Chapter Text
She blinked.
The sound hit first — deep and guttural, a rumble that shook up through her shoes. Then came the blur — streaks of motion and color tearing past in front of her, too fast to follow. Red. Silver. Black. A rush of wind clawed at her hair. Sound erupted behind her, loud enough to make her flinch.
She jolted forward a step before she realized she was moving. Her hand caught something solid — a railing. Cold metal under her grip, grounding her.
The ground buzzed. The sky felt too big. And in front of her, an endless strip of gray shimmered in the sun, painted with strange white lines and flanked by blinking lights. It wasn’t a road. Too wide. Too smooth.
Another scream of engines tore past.
Whatever this place was, it was alive. Loud. Blinding. Her pulse wouldn’t stop racing.
She wasn’t alone. People packed in around her — too close, too polished — voices rising in laughter, something glassy clinking in their hands. Shiny tags dangled from their necks. Cameras flashed. Someone behind her let out a high-pitched whoop that made her jump.
She took a step back, nearly stumbling. There were glass walls behind her. A tray on a table. People in crisp uniforms moving like they knew exactly where they were going.
Her ears rang. Her skin felt hot.
Nothing was familiar.
Where was she?
She turned back toward the open stretch in front of her — wide, sun-bleached, lined with fencing and flashing banners. Something huge loomed above it all, a glowing screen blinking with unfamiliar names and numbers.
P1 – DRAGNEEL
P2 – FULLBUSTER
P3 – REDFOX
P4 – EUCLIFFE
P5 – DREYAR
She read the names twice. They meant nothing.
Another blur tore past — a flash of orange-red slicing through the sun. It veered into view just long enough for her eyes to catch the glint of metal, the smear of motion, the hiss of something low to the ground.
A car.
They were cars.
Her heart kicked.
This one gleamed — streaked with logos she didn’t recognize, moving like it belonged to the wind. She didn’t know why she noticed it. Why she couldn’t look away.
But her eyes tracked it anyway.
It darted into a sharp turn, tires shrieking, and something in her chest rose to meet it. A thrill. A pull. A wanting.
She didn’t understand it.
But she felt it.
The crowd behind her swelled, voices rising in scattered bursts.
“Dragneel!”
“Push it, Natsu!”
“Come on, one more lap!”
The names meant nothing. The urgency did.
Her fingers found the railing again without thinking — cold metal against skin she couldn’t seem to warm.
She didn’t know who they were shouting for.
She didn’t know who she was.
But her eyes stayed locked on the orange-red blur as it flew forward.
The final lap began — at least, she thought it did. She could feel it in the way the crowd shifted, how everyone leaned forward, breath held tight. The orange-red blur with the number seven streaked ahead again, diving clean through a sharp curve, breaking free like it belonged at the front.
The board flickered. Names rearranged themselves, letters blurring as the crowd’s noise surged — sharper now, more urgent.
People were shouting now. Jumping. Her heart jumped with them.
And then the flags waved — a black and white checker flashing out from a raised hand — and the noise exploded.
Not cheering. Roaring.
Her body jolted. Her vision swam. Everything around her pulsed like it had reached the edge of something.
She didn’t understand any of it.
But somehow, she still couldn’t look away.
People jumped to their feet. Glasses sloshed. Something sharp and black-and-white fluttered past again — a flag?
And that name — Dragneel — it echoed from every direction. Bouncing off the walls, the speakers, the mouths of strangers like it was the only word anyone remembered.
Then suddenly, everything shifted.
The roar, the attention —
It turned to her.
Strangers spun to face her. Faces she didn’t know lit up, mouths moving fast. Hands reached — clapping her shoulder, squeezing her arm, brushing her back as people pressed in around her.
She flinched. One step back, then another. There wasn’t anywhere to go. The crowd wasn’t angry, wasn’t rough, but they were close , too close — all champagne laughter and sparkling eyes and breathless congratulations.
She didn’t know why.
Didn’t know what they were seeing.
But they smiled like they knew her.
Like she belonged to the celebration.
“Lucy!! He did it!!”
“God, that last lap—”
“Where’s the champagne?”
“She’s gotta get to the track—he’s gonna be looking for her!”
Someone grabbed her hand. Not hard, but steady — like they knew her. Another person shoved something into her palm. Soft. Slippery. A flutter of silk in racing red. Letters on it, too fast to read.
Flashes burst across her vision.
White. Then white again. And again.
She flinched, head ducking automatically as the noise swelled — voices shouting, laughing, cheering, too many at once.
There were too many people. Too many scents. Colognes, champagne, static and sweat and polished leather. Her stomach turned. Her skin buzzed. Her wolf recoiled, unsettled.
A man appeared at her side, mouth moving, tone brisk but not unkind. She couldn’t hear the words. Couldn’t make sense of the way he gestured, the way he angled his body — like he wanted her to follow.
She didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Her skin prickled. The press of bodies was closing in again, velvet rope brushing against her hip, but she didn’t know where it led. She didn’t know these people.
And yet they all looked at her like they did.
Like she belonged to this moment. Like she was supposed to be glowing with joy and excitement — instead of standing here, frozen.
The flag slipped from her fingers.
She bolted.
Not a full sprint — not in heels — but a quick, panicked stumble through gaps in the crowd. Her pulse beat in her throat. Something brushed her arm. A shout behind her cut through the noise — directed at her, she thought — but she didn’t stop.
She slipped past a low rope strung between chrome posts, past tables lined with glassware, trays of colorful drinks, and people laughing too loud. Her hand hit something solid — a narrow counter, maybe — cold under her palm. She pushed off it, ducking around another body, then another, and suddenly—
An opening.
No one stopped her. The space was narrow and half-blocked by a folding fence. She slipped through the gap, heels clicking down a short flight of steps. The air changed — cooler, quieter. Not silent, but muffled. Like she’d ducked underwater.
Here, the world looked different.
The ground turned rougher, paved instead of polished. A long stretch of fencing rose on one side, thick black banners fluttering above with sharp shapes and bold white letters she didn’t recognize. Small white tents stood on a platform nearby — not decorative, but practical. Plain. Unfussy. People moved through them with headsets and clipboards, focused and fast.
Someone pushed a cart of rolled towels past her. Another passed with a tray of unopened water bottles. Radios crackled faintly at their belts. The smell shifted too — cleaner, sharper. Faint hints of leather, tire rubber, citrusy cleaning spray.
She slowed. Stopped.
There were chairs here. Tables, too. A row of tall fans rotated above her, the mechanical hum fading in and out like waves. Behind a curtain, someone laughed. A burst of voices bounced off the hard wall beside her.
No one looked her way. No one called out.
She hovered — too dressed-up to blend in with the uniforms moving past, too out of place to belong anywhere else. Her heels felt wrong on the ground. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
One breath. Then another. Shallow. Quiet.
She didn’t know how long she stood there.
The world kept shifting around her — radios crackling, carts rattling past, people weaving in and out with clipboards and lanyards. But no one stopped her. No one asked who she was. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Then, to her left, a flash of movement caught her eye.
A screen — big, mounted, loud — caught her eye. She turned toward it, drawn without knowing why.
The orange-red blur she’d seen earlier filled the frame now, slowed to a glide beneath the camera lights. It coasted to a stop, smoke curling from the tires.
People in matching uniforms were shouting, clapping each other on the back, waving over the barrier. A few jumped in place, arms flung up. One held a board above his head, letters scrawled across it — she couldn’t read it. Couldn’t look away.
Then came the replay. That same turn — impossibly fast, tires shrieking — frozen in time. The camera followed the car, held tight as the checkered flag waved, and the crowd behind the barrier exploded.
The scene changed again.
Someone stepped out of the car.
Ripped their helmet off.
Pink hair. Not pastel — bright, defiant, unmistakable. His face was flushed, damp with sweat, but smiling like he’d just won the world.
The crowd behind him blurred into chaos — flashing lights, outstretched hands, mouths open in cheers she couldn’t hear from here. He peeled his suit open at the chest, revealing black fabric clinging to sharp muscle.
Her breath hitched.
He glanced around — not posing, not waving — just looking. Focused. Eyes searching the crowd like he’d lost something.
Then someone stepped in beside him, holding a mic. A blur of styled hair and white teeth, all motion and logoed fabric, speaking quickly into the camera.
“Natsu Dragneel! P1 again today — what a finish! Walk us through that last lap.”
Natsu laughed, short and breathless. “Honestly? I just stopped thinking and let the car do its thing.”
“You were neck-and-neck with Fullbuster going into turn five—were you confident you could hold him off?”
He wiped sweat from his jaw with a towel someone passed him. “I mean, confident’s a strong word. Gray’s a pain in my ass on a good day. I just knew I couldn’t lift. Not there.”
“And yet you pulled ahead. That's four podiums in a row—how are you feeling right now?”
“Good,” he said, easy and bright. “Tired. Hungry. I’m sure someone’s got champagne with my name on it.”
It sounded normal. Everyone else laughed.
But something in the way he said it… made her chest ache.
Lucy’s fingers curled unconsciously at her sides. Something about the way he glanced over his shoulder — scanning the crowd like he was expecting someone — made her heart kick in her chest.
“Any words for the fans?”
“Just—thanks for coming out. Y’all are loud as hell, and I love it.”
“And where’s your better half today?” the reporter added with a grin. “Usually we get a front-row scenting before weigh-in.”
He didn’t miss a beat.
“Keeping her to myself today,” he said easily, voice rich with amusement. “Can’t let you guys have all the fun.”
The crowd chuckled. Flashbulbs went off again.
“Congrats again, Natsu — go celebrate,” the reporter added, stepping back.
The camera followed as he turned and walked off, handing his helmet to someone just out of frame.
Lucy didn’t follow the movement.
She looked down at her feet.
A pair of shoes stopped nearby — clean, flat-soled, purposeful.
Lucy looked up.
A woman stood just ahead. Her smile was practiced — polite, but tight around the edges. She wore a fitted shirt with unfamiliar logos and a headset clipped over her ear.
“Miss Heartfilia?” the woman asked, calm and low. “They’re just finishing… Would you like me to bring you down now?”
Lucy blinked.
Words — normal words — but they landed like static in her ears.
She didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
The woman’s smile dipped — only a fraction.
“We’re heading to the podium,” she said, her tone still smooth but now tinged with something else. “They’ll be expecting you down there.”
A pause.
“Are you alright?”
Lucy blinked.
The words were simple, but they didn’t land right.
It was too much.
Lucy’s chest tightened. Her fingers curled. She mumbled something — she didn’t even know what — and stepped back, the sharp click of her shoes barely registering.
The woman hesitated. Lifted something to her mouth — a mic? A walkie? Lucy couldn’t tell.
She didn’t wait to find out.
She turned.
Walked fast — not running, not yet — but her pulse was pounding again.
She just needed to be away.
Her heels clicked unevenly as she ducked past the edge of the tents — out from under the canopies, into light that made her squint. The sun had dipped low, but it still caught harsh off the pavement. The air smelled like hot metal and something sharper.
Voices swelled ahead. Fast. Overlapping. Different from the ones behind her.
She kept walking — didn’t know where, didn’t care — until the space opened wider, flanked by strange barriers and tall lights. There were people standing in rows, some holding out small black boxes, others gripping long sticks with fuzzy ends. A few turned.
And then the lights started flashing.
Bright. Sudden. Disorienting.
She winced, head ducking. Her pulse jumped.
“Lucy!”
“Miss Heartfilia—just a word—”
“Are you headed down to the podium?”
“How does it feel—another win for Dragneel!”
More voices rang out, sharp and directed. She didn’t understand it.
Another flash of light burst. Then another.
Then the crowd shifted.
Not away from her — but toward something else.
The change wasn’t loud. Just… heavy.
Like heat rising off asphalt. Like the air thickening before a storm.
Flashes still burst, but slower now.
Cameras raised higher. Someone jostled closer to the edge of the rope. Another whispered something she couldn’t catch.
And then the crowd parted.
Clean. Unthinking. Like instinct.
And someone walked through.
He was tall. Broad. The top half of his suit hung around his waist, tied by the sleeves, leaving only a clingy black layer stretched tight over his chest and arms — soaked in sweat, clinging to muscle.
The pink hair. The flushed jaw.
Him.
The one from the screen. Natsu Dragneel .
But now he was real — moving, breathing, and his eyes were locked on her .
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just walked straight to her — like others weren't watching, like she was the only thing that mattered.
His hands gripped her hips first. Firm. Anchoring.
She startled — not back, not quite — but her breath caught, body locked in place. Frozen.
Then he ducked low, face pressing in close — too close — and breathed her in.
A slow, deep inhale right beneath her ear.
His nose brushed her skin. Dragged along the curve of her throat in a line of heat.
She felt it — that subtle scrape of stubble, the exhale that followed, warm and full of something unspoken. His mouth nearly grazed her collarbone.
Lucy flinched.
Her hands came up automatically, palms flat to his chest — solid, hot, overwhelming. She didn’t shove him.
She didn’t pull him closer, either.
Just held there, trembling, as if her body couldn’t decide which way to fall.
She didn’t understand what he was doing.
Didn’t understand why something in her chest had gone soft and tight all at once.
Only that she could feel him breathing her in like it mattered.
Like he needed it.
He shifted — slow, deliberate — to the other side of her neck.
The side where something pulsed beneath her skin, warm and strange and aching.
He nuzzled there. Deep. Open-mouthed. Like he was trying to sink her scent into his bones.
Her head tilted — her neck baring without thought, offering him more.
It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t hers .
Just instinct, rising to the surface, raw and obedient.
A sound slipped out — a soft, surprised whimper that made her ears burn.
She didn’t know what it meant.
But he did.
He growled — not loud, but low and warm, curling in her belly like heat.
The sound pressed against her skin, wrapped around her.
And his grip on her waist flexed — grounding, claiming — like he’d been waiting for that moment all day.
Bursts of light cracked against her vision. Voices shifted around them.
She barely noticed.
Then his teeth scraped against the curve of her neck.
Not hard — not enough to break skin — but just enough to drag heat through her. To make her gasp.
A soft sound spilled from her lips — half breath, half moan — and she felt it echo all the way down her spine. He answered it with a low rumble, something pleased, and pressed his mouth to that place again — that place that burned.
Her knees dipped. Her hands curled tighter in his shirt.
She didn’t know why it felt like that.
But he did.
He nipped her lightly, and she flinched — not from fear, but from how much it made her feel.
Then he pulled back — only a fraction — still wrapped around her like he had no intention of letting go.
“Why weren’t you there?” he murmured, voice low and rough in her ear.
She blinked up at him, eyes wide and unfocused. Her lips parted, but no words came.
He tilted his head, nose brushing against her jaw again like he couldn’t stop touching her.
“At the car, hmm?” he murmured. “No post-race scenting? Thought I earned it today, sweetheart.”
As he spoke, his hands moved — dragging slow, familiar strokes up and down her sides, fingers pressing firmly into the fabric of her dress like he was trying to rub her into his skin. Like her scent belonged on him.
Lucy could hardly breathe.
Her face burned — red from her hairline to her chest, she was sure of it — and still, she didn’t pull away . Her brain was screaming for answers.
She didn’t know him.
Didn’t know why he was touching her.
Didn’t know why it felt like this.
She opened her mouth — to ask, to speak, to do something —
“Are you two done with your public scenting session,” a dry voice cut in, “or should I leave and come back in five?”
Lucy startled like she’d been slapped.
A man stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression flat. Dark hair, sharp eyes. No excitement, no push to get closer — just unimpressed judgment as his gaze flicked to where the stranger’s hand still rested low on her back.
Lucy wanted to die .
Natsu? Just smirked.
Didn’t move. Didn’t loosen his grip. He flashed a sharp canine, clearly unbothered, and said, “Jealous, Gray?”
Gray, apparently, snorted. “Of you slobbering all over your mate in front of ten cameras? Not in the slightest.”
Natsu only grinned wider and tugged her closer, like her embarrassment was a reward. A game he was winning.
Lucy, meanwhile, was actively considering whether the floor might open up and do her the favor of swallowing her whole.
Before it could, someone else approached.
A man — sharp posture, something clamped to his ear, something tucked under one arm. He didn’t even look at her, eyes fixed on the two men.
“Dragneel. Fullbuster. We need you at the stairs.”
Natsu exhaled sharply — not quite a sigh, not quite a growl. The sound vibrated low in his chest, just under Lucy’s palms.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “We’re coming.”
But he didn’t let go of her.
His hand stayed firm on her waist as he turned, shifting them as a unit toward the path the man had come from. Lucy stumbled half a step, legs still unsteady, brain buzzing.
Her heels clicked on the pavement. Her dress swayed as she moved. She was hyper-aware of everything — the way his fingers tightened just slightly when someone jostled too close, the sudden burst of white light from the side, the sound of murmured words that made her skin prickle.
No one stopped her.
No one questioned her presence.
If anything — they made room.
People nodded as they passed. Some even smiled. The man beside her wasn’t just familiar here — he owned the space. And apparently, so did she.
They stopped beside a staircase she hadn’t noticed until it was right in front of her — metal, tall, roped off. Around them, voices shouted instructions she didn’t understand. Some people stood still, others waved things that looked like books or slates. The whole area pulsed with noise and urgency.
Lucy had no idea where they were.
Natsu didn’t seem to care that flashing lights still followed them, or that people were clearly watching. He guided her toward a row of chairs set slightly apart from the chaos — on a low platform, neat and orderly. The seats were black, padded, modern-looking. People already sitting there wore crisp suits and expensive-looking sunglasses, holding half-full glasses that caught the light when they moved.
Natsu placed her in the closest open seat, hands lingering at her waist a second too long. She swore she felt his fingers brush along her ribs — one last scenting touch, deliberate, grounding.
He leaned in, voice barely a whisper near her ear.
“Right here. Just look for me.”
Then he straightened. Jogged up the stairs two at a time like it was nothing.
Lucy sat frozen in her seat, heart hammering.
A few heads turned toward her — a woman in heels smiled, a man raised a brow behind mirrored lenses — but no one said anything. If they thought her presence was strange, they didn’t show it. If anything, they seemed to expect her there.
She gripped the edge of her chair.
Up ahead, on a gleaming stage backed by enormous screens and towering silver scaffolding, three men climbed to different levels of a raised platform. Each level was marked with a number. One. Two. Three.
Natsu stepped onto the topmost one — number one.
The crowd roared again.
To his right, Gray stood on the second-highest step, arms crossed and expression impassive. On the other side, another man took the third-place slot — tall, blond, sharp-jawed. He winked at the crowd.
Music started.
Or… not quite music. More like a ceremonial track . The kind you stood still for. The kind that made your spine straighten before you even knew why.
Lucy looked around.
People around her were rising from their seats. She scrambled up after them, awkwardly smoothing her skirt, trying to mirror their posture.
Flags were rising behind the racers — enormous ones, displayed digitally across the screens. Natsu stood tall and proud, face tilted toward the sky as the crowd hushed around him.
She didn’t recognize the anthem.
Didn’t even know what she was watching.
But the moment had weight. And even in her confusion, Lucy could feel it press down over everything like a tide.
When the music faded, there was another swell of applause — then movement. A tall man in a suit stepped forward, flanked by photographers. He carried three trophies. Gleaming silver. She couldn’t tell if he was security, or staff, or someone important. No one announced him. No one explained.
He handed the first trophy to the man on the third-place step.
Then the second.
Then the largest to Natsu.
Another cheer. Another camera flash. Natsu held the trophy high in one hand, then lowered it casually and glanced sideways.
Right at her.
Lucy’s breath caught.
He smiled — slow, crooked, real.
Not for the cameras. Not for the crowd. Just for her.
And something in her chest twisted.
At their feet stood three bottles — tall, dark green glass with gold foil at the neck, already waiting.
Lucy barely had time to process them before all three racers grabbed one.
A twist. A shake.
Pop—
Pop—
Pop.
Foam burst from the tops in shimmering white streams. Champagne sprayed in wide, glittering arcs — over the podium, across each other, into the screaming crowd.
The noise swelled. Lights flashed. The racers laughed like this was the best part.
And Lucy just stood there, blinking, soaked in applause and noise and the sticky smell of celebration — completely, utterly lost.
The crowd kept cheering.
People clapped, shouted names.
The two men flanking Natsu — Gray and the blond one — were waving to fans, shaking hands with people who stepped onto the podium. Someone gave them fresh towels. Another official tried to line them up for more photos.
Lucy stayed where she was, frozen in the front row.
She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move.
She wasn’t sure of anything .
Then Natsu turned.
No hesitation. No glance at the cameras. He didn’t stop to shake hands or pose.
He barely looked at the trophy still in his hand — just shoved it at someone on the way down, not even checking who.
Three quick bounds took him off the podium. Wet from champagne, flushed from victory, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing left that mattered.
Something in Lucy’s chest jumped. A heat curled low in her spine. Her hands clenched on instinct, breath hitching as he came closer.
He didn’t even slow down.
His hands were on her waist before she could blink, rubbing firm and slow like he was grounding both of them. His scent hit her all over again — sharp and rich and heady, soaked with sweat and victory and something molten beneath the surface. Her knees almost gave out.
“C’mon,” he said, curling his fingers around hers.
And then he was pulling her.
Not roughly. Not carelessly. But with the same urgency she’d seen in him on the track — like he had a goal, and she was the only thing that mattered.
Lucy stumbled after him, barely keeping up.
They passed through a side gate behind the podium. Security stepped aside without a word. Velvet ropes were lifted. No one questioned her. No one looked surprised.
The world shifted around her — crowd noise giving way to the mechanical thrum of equipment and the shuffle of boots on pavement. They cut through a narrow corridor lined with black panels and wheeled crates. Someone walked past with a clipboard. Someone else spoke into a headset. A heavy camera was being loaded into a case.
Lucy’s heels clicked sharply beneath her. Her heart wouldn’t slow down.
Everything smelled like hot metal, oil, champagne.
They turned a corner — past a folding table stacked with half-drunk energy drinks, then a cluster of staff in matching uniforms, their voices overlapping in sharp bursts.
None of it made sense.
She didn’t know where they were going.
Didn’t know why she was following him.
But his hand was warm around hers, solid and certain. He hadn’t looked back once.
And somehow, Lucy couldn’t let go.
They passed through one last set of security ropes and into a quieter space tucked behind a double set of doors. The noise dropped immediately. The noise dropped almost instantly — not gone, but muffled, like the walls were holding it back.
She didn’t know what kind of room this was.
It was small, basic. White walls, plain tile floors, a few folding chairs lined up beneath a mounted screen. A stack of clean towels sat folded on a table. A water cooler hummed softly in the corner. The air smelled like lemon cleaner and faintly like motor oil.
Natsu didn’t let go of her hand until they reached the closest chair.
He guided her down like he didn’t fully trust her to sit on her own, one hand at her back again, the other brushing her hair from her face. Then he stepped away — only a few feet — grabbed two bottles of water from a mini fridge, and came right back.
Wordless, he handed her one.
Lucy blinked at it. Her fingers curled around the condensation-slick plastic, unsure what to do. She wasn’t thirsty.
Still — she took a sip. Small. Barely more than a mouthful.
Natsu was watching her. Hard.
“That’s it?” His voice was quiet, but not soft.
She hesitated.
“Drink more,” he added, and this time there was a rasp beneath the words — something less like a request and more like gravity. Not quite a command. But steady. Certain. Warm in a way that made her chest twist.
Without meaning to, Lucy lifted the bottle again. Drank.
He nodded once, like that settled something.
Then — just as quick — he dropped to a crouch in front of her, one knee to the ground, bracing his forearms on his thighs. His eyes scanned her face, her neck, her hands like he was checking for injuries.
“You good?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She didn’t know how to answer.
He didn’t move far. Just adjusted his balance, resting his hands lightly on her thighs — his thumbs brushing over the tops of her knees in slow, steady circles. Like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he had all the time in the world just to sit here and feel her breathe.
Lucy didn’t lean into him.
Not on purpose.
But her body tilted anyway — just the smallest shift forward, like gravity was different near him. Her knees bumped his arms. His hands stayed firm.
“You’re quiet,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
His voice was low. Open. No teasing, no edge — just genuine concern, stripped bare and offered straight to her.
Lucy stared at him.
His expression didn’t waver. No flicker of impatience. No push. Just that steady look, like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
She opened her mouth. But the words — all the questions, all the panic — caught on something thick in her throat. Nothing came out.
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath when he said it.
“Lucy.”
The name landed somewhere deep — like it belonged to her. Like it always had.
And something in her cracked.
She didn’t think. Didn’t plan it. Her body just moved — her cheek brushing his first, skin to skin in a soft, instinctive nuzzle. Then she turned her face into his neck, pressing her nose there, breathing him in like her life depended on it.
His scent wrapped around her instantly. Spice and heat and something grounding beneath it. It hit her like a tide.
Her hands reached for him before she could stop them — grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. Her forehead rested just beneath his jaw, mouth tucked against the warm curve of his throat. She didn’t know why it helped, but it did . Every second she stayed there, her racing heart slowed just a little more.
He let out a low, unsteady sound — something between a purr and a growl, thick with satisfaction. One of his hands slid up her back, smoothing over her spine, slow and careful.
“There you go,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
She clung tighter.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that.
Pressed to his neck, breathing him in like it was oxygen. His scent filled her head — warm, electric, familiar in a way that made no sense. It felt like being wrapped in a blanket she didn’t remember owning. Like hearing the exact note that soothed her nerves.
Her fingers curled tighter in his shirt.
And then — without meaning to, without even thinking — she tilted her head just slightly. Her lips brushed against his skin.
Once. Then again.
Not a kiss. Not really. More like a press. A brush. A quiet pull of her mouth across the point of his throat.
Natsu went completely still.
His fingers flexed on her back. His breathing hitched.
Lucy’s lips parted, and this time her mouth grazed the line of his neck. Just the faintest drag of her teeth — playful. Instinctual. Possessive in a way she didn’t understand.
The sound that came from him wasn’t quiet.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated through his chest — not angry, not threatening, just… alpha . Deep and rough and pleased. She felt it down to her toes.
One of his hands gripped her hip tight. The other slid up her spine again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her or pin her or something else entirely .
“Sweetheart…” he warned, voice dropping.
She didn’t stop.
“Dragneel,” a voice cut in from the doorway, sharp and professional. “You’re up. Press conference is live in sixty.”
Natsu growled again — this time in frustration.
He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, exhaled hard, and muttered something that sounded very much like a curse.
“Of course,” he gritted.
Lucy barely processed the interruption — didn’t want him to move. Her hands fisted in his shirt again, holding on tight.
“Hey,” he said gently, pulling back just enough to see her face. His palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her jaw — then sliding lower, to the side of her neck. He rubbed there in slow circles, and the touch sent a strange heat spiraling down her spine. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
She didn’t answer, but her body leaned into his touch.
He bent and kissed her forehead. Soft. Firm. Final.
Then — with a last glance over his shoulder — he stood and left the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Lucy sat there in the quiet, skin still tingling, scent still wrapped around her like fog, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the world.
The screen mounted above the water cooler flickered. A long white table came into view, backed by a wall of logos — all crisp branding and polished lighting. Microphones lined the table in neat rows. For a few seconds, it sat empty.
Then one by one, the racers entered frame.
The first was blond, sharp-featured, and smiling like he owned the room. Lucy didn’t recognize him.
The second was more familiar — the one with the dark hair, arms crossed even now. Gray.
Natsu walked into frame last.
Still damp from champagne. Shirt clinging slightly to his chest. Hair wild, cheeks flushed, grin unmistakable. He sat down in the center seat and adjusted his mic like he’d done it a thousand times before.
Around her, the room hummed with soft movement — shifting chairs, water bottles cracking open, the low murmur of radios.
A voice echoed from the screen — calm, practiced.
“First question for Dragneel. Another win for the season — back-to-back victories, and a clean run. How are you feeling coming out of this one?”
Natsu leaned into the mic. That grin didn’t fade.
“Honestly?” he said, voice rough from exertion but clear. “Relieved. The track was brutal today — grip was all over the place in Sector Two. I didn’t expect to hold the lead that early, so I had to get creative with tire management.”
He glanced briefly to his left — at Gray — and added with a smirk,
“Fullbuster kept the pressure up the whole time, so I couldn’t relax for a second.”
A few people chuckled off-screen.
Natsu sat back in his chair. His eyes swept the crowd of reporters — casual, confident — like he belonged up there.
Lucy didn’t move.
She just… watched him.
And felt something twist in her chest.
Not recognition. Not even clarity. Just—
Whiplash.
This was the same man who had held her like something sacred two minutes ago. Who rubbed slow circles into her back and kissed her forehead and looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Now?
He was grinning at cameras. Making jokes. Talking strategy and tire temps like the world hadn’t just cracked sideways.
The shift was jarring.
Like watching someone slip into a mask so well-worn it fit better than their real face.
Another reporter was already talking.
“Question for Fullbuster — we saw you pushing hard into Turn Eleven. Looked like you were trying to force a pass there. Was that part of the plan, or just heat-of-the-moment?”
The dark-haired man — Gray — leaned into his mic, deadpan.
“If it worked, it would’ve been the plan.”
Laughter broke across the room. Even Natsu huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
Gray shrugged.
“Honestly, yeah, it was a gamble. Dragneel doesn’t make many mistakes. I figured I’d take the shot if it opened up. It didn’t. So I didn’t. That’s racing.”
Whoever was leading things gave a small nod. “Next question—”
“Dragneel, over here,” another voice called, slightly louder. “Not about the race — about your mate.”
Lucy blinked. Her stomach flipped.
The voice continued.
“This is the first time she hasn’t met you at the car after a win. People noticed. Is everything okay between you two?”
There was a pause.
It only lasted a second — maybe less — but Lucy caught it.
Natsu’s smile didn’t falter. But his hand, resting on the table, curled into a loose fist. His jaw flexed once before he leaned into the mic.
“She’s fine,” he said evenly. “I guess I’ve gotten spoiled, huh? Didn’t realize it was news if she skipped one car meet.”
Another smooth smile. Like it cost him nothing.
But Lucy couldn’t stop watching him.
Her heart beat louder in her ears.
Was that about her?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything . But the tightness in his voice when he said the word fine — the way his eyes didn’t sparkle quite the same — it stirred something inside her.
Confusion. Guilt? She didn’t know.
She looked down at her hands.
The screen nearby kept playing — more voices, more sounds she couldn’t make sense of. A sharp laugh rang out. Something clattered. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know why.
Her thoughts were louder.
He knew her — that much was clear — but she didn’t know what that meant.
Everyone else seemed to.
And still, her pulse jumped every time his eyes found her.
The door creaked open.
She looked up — and Natsu was already crossing the room.
He didn’t say anything.
Just reached her, pulled her up, and wrapped her in his arms.
She collapsed into him like a cut string. The noise, the confusion, the ache in her temples — it all vanished. He smelled like sweat and champagne, like warmth and safety. His arms locked around her like they always knew exactly where she belonged.
And she let him hold her.
He pulled back just enough to glance at her face.
“You okay?”
His voice was low, warm. Still concerned.
She nodded, though it wasn’t exactly true. “I’m okay.”
Natsu didn’t look convinced, but he kissed her temple anyway — then reached for her hand and gently tugged her forward. “C’mon,” he said.
She let him guide her again. It was easier than trying to think.
They moved through a narrow passage of metallic walls and equipment-lined corridors. The air smelled like fuel and rubber and stale air-con. Staff passed by without comment, a few offering nods or quiet greetings — not to her, but to him.
They reached a door tucked between stacked crates and a metal cabinet, propped open with a piece of tape. The room inside was cooler. Dimmer. Quieter, but still buzzing.
Rows of chairs circled a low table scattered with water bottles, tablets, and a few printed diagrams she didn’t understand. A large screen on the wall showed a paused image of the track from above — frozen mid-frame, dotted with numbers and glowing lines.
The people in the room wore team shirts or half-unzipped jumpsuits, some leaning forward, some just watching the screen in silence.
As Natsu stepped inside — Lucy tucked neatly beneath his arm — a few heads turned.
Someone handed him a tablet. He took it without hesitation, fingers adjusting on the screen. His other hand stayed firm on her waist.
He dropped into a seat near the middle. Tried to pull her into his lap.
She blinked at him, startled, and sat in the chair beside him instead.
He didn’t complain. Just shuffled closer until their legs touched. One arm settled across the back of her chair, fingers brushing lightly against her shoulder. The other dropped to her bare thigh beneath the hem of her dress — warm, steady, drawing slow, absentminded circles against her skin.
His tablet balanced in his lap, swiped occasionally with a flick of his thumb — the same one that kept returning to her thigh like it belonged there.
The meeting began.
Someone started talking. Stats, mostly. Sector times, gear ratios, tire temps. She couldn’t follow it — didn’t try. A few people spoke. Natsu grunted his agreement or made a comment here and there. He wasn’t loud, but everyone listened when he spoke.
Lucy stared at the screen. At the graphs. At the way his hand never stopped moving — steady, warm, reassuring.
She still had no idea what was happening.
The meeting wrapped with a few nods and quiet claps on the back. Natsu murmured a low thanks, good work to one of them, then stood, stretching once before glancing down at her.
Without a word, he reached for her hand again.
She let him take it.
They slipped through a side door off the main room — unmarked, but no one stopped them. The air inside was cooler, quieter. Sleek floor tiles. Bright overhead lights. The faint scent of eucalyptus and disinfectant.
A bench lined one wall. Lockers stood open on the other. A stack of folded towels rested near a set of cubbies. There was a mirror. A sink. A door to the shower room left slightly ajar, steam drifting lazily out.
It was… private. Personal. Still echoing with the sounds of the track outside, but quiet enough to hear her own breath.
Lucy hovered by the wall, eyes flicking around the space.
When she looked back —
Her breath caught.
Natsu had already peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the bench. His pants were halfway down his thighs — race suit already abandoned somewhere, leaving only his boxers left.
And then he was pulling them off , too.
Lucy made a strangled noise and whipped around, slapping her hands over her face.
“I’m not looking!” she blurted.
Behind her, a low chuckle rumbled. Then warmth — his hands on her wrists, gently tugging her fingers from her eyes.
“When’d you get so shy, huh?” he teased, grin practically audible in his voice.
She was burning. Face red. Body stiff.
“Y-You just— I didn’t think—”
“You’ve seen me naked a hundred times,” he added, laughing now, clearly enjoying himself.
She blinked up at him — and immediately regretted it.
His grin didn’t fade, but something flickered in his eyes — darker, hungrier.
“Didn’t stop you last time,” he murmured again, voice thicker now.
She felt her breath catch.
He held her gaze a beat longer — and then turned, slow and deliberate, disappearing into the showers with every step soaked in confidence.
Lucy stared at the tile. The lockers. The neatly folded towel stack.
Absolutely not at his ass.
The hiss of the shower started a second later, echoing soft through the tiles. She could hear it — water hitting skin, the low rumble of his voice as he hummed something tuneless under his breath.
She sat. She didn’t know what else to do. Her legs felt like overcooked noodles.
One hand drifted to the towel beside her. She picked at the edge absently, fingers twisting the soft fabric. Her nose twitched — the scent of him was stronger in here. Sharper. Like cedar and smoke and something low and warm that curled into her ribs and stayed .
It was everywhere. It was him .
Before long, the sound of the water stopped. A few seconds passed.
Then he strode back into the room, towel slung low around his hips, drops of water still clinging to his chest. Lucy immediately looked away, jaw clenched, eyes trained on the locker in front of her like it contained nuclear secrets.
Fabric rustled. A zipper tugged.
When she dared glance back, he was already sliding into a dark team jacket — same one she’d seen on all the staff earlier. Still damp from his hair, he reached for the towel she’d been fidgeting with and ran it briskly over his head, scrubbing the ends.
He grinned again then stepped over and held out his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Media room.”
They moved through a maze of back hallways — long concrete corridors marked with arrows and numbers Lucy didn’t recognize.
Staff passed them with practiced ease, some in dark uniforms with lanyards, some in matching team gear, talking into headsets or tapping on tablets. A few glanced up as they passed.
Most nodded at her. Some smiled, like they knew her.
She didn’t know any of them.
The hallway opened up ahead, spilling into a bright, busy space that smelled like plastic, sweat, and camera heat.
They stepped into what looked like some kind of set — at least, that’s how Lucy’s brain tried to categorize it. There were massive banners stretched across one wall, bold colors and lettering she couldn’t focus on. Lights were clamped to tall poles, buzzing faintly overhead. Cameras on tripods pointed at a marked square of flooring like it was a stage.
People milled around — a few in suits, others with clipboards or phones pressed to their ears. One was adjusting something on a big lens. Another gave a series of sharp hand gestures to someone across the room.
A woman in heels and a branded shirt glanced up and smiled. “You’re good to step in when ready.”
Lucy had no idea who she was talking to — or what they were stepping into — but Natsu gave a short nod, like this was all normal.
He didn’t let go of her hand.
Instead, he guided her gently to the side — behind a sort of marked-off area near the cameras — and gave her a look.
“Just stay here,” he murmured.
She nodded dumbly.
Someone walked past with a giant poster board. Another clipped something to a small mic stand.
Then one of the camera people said, “Rolling in three.”
Natsu moved forward.
Lucy stayed rooted where he left her — just outside the circle of cameras and lights, but still very much visible. Close enough to smell the synthetic tang of hairspray and hot metal. Close enough to hear every click of the shutters.
She didn’t know what any of this was for.
But somehow, everyone else seemed to think she did.
A small crew bustled around the space — wires trailing over the floor, logos lit up behind a stretch of microphones, and two bright floodlights aimed toward the spot where Natsu now stood.
Someone passed her a nod. Another, a smile. A third handed her a branded water bottle like she was meant to hold it. She took it, dumbly.
Then the cameras turned on.
“Dragneel — congratulations on the win,” came the first voice, sharp and clean through a mic just out of frame. “Talk us through the last few laps. How were you feeling heading into that final corner?”
Natsu didn’t even hesitate.
Grin easy, posture loose, hands slotted into the pockets of his branded jacket.
“Honestly? Pretty locked in by then,” he said. “Car felt good. Tires held. I knew Fullbuster would try to dive at Turn Six, but I’d been watching his lines all day. Just held him off.”
Lucy blinked.
She didn’t understand half of what he said — “dive,” “Turn Six,” even the word “tires” made her think of grocery carts — but the way he said it was smooth. Confident. Like he’d done this a thousand times.
Another reporter jumped in.
“You and Fullbuster have been neck-and-neck all season. Any thoughts on where this puts you heading into the championship rounds?”
Natsu’s grin tilted. “I’m not worried. Gray’s quick, but we’ve been faster on the long runs. We’ll tweak the setup for the tighter corners before next week, and we’ll be fine.”
That name again.
Gray.
Lucy’s eyes flicked across the room to a dark-haired man standing a few paces off to the side, arms folded and mouth twitching in a frown that didn’t look particularly serious.
The next question came fast.
“Dragneel — you had Eucliffe behind you early on, but Redfox came charging mid-race. Did that change your strategy?”
Natsu’s brow arched, like the answer was obvious. “Nah. Gajeel always throws heat after Lap Ten. You wait him out and pick your moment. Same with Laxus if the track’s warm.”
More names.
More voices.
More flashes.
Lucy’s hands curled tighter around the water bottle.
They were asking him things she didn’t understand, referencing moments she hadn’t seen, people she didn’t know. But the strangest part was—Natsu didn’t sound like the man who’d just tried to drag her onto his lap and rubbed circles into her leg like she was a part of him.
He sounded like someone else.
Someone sharp. Composed. Untouchable.
Someone who belonged here.
And she… didn’t.
A few more camera shutters clicked.
“We’ve seen a lot of scenting today, Dragneel—”
A voice cut through the noise, light but teasing. “Would you say she’s your good luck charm?”
The crowd laughed lightly. Not mean. Not mocking. Just the kind of chuckle people gave when they were already expecting a soundbite worth quoting.
Natsu didn’t miss a beat.
“Every damn time,” he said. His mouth curved into a lazy, crooked grin. “Track doesn’t feel right unless I’ve got her scent on me first.”
More laughter. The kind that sparked camera flashes and gave headlines something to chew on. Lucy’s stomach twisted.
She felt the heat climb into her cheeks, unsure if it was embarrassment or… something else. Something warmer.
Her hand flexed at her side.
Another question came quick on its heels.
“And how do you balance it?”
A different voice, firmer. “The media attention on your relationship — with everything else you’ve got to handle as your team’s top driver, how do you stay focused?”
Natsu rolled his shoulders a little, like the question barely scratched him. “Focus is easy,” he said. “I know who I am. I know what I’m here to do. Having her close just reminds me why I do it.”
That answer didn’t get laughter.
It got a pause.
Even the reporters quieted for a second — just a flicker — before the next round of questions picked up again, faster this time. Cameras clicked louder. A few whispers sparked near the lighting rigs.
Lucy stayed rooted to her spot.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel.
She didn’t remember being his good luck charm.
She didn’t remember scenting him before every race.
She didn’t remember being the reason he did any of this.
But the words still caught somewhere in her chest.
She blinked down at her hands again.
And wished she remembered who she was.
Natsu finished up the last of his media obligations with a short nod and handed the mic back to someone. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance toward the cameras again — just turned and walked straight for her.
Lucy stiffened as he approached, but he didn’t say a word. Just offered his hand again.
She took it.
Not because she knew where they were going. Not because she understood any of this. But because her body moved before her mind could catch up — because his hand was warm and sure and steady, and right now it was the only thing that felt real.
They slipped through a side hallway, back into the noise and heat of the main area. Before she could ask where they were headed, someone fell into step beside them — sharp uniform, earpiece tucked tight, leaning close to Natsu.
“Fans are still out front,” he said. “Can we get a quick walk-through?”
Natsu exhaled sharply through his nose — not annoyed exactly, just tired — but he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s make it fast.”
Then he looked down at her.
Didn’t ask.
Didn’t even hesitate.
He just curled his fingers a little tighter around hers and kept walking.
Lucy followed in silence, heart thudding. The hallway spilled out into a broad, barricaded stretch of concrete, where metal fencing cordoned off a long path lined with screaming fans. Cameras were already up. Voices echoed like static.
Then they saw him.
The noise swelled instantly.
“NATSU!”
“NUMBER ONE!”
“DRAGNEEL—WE LOVE YOU!”
Dozens of hands shot into the air, waving flags and banners. Signs bobbed above the crowd — some printed, some hand-drawn, some glittering under the floodlights.
Lucy blinked.
One read:
“I ❤️ YOU, LUCY!”
Another:
“MATES FOREVER — NATSU + LUCY!”
Her steps faltered.
Not for long — just a hiccup in her stride — but Natsu felt it. His hand gave hers a squeeze. He didn’t look at her, didn’t slow down, but the message was clear.
I’ve got you.
Lucy swallowed hard, eyes darting from face to face. She didn’t know any of these people. But they knew her. They cheered for her. Called her name like she belonged to all of this.
Like she belonged to him.
Natsu lifted one arm and waved, grin lazy and confident. He said something — maybe a thank-you, maybe a joke — but Lucy didn’t catch it. Her ears were ringing.
Someone in the crowd shouted, “KISS HER!”
Another yelled, “YOU TWO ARE GOALS!”
Lucy’s face burned.
She ducked her head slightly, pressing a little closer to Natsu’s side as they walked the barricade path. He didn’t flinch from the attention — if anything, he leaned into it, signing a few shirts and nodding to familiar faces as they moved.
Lucy, meanwhile, kept her gaze low.
One foot in front of the other.
Don’t trip. Don’t stare. Don’t let go.
And still, her name echoed through the crowd like she was someone worth knowing.
Natsu moved down the barricade like it was muscle memory — sharpie out, head ducked, signature looping quick and smooth across shirts, caps, even the glossy white curve of someone’s helmet.
Lucy stayed close.
Pressed to his side, one hand curled in the fabric of his jacket. The other hovered at her side, fingers twitching every time someone shouted her name.
The crowd was a wave of sound. Screaming. Laughing. Phones flashing in bursts. Signs still bobbing in the air.
“DRAGNEEL, I LOVE YOU!”
“LUCY LOOK OVER HERE!”
“YOU’RE SO PRETTY!”
She couldn’t process any of it.
She didn’t know where they were. Or why she was here. Or how everyone else seemed so sure of who she was.
But she knew his scent.
Knew the warm weight of his hand when he reached back and caught hers again, lacing their fingers together like it was second nature.
Someone leaned over the rail, waving their phone excitedly. “Can I get a photo? With both of you?”
Natsu didn’t miss a beat. His hand slipped from hers and curled easily around her waist. “Come on, baby — smile for ‘em.”
Baby.
Lucy froze.
It wasn’t the word. It wasn’t even the arm around her. It was the way he said it. Casual. Natural. Like it had been said a thousand times before.
She didn’t manage much — just a small, awkward tilt of her mouth, but it was enough. The girl squealed as the photo snapped.
“Oh my god, you two are perfect!” she gushed. “Can I hug you, Lucy?”
Lucy blinked. Mouth parting to answer — but Natsu was already moving.
He shifted smoothly between them, arm blocking gently but firmly. “Not today.”
Polite. Calm. Not angry — just certain.
Lucy’s heart stuttered.
His body half-shielded hers now, his scent curling around her like smoke and sun-warmed skin. Something in her chest eased. Her fingers unclenched slightly in the fabric of his sleeve.
She didn’t know why. Didn’t understand what part of her reacted to his voice, or his stance, or the instinct to protect.
But her wolf — the quiet, pulsing thing inside her — settled.
And she stayed right where she was.
After five, maybe ten minutes — Lucy wasn’t sure — a voice cut through the noise.
“Alright, that’s it — let’s get moving.”
Someone wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, nodded toward Natsu.
He didn’t argue. Just signed one more hat with a flick of his wrist, handed it back, and turned.
His arm found her waist instantly.
He pulled her in close as they moved, steering her gently but firmly away from the barricades, through the parted crowd. Cameras still flashed behind them. Fans still called out.
But Natsu didn’t slow.
Didn’t look back.
His grip never loosened, either — fingers spread low on her back, hand curling like he could keep her there just by holding on.
Lucy glanced up once, catching the side of his face.
He was smiling.
Not the sharp grin he’d flashed on stage. Not the cocky smirk from earlier.
This one was small. Real.
For her?
She didn’t know. But she stayed close anyway, the noise fading behind them as they slipped through a side gate and into a quieter corridor, sponsor logos glowing from every wall.
They stepped through a security gate and into a different area — sleeker, slightly quieter, but still buzzing.
The noise was different here.
No more screaming fans. No camera shutters. Just the buzz of studio lights and quiet instructions being passed between handlers. The air smelled sharper. Clean. Like hairspray and fabric starch and something citrusy that didn’t belong on concrete.
Sponsor logos were everywhere.
Big vinyl banners stretched across the walls. Tall backdrops with repeating emblems—stacked logos she didn’t recognize, but that clearly meant something here. There were tall lights with silver umbrellas, folding tables with makeup kits, staff members wearing matching polos and carrying clipboards. Everything was organized. Controlled.
One woman with an earpiece smiled when she saw them approach. “There he is,” she said brightly. “Perfect timing.”
Natsu didn’t smile back, not exactly. Just gave a lazy nod and tugged Lucy in a little closer. “Where do you want me?”
“Over here,” the woman said, gesturing toward a white backdrop that looked almost too clean. “Solo shots first, then the partners set, then brand reps will rotate in.”
Lucy blinked. Partners set?
Natsu’s hand slid off her waist as he stepped forward, shaking out his arms a bit like this was just part of the job. Someone tossed him a cap — a different one than before, this one with a shiny logo right at the front — and he slipped it on backward with a practiced ease.
He didn’t look at the camera. He looked at Lucy.
And winked.
Then the flash went off.
He moved like he’d done this a hundred times. Easy stance. Shoulders back. A smirk that wasn't quite real but still made her stomach flip. He posed once, twice, three times. Then someone waved at her.
“You ready, Lucy?”
Ready for what?
She glanced behind her, like they might be talking to someone else. But there was no one. Just her. And the whole room… waiting.
Before she could say anything, Natsu had already moved. Crossed the space in three strides. One arm wrapped around her back, the other catching her hand. “Come on, princess,” he murmured against her ear, voice low and casual. “You’re the main event.”
Her? He meant her?
She barely had time to breathe before the lights flared again.
Lucy was certain she looked like she’d wandered into the wrong room.
Because while Natsu stood there, calm and cocky and devastatingly photogenic under the flashing lights — she was stiff as a board. Not smiling. Not posing. Just… standing.
People were watching. Someone had a clipboard. Someone else was counting shots. The photographer had already clicked once, frowned, and lowered their camera.
Natsu didn’t move. He glanced sideways at her, then took a slow step forward.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, soft, not teasing like before. “You with me?”
Lucy blinked. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He slipped a hand back around her waist, pressing his fingers into the small of her back — a firm, grounding touch. “Just relax. Pretend it’s just us.”
Not just us. Not even close. People stood everywhere — watching, waiting — and something was flashing, and she didn’t know where to look or where her hands were supposed to go—
Natsu lifted her hand with his, bringing it up to rest on his chest. He flattened his palm over hers.
“Here’s good,” he murmured, thumb rubbing once over her knuckles. “They love this one.”
This one?
The camera clicked. The flash popped.
Lucy flinched.
Natsu shifted closer — his arm tightening around her waist, tucking her in against his side so her hip pressed to his. His free hand trailed up to her jaw, brushing a strand of hair back. Casual. Intimate. Familiar.
She forgot how to breathe.
“Smile a little, yeah?” he said, voice dropping as he dipped his head toward hers. “You usually make me look way better.”
He didn’t say it like it was a joke. He said it like it was a truth she’d forgotten.
Lucy tried. A small, uncertain curve of her mouth. The camera flashed again.
“Perfect,” the photographer said. “Okay, next — maybe a bit more turned toward each other?”
Lucy started to shift, awkward and unsure, but Natsu caught her waist and guided her. Easy. Confident. He stepped into her space again, framing her with his body.
“Eyes on me,” he said, quiet now. Just for her.
She looked up.
And he smiled. A real one, this time — soft, lopsided, something between fondness and heat.
The flash popped again.
It felt like falling into something warm. Familiar.
Like muscle memory.
He adjusted their stance again, hand skimming her arm like he’d done it a thousand times. She didn’t realize until the next shot that her fingers were curled into his jacket, holding on.
She didn’t let go.
The photo session ended with a few more clicks, some quick chatter from handlers, and then a murmured, “Okay, we got it — thank you, Natsu, Lucy.”
Lucy didn’t know what they got, exactly. She just knew the camera was finally gone from her face, and she could step back — slightly — from Natsu’s side.
But only slightly.
Because the moment the photos wrapped, another person appeared with a headset and clipboard. “Dragneel — drinks first, then the table shots.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Natsu waved a hand like he’d heard it all before. He glanced back at Lucy. “You good?”
She nodded automatically.
Whatever good meant.
He leaned down and murmured, “Stay close, alright?” — and then he was already stepping into the next setup, guided by staff into a clean, minimal space with another branded backdrop and a tall white pedestal.
Lucy tucked herself beside one of the metal poles holding the lights. Out of the spotlight, but not out of view.
Someone handed Natsu a chilled bottle — glass, heavy-looking, the label clean and bold. He held it easily in one hand, flashing a half-smile toward the camera.
“Take one — turn, sip, grin,” someone, a director maybe, called out. “Same as usual.”
Natsu did. Effortlessly.
He uncapped the bottle with one flick of his thumb, raised it in a mock-toast, and took a swig like it was the best thing he’d tasted all day. Then he turned slightly, smile crooked, the logo perfectly facing forward.
Flash. Click. Reset.
Lucy just blinked.
He did it again. This time with a nod. Then again — now adding a few spoken lines, presumably scripted. Something about refreshing taste and race-day fuel.
Lucy couldn’t focus on the words.
He looked different again. Professional. Sharp. Like a model — not the same man who’d just dragged her against his chest and murmured you usually make me look better.
The videos wrapped in under five minutes. Then came the product table.
Someone rolled out a small display filled with merch: caps, gloves, water bottles, limited edition boxes with his racing number across the side. Natsu grabbed a pen without needing to be told.
He signed one hat, then another. Then scrawled a quick message across a glove with the kind of ease that said he’d done this a hundred times. Thanks for the support. Keep burning. He added his number beside the flare of his name. A flame shape — Lucy thought — not that she knew for sure.
“Couple more, then we’re good,” a rep called.
She couldn’t look away.
It wasn’t just the sharp lines of him, or the easy way he charmed the camera, or even how the staff moved around him like he was gravity. It was the fact that every now and then — between takes, between pens — his eyes would flick to her.
Checking that she was still there.
That she was watching.
She was. Still standing off to the side, blinking against the lights, unsure if she should move or breathe or sit down. A clipboard passed an inch from her shoulder. Someone waved a hand in front of a lens. A flashbulb went off.
Lucy didn’t know what was happening, only that Natsu was at the center of it.
Then a new voice chimed in — upbeat, practiced. “Natsu, can we get a quick IG Story? Just a ‘Thanks for the support, see you at the next track!’ — fifteen seconds tops.”
Natsu didn’t miss a beat. He flashed a grin, angled his head toward the camera, and said smoothly, “Thanks for the love today, everyone — couldn’t have done it without you! We’ll see you at the next one. You better bring the heat.”
He threw in a wink. The camera panned to the logo on his jacket, then back to his face. Clean. Confident. Like he did this every weekend.
Lucy tried not to look like she was staring.
“Lucy, do you mind doing one too?” the same person asked, turning toward her. “Just a quick wave and a ‘thanks for the support’ type thing — everyone’ll love it.”
Her stomach dropped. “Me?”
“Nothing crazy, promise,” they said. “Just a quick clip. You’ve done a ton of these.”
She has?
Lucy looked helplessly at Natsu.
He stepped in instantly, voice low and warm as he leaned toward her ear. “Just look at the camera, say thank you, blow ‘em a kiss if you want. You’ve done way worse on camera, promise.”
She flushed. “You’re not helping.”
He only grinned.
The camera rolled.
Lucy forced a small smile. “Thanks for the support,” she said, trying not to sound like she was being held at gunpoint. “Um… see you next time?”
The team behind the phone lit up.
“Perfect!” someone said. “That was adorable.”
Lucy cringed inside.
But Natsu turned and pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. “Killed it.”
Before she could respond, he was saying to the camera person, “Thanks, we’re heading out,” and steering them both toward the door.
They waved after them. “Good seeing you again, Lucy!”
They stepped back into the hallway — dimmer, quieter. The lighting buzzed overhead. Somewhere nearby, a crate rolled over concrete.
Lucy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
A few more turns through narrow halls, and then—
“How much longer have we got?” she asked, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m dying here.”
She meant it as a joke.
But Natsu stopped. Turned to face her completely.
“You okay?” he asked, brows pinching.
Lucy blinked. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… tired.”
His hand found her waist again, thumb rubbing gently in the same spot like he had earlier. “You sure? We can ditch the rest if you want. Doesn’t matter.”
“It’s fine,” she murmured. “I can keep going.”
“There’s just one thing left,” he said, voice lower now. “Team celebration. Won’t be long. Just a check-in, toast, the usual.”
He leaned in, scent brushing against her skin.
“You can do that, right?”
His hand was warm. His eyes were soft. Her body, exhausted as it was, seemed to relax just being near him.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I can do that.”
“That’s my girl,” he said.
And they started walking again. Closer than before.
The hallway opened into warm air and low sun.
Evening light stretched long over the pavement, casting soft reflections across the sleek black car parked by the exit. It wasn’t subtle — long, low to the ground, every curve designed to look expensive. Lucy didn’t know anything about cars, but this one made her stomach flip.
Natsu led her straight toward it.
No one stopped them. A few people loitered nearby, they all nodded, stepped aside, or gave quiet waves as they passed. Every single one of them looked at her like she belonged there.
She didn’t meet their eyes.
Natsu opened the passenger side door and gestured her in. “Here, Luce.”
She slid into the seat without a word.
It was soft. Deep. The leather cool against her legs at first, before warmth slowly settled in. She went to pull the seatbelt over her shoulder — and blinked. The strap had a padded cover on it. Soft, stitched, perfectly placed so the belt wouldn’t chafe her neck.
Her fingers hovered there.
Had that been for her?
She buckled in, heart thudding for no reason she could explain.
Natsu shut her door, circled to the driver’s side, and slid behind the wheel. The door shut with a smooth thunk , and for a second, everything felt still. Muted.
He fastened his belt. Tapped a button — the dashboard screen came to life. Another button and the car gave a gentle purr, vibrating softly beneath her feet.
Then he looked over at her. “Still okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t press. Just smiled faintly and eased them out of the lot, merging onto the main road with quiet control. No engine growl. No sudden turns. His driving was smooth — confident — like the car was an extension of him. He didn’t weave. Didn’t speed.
Didn’t do anything but keep one hand on the wheel and glance over at her now and then.
Lucy stared out the window.
Buildings blurred past. Banners flapped lazily in the wind. The sun dipped lower, and her own reflection appeared faintly in the glass. She didn’t recognize the girl staring back.
But somehow, this — the car, the drive, the warm leather and his scent in the air — felt… safe.
Maybe that was why she didn’t say anything.
Just sat there, hands in her lap, brain still buzzing faintly, body aching in quiet ways she couldn’t name.
The hum of the car rolled under them, steady as the sky darkened around the windshield. City lights flickered on in the distance — soft, golden blur against the clouds.
“You didn’t eat all day, did you?” Natsu’s voice broke through the quiet, low and matter-of-fact. “Want me to stop somewhere?”
Lucy blinked. Shook her head.
“No. I’m okay.”
He didn’t say anything at first — just let that answer hang. Then he made a soft, gruff noise — not quite a sigh.
“Not really okay if my mate’s starving,” he muttered. “I’ll make sure you eat something later.”
She didn’t argue. Mostly because her stomach was a knot, and the idea of food made her feel a little sick. But also because… he sounded serious. Like it mattered.
She glanced at him.
He was still watching the road. One hand on the wheel. The other reached for hers — not demanding, just familiar. Their fingers slid together like it was natural. Like they’d done it a hundred times.
Her chest ached.
They pulled up in front of a sleek, glass-walled hotel draped in sponsor banners and warm lights. Staff approached immediately. The moment Natsu stepped out, they recognized him.
“Mr. Dragneel — welcome back,” one greeted with a practiced smile. “They’re waiting for you inside.”
Lucy barely had time to unbuckle before Natsu was there, opening her door, holding out a hand. She let him help her up. Let him guide her forward.
The doors opened into a lobby flooded with light and music and scent — cologne, champagne, perfume, polished wood, too much all at once.
Her breath caught.
Natsu must’ve felt it, because his hand dropped to the small of her back. A steadying pressure. Protective. Present.
“Just stick with me,” he murmured near her ear, voice warm and low as they crossed the lobby. “Almost done.”
And she did. Because she didn’t know where else to go.
The celebration was tucked behind sliding glass doors and velvet-lined ropes — not flashy, but expensive in that quiet, polished way. Dim lights haloed the space in amber. Music pulsed beneath the surface like a heartbeat, threaded with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low murmur of voices.
The room smelled like warm wood and citrus oil, soft leather and expensive perfume. There were scattered couches in deep greens and browns, lounge tables already half-filled with drinks and catered finger food.
As soon as Natsu stepped inside, the energy shifted.
“Our champ!” someone shouted.
A cheer rose up from the cluster near the bar — arms thrown into the air, glasses lifted. People clapped him on the back as they passed, ruffling his hair, someone thrusting a glass into his hand. He took it with a grin that was all teeth, easy and bright, his other hand still holding Lucy’s.
She stayed close — not pressed against him, but within his orbit. People saw her. Nodded. Smiled. One woman leaned in as she passed, laughing softly as she said, “You look gorgeous tonight, Lucy.”
Lucy blinked.
She smiled back, small and uncertain, but didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say.
More greetings passed around them. Some were subtle — a squeeze to her shoulder, a murmured “Hey, Luce” as if they’d all seen her yesterday. Others were louder. Familiar. And yet they all slid past her like mist, like memories that didn’t belong to her.
Her brain flinched from the weight of it — but her body didn’t.
Because even as her heart skittered, even as her thoughts spun, her wolf settled.
Calmed.
Drawn to the warmth of the room, the safety of it. The scents, the laughter, the casual closeness. Something inside her unclenched, like exhaling after holding breath too long. She didn’t understand it — but it was real.
So she stayed beside Natsu.
Let him tug her a little closer when someone tried to pull him toward the bar. Let his fingers graze the back of her dress as he leaned to talk to someone else. Let the unfamiliar feel just slightly less terrifying in the space where his hand stayed anchored against her hip.
They wandered for a while — or at least, Natsu did. Lucy mostly trailed behind him, drink in hand, half-listening as he greeted teammates and staff with easy smiles, looping one arm around shoulders, answering congratulations with casual charm.
People chatted with her too, lightly — complimenting her dress, her hair, her presence — but they didn’t expect much. Just a nod, a faint smile. That was all it took for them to move on. No one asked anything. No one pushed. She was grateful for that.
Eventually, Natsu led her toward a low seating area tucked beside one of the side walls, away from the louder clusters. He nudged her gently toward the inside seat, then dropped down beside her without hesitation.
She barely had time to adjust before she felt it — the warmth of him, solid at her side, his arm settling behind her along the backrest. His thigh pressed flush to hers. It wasn’t tight, not caging. But it was anchoring. A wall against the noise. A quiet claim.
He shoved a plate into her hands.
It was full — no, overflowing. Mini sliders, skewers, dumplings, tiny tarts, olives, wedges of cheese and sliced fruit. Lucy blinked down at it, then looked up at him.
“You didn’t eat all day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Come on. You’ve gotta eat.”
She hesitated.
But then she picked up a cracker, then a slice of pear. Nibbled.
Natsu watched her for exactly three seconds before his mouth curled.
“Good girl.”
Her heart skipped.
It shouldn’t have done that. Not from two words murmured too close to her ear, not from the way his thumb brushed her spine like praise — soft, absent, intimate. But it did.
So she kept eating.
Not fast. Not with much enthusiasm. But enough. Slowly working through about a third of the plate while Natsu kept chatting with someone across from them, leaning in now and then to grab a drink, occasionally tossing her another look that felt like a check-in.
When she finally handed the plate back to him, she was full.
“That’s it?” he asked, brows lifted. “You tapped out already?”
“You piled half the buffet on it,” she muttered. “You eat it.”
He grinned like she’d challenged him. “Fine,” he said — then scooped up something from the plate and held it out toward her mouth. “But one more. Open.”
Her eyes widened.
“I’m serious,” he added, teasing now. “Open. Or I’m feeding you the olives.”
She wrinkled her nose, hesitated — then leaned in and took the bite from his fingers. He hummed like that pleased him. Gave her one more, and only when she’d eaten that too did he start devouring the rest of the plate himself, fast and casual like the food had been waiting for him all day.
She leaned slightly into his side, stomach warm, heart ticking a little too fast.
She didn’t understand this world. But Natsu — the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he fed her like it mattered — he made it bearable.
She stayed close. Let herself breathe.
He was still chewing, last bites of food disappearing fast as he shifted beside her, relaxed and loose in the way people only were after a long, good day. His knee bumped hers again, this time intentional. When she didn’t pull away, his arm settled more securely behind her.
“Y’know,” he said softly, voice low enough that only she could hear, “you’re really cute when you’re tired.”
Lucy turned her face slightly, nose brushing his shoulder without meaning to. “I’m not—” she began, but the yawn that took her mid-sentence betrayed her completely.
Natsu laughed under his breath. “Right. Not tired at all.”
She didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Her whole body felt like it was slowly sinking, melting into the heat of his side, the press of his thigh against hers. The lights were too dim now. The couch too soft. Her head dipped just slightly, brushing his collarbone.
His hand moved again — not possessive this time, not teasing. Just... gentle. A soft rub over her back, fingertips trailing under the hem of her jacket, warm against her dress. The scent of him wrapped around her like a weighted blanket. Familiar. Safe.
She didn’t even think when she turned her face up toward his — just slightly, like her body already knew the shape of this moment.
And he didn’t hesitate.
He kissed her.
Full, warm, certain — like it wasn’t the first time. Like her mouth was the answer to a question he’d never stopped asking. There was nothing rushed in it, nothing urgent. Just instinct and heat and the soft, dizzying pressure of lips that knew exactly how to fit hers.
When he pulled back, it was only an inch. His eyes were still on her. And he was smiling.
“That’s better,” he whispered.
She stared at him, dazed. Her lips tingled. Her heart forgot how to beat.
“Hey,” someone called nearby, breaking the moment. “Dragneel — they want you to sign something real quick.”
Natsu gave a low sigh and dipped his head, forehead resting lightly against hers for just a second.
“Just a sec,” he murmured to her alone, knuckle brushing the curve of her cheek. “Don’t move.”
She nodded, barely breathing, and watched him disappear into the crowd.
And then he was gone.
Lucy blinked slowly, tried to track the shifting shapes around her — staff, teammates, friends she didn’t know. Someone laughed too loud. Music swelled again in the background.
She sipped from the drink he’d left her. The bubbles hit her tongue but didn’t help. She felt… untethered. Off-balance. Every light too sharp, every scent too much now that his was fading.
She sank back into the couch, arms curling loosely across her stomach, legs folding in just slightly. A warmth still lingered on her lips. She didn’t know what to make of it.
The seat cradled her too well. The air wrapped too heavy. Conversations turned to fog. She let her eyes slip closed.
Just for a moment.
The scent that had grounded her all day — smoke and spice and something undeniably him — was fading now, swept up in perfume and champagne and noise. But she tried to chase it anyway.
And even with her eyes closed, her body knew which direction he’d gone.