the edge of the balcony, guarded only by the night sky and the arch of your body in an attempt to keep yourself guarded behind the railing. George’s large hands pulled at your cheeks to spread you open for his hungry eyes and then he was leaning in and licking right up over your pussy.

You shuttered with a soft gasp, flinching under the touch of his tongue, and your fingers wrapped around the smooth metal of the railing. He lapped at your pussy lazily for a few seconds, tasting his first indulgence of you until he was sitting back with a moan and a lick to his lips.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” he breathed, giving your ass a jiggle before he was moving back in.

You giggled softly through the Parisian night and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as you focused all your attention on the feeling of his tongue gliding up between your folds and tasting how you dripped for him. He groaned against your pussy and kept his hands on your ass and your hips to hold you on his face as he parted his pillow soft lips to take more of you in his mouth in greedy suckles.

Your eyes fluttered as you stared out across the rooftops to the sparkling Eiffel Tower under the sensations of his heavenly mouth on your cunt. Spreading your feet a little farther apart in your heels, you pushed back against his face to earn another hearty moan out of his chest and he gently shook his head to smother himself in your body as he licked you out with a skilled tongue. Your body burned for more and you moved a hand from the railing to reach back and tangle in his hair, pulling his face in where you needed him. George took your guidance and shifted a little lower to flick at your clit, pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

He took a hand from your hip to slide two fingers in his mouth for a quick second before he was reaching between your legs and rubbing his fingertips over your swollen clit. Your moan was muffled by your bitten lip and you pushed back against his touch, drunk on the feeling of him touching you in all the right spots like he knew you so well. His tongue kept prodding at your pussy and licking up the sweet arousal that leaked out of you by his own mere presence, tasting you with pleasant moans of his own.

You were trying to be quiet as you faced the city beyond but he certainly wasn’t making it easy. Your hand in his hair ended up making it back to the cool metal railing as you were desperate for something to hold onto to stabilize yourself. In the silence of the night, you mouthed a swear word to the sky and rocked your hips back slowly against his mouth and fingers. George hummed against you and then pulled away with a slurp for more quick flicks of his tongue across your cunt.

But then he was sitting back on his knees slightly to ask you quietly, “Can I put my thumb in your ass?”

Your eyes widened, “Really?”

“If you want it.” he kissed your cheek, fingers still ghosting over your clit as if comfortingly.

You felt entirely trusting of him and you permitted him with a mumbled, “Okay. Be gentle though.”

He kissed your hip, “Of course.”

You heard him suck on his thumb for a moment and then pull it from his lips with a wet pop and then he was spitting loudly onto your asshole. This was so far into uncharted territory for you that you swore your eyes were nearly as wide as saucers as you stared across the city and focused on the twinkling starriness of the Eiffel Tower just to your right. The pad of his thumb swirled faintly around your tight rim of muscle before he was slipping it inside just a little, just down to the first knuckle.

Then his tongue was on you again, lapping at your pussy eagerly with that added fullness of his thumb that had you biting harder on your bottom lip as the warmth cascaded through your body. It was only helped by his fingers on your clit and the way he rubbed quick precise strokes to the sensitive, swollen bud that eased you into this newfound world of lust you had never had the chance to explore before.

“This okay?” he asked breathily against your cunt.

“Yeah.” you answered quickly.

He chuckled warmly into you and let his tongue do the talking, giving you long full strokes in quick succession that had you legs flinching for a second. You could feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs as the seconds passed, undoubtedly mixed in erotically with his spit as the filthy wet sounds of his mouth grew messier by the second. His cum was slipping down your chest and between your breasts too but what was once a feeling you would have hated was suddenly filled with a new sense of lust that made you feel claimed by him; this handsome stranger whom you trusted all too easily. The moan that fell from your lips was accidental.

George pulled away from your pussy with a wet slurp and he took his hands back to squeeze your hips before he was dropping out his tongue and licking right up your spine until he reached your neck and his hand tangled in your hair and pulled your head back so he could get his lips on yours. You kissed him gladly, shamelessly throbbing under his obvious dominance, and you reached a hand back to pull him closer by the back of his neck, licking your way into his mouth to taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

Standing together naked on the balcony, your silhouettes stood out against the illuminated hotel room to the Paris horizon, and he was so close to you that you could feel his hard cock pressing against the back of your thigh. Despite his obvious physical urgency, he was a gentleman and he let you pull kisses from his lips until you made the next move. Of course, it didn’t take you long since the arousal in your own bloodstream was driving you wild, and when you broke your kiss and his lips met your neck, you breathed your plea into the Parisian evening,

“Please fuck me.”

George’s groan against your neck was shiver worthy and you tangled your fingers in his hair as he kissed up under your ear.

“Right here.” you added. “Right now. Please fuck me.”

He nipped at your ear lobe, “Okay…I gotta get a condom.”

“Just pull out.” you exhaled, pulling his lips back on yours hungrily by your hand at the nape of his neck.

After sharing a few more feverish kisses, he asked, “You sure?”

“Are you clean?” you asked.

“Yeah. Of course.” he answered respectfully.

“Then yeah.” you wiggled your bare ass back against his cock, feeling the way it slipped so easily between your cheeks. Your teeth captured your bottom lip again as your hands fell gently onto the railing and you ground yourself back on him slowly, tauntingly, impatiently.

George stood up straighter behind you and shuffled up closer, resting his left hand on your shoulder while his right slid the head of his cock along your pussy to collect more of that creamy wetness you were covered in. You arched a little more for him, bending right over until your forearms were balanced parallel across the flat railing and your ass was pressed right up against his body.

“I can already feel how warm you are just like this.” he mumbled into the nighttime air.

“So get inside.” you pitched.

His hand tightened on your shoulder as he took your invitation gladly and carefully slipped the head of his dick inside you. The initial stretch had your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth dropping open at the stinging ache it pushed across your hips but you weren’t going to offer a single complaint. Especially not when his rich moan at his first feeling of your pussy gripping his cock had you set ablaze.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” he exhaled.

You hung your head with a small whine as he pushed in a little more and both of his hands were at your shoulders before sliding down the curve of your back. You were afraid to speak as if he would be able to hear the quiver in your voice from the way he stretched you open so agonizingly. His palms caressed your hips and up the side of your torso and he gave you a few shallow thrusts.

“Can I put it all in?” he asked softly.

You lifted your head up and tried to look back at him over your shoulder in weak surprise, “This isn’t all of it?”

He chuckled, “No. I’m only halfway.”

“Fuck.” you gaped before turning back to the skyline, “Yeah, gimme it all.”

You braced yourself on the railing as he sank deeper inside your tight cunt, filling you up snugly until you could feel that aching pressure deep inside you. The soft whimper that fell from your lips when he fit entirely inside you and his skin pressed right up against your ass was involuntary and his hand pressed to your mouth right after.

“This okay?” he asked against your ear as he leaned over you slightly.

“Mhm.” you mumbled into his palm.

“You’re such a good girl.” he praised you lustfully, “Taking every last fucking inch of me with the whole city watching.”

You moaned quietly against his hand again and he gave you a slow testing thrust that made your eyes roll shut and your fingers tightened on the railing. George’s soft breath against your neck was warm and invigorating and as the strain across your hips faded into more pleasure than pain as your body grew used to it, you found yourself pushing back against him. It encouraged him to thrust into you a little faster, a little harder, and you arched your back a little deeper for him.

“That’s it.” he exhaled, keeping one hand over your mouth with his other grabbing the flesh of your waist to pull you back into his every thrust. “Fuck.”

In only a few seconds, your secret exhibitionist rendezvous on the hotel balcony was growing louder with the wet slap of skin thanks to your own slick arousal and his spit that had slicked you up at the same time, now only made worse by the pleasure he introduced to your body that made you drip down his cock. It was a consistent rhythm of gentle beats, punctuated by his balls hitting your clit at that perfect angle that had you moaning into his hand still clamped over your mouth.

Your hazy gaze peered over the Paris rooftops and out towards the Eiffel Tower, dizzy with wonder as to how this was real life. It was an erotic movie moment, you were sure. How could a man so glorious as him want to take you back to his hotel like this? You weren’t willing to complain, however. Especially not when his strong strokes had any thoughts tumbling out of your brain and vanishing into thin air right before you. Balanced on your black heels spread shoulder width apart, you were leaning so effortlessly over the railing at its perfect height with that angle that allowed the head of his cock to plunge so precisely into you over and over again.

“Oh my God, George.” you moaned into his hand, trying to turn away from his restricting palm but he kept a secure grasp over your mouth. So you were stuck muttering against his hand, “Feels so good.”

Your sounds of pleasure pulled a soft grunt from his chest, holding onto you has he fucked you over the hotel railing until you were both huffing with desire for more. But it was overwhelming and addicting and it was getting harder to hold back the moans that were born at the back of your throat, even with his hand covering your mouth. You couldn’t help yourself as you started to get a little loud, struggling to hold back amidst the pleasure he introduced to your body, and soon his hand wasn’t doing much anymore as your moans tumbled over the Parisian rooftops and to the street below.

“Shh.” George reminded you against your ear, still thrusting away into your pussy just hard enough to keep those steady claps of his skin against yours going. He slipped his index finger past your lips with the rest of his hand still pressed to your mouth and as you sucked on it gladly, he spoke lowly to you, “Keep your voice down. Someone could hear you being a dirty fucking slut for me.”

But, of course, his little ‘threat’ only had you moaning louder with lust around his finger and you greedily dropped your other hand down from the railing to rub at your aching clit. The way your body pulsed around him had him dropping his head back for a moment, mouthing a swear word to the balcony directly above you without faltering for a second.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, down on street level, there was a recreational park opposite the hotel at which a group of young men were playing soccer. The silence of the night and the vacancy of the street had allowed for the sounds of your attempted secret balcony rendezvous to be carried from the sixth floor and down to the park. One of them spotted you first, pointing up to the balcony to his friends to catch a glimpse of the salacious tourists. One stuck his pinkies in his mouth and whistled loudly, earning the quickly following hollers of his friends in your direction.

Your attention was pulled from the night sky to the group of young men down below in the park and your eyes widened, “Oh my God.”

You could feel George smirk against your temple, “Wanna put on a fucking show, do you? I told you to be quiet.”

Now having been found out, George removed his hand from your mouth to wrap around your throat instead and he pulled your head right back so his lips could graze against your ear while his hips shoved hard against yours over and over in quick succession.

“This okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, “Uh huh.”

“Yeah? You want me to choke you?”

“Fuck, yeah.” you breathed, staring longingly into his eyes over your shoulder while your fingers kept rubbing messily at your clit.

George’s eyes darted past you before meeting your gaze again, “They’re fucking watching.”

“Don’t stop.” you pleaded, keeping your stone grip on the railing. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You’re so fucking dirty.” he spoke to you through his teeth, tightening his hand around your throat and you whimpered desperately against his lips with how close you were together, your body nearly bouncing on his cock with how strongly he was fucking you over the railing. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Fuck, yes, I wanna cum for you.” you answered obediently, drunk on lust as if the real world were universes away.

“For me and those men down there watching you get fucked with my cum all over your tits?”

“Yeah.” you whimpered, twitching with pleasure and your heels scuffed across the concrete ground of the balcony.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” George groaned against your cheek, still keeping that steady pace of every thrust into your sopping body. “That’s it, baby, just fucking take it.”

You could feel your pleasure building and building, trembling inside you with tight warmth that overwhelmed your senses that you didn’t even care about your public standing as you cried out for him euphorically. And he seemed equally enthralled by your desire to be loud for him despite your onlookers, fucking you a little stronger just to help you out a little more with his hand around your throat pulling your lips onto his for a few off-centered kisses.

“That’s it. Yes!” you squeaked, pulling away from his kiss, “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

The pleasure that tore through you was unbelievable and your breath caught in your lungs and your pussy gripped right up around him. George’s thrusts stalled for just a second as you tightened up so strongly around him that it was hard for him to move but he recovered quickly and kept fucking you right through your orgasm with hushed praised against your ear.

You tore your hand from between your legs to join your other on the railing, gasping through the crisp night air as your legs quivered in your heels slightly, “Shit.”

“Good girl, good girl.” George took his hand from your throat to grab two hands of your hips to keep fucking into you, “Stay just like that.”

The feeling of him pulling out had you whimpering and the sound of his hand on his cock replaced it, jerking himself off in a few strokes before he was coming again, right across your ass and a little up your back. His moans were quiet but rich and full of life and your jaw fell slack at the sound like that was enough to finish you off again too. You gave him a little wiggle for emphasis as the warm splatters painted your skin until his hand was resting down against your waist and caressing your hip.

“That was so good.” you admitted with a bashful smile, resting your face down on your arms that held you up against the railing.

George leaned down over you and kissed your neck, “Glad you think so.”

“Are they still down there?” you asked in a whisper.

He glanced over your shoulder down towards the park across the street before answering with a, “Doesn’t look like it.”

You hummed flatly. He kissed between your shoulder blades.

“Now what?” you asked.

“I kinda wanna eat you out some more.” he confessed with his lips ghosting across your back.

Your eyebrows raised as did your head and you tried to turn to look at him, “Really?”

“If you’re up for continuing what we have just started…unless you have to leave.” George said, leaving another fleeting kiss to your shoulder.

“I’m all yours.” you answered giddily.

“Okay,” his voice was smiling, “Then turn around.”

You obeyed and stood up straighter so you could turn to face him and right away his hand was sliding up the side of your neck and he was pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands rested against his torso that was only slightly exposed under his open button up and you greedily danced your fingertips down his abdomen and around to his waist to urge him closer. He smiled against your lips and then he was reaching down to grab you by the backs of your thighs and he hoisted you right off the ground. You shrieked in surprise and you shared laughter into your kisses as your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his shoulders and he carried you towards the balcony door.

Despite the fact that you had already done plenty outside, your entire body felt giddy for more and his obvious desire to give you more was arousing in itself. George helped himself to the hotel room as you clung onto him and once the door was kicked shut behind him, he was dropping you backwards onto the king size bed just inside. Laying naked across the width of the neatly made bed that felt like you were draped across a cloud, you grinned up at him in the sparkling Eiffel Tower lights that leaked in from outside and from the addition of the warm bedside sconces.

In nothing but that open button up shirt, George dropped to his knees at the side of the bed as if ready to whisper a prayer to you and his hands wrapped around your calves to yank you closer to the edge. With a lick to his lips, he stared down at your glistening pussy with how you were casually spread for him and he dragged two fingers right between your folds, lightly spreading you open for him to drop a thick string of spit right onto you. You were already plenty prepped but it was clear he liked it messy - not to mention the mess of his you were still smeared in over front and back - and you would never dream of complaining. You swore he could do anything to you in that moment and you would take it gladly.

But at the same time, you were still quite sensitive from your escapades on the balcony so the first touch of his tongue on your pussy had your entire body flinching. He held your thighs back and licked right up from your ass to your clit in one strong solid stripe with his blue eyes finding yours as you gaped down at him from where you were resting back on your forearms against the bed. He licked his smirking lips and turned to leave a few slow wet kisses to your inner thigh before nipping teasingly at the skin and then soothing it with a lick.

Then he was moving back in towards your pussy and he was lapping at it like a sweet kitten with his warm hands circling your thighs to hold you on his mouth. You whimpered to the ceiling as your head fell back and your fingers behind you grasped onto the tightly pulled duvet. You were just so sensitive that you tried to close up your legs and push yourself away from his mouth with pitchy moans that tumbled from your chest so freely.

George wasn’t giving up without a fight and he shifted his hands around your thighs in exchange for his arms and he yanked you closer to the edge of the bed to keep you from squirming away, smothering his mouth right up against you and his tongue deep inside you. You gasped hard to the ceiling, nose scrunching up, and you dropped onto your back against the plush bed with a tight groan as your hand tangled in his hair. He ate you out like he had known your body his whole life, finding all the right places with his tongue while his nose brushed and nudged against your clit.

“Oh s-shit-” you squeaked, desperately trying to push yourself away from his eager mouth with how sensitive you were, the intensity shooting up your spine in shockwaves.

George pulled away from you with a wet slurp and another kiss to your thigh before he was instructing lowly, “Hold your ankles for me.”

You easily followed his demands, taking your ankles in your gentle grasp and you wiggled your heels off your feet at the same time so they dropped to the carpeted floor dully.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can for me and hold them there.”

George spoke like he knew what he was doing so you didn’t question it as you guided your legs out to the sides widely, held in place by your hands around your ankles.

“Good girl.” he praised, running his hands up your hips and he gave them a gentle squeeze, “You’re such a good listener for me.”

With his eyes on yours, he leaned back down towards your pussy and left a slow open mouthed kiss right over your clit, leading with his tongue, and you flinched at his ghostly touch.

“Mm, do you wanna cum again for me, sweetheart?”

His voice was so buttery smooth, you could feel yourself pulse by only his words and he felt it too as his lips pricked into a smile and he took that - and your soft whine - as answer enough. George wrapped one arm around your thigh so he could dust the pad of his thumb over your clit in soft caresses while his tongue lapped at your leaking pussy.

“Oh my God.” you groaned, tightening your hands around your ankles, “Keep that up and it won’t take me long.”

“Mhm?” George smirked against you, turning his head slightly so he was almost resting his cheek on the dip of your thigh and your pelvis, still teasing his tongue along the slit of your cunt. Then his fingers were following and they were slicked up in his dripping spit and your warm arousal, sliding over your pussy and between your glistening lips and under his tongue and then he was slowly sinking two inside you.

Your angelic “ahh” had him hushing you sweetly as he watched his two fingers sink deeper inside of you. His thumb pulled away from your clit and gave your doughy hip another tender squeeze as he praised you honestly, “Good girl, taking my fingers almost as good as you took my cock.”

You hummed in half appreciation, until his tongue was on your clit and you were gasping hard and arching against the bed. His hot breath on your wet skin was shiver worthy but the way his tongue dragged over your most sensitive spot had your eyes rolling.

He started to thrust his fingers into you shallowly and as he did so, his tongue matched that pace on your clit. Your body rippled with pleasure again and you groaned loudly to the ceiling with your legs held wide for him until your hamstrings were aching. It was easy to hear how wet you were - and how wet he made you - with his fingers thrusting into you like that, nudging against your g-spot dead on with lewd squelches as you soaked his skin and dripped down his hand. His tongue flicked precisely over your clit in that same strong pace, desperate to please you as much as he could.

You could feel that coil building inside you again and fast, and your chest heaved for breath as you struggled to keep yourself together. It was so much and so fast that you dropped your right hand from your ankle to tangle in his hair again to try and ease him up as you tossed your head back against the bed with a pleasured moan.

Without that grip on your ankle, your leg naturally tried to close in to shut him out with the intense overwhelm. But George didn’t waste a second and, without faltering, he blindly reached out his left hand, grabbed your ankle, and shoved your leg back himself. Keeping you spread like that was just what he needed as his fingers and his tongue worked at that consistent pace that had you crying out loudly through the hotel room. He could feel you start to pulse around his fingers and he kept going even as his jaw was starting to ache slightly and your wetness was leaking down his hand.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming!” you sobbed, gripping hard onto his hair as you felt the beginning of that pleasure wash over you fast. “Fuck, George!”

He moaned right up against you, keeping himself going even as you clenched and creamed around his fingers and you tugged at his hair, almost smothering him in your pussy that he took gladly with fingers and tongue. You shuttered through your strong orgasm, crying out his name breathily to the walls as your back arched off the bed and your legs trembled from where they were held wide open in mid-air.

George pulled away from you with a wet slurp and he, too, was heaving for breath as he stood from the ground at the side of the bed. You lifted your hands up to run through your frazzled hair as your chest rose and fell quickly and you hid your grinning face in your palms. Your legs rested lazily down against the bed with only the slightest quiver to them as you came down from your orgasm. His hands ghosted over your knees and your shins and he stood between your legs almost proudly, staring down at your naked body laid out before him.

“You sound so fucking beautiful when you’re so vocal like that for me.” George complimented honestly.

“God, you don’t make it difficult.” you chuckled, finally removing your hands from your face to drop against the mattress above your head.

“Can I fuck you again?” he asked.

You bit back your grin in his direction, “Yes, please.”

“Yeah?” he grinned right back as he finally pulled his collared shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground alongside your heels, leaving him gloriously naked for your hungry eyes to devour. He was already hard again and you shamelessly were staring, naturally spreading your legs for him with that desire to be filled again. George tugged you a little closer to the edge of the bed and then propped his left foot up beside you so he could get nice and close.

You stayed flat on your back as he dragged the head of his cock between your lips and your wide anticipatory eyes stared up at him lustfully, fingers twisting through the ends of your hair. Then he was pushing into you slowly, moving easier now with how much wetter he made you from your recent orgasms and the familiar size of him that your body had already taken once before. But it still pushed a tight stretch across your hips and you groaned to the ceiling, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as your hands grasped the sheets above your head.

“Oh my God, you feel so fucking incredible.” you breathed.

“Uh huh?” he set his hands on the backs of your thighs so your legs were pushed towards your chest and left you on perfect display for him to sink into as deep as he could go. Once his balls pressed against your ass, he was dropping his head forward with a breathy, “Motherfucker.”

With your pussy just teetering off the edge of the bed, you were in the perfect position for him to fuck you how he pleased although his first few strokes were slow and testing and he kept sinking into you with shaky sighs like you were a cup of tea after a long day. But he started to speed up as the seconds passed, as if his natural instinct started to take over, and soon he was thrusting into you properly in strong strokes.

His foot that was propped up on the edge of the mattress allowed for a bit more leverage and he could get so much deeper that way, easily causing the hotel room to fill with that lewd wet smack of his skin colliding with yours again and again. You swore you could feel it in your stomach, letting him fuck the quiet breathy moans from your chest as your fingers tightened on the sheets above your head and you shut your eyes to focus on that pressure he pushed deep inside you with every snap of his hips. You dropped a hand down to press against your abdomen out of habit, desperate to feel more of him, and the way your palm added to that pressure made you whimper loudly as you stared up at him with a sweet pout.

With each thrust, you could feel his cock nudge against your insides so strongly under your hand that it was hard to keep your eyes from rolling. You were fucking burning for it. Truly because of this, you had no choice but to reach both arms straight down to grip the edge of the mattress on either side of your body, needing something to hold onto. He wasn’t taking his eyes off yours, like he didn’t want to look at anything else for the rest of his life. Even when he wrapped his right hand around your throat and held your head down against the bed with just the right amount of pressure, he was staring dead into your eyes with his bottom lip between his teeth. He was so handsome that just the sight of his face staring at you like that had you fluttering around him.

You definitely weren’t going to be the first one to break your eye contact even as you struggled to keep yourself composed under his deep consistent strokes. Instead, you offered him the sweetest whimpers he had ever heard, the sounds falling from your pouted lips almost involuntarily at the thanks to his natural skills. The whole world fell away.

Until he was pulling right out of you which felt like a sudden snap back to reality and you let go of the edge of the mattress to reach for him with a soft, “Give it back.”

“Turn over.” George ordered, licking away the cocky smile on his face that came from your gentle plea. “Hands and knees.”

“Oh my God.” you giggled and rolled over onto your stomach, “Yes, sir.”

You got your knees under you and George’s hands were on your hips to adjust you where he needed you, pausing to give you a soft smack to your bum in the process.

“You can slap me harder than that.” you encouraged.

He tried again, getting a good spank across your ass as you were sitting back on your ankles and bent over at the waist, forearms holding you up on the bed. You looked back at him over your shoulder as he nudged the head of his cock against your pussy but you reached a hand back to grab his wrist, halting him.

“Spank me like you fucking mean it.” you pressed strongly.

Your demanding tone seemed to take him by surprise as he stared back at you with wide eyes for a fleeting moment before that arousing lust flashed across his face. He pulled his hand back and slapped it down hard against your ass, the sharp sound echoing through the hotel room and quickly followed by a squeal from you.

“Yes!” you gasped, quickly cut off by another hit from his full palm, “Fuck, that’s more like it.”

“Holy fuck.” George chuckled lowly as he easily slipped his dick back inside you in one smooth motion and his hand held you down by the back of your neck, “You really don’t seem like such a fucking slut until your clothes come off, huh?”

With your face held down against the mattress, you could only groan in reply and he gave you another hard spank with his free hand, already blushing a pink handprint against your skin, and right away he was picking up where he left off. You weren’t sure how he was so fucking good at turning you into putty in his hands but the way he fucked you kept your brain from doing too much thinking at all anyway. Your fingers bunched the sheets into your fists on either side of your head, the mattress capturing your moans into muffled sounds, and the hotel room welcomed the lewd clap of his skin against yours.

George gave you another spank right across the ass before grabbing a snug handful of your flesh as he fucked you over the side of the bed, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust and you couldn’t help yourself but spread your knees a little wider so you could feel more of it. You swore you were drooling into the sheets, toes curling, knuckles turning as white as the duvet, and you habitually tried to arch your back deeper for him.

“Naughty girl.” he praised strongly, giving you another echo-worthy spank across your ass. “You just bend over so fucking easy for me, don’t you?”

“Uh huh.” you answered with your sounds muffled by the bed.

When he took his hand from the back of your neck to hold your hips in both hands, you tossed your hair over one shoulder to stay resting with your chest against the bed, trying to peek back at him from the way you were bent over at the waist. It felt so good that you just wanted more and more and you ended up reaching back to grab your ass and spread yourself open for him to hit deeper.

George slowed down a little in surprise of your action which only made you start to fuck yourself back onto his cock yourself with a desperate whine. He lifted one hand to slip his thumb in his mouth, praising you with a rich groan as he met your little motions with gentle short thrusts of his own, staying nice and deep inside you to keep that burning pressure across your hips. But then he was dropping his hand back down and swirling the moistened pad of his thumb around your asshole before slowly slipping it inside.

The way your body tensed right up had him hushing you sweetly, even as you cried out his name breathily towards the bed and dropped your palms back down to grip the sheets. With his thumb hooked in your ass, he let his other hand come down hard against your cheek as he started to fuck you steadily. You stretched your arms out in front of you until your fingers could wrap around the opposite edge of the mattress and your forehead rested against the sheets between your arms, allowing you to let the pleasurable moans and gasps be fucked from your throat by his precise thrusts.

You could only focus on the sounds he made in return; those handsome moans and panted breaths that expressed nothing but pleasure as he drove himself into you again and again. It drove you crazy in the best of ways and you silently prayed he never stop fucking you, raising your gaze to the ceiling as if you were really trying to speak to God. When he pulled his thumb out of your ass again and slapped his hand down hard across your blushing cheek, you didn’t hesitate to use His name in vain either.

George’s hand in your hair started you and he yanked you right up from the mattress so you were on your knees and your back was to his chest. You barely got your surprised gasp out of your mouth before he was wrapping his hand around your throat and suddenly fucking you so hard that your breath completely froze in your chest for a second. Eyes rolling and head dropping back against his shoulder, you gripped his wrist around your throat with one hand while your other flailed through the air dumbly for a moment as you struggled to find something to grab onto.

“Fuck!” you finally squeaked out, louder than the erotic clap of his skin against yours in time with his rapid thrusts.

But only seconds later, he was stopping completely and you were gasping for breath and trying to fuck yourself back on him to get him going again. You could feel his smirk against your cheek and his hot breath on your neck as he asked you outright, “Are you gonna ride my cock like a good little slut now?”

“Yeah.” you exhaled dreamily, sliding your hand up the side of his neck and into the ends of his hair to pull his lips on yours over your shoulder.

You shared a few sloppy kisses before he was gently pushing you forward and he pulled out of you. Shifting on the bed to let him join you, your hand found its way between your legs and you rubbed impatiently at your pussy and the sensitive ache he left behind. Beautifully naked, George sat himself on the bed and shuffled towards the middle so he could comfortably rest back against the plentiful down pillows in a mostly horizontal position. He patted his thigh and held out a hand to guide you over and you happily tossed a leg over his lap to straddle him.

You weren’t sure how it was possible for him to look even better but the way he stared back up at you while you were on top of him was nothing less than thrilling. George’s hands slid up your thighs and over your hips and you reached between you to angle his dick up against your leaking pussy, easily able to sink down on him until your ass met his thighs. You shared breathy sighs in response and your palms rested flat against his chest to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, darling.” he groaned with a lick to his lips and his hands went roaming up your torso to grab your breasts, “Why didn’t you get on top of me sooner? Look at you.”

You chuckled bashfully and gently started to bounce on him from your knees. With the pleasure that tore through you, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft moan fell from your parted lips, savouring each inch of him so deep inside you.

“God, I love your fucking dick.” you spilled out honestly.

“Yeah?” his hands moved back down to squeeze your hips, holding them a little tighter so you were forced to stop your shallow bounces. “Back and forth for me, sweetheart. Grind on it.”

You started to rut your hips forwards and backwards on him with your hands still resting on his chest to keep yourself steady, giving you ample room to rub your clit against his pelvis while the head of his cock nudged against your g-spot at the perfect angle. Mouth falling open with pleasure, you gaped down at him behind fluttering eyes.

“Holy shit.” you exhaled.

“Uh huh?” he kept your eye contact as his hands on your hips started to speed you up, almost yanking you back and forth on his lap himself, “Just like that?”

“F-Fuck!” you gasped, “Yeah!”

“Yeah, keep going, baby, show me how good that feels.”

“So fucking good, George-” you whimpered, keeping those strong strokes going yourself even when he moved his hands away from your waist. The bed was squeaking underneath you with how hard you were taking it, riding him with all the power left in you until the headboard was starting to hit the wall in messy time. The noise had you hesitating for a moment, slowing down, nervous about the neighbours for a fleeting moment.

George just grabbed your hips again and tugged you back into the motions, “Did I say stop?”

“No.” you whined, pressing your nails into his chest as he took you over again.

“Faster. Ride it as hard as you can.” he ordered.

His hands grabbed your breasts as you kept going on your own again, ignoring the bed hitting the drywall and instead focused on the tingling pleasure that tore through you. Your head fell backwards and you let out a moan to the ceiling, straining from your knees on either side of his lap as your sloppy pussy squelched with each stroke on his cock that filled you right up.

“Good girl.” he praised, “Show me who owns this cock.”

“Me.” you breathed, flicking your hips stronger on him.

“Yeah, show me that this is your fucking dick.”

Your eyes were struggling to stay open and the intensity that grew quickly within you had your body shuttering for a moment and you stopped yourself with a quiver.

George’s hand slapped down hard on your ass, repeating a strong, “Did I say stop?”

“No, sir.” you groaned, ignoring the ache in your thighs to keep yourself going again.

“That’s it.” his eyes flickered between your face and your position on his lap, his hands starting to yank you back and forth again, “Keep going. Don’t fucking slow down.”

Your face was screwed up in concentrated pleasure, whimpering for him, “I’m gonna cum.”

“More.” he ordered through his teeth, “Gimme more.”

“Yes!” you squeaked, leaning farther forward on your hands against his shoulders with your nails digging into his muscle, hips rutting hard on his lap. “Yes, fuck!”

A few more seconds and your eyes were blurring with tears from the strain on your legs and the pleasurable pressure building in the pit of your insides, chasing that orgasm desperately. The whole world started to fall away again as he took over your senses and you were forced onto a one track mind.

Then suddenly, George’s hands tightened on your hips and he halted your movements, “Stop.”

Your body shuttered with the sudden change after getting you so close and you whined loudly in protest.

“Oh,” George chuckled lowly, “feel you fucking throbbing for me.”

“So close.” you whimpered, trying to start moving again but he held you firmly in place.

“Where are your manners?” he pressed.

“Please?” you exhaled, peering down at him longingly with a look of desperation you couldn’t bother to hide, “Please let me cum on your cock.”

George gave you another spank, “Keep going.”

You sat back a little more to rest one hand on his thigh while keeping your other against his chest still and you gladly took his invitation to get back to those addicting grinds. Your hair tumbled out of your face as you tilted your head back slightly, letting the uncontrollable moans fall from your pouted lips.

George’s hands on your hips kept yanking you back and forth some more and he spoke up to you strongly, “God, you look so fucking sexy when you ride me.”

“Feels so fucking good, I wanna cum for you so bad.” you cried.

“Show me.” he ordered, letting go of your waist again to let you take over and do it yourself.

The lust drove you crazy as if it were some sort of out of body experience and you rode him harder, faster, stronger, despite the ache of your thighs and the sweat across your skin. You were almost dizzy and the feverish whimpers and moans that spilled from your chest were certainly no help. George was staring up at you with his bottom lip captured between his teeth, such a handsome man so willing to just let you use him.

His large hands then grabbed your wrists, pulling you away from steadying yourself on his body so it truly was only your hips doing all the work. His blue eyes focused on where you were connected, licking his lips as the sight of you rutting yourself on him so hard that the headboard was hitting the wall, not to mention the sound of your wet pussy taking him to just prove how badly you wanted him. His fingers around your wrists tightened as he held your hands out to the side to let your hips do the talking.

“Just like that, gorgeous, good girl.” he praised loudly, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I’m gonna cum.” you whimpered, hands bunching into fists from where he held them. “Shit, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

George stayed quiet minus his few pleasurable sounds of his own, letting you draw yourself closer on his lap second by second. But then, just as you were tensing up, he shoved your hands aside and grabbed your hips hard, “Stop.”

“Oh!” you shrieked at the sudden halt again, your body trying to bounce on him to make up for it but you ended up just rolling right off his lap, your legs trembling. Your knees curled towards your chest and your ankles linked together with your hand between your legs to try and ease the throbbing ache that pulsed through your cunt. With a shaky voice, you cried out a weak, “Fuck you.”

George just chuckled lowly and turned over after you, reaching above your head to grab the pillows and toss them to the floor to give you both free reign of the entire bed. His strong arms held him up on either side of you and he leaned down to kiss your neck wetly. You rolled over underneath him onto your right side, wrapping a hand around his forearm as your body trembled from being edged by him and you sunk your teeth gently into his flesh to muffle your displeased moans.

“Such a whiny little cockslut.” George spoke against your ear before nipping at your earlobe, “Just wants to cum so fucking bad.”

You hummed in agreement just as he sat back from you on his knees and he straddled one of your legs with the other still curled up towards your chest. Your pussy was on clear display for him this way, glistening wet in the nighttime light of the city that streaked in from the open balcony curtains, and he dragged the slick head of his cock through it before sinking inside you again. Your mouth fell open with a hearty moan, eyes fluttering shut, and your hand tightened around his forearm.

“Look at me.” George instructed as he took his hand from the mattress and, instead, pushed his index finger into your mouth.

You turned your head slightly to open your eyes again and look at him over top of you just as he thrusted hard into you, making you moan around his finger.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” he praised as he started to thrust into you consistently, “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

You were a mess of noises and you sucked and drooled around his finger without thought, gladly accepting his cock inside you powerfully over and over again. One of your hands reached down to tug at the flesh of your ass to try and open yourself up for him at your 90-degree angle of your hips, wanting to feel every inch of him entirely through you.

“You tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he reminded you seriously.

Pulling off his finger, you cried in protest, “It’s not enough!”

“More?” he asked.

“Yes.” you pleaded, wrapping your hands around his forearms on either side of you.

He fucked you harder into the bed, forcing that hot pressure to be felt deep inside you and you swore you could feel him in your stomach. You had never thought it was realistic for ones eyes to roll from pleasure but there you were, gaping to the ceiling with your eyes fucking rolling for him from the euphoria that rose a sheen sweat across your bare skin.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes-” you chanted heartily.

“Mhm?” George reached a hand up to the top of the upholstered headboard, giving himself more leverage to thrust into you, while his other grabbed your thigh and pushed your leg closer to your chest to spread you open wider.

“Oh, fuck!” you squeaked, habitually turning your face away from him and into the sheets instead to muffle your overwhelming moans as your fingers clutched the linens. It was almost as if you were trying to claw yourself away from him, torn between wanting more and being overwhelmed with the intensity of it all.

George put you right back in your place with a hand around your throat, pinning you back down against the mattress so you were staring up at him and his peaked brows as he ordered, “Look at me.”

“I’m-” you shuttered, “so close-”

“Look at me when you cum.” he demanded, tightening his hand around your throat, “Don’t fucking look away from me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you squeaked, your nose scrunching up with how quickly he was getting you there again. You pleaded with him without tearing your eyes away from his, “Please can I cum?”

“Yeah, cum for me, baby. Squeeze my cock and cum all over me.”

You tried to keep his eye contact but as your body tensed up and the pleasure had your ears ringing, you had no choice but to scrunch your eyes shut as your head arched from the bed and your broken cry was expressed to the ceiling. George groaned lowly as you squeezed right around him when you came, creaming all over his cock as you shuttered underneath him, and in seconds he was pulling out of you.

He shoved your leg to the side so you were flat on your back and spread properly for him and his hand took to his cock himself, stroking himself off in quick flicks of his wrist right over top of you. You just stared up at him with mouth parted in near awe at how he sparkled in the city lights through the window under that handsome sheen of sweat across his toned body. And his moans were something else, so erotic and angelic that you could have listened to him until the end of time, and you reached down to help him with your gentle hand. Only a few more pumps and he was coming right up your stomach with a broken groan and an extra little squeeze of your hand around the swollen head, pulling more pretty streaks of white out of him to paint your stomach and your pelvis in his essence.

“Holy fuck.” you breathed, sliding your hand up his abs and his chest as he leaned down to kiss your lips. You shared a few hot breathless kisses before he was leaving one more to your collarbone and another between your breasts and then he was settling between your legs and guiding them up towards your chest. Your fingers raked through his hair with a gentle warning, “My God, George-”

His mouth was on your clit again in a fleeting moment, making your whole body jolt in sensitivity, but he held you securely on his mouth even as your strained moans reached all four walls of the hotel room. You were gaping dumbly to the ceiling as your arms straightened completely with your fingers tangled in his hair as if wanting to get him away from you, back arching off the bed and toes curling in mid air.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you squealed, only getting louder and pitchier as he sucked on your clit.

George smothered himself in your pussy with his fingers pressing indentations into your thighs, taking you over with his tongue like you were his last meal. You were so sensitive too that it was hard to keep still and you were gasping and whining to the hot air of the hotel room, tugging at his hair until he was groaning up against you.

“Christ.” he huffed as he pulled away from you with a filthy slurp, “You taste fucking incredible.”

You barely had a second to catch your breath before his fingers were gliding between your lips and shoving back inside your snug cunt, taking him in gladly. He stared at your body taking him in with all the lust in the world, you swore, and his teeth captured his bottom lip in near concentration as he fingered you possessively in precise purposeful thrusts. It was obvious how aroused you were by the squishy wet sound of his fingers inside you and it made him just have to lean back down to lap at your clit again.

“Oh my God.” you said through your teeth, dropping your head back against the bed with your eyes screwed shut.

“Too much?” he asked you as he pulled away from your pussy again, keeping his fingers going.

“Little.” you confessed shakily.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.”

The insistence behind your reply made him chuckle lowly and with his two fingers still knuckle deep inside you, he shifted between your legs to rest a bit more at your side. You took that brief moment to breathe and your hands pushed your tangled hair out of your face before resting on the mattress on either side of your head. Nude and spread for him, you let him do as he pleased to you in the nakedness of his own, loving how he took you over like he had known you for your whole life…like you were his to play with. And the way he so obviously loved to bring you pleasure was insanely attractive.

Once situated slightly to your right and facing your body, George’s fingers were starting to curl up against that soft squishy spot inside you while his left hand raised to his mouth to suck on two more fingers. You gently grasped the fitted sheet under your head, lip captured by your teeth, staring up at him with blown wide eyes that held the expression that made him want to ruin you. He pulled his fingers from his mouth and set them down gently against your swollen clit, hushing you sweetly as your body jumped under his tender touch.

“That’s my good girl.” he whispered, finding a matching pace with his two hands - one inside you and one out.

You succumbed to him so easily, the soft moans tumbling from your bitten lip as you stared at him, still covered in his cum like he owned you. And honestly, it felt like he truly did. Every single touch he offered you felt like pure electricity, complete erotic bliss filling your senses all over again.

“Feels so fucking good.” you exhaled, eyes focused on his face.

“Uh huh?” George tore his eyes away from your pussy to meet your gaze, allowing his fingers to move a little faster; one rubbing at your clit and the other reaching that perfect spot inside you. “Think you wanna cum for me again?”

“Yeah.” you exhaled. “You make me cum so fucking hard.”

“Mhm.” he licked away his smirk and looked back down to his task at hand, “And you take it so well, gorgeous.”

He kept those consistent shallow curls of his two fingers inside you, caressing your g-spot right on until your breaths were falling shallower again. Your head arched back against the mattress with a small groan, your legs struggling to keep themselves open, and you grasped tighter onto the fitted sheet. George hummed in appreciation for how easily you took it and he shifted again at your side to rise up a little onto his knees for a new angle, removing his hand from your clit to hold your leg closest to him to the side. Then, with his occupied arm perfectly straight, he could really work those precise curls of his fingers against your g-spot in harder upwards jabs.

“O-Oh-” you gasped shakily, dropping a hand down out of natural habit to try and lessen the intense feeling but you stopped yourself at your stomach, your hand haphazardly swiping through the mess of cum that was still streaked across your sweaty skin. Your middle finger inched to your clit where you rubbed yourself a little as if he needed any help.

George’s jaw was clenched with how seriously he was taking it, fingering you strongly until his bicep was bulging and your thighs were trembling with the quick onset of pleasure. The heat was rising across your body again with the blood rushing to your ears until you swore you could hear ringing but the pressure that was building in the depths of your stomach took the cake. It felt tingly and dangerous and you tried to slide your hand down to cover yourself.

“I have to pee-” you whimpered, as if in a futile attempt to stop him, barely heard over the ridiculously wet sound of your pussy.

“Feels like it, huh?” he taunted strongly with his fingers still engraving him into that precious spot inside you with the power of his entire arm, “Give into that for me, darling.”

“I don’t-” your body shuttered, “I’m-”

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Don’t hold anything back.”

Your moans only grew pitchier and pitchier until you were literally squealing to the ceiling and your hands were flying out to grab onto his thigh and the duvet. The pleasure was insane until the whole world fell away and your vision went spotted for a second followed by a rush of relief. You cried out for him loudly as the first trickle slipped out of you and he was pulling his fingers out to let you squirt all over the bed and him.

“Good girl.” he praised loudly through his teeth before shoving his fingers back inside you to keep you going through your orgasm. “That’s my good girl! Make a fucking mess for me, baby.”

Your thighs curled up towards your body until you were nearly squeezing him out with broken pleasured sobs falling from your chest, grabbing his wrist between your legs to try and get him out of you as the pleasure tapered off. Writhing against the dampened sheets, you were soaked in sweat, cum, and your own liquids, and even the ghost of his breath on your skin had your whole body flinching with sensitivity.

“That’s enough.” you panted, leaving your hand around his wrist even as he pulled it out of you. “Holy shit, I almost blacked out.”

“You okay?” George chuckled and shifted down beside you, laying half on top of you as he brushed your hair out of your face and let his eyes scan your features.

“Yeah.” you lifted your head up to look down your body at your quivering legs and the mess of wetness you left behind across the perfect white sheets. “Fuck, I’ve never squirted before.”

George smiled proudly against your cheek and kissed the corner of your mouth, “My pleasure.”

You slid your fingers into the back of his hair and guided his lips to yours, sharing a few sloppy breathless kisses before his head was resting against your shoulder with a content sigh. His arm laid heavy around your middle and even laying together in the nude, the air conditioning of the hotel room didn’t do much to cool your sweaty bodies.

“I think I need some water.” you whispered.

George was moving away from you and got off the bed right away, “I got it.”

He disappeared just around the corner to the small built in bar where he grabbed two glasses and then filled them in the bathroom sink. When he returned, your eyes couldn’t help but soak him up in his glorious nakedness in the moonlight and by the warmth of the bedside sconces. Never have you known a man so handsome and perfect that it made your heart skip a beat even when he wasn’t necessarily doing anything to justify your lust. But maybe it was those rose-coloured glasses talking since he had just given you the most erotic and pleasurable night of your entire life.

The water glass felt heavy in your hands but you took it from him with thanks and you sat yourself up slightly before sipping the water with relief, not realizing how thirsty you were until that moment. George settled himself onto the bed beside you and leaned back against the upholstered headboard with a sigh and a drink from his own glass. It was almost surprising how quickly you downed your drink and soon you were setting the empty glass on the bedside table before turning to face him.

With those pleasure hormones still swirling through your brain and your bloodstream, you just wanted to get closer and you slid your hand up his bare chest and around the side of his neck as your lips met his smooth jaw for a lingering kiss. George smiled and rubbed your thigh before gently guiding your leg over his just to keep your body as close as possible to his. Your sweaty skin stuck together faintly as if to remind you how you felt as one that night.

He turned his head to you slightly, nudging your cheek with his nose to silently urge your face towards his so your lips could meet in a slow sensual kiss. You lingered there for a moment together, motionless, lips locked, breathless and sweaty, until he was pulling away gently. He licked his lips habitually and seemed to inhale you contentedly with his eyes half closed in pure peaceful bliss. The moment of silence lingered between you as if the reality of your situation was starting to settle and yet your minds swirled with thoughts surrounding nothing but each other.

Your hand on the side of his neck guided his lips back to yours and he leaned into you gladly, sharing in your dreamy kisses that had your insides curling with lust after he had given you the absolute most. It was crazy and unheard of to be so greedy, but he was a drug to you and you only craved him more. You exchanged slow open mouthed kisses that could pass as nothing but chasté if it weren’t for the setting and the circumstance you found yourselves in. The taste of his lips was addicting and the fact that the reminisce of your own arousal still clung to him and teased your senses as you dragged your tongue along his bottom lip was dizzying.

George pulled away from you long enough to reach past you and set his empty water glass on the bedside table beside your own before he was licking away his smile and guiding you in by the chin to kiss you some more. Without the barrier of water glasses or clothes, you embraced each other urgently in warm arms and sweet kisses, sharing breaths as one amidst your dance of lips and tongues. And, with a sudden influx of bravery that coursed through you, you shifted at his side and tossed your leg over his thighs to straddle his lap.

His hands guided you gladly, letting you sit rightfully on his lap as his tongue helped itself into your mouth and against your own while your fingers were tangled in his hair to pull him impossibly closer. Your body arched into his as if needing to feel every inch of his skin against yours and his hands on your waist wrapped tighter around you until your chest was flush against his. It was as if the previous escapades were forgotten about as the fire that burned between you was stronger than ever and you could start to feel his dick hardening underneath you and you ground down on him faintly to feel more of it.

George’s soft groan tasted heavenly and you sucked on his tongue for a moment before pulling out of his kiss and dragging your hands down his shoulders and his chest. His fingers caressed your hips and along your spine and you stared at each other for a moment as you let the feeling of your body heat lure your hearts closer. But then he was leaning in again and capturing your lips in another feverish kiss that had you giggling into his mouth, your hands holding his face in your palms.

Between his insistent kisses, you pleaded with him sweetly, “Please can you fuck me again?”

“Again?” he chuckled lowly as he broke your kiss, brushing his nose across your cheek as you held onto each other. “Blimey, has no one ever fucked you properly before? Never had a man as generous as me?”

“No.” you replied easily, ready and willing to butter him up to get that reward you craved.

“Mhm?” he shifted underneath you without breaking your eye contact, turning you both over so you could be laid down on the bed again while he taunted you lustfully, “Or are you just that much of a slut that you just can’t get enough dick?”

“I’m your slut.” you answered with a giddy grin that you tried to bite back, pulling him down by your hand at the back of his neck to get his lips on yours again.

His body rested heavily on top of you and your ankles tucked behind his calves to hold him close, slinging your arm around his back with your nails pressing greedily into the toned muscle of his shoulders. He spoke into your mouth with his lips brushing yours, his voice low and rich, “You’re fucking crazy and I can’t get enough of you.”

“Fuck me.” you begged strongly.

George pushed himself away from you long enough to grab your thighs and shove them up towards your chest so when he leaned back down over top of you, your ankles were resting against his shoulders. He licked his fingers and then dropped that hand down between your legs to smear across your soaked pussy before the head of his cock was taking its place. His eyes met yours, “You sure you can take more?”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

He took your words as truth and then slowly pushed his stiffening cock inside you, catching himself with flat hands against the mattress on either side of your head and his eyes locked on yours. You held onto the side of his neck with your legs stretched messily up to his shoulders until your thighs burned just as much as your insides but you’d never dream of stopping him.

You were so achingly sensitive and growing sore from your long night but you had missed the feeling of being filled by him until you were stretched out around the girth of his cock, mouthing to no one in particular, “Oh my God.”

George’s lips were on yours again in an instant and you moaned happily into his sloppy kiss as he started to grind deeper into you. You clung onto him warmly and when you couldn’t get him close enough, he let your legs move from his shoulders to around his waist. That also gave him a bit more freedom of movement and he ducked his face in your neck as he started to thrust into you properly.

Gasping into the hot air of the Parisian hotel room, you let your nails press into his back as he fucked you for the nth time that evening and it still felt just as gloriously good as the first time. He was still growing harder inside you until every thrust was delivered with strong curling precision that had your eyes rolling.

“Holy fuck,” you whimpered, “How are you still so fucking hard?”

George’s low chuckle fell against your neck and he shifted a little bit closer to you to thrust harder into your sopping cunt, “You don’t make it difficult.”

You meant to smile but the growing intensity of his dick pistoning inside you had your face fluttering with waves of intense pleasure that teetered on the border of pain with thanks to how sensitive you were by then. You were trying to keep your breath steady but he had a way of fucking the air from your lungs until you were holding your breath to try and feel every ounce of pleasure from him as well as holding yourself back from the pressure of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“Harder.” you pleaded to him. “Fuck me harder.”

“Naughty girl.” he pushed away from you slightly to get his hand around your throat again.

He pinned you down against the mattress that way with the perfect squeeze and your hands clutched onto his biceps as you peered up at him above you. He was getting rough with it again and those pretty moans found their way past your lips once more, blessing the hotel room alongside the rhythmic sound of the headboard starting to hit the wall. Your eyes were rolling for him, jaw clenched, your body tense with steadily rising pleasure.

“Don’t pass out on me.” he warned seriously with only a hint of teasing to his tone.

“Mm mm.” you shook your head faintly with your eyes scrunching shut. Your hands slid up his biceps to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer the best you could.

“Want me like this?” he asked as he lowered himself on top of you again, staying perfectly close with your legs around his waist so his every thrust hit as deep as possible.

“Mhm, fuck.” you whimpered, tangling one hand in the back of his hair and dragging the other across his back.

“You feel so damn good.” he exhaled against your cheek, breathless from the effort he was putting into you. “So fucking perfect I never wanna pull out.”

“Don’t.” you held onto him tighter. “Don’t fucking stop.”

The way he fucked you into the cloud-like king size bed had you swearing it was all a dream, far too good to be true. He fit inside you so perfectly that you swore your bodies were made for each other, entangled as one, just like it was meant to be. You hardly knew him but you were so attached - a connection stemmed from shared pleasure and the most intimate moments of human nature.

George wasn’t going to last much longer after the extensive night you had already shared and proof of that was only shown in the way his hips shoved sloppier against yours like he was chasing something hungrily, his arms around your head and his face in your neck. He was all over you. The erotic creak of the mattress underneath you made shivers tear up your arms as if in reminder of how well he treated you body, how he made you moan and writhe and sweat like you never knew possible. So many firsts given to this handsome stranger.

You couldn’t help yourself but want more.

The words left your mouth in a soft tremble as he fucked you into the duvet, “You know something else I’ve never had?”

“What’s that, my love?” he replied breathily against your jaw without missing a beat.

“I’ve never had someone cum inside me.”

George groaned and slumped his forehead onto your shoulder, “Fuck, darling-”

“Please cum inside me.” the urgency made your heart race and you linked your ankles together behind his back as if physically trying to convince him.

“I-”

“Please? I wanna feel you cum so fucking deep inside me. Wanna feel your perfect fucking cock throbbing inside me while you fill me up.”

Despite your startling pleas, he didn’t stop fucking you as if driven by a desire outside of himself, even if his words tried to argue gently in reply, “That’s so fucking dangerous, baby.”

“Show me I’m yours.” you ignored him, dragging your nails across his back, “Please cum with me.”

“Shit, are you sure?”

“Yes. Please, sir.”

“Oh my God.” he groaned through his teeth, wrapping himself in you as you shared the journey to that blissful conclusion.

It wasn’t difficult for you to get there either as your previous escapades had left you terribly sensitive and the warm pressure that he pushed into the depths of your body with every sharp thrust was building that sensation inside you. You held onto him tightly, bodies moving as one, breaths shared, the hotel bed housing your desperate sloppy one night stand that was unlike anything else you had ever experienced.

“Fuck, please don’t stop.” you squeaked out, fingers pressing into his back and raking your nails across his skin, “You’re gonna make me cum again!”

“That’s my good girl. Fucking cum with me.”

“Don’t pull out.”

“Won’t.”

“Please.”

“Fuck-”

It was the first wave of your orgasm that sent him over the edge himself, that first grip of your pussy around his aching dick that shot pleasure up his spine until he was shuttering in your arms and moaning into your neck. You clung onto him tightly, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as if trying to keep yourself quiet as you squealed and cried out through your uncountable orgasm of the night. But the feeling of him coming inside you was even better than the dopamine hit and your heels pressed into his bum to tug him as deep as possible, whimpering against his cheek as he filled you with thick warm spurts.

“Fuck.” you squeaked, barely heard over his own euphoric groans as his sharp thrusts died down into curling grinds to really make the most of it, giving you every last drop. You whimpered his name against his ear and his lips found yours blindly in an off-centered kiss that was more tongue than grace. You held his face in your trembling hands and he let his entire body weight rest on top of you for a moment as you shared a few more breathless kisses.

“Well,” he exhaled out of your kiss, “What happens in Paris…”

You let out a soft giggle and he carefully shifted away from you so he was sitting back on his knees before slowly pulling out. Your hand reached down to take his place, sliding your fingers along your slick pussy and just inside, feeling how wet you were thanks to the both of you. And as your muscles clenched and released from the ending of your orgasm, his cum was starting to be pushed out of you and you gladly let it drip onto your fingers.

“Holy fuck, it feels so good.” you breathed, lifting your head up to look down your body to where your hand was positioned between your legs.

George just smirked proudly down at you, gently caressing your quivering thighs with his fingertips as he watched you lazily play with yourself. He spoke to you softly, “Can I get you water and a towel?”

His manners had you smiling up at him and you nodded, “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he patted your thigh, “be right back.”

He took your empty glasses from the bedside table and disappeared around the corner into the bathroom again, leaving you for a moment alone on the king size bed. Your fingers fell to a stop between your legs just coated in his cum while your head lolled to the side slightly to peer out the balcony windows to see the glittering Eiffel Tower in the near distance. It was such a dream.

George returned to you shortly and joined you back in bed with your water and a towel. You took the towel first and shuffled it underneath you before using the edge to mop up the worst of what spilled back out of you; even if it was all too late for the duvet to be spared. The two of you then shared in the silence and the appreciated hydration, side by side. You were utterly exhausted and your head rested against his shoulder even as you slowly sipped your water and his hand rubbed innocent circles on your bare thigh.

“Was this all okay for you?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yeah,” you said, “It was so perfect.”

“Perfect?” he chuckled.

“Mhm.” you wrapped your hand around his bicep to hold him close, “I swear to God, I’m gonna remember this night for the rest of my life.”

He kissed your head, “Me too.”

“I should clean myself up a little.” you shifted away from him and sat up a little straighter, glancing down at yourself and the mess of the night that was left behind between hand prints, hickeys, and drying ribbons of cum across various body parts. George let you go.

While you took to the bathroom on wobbly legs to do your business and wipe yourself down with a cool damp cloth, George tidied up the hotel room and brought in your clothes and your drinks from the balcony. By the time everything was arranged and you were cleaned up, you emerged from the bathroom in your shy nakedness as he was putting the half empty bottle of champagne in its bucket of melted ice on the mini bar. He had the modesty of underwear by then after having snagged it from where his briefs had been discarded on the balcony earlier in your evening plans but he was unbothered by the vast expanse of your body and his hand inched around your waist to lead you closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his thumb caressing the small of your back.

“Yeah. I’m just really tired. I should call a cab.” you whispered.

“Stay.” he offered, “I don’t want you navigating the city this late and this exhausted.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Of course, I’m sure. I’d love it if you stayed.”

A small smile dusted over the corner of your lips, “Okay. Thank you.”

You both leaned in at the same time for a fleeting kiss before you were slipping past him and farther into the hotel room. He directed you to your clothes that were draped on the lounge chair in the corner and you followed his lead to just pull your underwear on and nothing else. The concept of spending the night with him was almost just as thrilling as the concept of hooking up with him as the promise of feeling his skin against yours made your heart race.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” he asked as you climbed under the heavy and well used duvet.

“Noon.” you sighed, “And I still have to stop by my hotel to grab my things.”

“That’s not bad.”

He joined you in the bed like he had been doing it every day of his life and you naturally shifted closer to each other under the sheets. Even though he was a stranger, you felt so safe with him and with his arms around you, sleep seemed to take you over all too easily, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat without another word spoken.

You had fallen asleep with the curtains open so as morning rose, the bright light woke you naturally. Blinking away the faint headache from your alcohol infused night, you tried to place your surroundings and orient your dizzy brain properly. George’s arm tossed around your waist brought you back to reality with ease and you smiled faintly at the memories that flooded your conscience. He was sprawled on his stomach and snoring faintly, his body tucked right up beside yours, and for a second, you just stared at him. His bare back was exposed under the slipping white sheets and you gently traced the red scratches you had left him as a souvenir across his caramel skin.

The stiffness in your limbs was obvious and you soon had to shift and stretch, ultimately jostling him enough to rouse him slightly. He sighed heavily and reached a hand up to rub his eyes and his face as he rolled onto his back.

“Sorry.” you whispered.

“S’okay.” he mumbled, his voice deep and rich with lingering sleep.

It made your heart flutter.

Laying on his back now, he draped an arm above his head and tousled his fingers through his messy hair, blinking his eyes open to look at you through the unpleasant morning light that had just started to peek over the horizon. He held his arm out again despite you shifting and invited you in, “C’mere.”

You licked away your smile and shuffled closer to him so you could melt into his side with his arm around your shoulder. Laying together in that heavenly bed, you shared in the view of the Eiffel Tower blessed by the morning sun as it rose into the sky of pinks and oranges with teasing hints of brilliant blue. With his arm that wasn’t around your shoulders, George's hand found yours over the sheets that kept you decent, tracing your fingers with his and then intertwining them tenderly. For the uncountable time since meeting him, you silently swore that this was heaven.

“You hungry?” he asked after a few long minutes of serenity.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not having thought about it until that moment, “starving, actually.”

George took his arm from around your shoulders and he leaned across the bed to his night stand where the hotel phone was. In a tangle of sheets, he lifted the receiver and dialed the front desk to order you both a huge breakfast spread from room service. As he did so, you greedily reached out to brush a hand through his messy brunette hair and down his muscular back, watching how you drew goosebumps in your wake.

While your food was prepared, the two of you watched the Parisian sunrise in bed together, sharing kisses and caresses and perfect silence like this was your shared romantic vacation. For a fleeting moment, you had convinced yourself that maybe it was.

George’s finger trailed down your neck to the hickey that stained your skin and he tapped it gently, “Airport security is gonna give you some weird looks.”

You hide your bashful smile into his shoulder, “We made some bad decisions last night.”

“I think we made great decisions.” he countered.

“Mm, yeah.” you agreed easily, “They were pretty great, huh?”

“You sore?”

“Quite. But in a good way.”

His hand captured your jaw and gently guided your lips to his for a few lingering kisses.

When you pulled away and rested your palm against his bare chest, you confessed quietly, “I still can’t get over how you knew just how I liked it without me needing to tell you.”

“All in your body language, baby.” he replied modestly as your eyes met, “You’re so easy to read.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

You both leaned in at the same time for more kisses, smiling into each other’s mouths.

Room service came shortly after and George got out of bed to let the bellboy in with the rolling table filled with French breakfast, even if he was only in his underwear. He made sure to tip the young man and your eyes lingered on the €50 bill he passed over like it was nothing alongside his thanks. You sat in the middle of the cloud-like bed in a pool of sheets and George shifted all the plates onto the duvet so you could share your feast together in bed.

Crepes and waffles and fresh fruit and sausages and mimosas felt never-ending but you swore it was the most delicious meal you had since arriving in Paris - but maybe it was your company and your well expected hunger that just made it feel so much more rewarding. The view of the Eiffel Tower certainly wasn’t anything to complain about either.

With plates emptied and appetites fulfilled, you lounged back together against the headboard, cuddled up close. Your eyes were closed peacefully with your heads leaning together and George’s gentle touches to your arm with the back of his finger felt homely. You knew you had a plane to catch but it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Kinda don’t wanna get outta bed.” you confessed quietly.

“Mm,” George agreed, “me neither.”

“Could stay here forever.”

“Me too.”

A pause.

“Thank you for last night.” you said.

“Thank you for last night.”

“Lots of firsts.”

George chuckled faintly, “Oh, yes.”

You shared peaceful breathy laughter and he turned his head to kiss your temple and then your cheek and then you let him kiss your lips.

“You have a plane to catch.” he reminded you.

A sad smile came to your lips and you replied with a barely audible, “I know.”

With another kiss and no complaint, you tore yourself out of his arms and out of his bed and walked across the carpeted floor to your clothes. He watched you dress from the bed with fondness in his features and you ignored the pit in your stomach that grew with your fast approaching parting. When you were dressed and ready to go, you turned to him.

“Now what?” you asked.

George slid out of bed to join you with that handsome smile of his, “Now what, what?”

“I’ve never…done this before so I don’t know the proper protocol for leaving.” you rambled.

“You just kiss me goodbye.” he shrugged, guiding you closer by your hands.

Part of you wanted to tell him that you didn’t want to say goodbye but your mouth abandoned you. So you kissed him once more, lingering on those heavenly plush lips of his, before time was pulling you apart.

“You’re gonna make some guy into the absolute luckiest bastard on this planet some day.” George said like it was what you needed to hear.

You gave his hands a squeeze, and let your gaze linger on his face as if trying to memorize the man you had no pictures of.

“Good bye, George.” you breathed.

He let your hands slip out of his, “Till we meet again, my love.”

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coff33andb00ks · 4 months

Text

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

{prev} {next}

warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

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