#// she's a healer this is not what she wants to hear
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There was no reason to trade Lucnes for Nessian other than the fact that SJM wanted to punish Nesta. Why would Nesta even be in Night if she was mated to Lucien and serve Feyre for the rest of her life?
Lucien will rip her apart.
The Lucien who realised exactly what his mate needed with one glance?
The Lucien who was the only one to suggest bringing a healer to check on his depressed mate?
The Lucien who was the only one to listen to his mate and treat her like a person?
The Lucien who went on a quest just because his mate had a dream?
The Lucien who gave his mate space and time when she wasn't ready to accept her fae life or the mating bond?
The Lucien who marvelled at Nesta's powers instead of seeing her as a weapon?
Cassian is the one Nesta needed.
The neanderthal who saw his emaciated mate and the first thing he noticed were her boobs?
The neanderthal who said 'eat this or starve' when his depressed mate didn't like his food?
The neanderthal who laughed at his mate after she climbed up the stairs with bruises on her face?
The neanderthal who had sex with his mate right after she was sexually assaulted by an ancient creature?
The neanderthal who rejoiced at how happy his brother will be at his mate's misery?
The neanderthal who forced his mate on a dangerous hike when she was suicidal?
I hear delusions. But thanks for playing.
#my boy would have brought night to ground with autumn's fire and day's whatever for nesta#but please go off#nesta#nesta deserved better#lucien#lucnes#cassian critical#anti nessian#acotar critical#sjm critical
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PART 3 Heal your hurt
Viktor x reader
Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, smut, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain, idiots in love
Previous part <-
After Viktor's leg massage a few nights ago you haven’t been able to get him off your mind. You heat up at every thought of him, cheeks going red no doubt. His hands felt so nice against your aching legs, practised hands moving with grace. Your mind wanders to more inappropriate images, these same hands slipping under a waistband skill full finger-
“You’re going to over fill the sink” you jolt and turn of the taps quickly the bubbles high and the water almost overflowing. Get a grip! You curse yourself silently lift the plug slightly to drain some water before you begin to wash the dishes with a little bit of aggression.
“You are distracted, lately” Viktor comments from his spot in the small kitchen.
“I’m fine” you cover up quickly.
“You’re not in any pain today, are you?” He asks and you can hear the furrow of his brow.
“No” you shake your head, today was a good day, so far, only the persistent dull ache you always had in your hips and back. It was a downpour outside, a thunderstorm rolling over, Viktor didn’t want to ruin any notes rushing to the lab in the rain, so he stayed home.
“What distracts you then?” He asks and you wonder when he became this worried and interested in your wellbeing. You think about the last few years, quiet and reserved, as he always had been, he respected your space, and you respected his, you weren’t really friends, not like you were in childhood, just acquaintances, living separate lives in the same home. You sagged a bit, you and Viktor were close as children, he’d always have some new invention or toy to show you and tell you about and you’d listen eagerly with wonder. Then your teens hit, and that seemed to go downhill from there, you were struggling with the growing pains and being in the under city there was no real access to medical care, your mother knew a healer, but she just said that children change and grow and that is what you were doing. When your father got promoted and you moved to the upper city when it was all well and less divided, you had access to a little bit of medical help but still nothing. You forced yourself to work despite the agonising nights of not being able to move after them, you made the medical officers look at you again properly and they finally found something not right. You never saw Viktor again, till three years ago. A re-kindled flam you suppose. You thought he wouldn’t recognise you; you look very different from when you were a kid, but he knew, just like you knew it was him.
You’d finish the dishes lost in thought and Viktor hadn’t pressed the question.
“We need more food” you comment glancing outside to the down pour.
“The markets will be shut in this weather, you’ll catch a cold too” Viktor answers and you sigh knowing he’s right so you go to your room, pick up a book and sit in your reading chair by your bedroom window. The day passes slowly you fell asleep during your reading a gentle hand on your shoulder shaking you awake. You groan a bit at the awkward angle of your neck and sit up seeing Viktor a little too close. Your book is on the side of the table and you have a blanket over you.
“The rain has stopped” he says and you nod rubbing your neck a bit as he shuffled back.
“I would’ve let you sleep longer, but your neck looked uncomfortable” he comments and he’s right your neck hurts now. It’s still grey outside but there’s life outside on the streets, no doubt the markets have opened back up.
“I’ll grab my coat and head to the markets” you say stretching and yawning.
“I will join you” Viktor says surprising you.
“It’s a lot of walking, Viktor” you say and he waves you off.
Viktor walks beside you as you go from stall to stall grabbing produce as you need. Some people recognise Viktor and greet him which he greets back quietly too. It’s a little funny watching him tense up with embarrassment at the recognition he receives.
“Are you ok?” You ask as he slows down but you realise he’s looking in a shop, an inventors shop.
“Did you wanna have a look?” You tilt your head and you see his cheeks redden slightly before he nods. You smile a bit and follow him inside. The shop owner has a collection of contraptions from toys to everyday gadgets to some strange things you’ve never even seen. His eyes are slightly wide before they narrow on each thing he inspects, you find it cute the way he calculates how it works studying it before putting it back and moving onto the next item.
“Welcome in” the shop owner grins at you.
“Hi” you turn and greet while Viktor is too busy studying another gadget.
“I’ll be damned” The shop owner laughs softly.
“The great inventor, Viktor” you looked to Viktor seeing him tense and place the gadget he was holding down to turn to the shop keeper.
“It’s honour to have you in my shop” he smiles.
“You have many interesting inventions” Viktor says scanning over them again.
“Not as interesting as yours I imagine but they keep busy” the shop keeper grins.
“They’re still interesting” Viktor comments his eyes falling on you. You tilt your head at him as he study’s you for a moment before looking back to the shop keeper.
“It was nice to see your inventions” Viktor says and you figure he’s ready to go.
“Have a good day” you smile at the shop keeper and head out.
“Do you want to head home?” You ask.
“You still need to get bread, yes?” He asks.
“I don’t wanna push you” you mutter softly.
“Let us get bread then” he brushes you off again. You figure he would do that, you did it back to him, he’s had this condition since he was a child, probably born with it, he knows how to handle it. You’re worried nonetheless the whole way to the bread maker and back to your apartment, Viktor slows in his walk and you match his pace as you walk home. Once home Viktor sits down which you’re thankful for as you unpack the food. It’s dinner time already so you make a simple soup and serve it with the fresh bread you bought on the table.
“Thank you for joining me” you say softly as you both eat.
“You are welcome” Viktor says. You notice how his braced leg is stretched out beside him and you feel guilty. An idea pops in your head, you’re hardly any good with your hands as he is, and- no stupid idea, he doesn’t like people touching him why would you get a free pass? You glare at your reflection in the soup.
“The soup has made you angry?” Viktor asks a light tease in his voice but also concern. Your eyes snap to his face relaxing and you shake your head.
“No just a thought” you say trying to keep a poker face.
“What is it?” He presses gently.
“Just a stupid thought” you grit your teeth a bit before relaxing your face.
“Hardly stupid if it makes you feel like this” he adds.
“I was just gonna offer what you did to me to help with your leg, a massage or something” you blurt and suddenly you’re bright red and frozen.
“Forget it, forget I said anything, stupid-“ you’re up in a rush grabbing your bowl and putting in on the sink disregarding what you had left. A hand rests on your wrists where your hand is fisted against the counter and you tense looking to Viktor who is looking at you.
“I appreciate the offer” he says softly and you clench your jaw and look away from him. He sighs softly his hand moving from your wrist to the side of your face his finger tips gently pressing to your cheek to make you look at him again.
“Would you feel better if you did?” He asks and you frown. This wasn’t about you, it was about him helping him.
“This isn’t about me and my feelings-“ he lifts a hand to stop you.
“Would it?” He presses an intensity in his eyes you’ve never seen before. His finger tips draw down to your jaw as he drops his hand again.
“Well yes it would but-“ he shushes you again and you stare slightly baffled.
“Come” you stare confused at where he just was before you follow him. You’ve rarely been into his room, it’s so…him. Simple but practical with notes and things scattered on his desks, his bed is neat and hardly used. He sits down on the edge of his bed and beckons you to do the same so you do, when you became so obedient you have no idea. He rests his cane on the nearby bedside table before he leans down and begins to unbuckle his brace.
“Viktor-“ you say but the look he send you shuts you up instantly, you feel like you hardly know this Viktor, the one that has told you to shut up three times in a row. He rests it by his cane and rolls his pant leg up. He sits by you, his eyes looking to his leg, his foot inwards slightly, you see a few scars on his skin, maybe from operations.
“This makes you uncomfortable, I don’t, it was a silly idea” you whisper embarrassed.
“It doesn’t” he says and you shake your head you know, by looking at him you know the walls being put up. You sigh and lean into him resting your head on his shoulder so he doesn’t do anything. He must accept your words are true because his pants slide back down covering his leg and you both sit there for a moment. Your hands rest in your lap, fiddling with your fingers a bit as you sit in silence.
“Stop” Viktor mutters and takes your hand moves it to his lap instead, his fingers go to your palm before moving up and intertwining with yours holding your hand still. You stare at your hands tangled together, heart beating loudly in your chest.
“It’s late” you begin.
“You need sleep” You stand his hand slipping from yours as you leave the room.
Next part ->
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i should not be concocting elaborate daydreams about characters i haven't even heard speak in earnest yet, huh
i am vying against the desk, nails bloodied and knuckles white, please let me make up more guys (gn) to kiss those other guys (gn)
#squirrel plays datv#i picture ver and davrin being shocked when people think they're a couple while they're actively holding hands#this? nooo well yeah we kiss and sleep with each other and talk sweet and would die for each other but we're not DATING or anything#coris is going to call lucanis “first talon” and “legacy” as flirting (derogatory) and they'll make everyone uncomfortable#because she's like 4'nothing and clearly domming the shit out of him on a regular basis#and she'll only say “luc” when things get REAL soft and she won't know what to do with that#and manfred will quite literally have an unspoken rivalry going on with tristan because only one of them can be emmrich's favorite undead#something something indescribable violence delivered stoically; hiding injuries because the healers can't do much#only the necromancer's scalpel can fix dead flesh and set a dead heart beating fast once more#............. those are all just the guys FUCK#crying please give me more neve news i need to go insane about the elfette i plan for her who's been in active yearning for like five years#and and and i need to hear more about harding because i want my leather and lace dorfettes to have their epic romance#oc: verbena mercar#oc: coris de riva#oc: tanner laidir#oc: tristan thorne
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The only person who has actually seen Kaeya's right eye after the immediate treatment post-Confrontation is Adelinde. He adamantly refuses to let anyone else see under it, especially those like Jean or Diluc who knew him best. The thought absolutely makes his gut churn. He would do anything to make sure no one catches sight of his eye if he can help it. Anything.
#hc; kaeya#//Adelinde is the only one; because he's the only one he can truly never say no too#//If she wants to check up on how his eye is; he'll only ask they move to a room where they can be alone to do so#//Jean's tried to convince him to let her see it after she got her Vision and realized its healing properties#//He adamantly refused#//Let the healers see it only ONCE; & their reactions made him genuinely consider if he should let them get away with the knowledge of it#//Spun up some tale why his eyes were mismatched & the burns as awful as they were to stave them off#//But from that point on; would NOT let them see it. If anyone was treating his eye; it would be HIM and HIM alone#//Is probably why it didn't heal up as well as it could have under their care. Can still sort of see; but nowhere near as clear as the othe#//Most of the folks who treated him and saw his eye left with Varka. He has lingering paranoia of what they could say abt him to Varka#//He's even snapped at Klee for trying to see; having been playfully trying to steer her away from taking the patch off#//Then just Panicked when he felt the string loosen. he felt so awful afterward; esp with how she'd burst into tears#//Anyone trying to or being perceived as trying to take off the patch WILL get a nasty strike of frostbite#//Which is why it takes a MASSIVE amount of trust to touch even that side of his face#//He esp doesn't want it seen immediately after using Abyssal energy; its influence is VERY noticeable there in particular#//Diluc is the one he'd loathe to see it the most; but not over a grudge; he's worried that in the (High Unlikely) case of him still caring#//That Diluc might blame himself for how the injury resulted. And/or try to 'help' with/talk abt it. And Kae doesn't want that at ALL#//There's also a lingering fear that Luc might in fact say the opposite and allude that Kae DESERVED the scars/affliction#//Which Kae wouldn't contest (nor does he think Luc is cruel enough to); but it Devastate him to hear it nonetheless#//Kae'd rather live in a permanent limbo wondering how Luc would react than actually find out; thanks#//Not even other Khaenri'ahns like Dainsleif are exempt; bc he doesn't want to say his usual cover story for the burns#//Wouldn't be as believable to the likes of them compared to the other Mondstadters
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Incorrect Quote Generator | Accepting!
@strdstd asked: ✏️ {From Dain!}
Dainsleif: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone back to life.
Magnolia: ... please never become a surgeon.
#strdstd#' let me help you. ' | ask#' don't you wanna go apeshit? ' | crack#// I'M LAUGHING#// she's a healer this is not what she wants to hear
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Love Again
Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader
Summary: you never thought you would be able to let someone else into your heart after your husband passed away, but when a bucket list your husband left you to fulfill inadvertently leads you straight into Charles’ path, you learn exactly what it means to love again
Warnings: death of significant other
The funeral is everything you expected it to be and nothing like you imagined. The church is suffocatingly full, every pew occupied, and the walls themselves seem to press in on you.
You sit in the front row, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles white against the black fabric of your dress. You haven’t said a word since you walked into the church, since you caught sight of the casket at the front, draped in a flag. You can’t speak because if you open your mouth, you’re certain you’ll break apart.
You focus on the details instead. The way the flowers — lilies, his favorite — are arranged with too much precision. The way the air smells faintly of old wood and incense. The way the murmur of the crowd sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Your head is spinning, but your body is still, a statue carved out of grief and shock.
You hear the scrape of a chair being moved and look up just in time to see the man taking the pulpit. You recognize him, vaguely, as someone from the organization — Doctors Without Borders. He was there when it happened. He was there with him.
He clears his throat, glances down at a piece of paper in his hand, then up at the crowd. “I’m not sure I have the right words for this,” he begins, his voice low and trembling just enough to be noticeable. “But I’ll try.”
You hate him a little for that — for having to try. You don’t want him to try. You want him to fail, to stumble over his words, to not be able to get them out. But he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath and continues.
“James was ... the best of us. You all know that. He was selfless, tireless. He didn’t just want to save lives — he did it. Every day. In the most dangerous places, under the most terrifying conditions. He was a healer in the truest sense of the word.” The man’s voice catches for a second, but he pushes through it. “And he was my friend.”
You flinch at that, a sharp pain slicing through your chest.
“He saved us that day,” the man says. “He saved all of us.”
The church is so quiet now, you could hear a pin drop. You can’t take your eyes off the man at the pulpit. You want him to stop talking. You want him to stop telling you things you can’t bear to hear. But he doesn’t stop.
“We were in the middle of the compound when the shelling started. It came out of nowhere. One minute we were patching up a kid who’d been hit by shrapnel, and the next, the whole world was exploding around us. We were trapped. There was no way out.” The man’s voice lowers, almost like he’s talking to himself now. “But James ... James didn’t hesitate. He ran toward the blast, toward the fire. He pulled people out, dragged them to safety.”
A tear slips down your cheek, and you swipe it away angrily.
“He was hit by the last shell,” the man continues, his voice trembling now. “He was trying to get one of the nurses out. She was trapped under some debris. He managed to free her, but then the shell hit, and ...” The man’s voice falters, and he closes his eyes for a moment. “He didn’t make it.”
There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, a ripple of shock that moves through the room like a wave. You feel it crash over you, pulling you under. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but sit there and listen as the man finishes his eulogy.
“He died a hero,” the man says, his voice breaking. “He died saving lives, the way he always wanted to. And I ... I don’t know how to make sense of it. I don’t know how to make it okay.”
He steps back from the pulpit, his head bowed, and there’s a moment of silence so thick, it’s suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning, like the walls of the church are closing in on you. You need to get out, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in place, trapped in your grief.
Finally, you manage to take a breath, and it feels like your lungs are on fire. You get to your feet, unsteady, and start to make your way down the aisle. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the church on you, but you don’t care. You need to get out. You need air.
You push through the heavy wooden doors and stumble out into the daylight, gasping for breath like you’ve been underwater for hours. The sky is too blue, the sun too bright. Everything is too much.
You lean against the wall of the church, pressing your forehead to the cool stone, trying to steady yourself. But the tears come anyway, hard and fast, and you can’t stop them. You don’t even try.
You don’t know how long you stand there, sobbing into the wall, but eventually, you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is — your husband’s best friend.
“Hey.” His voice is soft, hesitant.
You don’t respond. You can’t. You just keep crying.
“I ... I’m so sorry,” he says. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth of his presence beside you. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say,” you manage to choke out, your voice raw.
He’s silent for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath. “James ... he gave me something. To give to you. In case ... in case something happened.”
You turn to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. He’s holding an envelope, white and plain, with your name on it in James’ handwriting. Your heart stutters in your chest.
“He asked me to give it to you,” he says, holding the envelope out to you. “But only when you’re ready.”
You stare at the envelope like it’s a bomb about to go off. You don’t want to take it. You don’t want to know what’s inside. But you reach for it anyway, your hand shaking.
“Take your time,” he says softly. “There’s no rush.”
You nod, clutching the envelope to your chest like it’s a lifeline. You can’t bring yourself to open it, not yet. You don’t even know if you ever will.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
He nods, his eyes full of sympathy and something else — something you can’t quite place. “I’m here if you need anything,” he says. “Anything at all.”
You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something more, but then he just gives you a small, sad smile and walks away.
You watch him go, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand, and you feel the weight of it like a stone in your chest. You know that whatever’s inside is going to change everything, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.
But you don’t have a choice.
***
The envelope sits in the top drawer of your nightstand, hidden beneath an old notebook and a stack of receipts you keep meaning to throw away. It’s been there for over a year, untouched.
Some days, you forget about it entirely, letting the routine of work and lonely dinners numb the ache in your chest. But most days, it lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet hum of guilt and grief that you can’t quite shake.
You know you’re supposed to open it — James left it for you, after all. But every time you reach for the drawer, your hand hovers just above the handle, frozen. Because what if the letter makes it worse? What if the words on the paper bring everything crashing back down on you, when you’ve spent so long trying to build yourself back up?
So you leave it. Days turn into weeks, and then months, until a whole year has passed. Friends have stopped asking how you’re doing, their well-meaning calls and texts fading away into awkward silence. You don’t blame them. It’s not like you’ve been much of a person to be around.
But today, for some reason, you can’t ignore it any longer.
It’s raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that makes the world feel smaller, quieter. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the drawer like it’s going to open itself. The house is still, too still, and the sound of the rain against the window only amplifies the silence.
Your hand trembles as you pull the drawer open. The envelope is right where you left it, the edges slightly yellowed now, but the ink still bold and clear: your name, in James’ handwriting. Seeing it sends a pang through your chest, like someone’s reached inside and squeezed your heart.
You sit there for a long time, just holding it. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just paper. But it feels heavier than anything you’ve ever held.
“Just open it,” you whisper to yourself, but the words feel hollow, like they belong to someone else.
Finally, with a shaky breath, you tear the seal.
Inside, there’s a folded letter. Beneath it, another piece of paper — something thicker. You hesitate, then unfold the letter first. The handwriting is familiar, the slant of the letters uniquely his. You read it slowly, your eyes scanning the words with a mix of dread and longing.
My love,
If you’re reading this, then I’m not there with you. And I’m so, so sorry for that.
I wish I could tell you how much I wanted to come home. How much I needed to come home to you. But I know that wherever I am now, I’m still with you in some way. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I think I’d lose my mind.
This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you to be strong, to keep living your life. And you will. I know you will. But it’s okay to fall apart first. It’s okay to break, to cry, to scream at the universe for being so damn unfair. I would.
There are so many things I wish we could’ve done together, so many things we talked about but never got the chance to do. So I’m leaving you with something. A list. It’s not a list of things you have to do — it’s a list of things I wish we could’ve experienced together. But more than that, it’s a list of things I want you to experience. For both of us.
The first one’s a bit selfish. But the last one ... that one’s for you.
I love you more than words can ever say. And if there’s any way for me to still be with you, to still be a part of your life, then I hope this is it.
Yours always,
Jamie
By the time you finish reading, tears blur your vision, dripping silently onto the letter. You wipe at your face, but the tears just keep coming. His words cut through you, raw and tender, like a wound that’s never fully healed.
You sit there for what feels like hours, the rain outside matching the rhythm of your sobs. It’s only after you’ve cried yourself out that you remember the second piece of paper, still folded in the envelope.
With a shaky breath, you unfold it.
It’s a bucket list. Five items, written in James’ scrawled handwriting. Your heart clenches as you read them, one by one.
1. Go to an F1 race. You know how much I wanted to see one in person. Do this for me. I want you to feel the rush, the excitement. It’s something I never got to experience, and I want you to feel it for both of us.
2. Visit that little café in Paris we always talked about. The one by the Seine with the red awning. We were supposed to go there on our honeymoon, remember? Have a coffee, eat too many croissants. Just sit there and watch the world go by.
3. Take a road trip with no destination in mind. Just drive. Don’t plan anything. Turn down random roads, get lost, stay in tiny motels, and eat at diners where they don’t know your name. I always wanted to do that with you.
4. Dance in the rain. We talked about doing it, but we never did. Just let go and do it. Don’t care if people are watching. Don’t worry about looking silly. Just feel the rain and think of me.
5. Find love again. I know this one is hard, and I know you might not want to think about it right now. But promise me that one day, when you’re ready, you’ll open your heart again. It doesn’t have to be soon. It doesn’t have to be anyone like me. But don’t close yourself off to it. You deserve that kind of happiness.
You sit there, staring at the list, your chest tight and your hands trembling. It’s so ... James. The way he could be both lighthearted and deeply thoughtful, the way he always wanted you to live fully, even if he couldn’t anymore.
But how can you? How can you even think about doing these things without him?
You read the list again, and this time it feels different. Less like a burden, and more like a challenge. A promise, almost. To live. To try.
But the last item — that’s the one that breaks you. Find love again. The words echo in your mind, and you can barely breathe through the weight of them. It feels impossible, inconceivable. And yet, it’s the one thing James wanted most for you.
A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. You quickly wipe your eyes, folding the letter and the list back into the envelope before shoving it into the drawer again. You stand up, trying to compose yourself.
When you open the door, you find his best friend, the one who gave you the letter in the first place, standing there. His expression softens the moment he sees your face.
“You finally opened it,” he says gently.
You nod, unable to speak for a moment.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been wondering when you would.”
“I ... I couldn’t,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not until today.”
He sits down on the couch, and you join him, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable.
“What did he say?” He asks softly.
You hand him the list, unable to find the words yourself. He reads it, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reaches the last item.
“That’s James,” he says, shaking his head. “Always thinking about everyone else.”
You laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. “How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to just ... live my life without him?”
“You’re not,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re supposed to live your life with him. By doing these things, you’re keeping him with you.”
You stare at the list again, your heart aching. “But the last one ...”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, quietly, he asks, “Do you think he’d want you to be alone forever?”
You shake your head, tears spilling over again. “No. But I don’t know how to ... move on.”
“You don’t have to move on,” he says. “You just have to keep moving. One step at a time.”
You nod, even though it feels impossible. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe this list isn’t just about James’ dreams. Maybe it’s about helping you find your way back to yourself.
“I guess I’d better start with number one,” you say, your voice shaky but determined.
He smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you can do this.
***
The roar of engines echoes through the air as you step out of the taxi, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The circuit sprawls out before you, a sea of red, blue, and green flags waving in the hands of thousands of fans, all buzzing with excitement. You clutch your ticket tightly, the edges crumpled from your nervous grip.
It took everything in you to get here. The flight, the hotel, the whole ordeal of buying a ticket from some sketchy reseller online — all of it felt like a test of your resolve.
But this is for James. You repeat that to yourself like a mantra. He would’ve loved this, you think, as you look up at the towering grandstands. The hum of the engines, the electricity in the air, the sheer intensity of it all — it’s exactly the kind of thing he would have dragged you to, his enthusiasm infectious.
But now, you’re here alone. And that thought twists in your chest, a painful reminder of why you’re doing this in the first place.
You make your way to the entrance, the ticket clenched in your hand. The queue moves quickly, fans eager to get to their seats, their conversations a mix of English, French, Italian, and other languages you can’t quite place.
You try to blend in, keep your head down, and avoid drawing attention to yourself. Just scan the ticket and get inside. That’s all you have to do.
When it’s finally your turn, you hand your ticket to the attendant, offering a small, nervous smile. He takes it without much thought, scanning the barcode with the device strapped to his wrist. But instead of the usual beep, there’s nothing — just a blank screen.
The attendant frowns, tries again. Still nothing.
“Uh, let me just check something,” he says, his tone suddenly cautious.
You feel a cold knot forming in your stomach. “Is there a problem?”
He doesn’t answer right away, fiddling with the scanner, trying different angles. The queue behind you is growing restless, and you can feel eyes on your back. Finally, he looks up at you, sympathy in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, “but this ticket isn’t valid.”
You blink, not understanding. “What do you mean? I bought it online ...”
“It’s a fake,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You must’ve been scammed. It happens sometimes with resellers.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You feel the color drain from your face, your mind reeling. Fake. Scammed. The ticket crumples in your hand as you step aside, trying to make sense of it. How could this happen? You did everything right — or at least, you thought you did.
“But ... I paid a lot for this,” you stammer, the reality of it sinking in. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I’m really sorry,” the attendant repeats, glancing over your shoulder at the impatient crowd behind you. “There’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to contact whoever you bought it from.”
You nod numbly, stepping away from the gate. The world around you seems to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. You feel like you’re suffocating, your chest tight with a mixture of humiliation and despair. This was supposed to be the first thing you did for James, and you can’t even get that right.
You don’t know where you’re going, just that you need to get away from the entrance, away from the people. Your legs carry you to the far side of the parking lot, where the crowds thin out and the noise dulls to a low hum. You lean against a concrete pillar, your breath coming in shaky gasps.
It’s too much. The weight of it all — the grief, the loneliness, the pressure you’ve put on yourself to make this trip meaningful — it’s crushing you. You slide down to sit on the curb, burying your face in your hands as tears spill over.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words meant for James, though you know he can’t hear you. “I’m so sorry ...”
You’re so caught up in your tears that you don’t notice the figure approaching until he’s right in front of you. When you finally look up, your vision is blurry from the tears, but you can make out the silhouette of a man standing there, watching you with concern etched on his face.
“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is soft, with a lilting accent you can’t quite place, but it’s gentle enough to cut through the fog of your despair.
You quickly wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but it’s a losing battle. “I’m fine,” you manage to choke out, though it’s clear to both of you that you’re anything but.
He doesn’t move, just crouches down in front of you, his brow furrowed. “You don’t look fine. What happened?”
You shake your head, embarrassed by the whole situation. “It’s stupid ... I just — I bought a ticket, and it’s fake, and I ... I just don’t know what to do.”
The words tumble out between hiccups and sniffles, and you feel ridiculous for crying in front of a stranger. But he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression grows even more sympathetic.
“That’s not stupid at all,” he says gently. “You came all this way for the race, didn’t you?”
You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying again. “Yeah. But now I can’t even get in. I feel like such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he reassures you, his tone firm but kind. “People get scammed all the time. It’s not your fault.”
You look up at him then, really look at him. He’s young, probably around your age, with messy brown hair and striking green eyes that seem to radiate warmth. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd, but there’s something about him — maybe the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world that matters right now — that makes you feel a little less alone.
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not really a fan. It’s just ... something I had to do.”
He tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes. “For someone else?”
You nod again, fresh tears welling up. “My husband. He ... he passed away, and this was on a list of things he wanted me to do. I thought ... I thought I could at least get this right.”
The man’s expression softens even more, if that’s possible. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sits there with you, letting the weight of your words settle between you.
“I’m really sorry,” he says finally, and you can tell he means it. “That must be so hard.”
You shrug, wiping at your face again. “It is. But I wanted to do it anyway. For him.”
He nods, and then, after a brief pause, he says, “What if I told you I could help?”
You look at him, confusion and hope warring in your chest. “What do you mean?”
He smiles, and it’s a kind, genuine smile that makes you feel like maybe things aren’t as hopeless as they seem. “I might be able to get you into the race. If you’re okay with that.”
Your heart skips a beat, a flicker of hope sparking to life. “How? Are you some kind of VIP or something?”
He laughs, a soft, melodic sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Something like that. Just trust me, okay?”
You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person who’s really listened to you in a long time, or maybe it’s because you’re so desperate to make this work. Either way, you nod.
“Okay,” you say, your voice a little stronger now.
He pulls out his phone and dials a number, glancing back at you as he waits for the call to connect. “This might take a minute,” he says with a reassuring smile.
You watch him, your heart pounding as you wonder just who this man is and how he plans to help you. But as you sit there, your tears drying and the noise of the race humming in the background, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of something you haven’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
***
Charles doesn’t leave your side while he waits for the call to go through, his green eyes focused on you as if making sure you’re still okay. The sincerity in his gaze is almost unnerving, and for a brief moment, you forget about the pitiful mess you’ve become, losing yourself in the quiet strength he radiates.
Whoever he is, it’s clear he’s not just a fan — there’s something about him that feels different, like he’s used to handling situations like this with a calm confidence that most people can only fake.
He speaks briefly into the phone, in a language you don’t understand, and within minutes — faster than you would’ve thought possible — a Ferrari team member rushes toward you both, holding a shiny red VIP pass. The emblem glints in the sunlight, and as he hands it over to Charles, your brain starts to catch up. Your eyes flicker between the pass, the Ferrari logo, and Charles, who’s now holding the pass out to you with that same reassuring smile.
“Here,” he says gently, placing the pass into your trembling hand. “This will get you into the paddock, and pretty much anywhere else you want to go.”
You stare at the pass, then at him, the realization dawning on you slowly. Ferrari. VIP. Charles. It suddenly clicks into place, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. He’s not just a concerned fan. He’s someone important.
You swallow hard, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Who ... who are you?”
He chuckles, but it’s soft, not mocking, more like he finds the situation endearing. “I’m Charles. Charles Leclerc. I drive for Ferrari.”
Your mouth opens, then closes, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. You’re mortified that you didn’t recognize him, that you didn’t put it together sooner. You’ve heard the name before, of course — who hasn’t? But you’ve never been into F1, and you hadn’t expected to meet someone famous today.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, looking down at your feet. “I didn’t realize ...”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Charles interrupts, waving off your apology. “You’ve had a rough day. The last thing you need to worry about is recognizing some racing driver.”
“But I should’ve known ...” you begin, but he cuts you off again, this time with a playful smile.
“Now, why would you know that? You already told me you’re not a fan,” he teases lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And I’d much rather be remembered as the guy who helped you out than as that Ferrari driver you didn’t recognize.”
You can’t help but laugh, albeit weakly. His charm is disarming, and it’s hard to feel embarrassed when he’s making it so clear that he doesn’t care about your mistake.
“Thank you,” you say, meaning it. “For all of this. I don’t know how to repay you.”
Charles shakes his head, his expression turning serious again. “You don’t need to repay me. Just enjoy the day. Experience everything to the fullest — in honor of your husband.”
You blink at him, the mention of James sending a fresh wave of emotion through you. But instead of the sharp pain you’ve grown accustomed to, it’s more of a gentle ache this time, softened by the kindness of the stranger-turned-friend standing before you.
“I know what it’s like to lose people you love,” Charles continues, his voice low and sincere. “And I know how important it is to keep their memory alive by doing things they would’ve loved. It’s not easy, but ... it’s worth it.”
You don’t know what to say to that. The depth of his words, the understanding in his eyes — it’s like he’s speaking directly to the part of you that’s been hurting the most. And suddenly, you feel a connection to him that goes beyond the superficial. He gets it. He understands.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “Really, thank you.”
He nods, his gaze holding yours for a long moment before he stands, offering you his hand. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You let him lead you through the bustling parking lot, your heart still pounding but now for a different reason.
There’s something surreal about walking next to Charles Leclerc, knowing he’s one of the biggest names in the sport and yet treating you like you’re the important one.
As you approach the entrance to the paddock, the atmosphere shifts. It’s a different world in here, a world of precision, speed, and power. Team members rush about, focused and intense, the hum of engines a constant background noise. But as you pass by, more than a few heads turn, eyes widening as they take in the sight of you walking with Charles. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care.
“Here we are,” he says as you reach the Ferrari hospitality area, gesturing to the sleek red building with the prancing horse logo proudly displayed. “You’re my guest today, so feel free to make yourself at home. The team will take good care of you.”
You look up at the building, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s too much.”
“It’s not too much,” Charles insists, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s exactly what you deserve today. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. He’s serious. He really wants this for you, and the sincerity in his voice makes it clear that this isn’t just about being nice. It’s about giving you something good in a time when good things have been hard to come by.
“Okay,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I’ll try.”
Charles smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. “That’s all I ask.”
He leads you inside, where the air is cool and the decor is modern and sleek, all polished surfaces and red accents. A few team members glance your way, but Charles waves them off, his focus entirely on you.
“I have to get prepped for the race,” he says, stopping just inside the entrance. “But I’ll come see you afterward, okay?”
You blink, taken aback by his offer. “You don’t have to do that,” you stutter. “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
Charles just shakes his head, that same determined look in his eyes. “I want to. Besides, I’ll probably be in a better mood if I know you’re here cheering me on.”
The thought of actually cheering for him, of being invested in the race, is a foreign one. But the way he says it, so casual and confident, makes it seem almost natural.
“I don’t really know much about racing,” you admit, feeling a little silly.
He grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up quickly. And if you have any questions, there’ll be plenty of people around who can help. Just relax and enjoy it.”
You nod, still feeling a little out of your depth but also oddly comforted by his words. He makes it sound so simple, so easy, like all you have to do is show up and everything else will fall into place.
“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll try my best.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” Charles says, his smile widening. “I’ll see you after the race.”
He gives you a small wave before turning and heading off, his stride confident and unhurried. You watch him go, still trying to process everything that’s happened in the last hour.
It’s almost too much to take in — the ticket fiasco, meeting Charles, the VIP pass, and now being his personal guest for the day. It feels like you’ve stepped into someone else’s life, one filled with glamor and excitement, so different from the quiet, grief-stricken world you’ve been living in.
But as you take a deep breath and look around at the world Charles has invited you into, you can’t help but feel a spark of something you haven’t felt in a long time — hope. Maybe, just maybe, today will be a good day.
***
You sit in the Ferrari hospitality suite, watching the festivities from a distance. The energy in the room is electric, everyone buzzing with excitement over Charles’ win.
His face is plastered on every screen, grinning as he holds up the trophy, spraying champagne with the other drivers on the podium. The cheers echo in your ears, but there’s a strange numbness in your chest, a disconnect between the celebration and what you’re feeling.
You’re happy for him, of course you are. But the fact that Charles just won a race feels surreal, like something out of a dream. And you’re not sure where you fit in the dream — or if you fit in at all.
The hospitality suite is more crowded now, filled with people congratulating one another, toasting with glasses of champagne and sparkling water. The clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter fill the air, making the room feel smaller, more enclosed.
You keep to the side, clutching your phone and fiddling with the VIP pass Charles gave you earlier. The weight of it around your neck is a constant reminder that this isn’t your world.
The minutes tick by, each one stretching longer than the last. You tell yourself it’s okay to leave, that Charles won’t mind if you slip out quietly. After all, he’s got plenty of people to celebrate with. People who belong here, who know him well, who are part of his world. You’re just a stranger he happened to help.
But something keeps you in your seat, a small flicker of hope that he might actually come back. It’s silly, really — he’s a race winner, he should be out there celebrating, soaking in the victory. Still, you find yourself glancing at the door every few minutes, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he’ll keep his promise.
Nearly an hour and a half after the race ends, just as you’re convincing yourself to leave, you spot him. Charles enters the suite, now changed into a Ferrari branded polo, hair damp from what you assume was a quick shower. He’s scanning the room, and when his eyes land on you, they light up in recognition.
Your breath catches in your throat as he makes his way over, weaving through the crowd with a purposeful stride. He looks different out of the car, more relaxed, though there’s a tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless when he finally reaches you. “Sorry it took me so long. There were media duties, and then a debrief with the team after the podium ceremony.”
You blink up at him, stunned that he actually came. “You — You came back.”
“Of course I did,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I told you I would.”
You shake your head, still in disbelief. “But you should be out there celebrating. You just won a race, Charles. You didn’t have to come just to see me.”
Charles waves away your concerns, his smile widening. “I came because I wanted to. Celebrations can wait.”
There’s a sincerity in his tone that takes you off guard. He’s not just saying it to be polite or to make you feel better. He actually means it. You search his eyes for a sign that he’s just being nice, but all you find is that same genuine warmth that he’s shown you from the start.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” you murmur, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from anything.”
“You’re not keeping me from anything,” Charles reassures you, his voice gentle. “I’m glad you stayed.”
You nod, still feeling a little out of place, but his words soothe some of your anxiety. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thank you,” he says, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “It was a good race.”
There’s a brief silence, the noise of the room fading into the background as you stand there, just the two of you. You’re not sure what to say next, the weight of the moment making it hard to think straight. But Charles doesn’t seem to mind the quiet, his presence calm and unhurried.
After a few moments, Charles clears his throat, his voice hesitant. “Are you staying nearby?”
The question catches you off guard, and you blink up at him, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “Um, yes, I’m staying at a hotel downtown.”
His eyes brighten at that, and he gives you a small, almost shy smile. “I’m staying in the same area. There’s a great restaurant nearby. Would you like to join me for dinner?”
You’re taken aback by the offer, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. Dinner? With Charles Leclerc? It feels like too much, like something you shouldn’t accept. You don’t want to intrude on his life any more than you already have.
“Charles, you don’t have to spend time with me,” you start, shaking your head. “You’ve already done so much-”
He interrupts you gently, his voice firm but kind. “I want to spend time with you.”
The way he says it, so straightforward and sincere, leaves no room for doubt. He’s not asking out of obligation or pity — he genuinely wants your company. And the thought of having dinner with him, of spending more time with someone who actually seems to care, is suddenly more appealing than anything else.
“Okay,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I’d like that.”
His smile widens, and you can see the relief in his eyes. “Great. Let’s get out of here, then.”
You follow him as he leads the way out of the suite, the noise of the celebrations fading behind you. The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun sets. Charles is quiet as he walks beside you, his presence comforting in its steadiness.
As you reach the paddock parking lot, you spot the familiar red of a Ferrari, and you can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s fitting, in a way, like everything about this day is part of some surreal, unexpected adventure.
Charles opens the passenger door for you, waiting until you’re settled before rounding the car to get in himself. The engine purrs to life with a smooth growl, and you feel a thrill of excitement as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the open road.
You glance over at him, taking in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the easy way he handles the car. It’s strange how comfortable you feel with him already, like you’ve known him for longer than just a few hours. Maybe it’s the way he’s treated you from the start — with kindness and understanding — or maybe it’s just the way he carries himself, with a quiet confidence that makes you feel safe.
As you drive through the city, the lights of downtown reflecting off the car’s polished surface, you can’t help but wonder what this evening will bring. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this way — hopeful, curious, maybe even a little excited. And as Charles navigates the streets with practiced ease, you start to think that maybe, just maybe, you’re finally ready to start living again.
***
The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, it’s all exposed brick, warm lighting, and rustic charm. The kind of place that feels both intimate and alive with history, where every detail seems to whisper stories of countless other dinners, other nights, other lives.
You follow Charles to a corner table, noticing the way the candlelight flickers across his features, softening the angles of his face. There’s a natural ease about him, a kind of unspoken confidence that makes you feel a little more at home in this unfamiliar setting. He holds out a chair for you, and as you sit down, you can’t help but feel like you’ve stepped into a scene from someone else’s life.
“This place is incredible,” you say, glancing around at the cozy surroundings. “How did you find it?”
Charles smiles, settling into the chair across from you. “It’s one of my favorites. A friend introduced me to it a few years ago. I come here whenever I’m in town.”
You nod, taking in the atmosphere, the scent of fresh bread and herbs mingling with the low hum of conversation. It’s the kind of place that feels special, even if you didn’t know anything about it.
The waiter appears to take your order, and before you know it, the table is filled with plates of beautifully arranged dishes, each one more enticing than the last. Charles gestures for you to start, and you pick up your fork, feeling a little more at ease with each bite.
“This is amazing,” you say between mouthfuls, savoring the flavors. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Charles replies, watching you with a soft smile. “It’s one of the things I miss most when I’m traveling — good, simple food.”
There’s a comfortable silence as you both enjoy the meal, the clinking of silverware and the quiet murmur of the other diners providing a gentle backdrop. You’re grateful for the peace, for the way Charles doesn’t push you to talk, doesn’t ask any questions that feel too invasive.
But as the meal draws to a close, you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Charles seems to be choosing his words carefully, his expression thoughtful as he looks across the table at you.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he begins, his tone gentle, “but ... would you like to talk about your husband?”
The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you can answer it. It’s been so long since anyone asked, since anyone cared enough to ask, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to go back to that place, to open up the wound that’s still so raw.
But there’s something in Charles’ eyes, a quiet understanding, that makes you feel like it’s okay to share this part of yourself with him. Like maybe he can handle it, even if you’re not sure you can.
“He was on a mission in ... well, it doesn’t really matter where. There was an attack — one of those random, senseless things that happen in places like that. He was helping a patient when it happened. They said he died a hero, but ... it doesn’t feel like that to me. It just feels like he’s gone.”
The tears that you’ve been holding back all evening finally spill over, and you don’t even try to stop them. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of keeping it all inside. And somehow, with Charles sitting there, listening so intently, it feels okay to let it out.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.”
You wipe at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “It’s been over a year, but ... it still feels like it was yesterday, you know? Like I’m still waiting for him to walk through the door, to tell me it was all some terrible mistake.”
Charles reaches across the table, his hand covering yours in a gesture that’s as comforting as it is unexpected. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says softly. “And you don’t have to rush through it either. Grief doesn’t have a timeline.”
His words are like a balm, soothing some of the raw ache that’s been sitting in your chest. You nod, unable to speak, afraid that if you do, the tears will start again and won’t stop.
There’s a brief silence, and then you continue, feeling the need to explain, to make him understand. “He left me a letter ... and a list. A bucket list, of things he wanted us to do together, but he didn’t get the chance. He asked me to do them for him, to ... to live the life he didn’t get to.”
Charles leans forward slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “What’s on the list?”
You hesitate for a moment, but then you reach into your purse, pulling out the folded piece of paper that’s become a permanent fixture in your life. You unfold it carefully, smoothing out the creases before passing it across the table to him.
He takes the list from you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before he begins to read. You watch his face as he scans the items, his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something almost reverent.
He’s quiet for a long time, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s judging you for carrying out such a personal task, for holding on to a life that’s no longer yours.
But when he looks up at you again, there’s no judgment in his eyes — only empathy, and maybe even a touch of admiration.
“Have you done any of these yet?” He asks, his voice soft.
You nod your head. “I’ve only just started. The first item was to go to an F1 race ... that’s why I’m here.”
Charles’ gaze softens even more, and he nods slowly, as if understanding the weight of what you’ve shared. “And Paris?” He asks, his tone careful.
You can’t help but laugh a little, despite the heaviness in your chest. “Paris ... I mean, who doesn’t want to go to Paris? But I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to tick that one off the list.”
Charles is quiet for a moment, then he hesitates, as if he’s debating something in his mind. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and tentative. “You know ... the summer break has officially started. I don’t have another race for a month, and I don’t have anything I have to do for over two weeks.”
You blink at him, not quite understanding where he’s going with this. “Okay ...”
“I’ve always loved Paris,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. “And ... I know we’ve only just met, but I would love to help you tick off the second item on your list.”
You stare at him, your mind reeling from what he’s suggesting. Go to Paris? With him? It’s crazy — it’s absolutely insane. You don’t know him, not really, and the idea of going on such a personal trip with someone you’ve just met feels like stepping into a world that doesn’t belong to you.
But there’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something in his voice, that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, it’s not as crazy as it seems. Maybe it’s exactly what you need.
“Are you serious?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Charles nods, his expression earnest. “Sometimes the best things in life are crazy and spontaneous. And ... I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really would love to help you with this. I want to be there for you.”
You feel a lump forming in your throat, a mix of emotions swirling inside you — fear, excitement, uncertainty, and something else you can’t quite name. It’s terrifying, the idea of letting someone new into your life, of opening yourself up to the possibility of connection, of loss.
But at the same time, it feels like a lifeline, like a chance to finally start living again.
“I ... I don’t know,” you stammer, unsure of how to respond. “It just seems so ...”
“Crazy?” Charles finishes for you, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah,” you admit, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Crazy.”
He leans back in his chair, studying you with those steady, kind eyes. “Maybe it is. But sometimes the craziest things turn out to be the most important.”
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you weigh the decision. It would be so easy to say no, to stay in your safe, controlled world where nothing ever changes. But where has that gotten you? Nowhere.
And then, almost without realizing it, you find yourself nodding, your voice small but determined. “Okay.”
Charles’ eyes light up with something close to relief, and he smiles at you — a genuine, warm smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this is the right choice.
“Okay?” He repeats, as if needing to hear it again.
“Okay,” you say again, a little more certain this time. “Let’s go to Paris.”
You both sit there for a moment, the reality of what you’ve just agreed to sinking in. It feels like the beginning of something — something that scares you as much as it excites you.
Charles reaches across the table, gently taking your hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, his voice sincere.
You look at him, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not alone in this.
***
You’re still reeling from the decision when the check arrives at the table. Charles grabs it before you can reach for your purse, waving away your protests with an easy smile.
“Trust me,” he says, his tone light but firm, “this one’s on me.”
You thank him, still half-convinced that this is all some surreal dream you’ll wake up from any minute. As you step outside, the cool evening air brushes against your skin, grounding you in the reality of what just happened.
You’re going to Paris. With Charles Leclerc. You glance at him, wondering how he can be so calm when your world has just been flipped upside down.
“Okay, so ... what’s the plan?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind races with all the logistics you need to sort out.
He turns to you with that relaxed smile, as if planning a spontaneous trip to Paris is the most natural thing in the world. “Plan? We drive back to the hotel, grab our things, and head to the airport.”
“The airport?” You blink at him, thrown by the suddenness of it all. “I haven’t even booked a flight yet. Or a hotel. Or anything.”
Charles chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. I’ve got it covered.”
You open your mouth to argue, to tell him that you can’t possibly let him do this, but he cuts you off before you can say a word.
“Really,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m an F1 driver, remember? I’ve got more than enough resources, and I want to do this for you.”
You stare at him, at the easy confidence in his tone, at the sincerity in his eyes. You know he means it, but it still feels like too much. “Charles, I ... I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You’re not.” He steps closer, his expression softening. “This is something I want to do. For you. For your husband. Please, let me help you.”
There’s a quiet intensity in his voice that makes it impossible to argue. You nod slowly, feeling a mix of gratitude and disbelief. “Okay ... thank you. I just — I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you. “Just pack your things and meet me back here in a few minutes. We’ll take care of the rest.”
And just like that, you find yourself heading back to your hotel, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You pack quickly, throwing your essentials into your suitcase with trembling hands. The reality of what’s happening starts to sink in, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the sheer craziness of it all.
You pause, standing in the middle of the room with your half-packed suitcase, wondering if you’re really doing this. Paris. With a man you’ve just met. It’s all too surreal, too spontaneous, too-
There’s a knock on your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You open it to find Charles standing there, his expression calm and reassuring.
“Ready?” He asks, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
You take a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah ... I think so.”
“Good.” He smiles, and somehow, that simple gesture is enough to steady you. “Let’s go.”
You follow him downstairs, your heart racing as he drives you both back to his hotel. He parks the car, and you watch as he disappears inside, returning a few minutes later with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“That’s it?” You ask, surprised at how little he’s carrying.
He nods, tossing the bag into the back seat. “The team will pack up the rest of my stuff and have it sent home later.”
You don’t have time to process the implications of that before he’s back in the driver’s seat, navigating the streets with the kind of ease that comes from years of traveling. You try to keep up with the conversation, but your mind keeps drifting to what lies ahead, to the sheer audacity of what you’re about to do.
It’s only when you pull up to a private airstrip that the full reality of the situation hits you. You step out of the car, staring in awe at the sleek, chartered jet waiting on the tarmac. The sight of it leaves you breathless, the sheer scale of what Charles is doing for you almost too much to comprehend.
“Charles ...” you begin, your voice catching in your throat.
He turns to you, his expression soft. “Yes?”
“This is ... I mean, I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined. Are you sure-”
“I’m sure.” His tone leaves no room for doubt, and he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Come on. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
He leads you up the steps, and before you know it, you’re inside the luxurious cabin, sinking into a plush leather seat. Everything about the jet screams opulence — the polished wood accents, the soft ambient lighting, the quiet hum of the engines in the background. It’s the kind of luxury you’ve only ever seen in movies, and you can’t quite believe that it’s real, that you’re really here.
Charles takes the seat across from you, his expression relaxed as he buckles his seatbelt. “Comfortable?”
You nod, still too stunned to form a coherent response. He smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, and you realize that this kind of thing must be second nature to him. For you, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. For him, it’s just another day in the life of an F1 driver.
“Just sit back and relax,” he says, as if sensing your thoughts. “We’ll be in Paris before you know it.”
The flight itself is smooth and uneventful, the hours passing in a blur of disbelief and quiet conversation. Charles keeps things light, sharing stories from his racing career, and you find yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. It’s easy to forget about your worries when you’re with him, easy to get lost in the charm of his stories and the warmth of his smile.
Before you know it, the plane begins its descent, and the lights of Paris come into view below, twinkling like a sea of stars. The sight of the city leaves you breathless, the sheer beauty of it almost too much to take in. You press your face to the window, unable to tear your eyes away from the breathtaking panorama of the City of Light.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Charles’ voice is soft, and when you turn to look at him, there’s a wistfulness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.
“Yes,” you whisper, feeling a surge of emotion welling up inside you. “It’s ... it’s perfect.”
The plane touches down smoothly, and within minutes, you’re whisked away in a sleek black car, driving through the streets of Paris as the city comes alive around you. The streets are bustling with life, the cafes and bistros glowing with warm light, the air filled with the sound of laughter and music.
It’s everything you’ve ever imagined and more, and you can’t believe you’re really here, experiencing it all with Charles by your side.
The car pulls up in front of an exclusive, centrally located hotel, and you step out onto the cobblestone street, your heart pounding in your chest. The hotel is grand, its facade illuminated by golden lights, and as you step inside, you’re greeted by a world of elegance and sophistication.
You barely have time to take it all in before you’re being led to a two-bedroom suite with the most stunning views of the Eiffel Tower you’ve ever seen. You stand by the window, staring out at the iconic landmark as it sparkles against the night sky, the reality of your situation hitting you all over again.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
Charles steps up beside you, his gaze focused on the view outside. “Believe it,” he says softly, his tone filled with quiet conviction. “You’re here. We’re here. And tomorrow, we’ll start checking off that list.”
You turn to look at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and something else — something you’re not quite ready to name. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”
He smiles, a warm, genuine smile that lights up his face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I can be here for you.”
You feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out and pull him into a hug. It’s a long, lingering embrace, filled with all the gratitude, all the emotion you can’t put into words. Charles holds you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that makes you feel safe, comforted, understood.
When you finally pull back, there are tears in your eyes, but they’re tears of relief, of something like hope. “Good night, Charles,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.
“Good night,” he replies, his voice just as soft. “Sleep well. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
You watch as he heads to his own room, and then you turn back to the window, staring out at the glittering Eiffel Tower. It feels like a dream, but for the first time in a long time, it’s a dream you’re ready to embrace.
***
The sun is already high in the sky when you finally open your eyes, the weight of the past few days still pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The exhaustion is bone-deep, the kind that makes every movement feel like wading through thick syrup.
You stretch out in the luxurious hotel bed, the cool sheets tangling around your legs as you blink against the soft light filtering through the curtains. Paris. You’re in Paris. The thought slips through your mind, almost unreal, as if you might wake up any second to find yourself back in the monotony of the past year.
You sit up slowly, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furniture and the faint sounds of the city outside. It’s almost noon, you realize, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Just as you’re about to contemplate the day ahead, there’s a gentle knock on the door connecting your room to Charles’. You almost forgot about him for a second — almost.
“Good morning,” you call out, your voice still thick with sleep.
The door opens, and Charles steps in, a smile lighting up his face as he sees you. “Good afternoon, you mean,” he teases lightly, leaning against the doorframe. “I was beginning to think you might sleep through the whole day.”
You rub your eyes, shaking your head as you try to fully wake up. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
He nods, his expression softening. “No rush. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
It’s that statement that hits you more than it should. All the time in the world. You used to believe that too. You push the thought away quickly, not wanting to drown in it.
“What’s the plan?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on this strange, wonderful day that’s somehow yours.
Charles grins, his eyes sparking with something mischievous. “How do you feel about lunch at a little café by the Seine?”
Your heart skips a beat. The café. The red awning. It’s what your husband wanted, what he wrote down on that list. You swallow, trying to keep your emotions in check. “That sounds perfect.”
Charles seems to sense the shift in your mood, his smile softening into something more understanding. He doesn’t push, just nods and steps back, giving you space to get ready. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
When he’s gone, you take a deep breath and head to the bathroom, the reality of where you are and what you’re doing starting to sink in. You can’t help but think of the letter, the list. Of the man who should be here with you instead of buried under the earth. You splash cold water on your face, trying to shake off the melancholy that clings to you like a second skin.
By the time you join Charles downstairs, you’ve managed to put on a smile, though it feels fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. He greets you with a warm, reassuring look, his eyes scanning your face as if to check that you’re really okay. You nod, and he leads you outside, where a car is waiting.
The ride to the café is quiet, filled with the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of the city. Charles doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and you’re grateful for that. Instead, he lets you stare out the window, watching as the streets of Paris unfold before you like a storybook.
When the car finally pulls up in front of the café, your heart clenches. There it is, just like your husband described it: the small tables lined up outside, the red awning casting a warm glow over everything, the view of the Seine just beyond. It’s almost too much. You hesitate, feeling a lump in your throat, but Charles is already out of the car, holding the door open for you.
“You okay?” He asks quietly, his gaze steady on yours.
You nod, though you’re not sure if you believe it. “Yeah. Just ... it’s exactly like he said.”
Charles doesn’t say anything, just offers his arm in a gentle, old-fashioned gesture. You take it, letting him lead you to a table by the water. The waiter greets you with a smile, and Charles orders for both of you without hesitation — coffee and croissants, just like on the list.
The sun reflects off the Seine, making the water shimmer like it’s made of liquid gold. You sip your coffee slowly, savoring the rich taste, though your thoughts are a million miles away. You can almost see your husband sitting across from you, that goofy grin on his face as he tries to explain something in broken French to the waiter. You smile at the memory, even as it twists something painful deep inside you.
Charles doesn’t interrupt your thoughts, just lets you have this moment. You’re grateful for that. The croissants arrive, warm and flaky, and you find yourself laughing softly as you break off a piece, thinking of how your husband always complained that they never made them right back home. Here, though ... here they’re perfect.
“This was his favorite place,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “He talked about it all the time. Said it was the best spot in Paris, hands down.”
Charles listens, his eyes never leaving your face. “He had good taste.”
You smile, though it wobbles a bit. “He did.”
There’s a pause, a comfortable one, where you both just sit there, watching the world go by. It’s everything your husband wanted, everything he put on that list. And yet, it feels different — like you’re living a dream that isn’t entirely yours.
After a while, Charles speaks up, his tone gentle. “Have you thought about what you want to do next?”
You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “Next?”
“With the list,” he clarifies, his eyes searching yours. “I mean, you don’t have to ... but if you want to keep going, I’d like to help.”
You open your mouth to protest, but Charles holds up a hand, cutting you off before you can start. “I know what you’re going to say,” he continues, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And I’m telling you right now, you’re not bothering me. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”
You look at him, really look at him, and see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. It’s overwhelming, this kindness he’s showing you, this willingness to be a part of something so deeply personal. You don’t know what to say, how to express the jumble of emotions swirling inside you.
“Charles, I-” You falter, trying to find the right words. “This isn’t your responsibility. You’ve already done so much ...”
He shakes his head, cutting you off again. “It’s not about responsibility. It’s about doing something that feels right. And this — being here with you, helping you through this — it feels right.”
The tears well up before you can stop them, spilling over as you look away, embarrassed by how easily they come. Charles doesn’t say anything, just reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking on the words.
He squeezes your hand gently. “You don’t have to thank me.”
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want you to feel obligated ...”
“I don’t,” he assures you, his voice firm but kind. “I promise you, I don’t.”
You nod, blinking away the last of your tears. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He echoes, a hint of a smile in his voice.
You smile back, a real one this time. “Okay.”
There’s a quiet moment where everything feels ... settled, like a weight has been lifted from your chest. It’s not gone — not by a long shot — but it’s lighter, more manageable. You can breathe a little easier, see a little clearer.
Charles leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “So, what do you say we finish this coffee, eat a few more croissants than is probably advisable, and then figure out what our next adventure is?”
You laugh, a real laugh that surprises you with its brightness. “I think I’d like that.”
And so you do just that. You sit there with Charles, sipping coffee and eating too many croissants, watching the world go by as the sun moves slowly across the sky. It’s peaceful, almost idyllic, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something that might be happiness.
As the afternoon stretches into evening, Charles brings up the rest of the list again, but this time, you don’t try to wave him off. Instead, you find yourself talking about it, really talking, and it feels good to share it with someone who actually seems to care.
You tell him about the road trip with no destination in mind, about the other things your husband wanted you to experience. It’s bittersweet, but there’s a warmth to it too, a sense of connection that you didn’t expect to find.
“We’ll enjoy a few more days in Paris,” Charles says, his voice steady and reassuring, “and then we’ll hit the road. No plans, no deadlines. Just ... see where it takes us.”
You look at him, feeling that same pull, that same inexplicable draw that’s been there since the moment you met him. It’s crazy, all of this — crazy and spontaneous and completely out of your comfort zone. But maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you need.
“Let’s do it,” you say, your voice stronger than you expected. “Let’s do the road trip.”
Charles’ smile broadens. “Perfect. We’ll make it an adventure.”
***
The morning sun filters through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a golden glow that seems to soften the world around you. You stretch in bed, feeling a lightness in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. There’s a sense of anticipation humming through your veins as you get ready, knowing that today marks the beginning of a new adventure.
When you step into the lobby, Charles is already there, leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. He grins when he sees you, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Ready to go?” He asks, his voice warm.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
Charles nods, gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on, then.”
You step outside, and your breath catches in your throat. Parked at the curb is a sleek black Ferrari, its curves gleaming under the morning light. You glance at Charles in surprise, your eyebrows shooting up.
“Where did you get this?” You ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.
He chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly. “Let’s just say I know a guy.”
You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “Of course you do.”
Charles opens the trunk, helping you load your bags inside. There’s a thrill in the air, a sense of freedom that you haven’t felt in ages. Once everything is packed, he opens the passenger door for you with a small bow, a teasing smile on his lips.
“Your chariot awaits,” he says.
You roll your eyes, but the gesture makes your heart warm. You slide into the car, sinking into the plush leather seat as Charles walks around to the driver’s side.
“Ready?” He asks, his hand resting on the gear shift.
You glance over at him, meeting his gaze. There’s something reassuring in his eyes, something that makes you feel like, for the first time in a long time, everything might just be okay.
“Ready,” you say, and with that, he starts the engine, the car roaring to life.
The two of you set off, the city of Paris fading in the rearview mirror as the open road stretches out before you. There’s no set destination, no strict itinerary — just miles of road and the promise of wherever the day might take you.
For the first hour, you drive in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine and the wind rushing past your ears. You watch as the landscape changes, the bustling city giving way to rolling fields and quaint villages. The farther you go, the more the tension in your chest eases.
Eventually, Charles turns to you with a grin. “Pick a direction. Left or right?”
You blink, looking at the fork in the road ahead. “You’re letting me decide?”
“Of course,” he replies. “This is your adventure, after all.”
You hesitate for a moment, then point to the right. “Right.”
Charles nods and turns the wheel, the Ferrari smoothly gliding down the chosen path. “Right it is.”
The day passes in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You turn down random roads, sometimes doubling back when you realize you’re hopelessly lost, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no rush, no pressure to be anywhere but right here, right now.
You stop at a tiny roadside café for lunch, the kind of place where the menu is handwritten on a chalkboard, and the waitress knows the regulars by name. The food is simple but delicious, and you can’t help but savor every bite, feeling more alive than you have in months.
After lunch, you continue driving, the hours slipping away as you explore hidden corners of the French countryside. You pass through small towns where time seems to have stood still, with cobblestone streets and old stone houses that look like something out of a fairytale.
As evening approaches, you start to feel the weight of the day settling in your bones. You glance over at Charles, who looks just as content as you feel, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel.
“Should we start looking for a place to stay?” You ask, your voice soft.
He nods, glancing at a sign by the side of the road. “There’s a small inn a few miles ahead. We can try there.”
You hum in agreement, the idea of a cozy inn sounding perfect after a day on the road. The Ferrari winds its way through narrow streets until you arrive at the inn, a charming, ivy-covered building that looks like it’s been plucked straight out of a storybook.
Charles parks the car, and the two of you head inside. The lobby is quaint, with old wooden beams and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The innkeeper, a kindly older woman with a warm smile, greets you as you approach the front desk.
“Bonsoir,” she says in a lilting accent. “How can I help you?”
Charles steps forward, his voice polite as ever. “Bonsoir. We were hoping to get a room for the night.”
The innkeeper’s smile falters slightly, and she glances at the reservation book. “Ah, I’m afraid we are nearly full tonight. There is only one room left, and it has only one bed. I’m sorry.”
Your heart sinks, and you glance at Charles, unsure what to do. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you also don’t relish the idea of finding another place so late in the evening.
Charles, however, seems unfazed. He turns to you with a reassuring smile. “It’s up to you. We can stay or keep looking.”
You bite your lip, weighing your options. The day has been long, and you’re both exhausted. Finally, you nod. “Let’s stay.”
The innkeeper hands Charles the key, and he leads you upstairs to the room. It’s cozy, with a low ceiling and a large, comfortable-looking bed dominating the space. There’s a small window overlooking the garden, where the last rays of sunlight are casting everything in a golden hue.
You drop your bags by the door, glancing at the bed. It’s big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with Charles makes your heart flutter nervously.
Charles seems to pick up on your hesitation. “I can sleep on the floor,” he offers, his tone gentle. “It’s no trouble.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, his expression softening. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
You both get ready for bed, the atmosphere between you growing more relaxed. When you finally climb under the covers, you can feel the warmth radiating from Charles’ side of the bed, a comforting presence in the quiet room.
For a while, you both lie there in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of the sheets as you try to find a comfortable position. Despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself inching closer to him, drawn by the sense of safety he brings.
“Goodnight,” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the darkness.
“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice soft.
You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath. And then, almost without thinking, you shift closer, until your head is resting on his shoulder, your body curled against his side.
Charles tenses for a moment, and you almost pull away, but then his arm wraps around you, holding you gently. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he holds you is enough. It’s not romantic or suggestive — just a simple, comforting embrace that makes you feel less alone.
You relax into his warmth, feeling a sense of peace wash over you that you haven’t felt in what feels like forever. The road trip, the bucket list, everything fades into the background as you allow yourself to just be in this moment.
For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Charles’ arms, you can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — you’re starting to heal.
***
The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the small inn room. You stir slightly, the warmth of the shared bed coaxing you into a slow wakefulness. Charles is still beside you, his breath even, his face relaxed in sleep. It’s almost surreal how peaceful this moment feels, as if the world outside has paused just for the two of you.
You turn onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow, and watch him for a moment. The lines of worry that usually crease his brow are gone, replaced by a serenity that makes him seem younger, almost boyish. You wonder how he manages to carry so much weight on his shoulders and still offer you comfort, still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.
The faint clatter of dishes from downstairs pulls you out of your thoughts. You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. The cool wooden floor sends a shiver up your spine as you pad over to the small window. The view outside is a picturesque scene of rolling hills and a cobblestone street winding through the tiny village. It’s the kind of place that feels untouched by time, where life moves at a slower, more deliberate pace.
A soft knock on the door startles you. You glance back at Charles, who stirs but doesn’t wake. Quietly, you open the door to find the innkeeper, a woman in her late fifties with a kind face and a warm smile.
“Good morning,” she whispers. “Breakfast is ready whenever you and your friend are.”
You nod, offering her a smile in return. “Thank you. We’ll be down soon.”
She leaves you with a slight nod, and you close the door softly behind her. Turning back to the bed, you see Charles is awake now, blinking away sleep. He stretches lazily, his eyes finding yours, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Good morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “The innkeeper says breakfast is ready.”
He nods, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’ll be down in a minute. You go ahead.”
You hesitate for a moment, but then you nod and head downstairs. The small dining area is cozy, with a fireplace crackling softly in one corner. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You take a seat at one of the wooden tables, the innkeeper greeting you with a pot of coffee.
“Is it just the two of you?” She asks, pouring you a cup.
“Yes, just us,” you say, taking a grateful sip. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, waking you up fully.
“Such a lovely young man,” she comments, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re lucky to have someone like him.”
You smile at that, unsure how to respond. Are you lucky? It feels strange to think of Charles in that way when the loss of your husband is still so fresh, still so raw. But you can’t deny that Charles has brought something into your life that you didn’t know you needed — comfort, companionship, and maybe even a little bit of hope.
Charles appears a few minutes later, his hair slightly tousled from sleep, but he looks more awake now. He greets the innkeeper with a polite nod before taking the seat across from you.
“Did you sleep well?” He asks, reaching for a piece of the fresh bread.
“I did,” you admit. “And you?”
“Better than I have in a while,” he says, and there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you believe him.
The innkeeper returns with plates of food — scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and more of the bread you’ve already sampled. It’s simple, but it’s the kind of breakfast that warms you from the inside out, reminding you of the comforts of home.
As you both eat in companionable silence, Charles looks up at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Have you ever been to Monaco?”
You pause, caught off guard by the question. “No, I haven’t. I’ve heard it’s beautiful, though.”
“It is,” he agrees, a smile playing on his lips. “Would you like to go?”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Of course I would, but realistically, I know I probably never will. Life has a way of getting in the way of things like that.”
Charles’ smile widens, his eyes glinting with mischief. “That’s not true at all, actually.”
You raise an eyebrow, not sure where he’s going with this. “Oh? And why’s that?”
“Because my mother is expecting us for dinner tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You stare at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Wait, what?”
He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You heard me. We’re going to Monaco. My mother has been asking about you, actually.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the words. “Charles, I ... I don’t know what to say. That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet, but I don’t want to impose. And we haven’t exactly been planning on going to Monaco.”
“You’re not imposing,” Charles insists, reaching across the table to take your hand. “She’s already expecting us, and it would make her really happy to meet you.”
You look down at his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. There’s something about the way he says it, so earnest and sincere, that makes it hard to say no.
“Are you sure?” You ask, your voice soft.
“Absolutely,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Let’s make the most of this adventure, okay?”
You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay. Let’s go to Monaco.”
The drive to Monaco is nothing short of breathtaking. The Ferrari roars to life as Charles maneuvers it expertly along the winding coastal roads, the Mediterranean Sea sparkling to your right. The windows are down, and the wind whips through your hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the promise of something new.
Charles hums along to the music playing softly through the speakers, glancing over at you every so often with a contented smile. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart flutter, and you find yourself smiling back, unable to resist the infectious energy that seems to surround him.
When you finally cross the border into Monaco, it feels like stepping into another world. The city is a blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, with grand buildings perched on cliffs overlooking the sea and sleek yachts bobbing in the harbor. The streets are bustling with life, but there’s an air of sophistication and elegance that sets it apart from anywhere else you’ve been.
Charles navigates the narrow streets with ease, eventually pulling up in front of an apartment building that exudes quiet elegance. He cuts the engine and turns to you with a smile. “We’re here.”
You take a deep breath, your nerves suddenly kicking in. “I’m nervous,” you admit.
Charles reaches over and takes your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You have nothing to be nervous about. She’s going to love you.”
You nod, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach as you step out of the car. Charles comes around to your side, taking your hand once more as he leads you up the steps to the building. The door opens with a soft creak, and you find yourself in a beautifully decorated foyer, the scent of fresh flowers filling the air.
Charles leads you down a hallway, stopping in front of a door with a gold number plate. He looks at you, a reassuring smile on his face, before knocking softly.
The door opens almost immediately, and there stands a woman who can only be Pascale. She’s petite, with kind eyes and a warm smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. Her face lights up when she sees Charles, and she immediately pulls him into a hug.
“Charles, mon chéri,” she says, her voice filled with affection.
Charles hugs her back, and you can see the love between them in the way they hold each other, the way they speak without words. When they finally pull apart, Pascale turns her attention to you, her smile softening even more.
“And you must be Y/N,” she says, stepping forward to embrace you as well. Her hug is warm and comforting, the kind of hug that only a mother could give.
You hug her back, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of maternal warmth, and it brings tears to your eyes. But they’re good tears, the kind that remind you that maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to heal.
“It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Pascale says, pulling back to look at you. “Charles has told me so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” you reply with a small smile, trying to compose yourself.
Pascale laughs softly, a musical sound that fills the hallway. “Only the best.”
Charles takes your hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we?”
Pascale nods, stepping back to allow you both inside. As you step into the warm, inviting space, you can’t help but feel a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
***
Pascale’s apartment is cozy, filled with warm lighting and the comforting smell of something delicious simmering in the kitchen. You’re still standing by the door when she pulls you into a tight hug, her embrace firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you feel a wave of unexpected comfort.
“Welcome, mon ange,” Pascale murmurs in your ear, her voice soft and motherly, the kind you haven't felt in so long. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
You blink back the tears that suddenly prick at your eyes. There’s a part of you that’s still surprised to be here, in Monaco, of all places, with Charles — let alone meeting his mother. “Thank you,” you manage to say, feeling a little overwhelmed by her warmth.
Charles gives you an encouraging smile as he slips out of his shoes, motioning for you to do the same. “Come on,” he says lightly, “I told Maman we’d help with dinner.”
You glance at Pascale, who’s already moving toward the kitchen. “Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Pascale calls over her shoulder. “You’re our guest, and in this house, guests are family.”
Charles nudges you playfully. “She means it. Better get in there before she tries to do everything herself.”
You follow them into the kitchen, trying to shake off the nerves that have settled in your stomach. The space is as welcoming as the rest of the apartment, filled with the sounds of something sizzling on the stove and the scent of fresh herbs. Pascale is already at work, her hands moving deftly as she chops vegetables with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
Charles rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cutting board, handing you one as well. “Here,” he says with a grin, “let’s show Maman what we’ve got.”
You’re not much of a cook, but there’s something about the way Charles and Pascale move around the kitchen that makes you feel at ease. Before long, the three of you are working together, chopping and stirring and laughing as Pascale regales you with stories from Charles’ childhood.
“He was always getting into trouble,” she says with a fond smile, passing you a bowl of something that smells divine. “Climbing trees, chasing after the neighborhood cats ...”
“Maman,” Charles groans, but he’s grinning, his eyes sparkling with that same mischievous glint you’ve seen more than once.
You chuckle, picturing a younger Charles, wild and full of energy. It’s easy to see where he gets his charm — Pascale is a force of nature, and the love she has for her son is palpable in every word, every look she sends his way.
As dinner comes together, you find yourself opening up to Pascale in a way you didn’t expect. She asks about your life, your past, and though it’s hard to talk about your husband, something about her gentle demeanor makes it easier.
“I’m sorry,” you say at one point, when the conversation dips into quieter territory. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”
Pascale shakes her head, her eyes full of understanding. “You didn’t, dear. It’s important to talk about the people we’ve loved and lost. It keeps them with us.”
Her words resonate with you, and for a moment, you just stand there, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the comfort of their presence wash over you.
“Your husband,” Pascale says after a beat, her voice soft. “He sounds like he was a wonderful man.”
“He was,” you whisper, your throat tightening with emotion. “He really was.”
Pascale reaches out, covering your hand with hers. “And you,” she says gently, “are an incredible woman.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod, swallowing back the tears that threaten to spill over. Charles catches your eye from across the kitchen, giving you a small, encouraging smile, and you feel a surge of gratitude for him — for bringing you here, for making you feel like you’re not alone.
Dinner is a simple affair, but it’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a long time. The conversation flows easily, and for a while, it feels like you’re part of something you’ve been missing for so long — a family.
At some point during the evening, you and Pascale find yourselves alone at the table. Charles has stepped out to take a call, leaving you with Pascale, who has been watching you with a thoughtful expression.
“You know,” she begins, her voice gentle, “when Charles told me about you, I could see how much he cares. He’s a good boy, my Charles, but he doesn’t let people in easily.”
You feel your cheeks warm under her scrutiny. “He’s been ... incredibly kind to me,” you say softly. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Pascale nods, as if she already knows. “He’s been through a lot, just like you. Losing his father, and then Jules ... it changed him.”
There’s a sadness in her eyes, and you realize that, like you, she’s carrying her own grief. “I’m sorry,” you say, the words feeling inadequate. “I didn’t mean to bring up-”
“Don’t apologize,” Pascale interrupts, reaching across the table to take your hand. “It’s good to talk about these things, to remember. Charles ... he doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it’s there, always.”
You nod, understanding all too well. The weight of loss is something that never truly goes away; it just becomes a part of you.
“I see a lot of his father in him,” Pascale continues, her voice wistful. “That determination, that drive to be the best. But it’s more than that. He’s got a good heart, my Charles. He cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
You smile, thinking of the way Charles has been with you — patient, understanding, always knowing just what to say to make you feel better. “He does,” you agree. “He’s ... he’s been more than I could have ever asked for.”
Pascale’s gaze softens, and for a moment, she just looks at you, as if she’s seeing something she’s been hoping to find. “I’m glad he has you,” she says finally. “I think you’re good for each other.”
You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. It’s too soon to think about what all of this means, but there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder where this is going — what it could become.
Before you can dwell on it too much, Charles returns, his usual easygoing demeanor back in place. “Everything okay?” He asks, glancing between you and Pascale.
“Perfect,” Pascale replies with a smile, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you think she knows more than she’s letting on.
The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable blur, with more stories and laughter, and by the time you’re getting ready to leave, you feel like you’ve known Pascale for much longer than just a few hours.
As you’re putting on your coat, Pascale pulls Charles aside, and you see her lean in close, whispering something to him. He nods, his expression serious, and when he glances back at you, there’s something unreadable in his eyes.
“What did she say?” You ask when you’re finally alone with Charles, walking back to the car.
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just that she likes you,” he says simply. “A lot.”
You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but there’s also a flicker of something else — something that feels a lot like hope.
“She’s wonderful,” you say honestly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Charles stops walking, turning to face you. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I’m just glad you came.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re an incredible person, you know that?”
You blink, taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. “I’m just trying to get by,” you admit quietly.
He nods, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer. “Aren’t we all?”
You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just give him a small smile, hoping he understands.
You reach the car, and Charles opens the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slide inside. There’s something different in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniably there, and as you drive away from Pascale’s apartment, you can’t help but wonder what it all means.
What you do know, though, is that you’re not alone anymore — not really. Charles is here, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
***
The drive from Pascale’s apartment to Charles’ place is filled with comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional hum of the engine and the soft tunes playing on the car’s stereo. You find yourself stealing glances at Charles every now and then, noticing how relaxed he seems, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other is lightly to the rhythm of the music. His calmness was contagious, and you lean back in your seat, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
When the car finally pulls into an underground parking garage, Charles cuts the engine and turns to you with a soft smile. “Ready to meet Leo?” He asks, his tone almost teasing.
“Leo?” You echo, raising an eyebrow.
“My dog,” Charles clarifies, his smile growing. “He’s ... enthusiastic, to say the least.”
You laugh lightly. “I think I can handle enthusiastic.”
Charles leads you to the elevator, and a few moments later, you are stepping into a sleek, modern apartment. It is tastefully decorated, with large windows that offer a stunning view of the city. Before you could take in all the details, a high-pitched bark echoes through the space, and a small beige dachshund comes skidding around the corner, his tiny legs moving at lightning speed as he raced toward Charles.
“Leo!” Charles greets the dog with a wide grin, crouching down to scoop him up. The dachshund wiggles excitedly in his arms, his tail wagging furiously. “This is Y/N,” Charles introduces, turning Leo’s attention to you. “Be nice.”
You kneel down, and Leo wasted no time leaping from Charles’ arms to yours, showering your face with a flurry of enthusiastic licks. You can’t help but laugh as you try to fend off the affectionate assault, gently rubbing the little dog’s back.
“He’s adorable,” you say, looking up at Charles with a wide smile. But when your eyes meet his, you noticed the way he was watching you — softly, intently, as if seeing you in a new light. It was the kind of look you hadn’t seen since ... since James. The thought hits you with a sudden pang, but there is no sadness in it. Just a quiet, tender acknowledgment of the past and the present.
Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat as he straightens up. “I’m glad you like him,” he says, his voice a touch quieter now. “He’s been good company.”
You stand, Leo still wriggling happily in your arms. “I can see why.”
Charles smiles again, that same gentle warmth in his eyes. “Come on, let me show you to your room. I had one of the guest rooms made up for you.”
You follow him down a short hallway, the soft pads of Leo’s paws following close behind. Charles pushes open a door, revealing a cozy, well-appointed room with a large bed, a dresser, and a window that looks out over the city skyline. Your bags are neatly placed at the foot of the bed.
“I hope it’s comfortable enough,” Charles says, glancing around the room as if assessing it himself.
“It’s perfect,” you assure him, setting Leo down on the floor. The little dog immediately hops onto the bed, circling a few times before settling into a comfortable spot.
Charles chuckles. “Looks like you’ve already got company.”
You smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and giving Leo another affectionate pat. “He’s a good boy.”
There’s a pause, comfortable and full of unspoken things. Charles lingers by the door, as if he wants to say something but is weighing his words.
“If you need anything,” he finally says, “my room’s just down the hall. Don’t hesitate to knock.”
You nod, appreciating the offer more than you could put into words. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”
His gaze softens, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something more. But instead, he simply nods, giving you a small, almost bashful smile before stepping back into the hallway.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, his voice warm and sincere.
“Goodnight, Charles.”
As the door closes behind him, you’re left alone in the quiet room, Leo’s soft breathing the only sound. You sit there for a moment, letting everything that had happened over the past few days wash over you. The unexpected kindness of a stranger who is becoming so much more, the gentle way he helped you navigate the grief that still lingered like a shadow ... and the way he looked at you, as if he saw something in you that you’d almost forgotten was there.
With a deep breath, you lie back on the bed, Leo curling up beside you. The city lights twinkle through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, you are beginning to heal.
And as you drift off to sleep, you find yourself thinking of the days to come, and the possibility of something new and beautiful growing from the ashes of what you’d lost.
***
The next morning, Charles is practically buzzing with excitement as he leads you out of his apartment and towards the harbor. His hand is warm and sure around yours, and you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
The sky is a brilliant shade of blue, the kind of color that seems to only exist in this part of the world, with the sun glinting off the water and the scent of salt in the air. The harbor is alive with activity, the gentle hum of boats rocking in the marina, the occasional laughter of tourists, and the distant sounds of a city going about its day.
“I’m taking you to my favorite spot,” Charles says, his voice light and cheerful. “It’s a bit of a hidden gem. The tourists don’t usually find it, but the locals love it.”
You laugh softly, looking up at him as you walk side by side. “Sounds perfect. I’m always up for good food.”
Charles grins at that, his eyes twinkling with a boyish charm. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
The walk is leisurely, and as you near the harbor, you notice how Charles slows his pace, as if wanting to savor every moment. The way he talks about Monaco, you can tell how much he loves it here, how much this place means to him. It’s like seeing the city through his eyes, and you find yourself appreciating the little details more — the old stone buildings, the narrow streets, the way the sunlight reflects off the water.
The brunch spot is tucked away, a small, unassuming place with a few tables outside, shaded by a striped awning. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wafts through the air, and you immediately feel at home. Charles greets the owner like an old friend, exchanging a few words in rapid French before leading you to a cozy table by the window.
You sit down, and Charles orders for the both of you — pastries, fresh fruit, eggs cooked just the way you like them, and, of course, coffee.
As you sip your coffee and nibble on a flaky croissant, you take in the surroundings. The café is quaint and charming, with wooden tables and mismatched chairs, the kind of place where you could easily spend hours just watching the world go by. It’s clear that Charles has a deep connection to this place, and you feel honored that he’s sharing it with you.
“This place,” you say, setting your coffee cup down, “it’s perfect.”
Charles smiles softly, his gaze lingering on your face. “I knew you’d like it.”
For a while, the two of you talk about everything and nothing — his childhood in Monaco, your favorite books, the little things that make life sweet. There’s a comfort in the conversation, a sense of ease that comes from being with someone who understands you, who doesn’t need you to be anything other than yourself.
After brunch, Charles suggests a walk along the harbor. The day is warm, the sun high in the sky, and as you walk, you can feel the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. The conversation flows easily, laughter coming more often than not, and you realize how much you’ve missed this — missed feeling alive, missed the simple pleasure of being in the moment.
But as the afternoon wears on, the sky begins to darken. You glance up, noticing the heavy clouds gathering overhead, and before you can say anything, the first raindrop falls.
Charles looks up at the sky, a grin spreading across his face. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of rain.”
You laugh, holding out your hand as the raindrops begin to fall faster, harder. “A bit? This looks like a full-on storm.”
The rain comes quickly, turning from a light drizzle to a steady downpour in a matter of moments. The tourists around you scatter, seeking shelter under awnings and in shops, but Charles doesn’t move. Instead, he looks at you, his expression playful, his eyes daring.
“Come on,” he says, taking your hand again, this time with more urgency. “Let’s do something crazy.”
You’re about to ask what he means, but then you see the look in his eyes, and you know. You know exactly what he’s thinking.
Without another word, he pulls you into the open, right into the middle of the empty street. The rain is cold against your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything in this moment except the feeling of the rain on your face, the sound of Charles’ laughter, the way he spins you around like you’re in the middle of some grand ballroom instead of a rain-soaked street.
You let go. You let go of all the sadness, all the pain, all the fear. You let go and dance, not caring if you look silly, not caring if anyone is watching. It’s just you and Charles and the rain.
For the first time in a long time, you feel free.
And then, without even thinking, you lean in, and Charles is there, meeting you halfway. His lips are warm and soft against yours, a stark contrast to the cold rain, and you can feel the gentle pressure of his hands on your waist, holding you close, grounding you in this moment.
The kiss is slow, tender, as if Charles is trying to convey everything he’s feeling without saying a word. There’s a sense of rightness in it, like this is where you’re supposed to be, like this is what you’ve been missing.
When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, the rain still pouring down around you, but neither of you seems to care. You look up at Charles, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his face, and you can’t help but smile.
“I’ve never danced in the rain before,” you say, your voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.
Charles grins, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Neither have I. But I’m glad my first time was with you.”
You laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
He chuckles, his arms tightening around you. “Maybe a little. But sometimes the best things in life are a little crazy.”
You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time since you lost James, you feel like you’re truly living again. And it’s because of Charles.
The rain shows no signs of stopping, but you don’t care. You could stand here forever, in this moment, with Charles’s arms around you and the rain falling like a blessing from the sky.
But eventually, the cold starts to seep into your bones, and Charles pulls back, his hands still on your waist, his eyes searching yours.
“Let’s get out of the rain,” he says softly. “We don’t want to catch a cold.”
You nod, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace, and together you make your way back towards the apartment, the rain still falling around you, but your heart feeling lighter than it has in months.
As you walk, Charles slips his hand into yours again, and you glance over at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. You’re not sure what’s happening between you and Charles, but for the first time, you’re not afraid of it. You’re not afraid to see where this might go.
When you reach the apartment, you’re both soaked to the bone, your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but you’re laughing, unable to stop the joy bubbling up inside you.
Charles unlocks the door and ushers you inside, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think we might need to dry off a bit.”
You laugh, nodding in agreement as you look around the familiar space. Leo is waiting by the door, his tail wagging furiously as he barks excitedly, clearly not pleased that you both got caught in the rain without him.
Charles crouches down, rubbing Leo behind the ears. “Hey, baby. We didn’t mean to leave you out of the fun.”
Leo licks Charles’s face enthusiastically before trotting over to you, looking up with big, expectant eyes. You can’t help but smile as you reach down to pet him, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the rain.
Charles stands, his eyes soft as he watches you with Leo. “Let’s get you some dry clothes,” he says gently, leading you down the hall.
You follow him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. There’s something about being here, with Charles, that feels right. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
And as Charles hands you a towel and one of his oversized shirts, you realize that maybe you’re finally ready to start letting go of the past and embracing whatever the future holds. With Charles by your side, it feels like anything is possible.
As you dry off and change into the warm, comfortable clothes Charles gave you, you can’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe this isn’t just about ticking off items on a bucket list. Maybe it’s about finding yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about finding something more.
***
You fall asleep that night, still feeling the warmth of Charles’ arms wrapped around you as he whispered a soft goodnight. His gentle kiss, tentative yet filled with an unspoken promise, lingers on your lips even as you drift into slumber.
But in your dreams, the world shifts.
You find yourself standing in a place both familiar and strange — a field of golden wheat, the sun setting in the distance, casting a warm, orange glow across the horizon. The sky is endless, blending into shades of pink and purple, as if the heavens themselves were painted with the softest brushstrokes.
And there he is. James.
He’s standing a few feet away, his back to you, hands in his pockets, the way he always used to stand when he was deep in thought. The wind rustles the wheat around him, and for a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching with the longing that never really goes away.
“James ...” Your voice is soft, trembling, almost afraid that speaking his name will shatter the dream.
He turns slowly, his familiar smile, that same one that used to make you feel like everything would be okay, spreads across his face. He’s exactly as you remember him — tousled brown hair, slightly crooked nose from that time he tried to impress you by skiing down a slope far too steep, and those eyes, those deep, warm eyes that always seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself.
“Hey, you,” he says, his voice carrying the same teasing lilt that always made you laugh, no matter how bad your day had been.
You move towards him, your feet sinking into the soft earth, but it feels as though the distance between you never changes. The closer you try to get, the farther he seems. “I miss you,” you say, and your voice cracks under the weight of the words. “I miss you so much, Jamie.”
“I know,” he says, and his voice is soft, understanding. “I miss you too, but I’m here now.”
You finally reach him, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel his warmth, but there’s a hesitance within you, a fear that touching him will break the fragile illusion. “I’m scared,” you confess, the tears that have been gathering in your eyes finally spilling over. “I’m scared of moving on, of letting go … of forgetting you.”
James takes a step closer, and suddenly, he’s right in front of you. You can feel his warmth now, the comforting presence that had always been your anchor. He lifts a hand, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, just like he used to.
“You won’t forget me,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart. “You carry me with you, always. I’m a part of you, just like you’re a part of me.”
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, memorizing the feel of him, the sound of his voice. “But it feels like I’m betraying you … with Charles.”
James chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through you, filling you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in so long. “Charles Leclerc, huh?” He steps back slightly, enough to meet your gaze fully. “Never knew you had a thing for fast cars and dangerous men.”
You can’t help but smile through your tears. “He’s … different. He’s kind, and patient, and he makes me feel … alive again.”
“That’s good, Y/N,” James says, his tone earnest, as if he’s trying to make you understand something crucial. “That’s what I want for you. I don’t want you to be stuck in the past, living with a ghost. I want you to live, to be happy, to love again.”
“But you-”
“I’ll always be with you,” he interrupts gently. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here,” he says, pressing a hand over your heart. “But you need to let yourself be happy. You need to let yourself find love, even if it’s not with me.”
A sob escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the sound, but James pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s okay to love someone else. I want you to. You deserve that.”
You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent that’s so uniquely him — earthy and warm, like freshly cut grass on a summer’s day. “I don’t know if I can,” you whisper. “It feels like losing you all over again.”
“You’re not losing me,” he reassures, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re gaining something beautiful. And if you’re worried about my approval ...” He grins, that mischievous glint in his eye that you always loved. “I mean, he’s no Max Verstappen, but Charles Leclerc? I guess he’s almost good enough for you.”
A laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as tears continue to fall. It’s absurd, really, this moment, this conversation, but it’s exactly what you needed.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” you murmur, shaking your head with a small smile.
James shrugs, a carefree gesture that was so him. “What can I say? I always had a soft spot for Max. But Charles … he’s got potential. Just … give him a chance, okay? For me?”
You nod, even though the idea terrifies you. “I’ll try,” you whisper. “For you.”
James smiles, a sad, but proud smile, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, the same way he used to when he wanted to comfort you without words. “That’s all I ask. And Y/N ... don’t wait too long, okay? Life is too short for that.”
“I won’t,” you promise, even though your heart is heavy with the thought of truly moving on.
James takes a step back, his form beginning to fade into the golden light of the sunset. “I love you, Y/N. I always will. But it’s time for you to live again.”
“Goodbye, Jamie,” you say, your voice trembling as he becomes more and more ethereal, like a shadow dissolving in the light. “I love you.”
He smiles one last time, his figure almost completely faded now. “And I love you. Always.”
The dream fades, and you’re left standing in that field of golden wheat alone, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting the world into twilight. But there’s a peace in your heart that you haven’t felt in a long time, a quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to start letting go.
When you wake, your cheeks are damp with tears, but there’s a soft smile on your lips. You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the dream in your mind, feeling the weight of James’ words settle in your heart.
You know what he said is true. You know it’s what he would want. And you know, deep down, that it’s time to start allowing yourself to heal, to open up, and to let someone else in.
And as you think of Charles, of his patience, his kindness, his quiet understanding, you can’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest — a hope that maybe, just maybe, you can find love again.
***
The morning light filtered through the curtains of Charles’ dining room, casting a soft, golden hue over the room. You sit at the table, trying to focus on the breakfast in front of you — a selection of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee that Charles had lovingly laid out. Yet, the thoughts swirling in your mind make it hard to concentrate. Charles sits across from you, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours, a small, contented smile playing on his lips.
The memories of the past few days are almost surreal: the unexpected road trip, the rain-soaked dance that ended with your first kiss, and the way Charles held you afterward, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. It’s been a whirlwind, but a beautiful one. And yet, as you take a sip of coffee, reality nudges its way back into your thoughts.
“I ... I should probably head back home soon,” you say, your voice hesitant, as if saying the words might make them less real. “I need to get back to work.”
The air in the room shifts. Charles’ smile fades just a little, replaced by a look of understanding, tinged with something you can’t quite place. Sadness? Disappointment? He sets down his coffee cup, his fingers playing with the handle as if it could offer him some guidance on what to say next.
“Of course,” he replies, his tone gentle, though you can hear the effort it takes to keep it light. “You have responsibilities, a life back home ...”
There’s a pause, the kind that stretches a moment into something heavier, more significant. The silence is thick, filled with the unspoken truth that neither of you wants to confront: this bubble of time you’ve been living in, where only the two of you exist, is about to burst.
“I like you,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. They hang in the air, raw and vulnerable.
Charles looks up, his eyes locking onto yours. “I like you too,” he says, his voice low, steady, and filled with something that makes your heart skip a beat.
You both sit there for a moment, staring at each other, the weight of your mutual confession settling between you like a third presence at the table. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“I want to see where this goes,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly as you try to gather your thoughts. “But I don’t know how ... I mean, you’re always traveling for the races, and I-”
“Come with me,” Charles interrupts, his voice firm, almost urgent. “To the next race. And the one after that. I don’t want this to be just a beautiful memory. I want you there with me, every step of the way.”
His words hit you like a wave, washing over the fears and doubts that had been quietly gnawing at the back of your mind. The idea of uprooting your life, of stepping into his world, is daunting — but the thought of not being with him is even more unbearable.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Are you sure?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to get in the way, or make things complicated.”
Charles leans forward, his hand reaching out to cover yours. His touch is warm, grounding. “You wouldn’t be in the way. I want this. I want you. And if it gets complicated, then we’ll figure it out together.”
The sincerity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. You’ve spent so long guarding your heart, protecting yourself from the pain of losing someone again, that the idea of opening up to love, to Charles, feels both terrifying and exhilarating.
“Two and a half weeks,” he continues, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s when the next race is. Come with me. We’ll have more time to figure this out, whatever this is.”
You nod slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice firming up with the decision. “I’ll come with you.”
A bright, relieved smile breaks across Charles’ face, and in that moment, you know you’ve made the right choice. Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. The thought is both comforting and thrilling.
Charles stands up, pulling you gently to your feet. “I think we should seal this decision properly,” he says, his tone light, teasing.
You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood from becoming too serious. “And how do you propose we do that?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he steps closer, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leans in, capturing your lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s different from the kiss you shared in the rain — this one is slower, more deliberate, filled with the promise of everything that could be. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you kiss him back, letting yourself get lost in the moment.
When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented smile on his lips. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion.
“So am I,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with a mixture of hope and anticipation.
For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And as you stand there in Charles’ arms, the future doesn’t seem so scary anymore. In fact, it looks pretty damn wonderful.
***
18 Months Later
The cemetery is quiet, a solemn stillness that wraps around you and Charles as you walk down the winding path lined with weathered tombstones and ancient trees. The sky above is a muted gray, the kind that seems to reflect the heavy emotions you’ve been carrying with you.
Your hand is tightly clasped in Charles’, his grip firm and reassuring, but you can feel the slight tremor in his fingers. He’s nervous, though he tries to hide it behind a small, gentle smile.
You haven’t been here since the funeral, since that awful day when you laid James to rest. The thought of returning to this place has always felt too overwhelming, like reopening a wound that never fully healed. But now, over a year and a half later, you’re here again, and this time, you’re not alone.
You lead Charles to the spot where James is buried. It’s a modest grave, marked by a simple headstone that bears his name, his dates, and a short inscription that never fails to bring tears to your eyes: Beloved husband, healer of hearts, taken too soon.
Charles lets go of your hand as you kneel in front of the grave, gently brushing away the few leaves that have settled on the stone. You trace James’ name with your fingers, the cold granite grounding you in a way that words never could. Charles stands a few steps behind you, giving you space, but his presence is a comforting anchor in this sea of grief.
You’re not sure how long you stay like that, silent and lost in memories, before you finally speak. “Hi, James,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I-I brought someone with me. I think you’d like him.” You swallow the lump in your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks. “His name is Charles. He’s ... he’s very special to me. You’d probably think he’s not good enough for me, but you were always a little biased.”
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you glance back at Charles, who’s watching you with a mixture of love and concern. “Would you ... would you mind giving us a moment?” Charles asks softly, stepping forward. “I — I’d like to talk to James, if that’s okay.”
You blink up at him, surprised by the request, but the earnestness in his eyes makes you nod. “Of course,” you murmur, rising to your feet. You lean in to kiss Charles on the cheek, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping away, giving him the privacy he’s asked for.
Charles waits until you’ve moved a respectful distance away, then turns his attention to the grave. He takes a deep breath, crouching down so he’s at eye level with the headstone. He feels awkward, talking to a man he’s never met, a man who was such a huge part of your life. But he knows this is important, that he needs to do this — for you, for James, and for himself.
“Hi, James,” Charles starts, his voice low and unsure. “I-I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this. I’ve heard so much about you, and I know how much you mean to her.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for loving her the way you did, for making her so happy. She deserves that, you know? She deserves all the happiness in the world.”
Charles’ throat tightens, and he has to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard, hadn’t expected to feel this intense connection to a man he never knew. “I’m ... I’m going to propose to her,” he finally says, his voice shaking. “And I wanted to ask for your permission, if that’s okay. I know I can’t replace you, and I wouldn’t want to. You’ll always be a part of her, and I’ll never try to take that away.”
He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “But I love her, James. I love her so much, and I promise I’ll take care of her. I’ll do everything I can to make her happy, to make sure she feels loved every single day. I know she still loves you, and I’m okay with that. There’s more than enough room in her heart for both of us.”
Charles reaches out, placing a hand on the cool stone of the headstone, as if trying to make a connection with the man resting beneath it. “We’ve been talking about her moving to Monaco with me soon,” he continues, his voice steadying. “And I promise you, she’ll have free reign of my private jet to visit you whenever she wants. I’ll make sure she never feels like she has to choose between us.”
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I hope that’s okay with you, James. I hope ... I hope you’re at peace, wherever you are. And I hope you know that I’m going to love her with everything I have. I’ll do my best to make her as happy as you did. Thank you for that.”
Charles stays there for a moment longer, his hand still resting on the gravestone, before he finally stands. He wipes at his eyes, surprised to find them wet with tears, and glances over at you. You’re watching him, a mix of curiosity and love in your gaze, and he gives you a small, reassuring smile.
You walk back over to him, slipping your hand into his, and he squeezes it gently. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I ... I don’t know what you said, but thank you.”
Charles just nods, pulling you into a hug, holding you close as you both stand there in the quiet cemetery, the weight of your shared love and loss settling around you. It’s not an easy moment, but it’s one that feels right, like a necessary step forward in the journey you’ve been on together.
As you stand there in Charles’ arms, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You know that James would have approved, that he would have wanted you to find happiness again, to find love again. And now, with Charles by your side, you finally feel like you can do that.
Eventually, you both turn to leave, hand in hand, walking back down the path toward the cemetery gates. As you reach the car, you glance back one last time at James’ grave, a soft smile on your lips. “Goodbye, Jamie,” you whisper. “Thank you for everything. I love you.”
Charles opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you feel a sense of closure, of new beginnings. It’s not about moving on, you realize, but about moving forward — carrying the love you’ve known with you into whatever comes next.
And as Charles drives away from the cemetery, his hand resting on your thigh, you know that whatever comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.
***
The reception hall is filled with soft, warm light, the kind that makes everyone look beautiful and the world seem perfect for just a moment. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter create a background hum that feels almost comforting in its familiarity.
You stand at the edge of the room, looking out at the faces of friends and family, people who have watched you navigate the hardest years of your life and who are now here to celebrate this new chapter.
Charles is beside you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back, a touch so natural that it feels like it's always been there. When he smiles at you, there's a quiet understanding in his eyes, a love that has grown deep and steady, rooted in the soil of shared grief and the careful, tentative steps toward healing.
You know he can feel your nervousness — he’s always been able to read you so well — but there’s no rush, no pressure. Just his presence, anchoring you as you take a deep breath and step forward to the microphone.
The room gradually quiets as people realize you’re about to speak. The lump in your throat feels almost too big to swallow, and for a moment, you think you might not be able to get the words out. But then you feel Charles’ hand squeeze yours, a silent encouragement that you can do this, and suddenly, it’s easier to find your voice.
“Thank you,” you begin, and your voice wavers a little, but it’s steady enough. “Thank you all for being here today. I know that every bride says this, but it really does mean the world to us that you’re here to share this day with us.”
You glance at Charles, who is watching you with that same soft look he had when you first met Leo. His eyes are full of pride and love, and it gives you the strength to continue.
“Most of you know that today isn’t just about celebrating the love that Charles and I share, but it’s also about honoring the past that brought us here,” you say, and you can see some people nodding, their smiles tinged with understanding. “A few years ago, I lost my husband, James. He was an incredible man — kind, compassionate, and so full of life. And when he passed, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, let alone find love again.”
Your voice catches, and you have to pause to take another breath. The room is silent now, everyone hanging on your words.
“James left me a letter,” you say, and there’s a faint murmur as people who don’t know the story lean in, intrigued. “In that letter, he left me a bucket list of things he wanted me to experience, things he wished we could have done together but that he wanted me to do in his memory.”
You reach into your pocket and pull out the now well-worn piece of paper, carefully unfolding it as you speak. “The last item on that list was to find love again.”
A few people gasp quietly, and you can see some wiping their eyes, moved by the weight of those words. You feel your own tears threatening to fall, but you blink them back, determined to finish what you’ve started.
“For a long time, I didn’t think I could,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think it was possible to let someone else into my heart after losing James. But then, I met Charles.”
You turn to look at him, and he smiles at you, a smile that is both gentle and reassuring. “Charles showed me that it’s okay to love again, that my heart is big enough to hold all the memories I have of James while still making room for new ones with him. He’s been patient, understanding, and so, so kind. And I know that James would have loved him just as much as I do.”
Charles’ eyes glisten with unshed tears, and when he squeezes your hand again, it’s not just to comfort you — it’s a shared moment of recognition, of understanding that this journey has been just as profound for him as it has been for you.
“I know that some people say you can only have one great love in a lifetime,” you continue, your voice growing steadier with each word. “But I think I’ve been incredibly lucky, because I’ve had two.”
The room is filled with the sound of sniffles and soft murmurs of agreement. You can see your family, who has been there through it all, nodding and smiling through their tears.
“So today, as we celebrate this new beginning, I want to take a moment to honor the man who brought us here. James, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go, for knowing that I needed to find happiness again. I know you’re here with us, in spirit, and I hope you’re proud.”
You pause, your heart heavy but full. “And to Charles, my Charlie … thank you for being brave enough to love me, even when it wasn’t easy. Thank you for showing me that it’s okay to hold on to the past while embracing the future. I promise to love you with all of my heart, forever and always.”
The room is silent for a long moment after you finish speaking, and then the applause begins — soft at first, then growing louder as people rise to their feet, clapping not just for you and Charles, but for the love that has brought you both here, and for the man who made it all possible.
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to your temple as the applause swells around you. “I love you,” he whispers, and you can hear the emotion in his voice. “Thank you for sharing that with everyone. It was perfect.”
“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice thick with tears. “And thank you, Charlie. For everything.”
The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, dancing, and celebration. But the memory of your speech, of standing up in front of everyone and sharing your heart so openly, will stay with you forever. And as you and Charles step onto the dance floor for your first dance as husband and wife, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that James is watching over you both, smiling as you take this next step forward together.
The music begins to play, a soft, romantic melody that wraps around you like a warm embrace. Charles pulls you closer, his arms around your waist as you sway together, and for the first time in a long time, you feel complete. It’s not that the pain of losing James has disappeared — it never will — but it has softened, and in its place, there is a new kind of love, one that is just as strong, just as true.
As you dance, you rest your head against Charles’ chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The guests fade into the background, and it’s just the two of you, moving together in perfect harmony. You know that this moment, this dance, is the beginning of a new chapter, one that you never imagined you would have, but one that you are so grateful for.
When the song ends, Charles lifts your chin with his finger, his eyes searching yours. “You okay?” He asks softly, his voice filled with concern.
You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Instead, you press your lips to his in a tender kiss, one that says everything you can’t put into words. Charles holds you close, and as you pull back, you see the tears in his eyes, a mirror of your own.
“Thank you,” you whisper, and Charles smiles, his thumb brushing away the tear that slips down your cheek.
“No, thank you,” he says, his voice full of love and admiration. “For letting me be a part of this, for trusting me with your heart. I promise, I’ll take care of it.”
And as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that you’ve found what James wanted for you all along — someone who will love you just as deeply, just as fiercely, as he did. Someone who will walk with you through the good times and the bad, who will hold your hand and guide you through the darkest days, and who will celebrate the bright ones with joy and laughter.
You’ve found love again, just like James wanted, and it feels like coming home.
***
You park the car under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step out, Charles following behind, holding Jacques in his arms.
The baby is cooing, tiny hands grabbing at Charles’ shirt as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. You pause for a moment, breathing in the cool air, trying to gather the courage to walk towards the familiar grave that you’ve avoided for so long.
Charles adjusts Jacques in his arms, the baby’s chubby legs kicking slightly as he looks around, taking in the new surroundings with wide eyes. You glance at Charles, and he gives you a small, encouraging nod. But this time, there’s no pressure. He’s letting you take the lead, letting you go at your own pace.
The last time you were here, you and Charles had just gotten engaged. The memory of Charles standing by James’ grave, asking for his blessing, is still vivid in your mind. And now, two years later, everything has changed. You’re married to Charles, and you have a beautiful baby boy. But standing here, in front of the man you once loved with all your heart, the weight of everything comes crashing down.
You take a deep breath and start walking towards the grave. The headstone is simple, elegant, just the way James would have wanted it. Fresh flowers have been placed there recently — probably by James’ parents, who visit regularly. A pang of guilt twists in your chest. You should have come sooner.
When you reach the grave, you kneel down, brushing your fingers lightly over the engraved letters of his name. The silence is thick, filled with everything you want to say but can’t find the words for. Charles stays a few steps back, giving you space, though you can feel his presence like a warm anchor, grounding you.
“Hi, Jamie,” you finally whisper, your voice trembling. “It’s ... it’s been a while, I know. I’m sorry for not visiting sooner.”
The words catch in your throat, and you have to pause, blinking back tears. You thought you were prepared for this, but being here, with so much time having passed, it’s harder than you imagined.
“I wanted to come sooner, but ... everything just got so overwhelming,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I’ve missed you so much. And I know you’re watching over us, but I needed to feel like I could do this ... like I could come back here and tell you everything.”
You glance back at Charles, who is now sitting on the grass with Jacques in his lap. The baby is looking up at the sky, oblivious to the somber mood, a tiny smile playing on his lips. When you turn back to the grave, the tears you've been holding back finally spill over.
“I want you to meet someone,” you say softly. You reach back, signaling Charles to bring Jacques over. Charles carefully lifts Jacques, walking over to you, and gently hands him to you. The baby gurgles, his small hand wrapping around your finger instinctively. You hold Jacques close, your tears falling onto his soft hair.
“This is Jacques,” you whisper, looking down at your son. “He’s named after you and Jules. Charles and I wanted to honor you both in some way.”
The name had been something you and Charles had discussed at length. When you found out you were pregnant, there was no hesitation in your minds who you wanted to name your son after. It felt like the right thing to do, like a way to keep a part of James alive in your new life.
“He’s ... he’s so beautiful, James,” you continue, your voice trembling with emotion. “I wish you were here to see him grow up. To be a part of his life. But I promise, I’ll tell him all about you. About how amazing you were, and how much you loved helping others. He’ll know his name carries a legacy.”
Jacques wiggles in your arms, and you press a soft kiss to his forehead. The tears continue to fall, but now they’re mixed with a sense of bittersweet acceptance. You look up at the sky, the clouds shifting lazily, and you wonder if James is watching, if he’s smiling down at you.
You glance at Charles, who is watching you with those soft eyes that seem to hold all the love in the world. He’s been so patient, so understanding, and in this moment, you realize how incredibly lucky you are to have found love again. It’s not something you ever thought would be possible, but here you are, standing between the past and the future, with a heart big enough to hold them both.
“Charles has been amazing,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d like him, James. He’s so kind, and he understands ... he understands everything I’ve been through. He’s been so good to me, and to Jacques. I think you’d be happy to know that we found each other.”
Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. The warmth of his body against yours is comforting, a reminder that you’re not alone in this. Jacques babbles, his tiny fingers reaching up to touch Charles’ face, and Charles chuckles softly, nuzzling his nose against Jacques' cheek.
You close your eyes, leaning back into Charles, letting yourself feel the full weight of the moment. The grief, the love, the hope — all of it swirling inside you like a storm that’s finally starting to calm.
“I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I always will. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to move forward. To let myself be happy again. And I think ... I think you’d want that for me.”
The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves in the trees, and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel James’ presence — like a gentle touch on your shoulder, a whisper in your ear, telling you that it’s okay. That he’s at peace, and he wants you to be too.
You turn slightly, pressing a kiss to Charles’ cheek, then look back at the grave, feeling a sense of closure that you didn’t think was possible.
“We’ll be back to visit,” you promise, your voice steadying. “I won’t wait so long next time. And Jacques will grow up knowing who you were, what you meant to us. He’ll know his name is special.”
Charles squeezes your hand, and you nod, letting him know you’re ready to go. You stand, brushing off your pants, and take one last look at James’ grave. The flowers sway gently in the breeze, and you feel a strange sense of peace settle over you. It’s not goodbye — it’s more of a “see you later.”
As you walk back to the car, Charles keeps his arm around your waist, holding you close. Jacques is still babbling happily, completely unaware of the emotional weight of the visit. But that’s okay — he’ll understand when he’s older. For now, you’re just grateful to have this moment, to feel like you’re honoring both the past and the future.
When you reach the car, you carefully buckle Jacques into his car seat, making sure he’s secure before you get in. Charles closes the door behind you, and as he starts the engine, you glance back at the grave, giving a small nod as if to say, “Thank you.”
As the car pulls away, you lean your head against the window, watching the trees blur past. Charles reaches over, taking your hand in his, and you smile softly, squeezing his hand in return.
It’s a long drive back home, but you don’t mind. You have everything you need right here with you. And as you close your eyes, letting the gentle motion of the car lull you into a peaceful state, you realize that this is what James wanted for you — to find love again, to be happy, to live your life to the fullest.
And you will. For him, for Jacques, for Charles, and for yourself.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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clutch. - 이페릭스.
clutch: when someone or a team performs really well in important situations.
SYNOPSIS. felix is the last one standing against the last squad. since you don't want to end the night on a loss you give your friend felix a little motivation: "felix, if you clutch this i'll send you my tits"
bsf!felix x f!reader ft. seungmin, smut, mdni
tags. sub!felix, also simp felix (he's got a big fat crush on you), also felix' gorgeous and luscious hair, phone sex, guided masturbation, masturbation (f & m), nudes, use of toys, begging, teasing, pet names (good boy, pretty boy, baby), praising (he deserves 'em, ok??), squirting, orgasms (f & m). wc. 2.9k
a/n. i hope you enjoy because this is pure filth lolzzz. my inspiration comes from a twitcher that was playing val and one of her friends said that to her and she fucking slayed everything. also this is based on apex because i dont play val or lol so yeah.
“Fuck! I’m down” you heard Seungmin wail in your headset. You sighed, annoyed. It was your very last game of the evening and you really didn’t want to end on a loss. Your eyes went up to the corner of the screen again. It was down to the last team and you could have been the champions. But you died in a 2v1 earlier and the team didn’t have anymore respawn beacons. You still had hope to win because Seungmin could surely take them but he was cornered and the other team had the high ground. Felix was the last one standing on your team and well… He wasn’t the best player and the enemy squad was still full.
Felix was petrified watching all of his squad get slaughtered one by one. He was frantically checking his hiding spot, hearing the steps of the other squad coming in.
“Felix if you clutch this I’ll send you my tits”.
The silence that followed was almost religious. Felix didn’t even think, he didn’t let his nerves take the best out of him at the idea of possibly seeing you in a way he had secretly dreamed of for a long time now. Instead it calmed him, he was in a sort of serene trance. He knew if wanted to get his crush’s nude he had to do this. He had to win.
So he did.
In a second he jumped out of his hiding spot, surprising the healer of the enemy squad and fired first and took them down. He was light as a shadow as precise as an assassin. He heard the footsteps coming in from the left so he circled the building by the right. He jumped on the roof waiting for the last two enemies to find him. One opened the door just beneath Felix he fired, not missing a single shot but the second one quickly came to help his teammate. Felix had to take cover but as the first one was trying to heal he shot again to take them down. He quickly came down the rooftop and made the final blow with his melee weapon. And there it was: you are the champions. Written in red and gold across the screen while epic music played in the background but Felix heard none of it. The song was completely drowned out by the loud cheers of his friends.
You and Seungmin screamed and jumped. You couldn’t believe what you saw, Felix single handedly took out the entire last squad. When you got up your chair to jump around you were really thankful you swapped for a wireless headset.
“Broooooo” Seungmin started, “What the fuck was that? You absolute legend.”
“Mate, I don’t even know”
“Lix, that was actually insane!” you chipped in.
The conversation went on and Felix was patiently waiting for someone to bring up what you said earlier. But no one said anything. It was probably a figure of speech or a joke… Yeah, probably a joke. And Felix couldn’t help the little tinge of disappointment that tainted his heart when he heard you say goodnight at the other end of the line.
“I really gotta go, I’m working in the morning” Seungming started.
“Yeah” Felix chuckled, trying his hardest to maintain the euphoria of winning, because somehow he still felt like he lost in the end.
“Good night, Lixie” you whispered.
“Bye” He exhaled, staring at your small icon before the green halo around it disappeared.
Your picture was smiling right at him and he sighed again picturing you smiling like this tonight. Then he thought of what you said again. He slapped his forehead and frowned at himself. How did he actually believe that?! Of course it was a joke. A stupid joke you would make to your friends… A friend who you love platonically… Platonically and that’s it… Felix had to understand that, he had to accept that. After all these years you probably saw him as a brother.
He cringed and shook his head at the idea, trying to stop the dreadful train of thoughts before he’d eventually break his own heart. But right when he was hovering above the shut down button the distinct sound of a new message chimed in.
[Attachment received: for_the_goat_my_lixie.jpg]
Just like earlier, Felis didn’t take a second breath, didn’t scramble, his hand was steady when he clicked on it. What the screen then showed knocked the air right out of his lungs.
You are so beautiful.
You were wearing your gaming gear, your LED baby blue headset, your hair beautifully tied back, no make up. Your gray demon slayer hoodie was pulled up. You seemingly didn’t wear a bra today because the hoodie was the only thing you needed to lift up to snap the perfect picture of your heavenly tits.
Felix swallowed thickly, he flipped his long blond hair out of his eyes as they were screwed onto the screen as hot blood rushed to his groin at an alarming rate. He felt dizzy as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. You looked so mischievous, wearing a devilish little smirk slightly crooked, just so playful. Your breasts were squished together and you held the camera with one hand with the other lifting up the hoodie. Your nipples were pebbled. So fucking perfect, Felix thought as his hand found his growing bulge. The perfect size, the perfect color. Perfection. And to top it all off your tongue was sticking out, a long and thick string of saliva was dripping onto your chest, right into the cleavage and rolling down to your nipples, making your skin wet and shiny. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. You were the most erotic thing ever.
[incoming audio call: staydreamgurl]
Felix panicked for a second, almost knocking the ninja energy drink on his custom keyboard.
“Shit” he caught the can before the disaster and picked up the call.
“Hm-Hello?” Felix tried, his deep voice was careful, almost hesitant. And you chuckled at his awkwardness.
“So,” you started, Felix could hear the same devilish crooked smirk through the phone. “What are you gonna do with it?” You sounded so naughty and Felix almost choked on his saliva, a novel attitude he was not about to start complaining about.
“Hmm… I-I don’t really know yet” He lied, his eyes fluttering to the huge bottle of lotion behind the monitor.
“Liar” you said, tit for tat.
Fuck.
“You’re gonna jack off to it”
“Yeah” He chuckled awkwardly again. “I was gonna do that”
“How?”
“W-what, what do you mean?”
“How are you gonna touch yourself to my pic?” There was not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “Tell me how you’re gonna do it”
“I-I…Hmmm” Felix stammered, he was at a loss for words. This brand new attitude you had, your sultry voice, your pushy, self assured demeanor and the lewd photo that was still full-screen on his monitor. He loved all of that a little too much.
“You want help?”
“What?”
“I could tell you exactly how to do it. You’d just have to listen to me and do what I tell you.”
“Fuck” he let escape, his breath was already short. Was he fucking dreaming? Was it really happening? Was something finally happening? He would have ever imagined this. Not tonight after dreaming about it countless times. It was finally happening. “Hm, yeah, y-yeah I’d love that.” Felix agreed.
“Good boy.” you praised in the same sultry tone, the pet name made Felix’ cock jump between his thighs.
“Grab your lube, your lotion. What do you usually use?” You asked, your voice a little lower, a little quieter too.
“I-I use lotion.” Felix said, reaching behind his monitor and dragging the blue and white bottle to him.
“Oh! So naughty, not so innocent after all, huh?” You chuckled. “Take your clothes off, all of them.” You ordered, and in a split second Felix was completely naked on his chair, his pink nipples were hardening as he pushed his back onto the comfortable gaming chair.
“Are you hard?” you asked in a sinful sigh that had Felix’s heart flutter stupidly.
“Y-Yes” Felix said, struggling not to stroke himself, impatiently waiting for your instructions. “I’m so fucking hard right now.”
“My bare tits get you hard, pretty boy?” You said, a little rasp in the voice that didn’t go unnoticed.
His dick throbbed again as he let out a stifled sigh. He definitely liked the way you were talking to him.
“F-fuck yes they do. And your voice too.” Felix’s usually deep voice sounded ever so slightly more squeaky. “C-can I please touch myself, now?”
“Already begging, huh?” you asked, rather amused.
“Please” Felix huffed quietly. For you he seemed he had only been waiting a couple of minutes but in reality he had been waiting for you for a lifetime. He was so eager for you, so thirsty for more of you in a brand new novel way. A version of you that he never met and only ever dreamt of was suddenly here, suddenly you were real. And he couldn't get to know the new you fast enough.
“Get the lotion in your hand, a good amount. I want it to glide smoothly”
“Yes!” Felix hastened to answer. He extended his hand and pushed on the pump twice, getting a generous dollop of lotion onto his palm.
“Now smear it on yourself. Base to tip, everywhere and don’t forget the balls.” He immediately did as he was told. He hissed quietly at the feeling of the cold lotion on his hot cock. He took the lotion to his base, all the way up to his tip and down to the balls.
“There, there. Good job baby” you cooed and the kind words earned you a small little whimper.
Felix was gripping down at his cock, trying hard not to stroke himself yet, waiting for you.
“Now, start rubbing your thumb over the tip, tease yourself a little bit for me, baby”
“O-okay” he said, his fist went up his shaft and his thumb circled his tip, teasing the little ridges at the sides and going up to also tease his slit. He gasped at how sensitive he already was.
“Tell me how it feels, baby don’t be shy” you whispered.
“Nghh... It feels s’good but I-I want more” Felix’ voice bordered on a grunt, as his hips involuntarily bucked into his fist. “Please can I stroke it?”
“I really like when you beg” You huffed again, your voice sounded strained. “Keep going baby, I might just say yes”
“Shittt” Felix was still rubbing his tip, growing more sensitive by the second. “pleasepleasepleaseplease, l-let me jack off for you, I’ll be so good for you. I-I… Aaah- I promise”.
“Hmmmm” you hummed in satisfaction. “Good boy, you make me so wet. Can you hear it?”
Just then Felix held his breath, turning up the volume in his headset and he heard the most melodious sounds he’s ever heard. A beautiful symphony of lewd wet noises erupting from your end of the call. It sounded so sinful.
“I hope you won’t mind that I started without you. I just couldn’t resist fucking myself with my favorite toy right now” you chuckled, almost bashfully, as if you weren’t now spilling the most sinful arrangement of words known to man.
Felix’ eyes grew twice their size as his jaw hung open in surprise, he could have exploded in his hand right there. He would have pledged abstinence for a month to see you right now. Hell, he would have given everything! Everything to see you push the toy inside your wet and dripping little pussy. But he didn’t want to possibly scare you away by asking after waiting for so long so he settled for a less intrusive question.
“H-how is it? The toy? What does it look like?” Felix burned with impatience for more details that would make him imagine you perfectly.
“It’s purple, thick and long. I can’t take it all in but it feels so fucking good.” You confessed, feeling more pleasure coming in with another deep thrust of your wrist.
“Goddamn- Aaah…” Felix sighed as he imagined your dripping little cunt all stretched out by the big purple cock you were holding and mercilessly shoving into your throbbing little pussy.
“Touch yourself now, stroke your cock for me, Felix”
“Fuck yesss” He literally melted as his hand wrapped around his clock and dragged the lotion across his shaft down to the base and back up to the tip again. “Aaah- Fuck-”
“Not too fast, baby” you said, as more lewd wet noises erupted from your end.
“Fuck, o-okay” Felix slowed down, but somehow it was agonizing, he wanted to feel more, and he wanted to match your rhythm, imagine he was the one inside you right now, rearranging your guts and making you pant and moan. You sounded so heavenly and Felix was convinced you looked even more unreal. His eyes fluttered back to the picture on his screen taking in your perfect tits and picturing them bouncing with each thrust of your wrist, maybe you were even the big toy with two hands, your breasts squished between your arms, shoving it inside with force, making your back arch against the chair.
“Oh god- Felix” you moaned, your breath catching in your throat as you gave yourself a particularly powerful thrust. “Oh f-fuck” you hissed. “I’m getting close.”
“Oh fuck yes, Please can I go faster? I-I wanna finish with you”
“Yesss, stroke it faster baby, really milk your cock for me. I’m…Nggghh- I’m almost there.”
“Fuck, you sound so fucking hot I’m going insane” Felix sighed as he stroked his cock faster, his movements were more shallow, focussing mainly on his tip as his other hand naturally came up to tease his hard sensitive pink nipples. He let out a high pitched moan, that made your cunt grip on the purple cock inside you, you huffed and moaned picturing Felix’s cock weeping for you, twitching for you, simply awaiting your command to finally explode.
“Listen, Lixie, I want you to cum on my tits, cum on my pic”
The cute nickname sounded so sinful on your lips right now. Felix grabbed the screen and pulled it closer to him, not caring about straining the cables of his carefully put together setup. He wasn’t thinking of anything that wasn’t the way you right now. His mind and thoughts were only for your perfectly wet and tight cunt and how it would feel around him.
He kept on stroking himself, his tip touching your tongue on the picture, smearing precum on his screen.
“Ahh fuck, I can’t hold it much longer” He whimpered. “Pleasepleaseplease I wanna cum for you, let me c-cum for you.”
He sounded so perfect for you, so desperate, on the verge of insanity, begging you to let him cum. You pictured his tight balls filled to the brim with delicious piping hot cum he specially cooked up just for you. The idea brought you over the edge.
“Nowww, Felix. Cum. Cum with me”.
Your movements became uneven as your pussy clenched down on the toy, throbbing uncontrollably. The crushing weight of your orgasm swept you off your feet, sending radiating heat from your core to each of your limbs. Every muscle of your body tensed up and spurts of translucent liquid rushed out of you, soaking the toy beneath you and the chair.
You sounded so fucking divine, and even if he couldn’t see Felix heard you were squirting, he heard the liquid rushing out of your to get soaked in by the chair and even crashing on the floor. Those wet sounds coupled with your divine moans and your command for him to cum was more than enough.
He aimed right at your perfect tits, the first squirt of cum was absolutely massive, almost effectively covering your whole chest in one go. Felix felt himself twitch in his hand as he moaned, his voice was so high pitched that his voice cracked but none of you even noticed. He aimed the second spurt at your pretty face, picturing he was cumming on your perfect tongue and you could taste him, eagerly waiting for him with your tongue out, just like in the picture. He couldn't stop cumming, rope after rope of cum came crashing on his screen, covering your picture in thick layers of cum.
When he was done a satisfying shiver ran down his spine and he sighed at the way his muscles relaxed, he felt at peace finally. There was a silence that was only cut by both of your sighs and pants but the silence wasn’t awkward. Not anymore, you went too far for that.
“That was amazing.” You were the first one to speak, when you had caught your breath. “I came so hard,” you confessed as you looked down at the mess you had made.
“For me too. I don’t think I ever came this much ever.” Felix brushed the sweaty strands of blond hair away for his eyes as he was also looking at his cum gradually thinning out and dripping off the monitor onto his desk.
“We should do that again” You suggested and Felix sat up in his chair, he ceased the opportunity.
“Maybe next time… you could like… let me see you” He said, testing the waters, trying to take things even further.
“No, next time I’ll let you feel me”.
want more subby felix? try my fic girls like me ♡
SYNOPSIS. felix's heart flutter when he thinks of you but he's not sure if he can be with a girl like you...
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#skz smut#felix smut#stray kids smut#skz felix#stray kids#stray kids felix#sub!felix#sub!idol#kpop smut#felix fanfic#stray kids x you#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#felix x reader#skz fanfic#skz#lee youngbok#stray kids hard thoughts#skz hard thoughts#felix hard thoughts#felix hard hours#lee felix#stray kids hard hours#skz hard hours
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hii i was wondering could you write a oneshot of how zuko's self cautious of his scar and reader just kisses his scar and reassures him and tells him that hes perfect and that she loves everything abt him. This is in a very like intimate and loving way ykyk
a/n: ah this plot is so sweet! had to rewrite this piece a few times before landing on something i liked so i hope you enjoy!
summary: zuko asks you to remove his bandages
“Are you sure you want me to do this? I can fetch Iroh instead.”
“No,” comes Zuko’s soft reply, his sullen features bathed in candle light. “I want it to be you.”
Sighing softly, you give him an understanding nod and press a careful kiss to his check. The Prince remains stoic in spite of your show of affection, simply signaling for you to proceed.
It’s been a week since the Agni Kai, and the healer has given Zuko the okay to remove his bandages. The wound should be healed by now, nothing but a painless scar with a painful memory attached to it. It’s not only your first time seeing Zuko’s new face but his as well, and neither of you are sure what to expect.
You were honestly surprised when the Prince had asked for you to be the one to remove his bandages. He’d been cold and standoffish with you since your departure from the Fire Nation, something you couldn’t blame him for considering all he’d been through, but you didn’t expect him to trust you with something so important so soon. It made you nervous, but it also made you relieved to know he still felt he could trust you with such things.
Your fingers work carefully as you unravel the white cloth around his head, doing your best not to cause too much discomfort for your Prince. He says nothing as you move and only watches you through the reflection of the mirror before him.
“Are you ready?” You ask him softly, hesitating as you reach the final layer of wrapping.
“Hesitation is a sign of weakness,” Zuko replies gruffly, and that’s all you need to hear before finally pulling away the last of the bandages.
The room is silent and tense as Zuko stares at his own reflection. The skin around his eye is angry and red, permanently damaged and forever serving as a reminder of his failure. He can hardly see out of his left eye, but he’s still able to make out your figure watching on silently as he assesses the damage.
“Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what, Zuko?” You murmur softly, carefully resting a hand upon his back.
“Say you’re disgusted by me. Say you’re repulsed,” he snarls bitterly. “Say that you’re too embarrassed to be seen with such a failure!”
“Is that really what you think?” You utter sadly, a pained smile on your lips as you carefully reach out to touch his face. His hand immediately flies up to catch your wrist in a firm grip before you can get any closer, and despite the discomfort it brings you make no attempt to move.
“It’s what I know.”
“Then you must not know me at all,” you counter with a small shake of your head.
Reality sets in and Zuko guiltily removes his ironclad grip on your wrist. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh with you, but there’s an amalgamation of emotions festering within him at the sight of his deformity. He was a Prince, he wasn’t meant to look like this, he wasn’t meant to be out at sea fruitlessly trying to find the Avatar so he could end his banishment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“You’re perfect, Zuko,” you console with a careful brush of your fingertips against the freshly healed skin. His eyes flutter shut at the comforting sensation, and you take it as a sign to continue. “I love you the way you are, and this scar doesn’t change that.”
He can’t help but gasp when he feels the softness of your lips pressing against his temple. How could you not feel sickened by him? How could you still love him after everything?
“Your scar is nothing but a sign of your strength, I hope you know that,” you tell him before pressing another kiss to his cheek just below his eye.
He says nothing in response, but you know that he understands you. With you, he doesn’t have to feel shame or guilt. Your love for him knows no bounds, and there’s nothing he could do that would ever make you turn away from him.
He sits in silence as you begin to apply a soothing balm to his skin. His eyes close in contentment and for the first time since leaving home he finally feels at peace.
He knows then that he made the right choice in having you be the one to remove his bandages. No one sees him like you do, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.
| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy
| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303
#melzula writes#zuko#zuko x reader#zuko imagine#prince zuko x reader#prince zuko imagine#atla#atla x reader#atla imagine#avatar the last airbender#request
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Male Companions Responding To Your Pregnancy Announcement
Here are some headcannons I have for the Male Companions + Zevlor responding to your's/Tav's pregnancy announcement. I have a few more ideas I want to write out for the week so we will see how that goes.
Wyll
Legit might start crying when you tell him you’re expecting.
He smiles so big and bright before scooping you up in his arms and spinning you in a circle.
He is (carefully) rubbing his face against your stomach and whispering to the little baby bump.
He will not let you do anything on your own once you have the smallest of bumps.
He understands you don’t need his help, but he will offer it no matter what.
Once you get later on in your pregnancy, he is constantly rubbing your belly and telling them stories of his adventures as the Blade of Frontiers.
Once you get close to your due date, he will not leave your side cause he doesn’t want to miss anything.
He is there to hold your hand and help you anyway he can when you go into labor. Whispering how well you’re doing and that you are almost there.
Once the baby is there and in his arms, he melts. He doesn’t want to let them go.
Seeing you holding the little baby is his favorite thing.
“Oh darling. You have done so wonderfully.” Looking down at the little child, his child, wrapped in blankets and sleeping peacefully in his arms. “You have given me everything I could ever hope for.”
Astarion
He has heightened senses due to being a vampire so he can smell something different about you long before you tell him, but he doesn’t know what it up.
He thinks you’re playing some sick joke when you first tell him you’re expecting.
He just can’t wrap his head around it at first, but you wake up to his hands on your belly and whispering softly.
He comes around to the idea of you both having a child slowly but once he does, he is making sure you have the best healers available.
He even asks Shadowheart and Halsin to check on you and make sure everything is going well.
He becomes obsessed with your belly as it gets bigger, wanting to constantly be touching you in some way.
When he feels the first kick, he is startled but you see the largest grin on his face.
“Oh, a little fighter on our hands it seems.”
When you go into labor, he is afraid but he sits behind you and lets you push against him.
He is whispering into your ear how wonderful you are doing and letting you squeeze his hand.
Once he hears the baby cry for the first time, he has an out of body experience.
He is looking over your shoulder at the little one as they are placed in your arms, with you cooing down at them.
“Lover… They look perfect.” Reaching around you and letting them grab hold of his finger with his tiny hand. “I swear, I will always be there for them.”
Gale
He stares at you for a moment with wide eyes when you tell him before breaking out in a smile and scooping you into his arms.
He will want to announce to all your companions as soon as possible. He wants to share your good news with everyone.
He starts planning everything; the nursery, what colors everything should be, what foods he is going to be cooking for you through the pregnancy, everything you can think of.
Not to mention Tara is your little shadow and you’re pretty sure that she is reporting everything back to Gale.
He checks up on you multiple times a day, asking if you need anything or if you are craving everything for him to cook.
When you are laying in bed with him, he will be reading next to you and absently rubbing your belly.
When your belly gets bigger, he will want to have his arms wrapped around you while sleep with Tara curled up next to you.
He wants to be there when you give birth, he will not hear anything against it.
When you do go into labor, he is right by your side and wiping your forehead with a wet towel.
He honestly gets in the way of the midwife with his constant questions, but they force him to sit next to you.
When the baby is finally born, he wants to be the first to hold them and cradle them in his arms.
“Oh dearest, look at them. Look at how perfect you have done.” His soft smile and a twinkle in his eyes as he looked down at the child, wanting nothing more in the world.
Halsin
Halsin knows before you do that you’re pregnant. He picks up on the nausea, the tiredness, and he can smell it on you.
He waits for you to tell him though, giving you the privacy even though he is bursting at the seams with excitement.
He is making sure you’re eating enough and getting enough rest.
You wouldn’t even need to list a single finger if you didn’t want to.
He makes sure not to be too far from you if you would ever need him.
He starts whittling little toys for the child, including a little bear for them.
When your belly gets larger and you start complaining of back pain, he will come up behind you and put his hands under your belly to help relieve the pressure with his chin resting on your shoulder.
From the moment you two lay down for the night he is constantly talking to your belly and rubbing it.
The first time he feels a kick he will grin and give the spot a soft kiss.
He makes sure to keep an eye on everything for anything that could go wrong but he is not against you having additional healers to check up on you.
When you go into labor, he wants to help the midwife with anything they need; water, towels, just about anything.
He also wants to be the one who cuts the cord and clean the baby right after they are born.
He holds them in his arms and marvels at how small they are compared to him before he hands them to you.
“My Heart, just look at them.” Halsin looking down at the child, slowly running his finger down their cheek as they sleep. “Just look at what we have made together.”
Bonus: Zevlor (because I love him and no one can stop me)
When you tell him the poor man’s heart stops for a second.
He is a stuttering mess, hands reaching for you trembling, but he pulls you into his arms and holds you close kissing you.
A million and one doubts that he will be a good father go through his head, but he doesn’t doubt for a second that you will be a good parent.
You have to reassure him and give him a lot of love.
He goes out of his way to make sure you’re taken care of during your pregnancy.
You mention you want a snack or sweet? He will come home with like 10 of them.
You will wake up to him rubbing your belly as it gets bigger.
He eyes will be full of love and wonder when he feels them kick.
When you go into labor, he just can’t stand seeing you in pain and gets kicked out by the midwife.
But the moment he hears the first cry he will burst back into the room.
When the midwife hands the baby to him for the first time, he treats them as if they are made of glass.
“Oh sweetling.” Zevlor could feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he held the newborn close to his chest watching them yawn. “You have given me everything.”
#bg3#bg3 x reader#bg3 x tav#bg3 x you#wyll x reader#wyll x tav#gale x reader#gale x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#halsin x reader#halsin x tav#tav x zevlor#zevlor x reader#pregancy
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Id love to hear ur interpretation and analysis on falin! She’s one of my favorite characters and and I was wondering what ur thoughts on her are
Man, I struggle to think of anything I could say about Falin that others have not already said. But she's one of my favorite things about Dungeon Meshi too.
So much of the story revolves around Falin, and she's not even there. Tumblr loves to talk about haunting the narrative, but Falin might be one of the best examples of it ever put to page. She's dead. She's alive. She's dead. She's alive. She's alive but she's missing, she's alive but she isn't herself. She's dead but she might wake. She's dead but she's frozen in ice. She's alive but she's sleepwalking. They chase her ghost and they chase her body all through the story.
I think what Kui does with her is fascinating. Not just as character with a personality we can analyze, but as an object in a narrative- that's why I say she's one of my favorite things about the story, because I also mean it in a mechanical sense. As a writer, Kui's really good at misdirection- that is, setting you up to believe or expect something about a character or a plot, and then turning that on its head. It's most apparent with Kabru, but it works really well with Falin too.
Because the precious little sister is a very well known character archetype, right? So is the gentle healer. The heart of the party. The white mage girl. The damsel in distress. The martyr.
And this isn't a Laura Palmer situation, where we find out that beneath her wholesome surface there's something dark and troubled. No, Falin truly is a kind and gentle person. That isn't where the misdirection leads (and that, too, I think, is another misdirection- it's not "Plot twist, she isn't as nice as you thought!", which would almost be too easy).
The misdirection here is more about structure than about character (but also, yeah- a little about character).
What I mean is, with these archetypes firmly in mind, along with a whole other host of fantasy genre expectations, I think anyone who goes into Dungeon Meshi un-spoiled probably expects Falin's rescue to be an endgame event; at least on a subconscious level, where you're not really thinking about it but in the back of your head you're already stretching out the story to place Falin firmly in the distance. Fire breathing dragon at the bottom of the dungeon is perfect final boss material, right? Slay the dragon. Rescue the princess.
And Falin is the perfect prize in the traditional old school fantasy that the concept of the titular dungeon is a send-up to. Blonde (white), soft-spoken, sweet-natured, beloved by everyone. An angelic figure.
Maybe that's why Ryoko Kui gave her white wings.
It is sort of jarring when chapter 23 rolls around and it's already time to fight the red dragon. And it takes a few chapters, but they succeed. And then Falin's impossible resurrection succeeds. But by then you guess that this is not going to be the story you expected it to be.
I want to point out that Falin spends a lot of time getting, well, babied, post-resurrection. Marcille washes her in the bath, despite Falin stating that she's capable of washing herself. Marcille schools her about her mana use despite Falin demonstrating that she is not hurting for mana, and brushes aside Falin's explanations. Both Marcille and Laios refuse to actually tell her what happened. Laios scruffs up her hair like she's a little kid and scolds her for something she can't remember doing. Marcille explicitly calls her a little kid when Falin tries to talk about how much she's grown.
Of course I'm not saying that Laios was wrong to act like a big brother, or that Marcille shouldn't be worried about taking care of her shell-shocked friend in the bath. But the framing of it clearly shows a Falin who is struggling to be heard.
If you'd like to address the big gay elephant in the room while we're here, I want to state for the record that- whether you read her as gay or not -I think Marcille is completely oblivious during this. Because Falin is her little friend from school. Her best friend, yes, but also the young tallman student she, in her infinite elven wisdom, had to mentor and look after. Marcille has not yet accepted that Falin is an adult now, nor has she accepted that she, herself, is only barely past teenagerhood developmentally and is not nearly as mature as she believes. Of course she'd scrub Falin in the bath and fuss over her.
Falin, meanwhile, seems more than aware of her own adult body and the inappropriate way Marcille is treating it.
The mana-sharing scene is, I think, Falin trying to get a little of her own back. How do you like it, Marcille?
And she tries again in bed.
Maybe she's wondering if their relationship will change now that they're grown ups. If Marcille prefers her as a little girl, or at least as a woman who lets herself be guided like one; if Marcille will react badly if Falin keeps trying to assert herself. She also might be subtly trying to signal to Marcille that bed sharing, like bathing, carries a different weight to it when you do it as adults rather than as children.
With all this in mind, the decision to turn Falin from the precious prize they rescued into to the vicious dragon they have to slay, hits a lot harder.
Falin with a powerful, monstrous, destructive body. Falin, who couldn't even stand to cause people pain from using healing spells, slaughtering half a dozen people in brutal ways. And that's not her, she's being mind-controlled, but as an object in the story she has completely flipped. From damsel to threat.
And I love that she carries a little bit of that with her when she's resurrected again.
Because she's no longer the girl who's going to let herself be stifled by her brother's and her best friend's co-dependency, no matter how much she loves them. She's different now: stronger, eyes open, forging her own path instead of following in their wake. Falin is still going to come back to them again, but this time it won't be because they chased her. It'll be because they let her go.
#Dungeon Meshi#Falin Touden#hiiii anon I hope you're still around#I'm sorry I didn't get to this last week but it was a bad brain time and I had to keep coming back to this#can I also apologize for the amount of tangents I nearly went off on here?#musings with Dea#dungeonposting#Dungeon Meshi spoilers#I had to rein myself in a lot because I could have taken like five other points here to expand on#Dea answers#Dea's anonymous friends
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In Need of a Healer (+18)
Pairing: Halsin x Female Tav
WC: 2200
Summary: You accidentally mix up your mushrooms when trying to make a potion and it goes horribly wrong. Or... not so horribly, in the grand scheme of things?
Content Warnings: SMUT! Huuuge breeding kink, aphrodisiac situation, no bear :( big dick Halsin, unprotected sex, a smidge of dirty talk, maybe a little pregnancy kink Halsin at the end but who knows hes 400 years old, creampies.
— —
Halsin sat under the pallid moonlight, back against the outside of his tent, humming contentedly as he whittled yet another small duck. A little smile decorated his chiseled face as he marveled at the way his craft looked in the pale starlight. The only thing he could hear was his own humming, the soft scrape of his knife against the wooden duck, and the soft chirping of crickets in the tall grass surrounding the camp.
The peaceful sounds of a night at camp were eventually broken by hurried footsteps heading quickly towards his tent.
Tav rounded the large tree that Halsin had set up his tent next to and was breathing heavily. She quickly came to a stop and let out a long sigh.
“Oh, thank the gods you’re still up!”
“Ah, Tav. A pleasure to see you on this beautiful night. How are you?” He looked up at her panting form and smiled. She seemed distraught and uncomfortable.
“Been better actually.. but, um, how are.. you?” She asks, trying desperately to be polite but Halsin could tell there was something wrong. “I like your duck. Is that a new one?” Tav says between heavy breaths, like she had just run several miles.
“Yes, it’s a canvasback duck. Very interesting species as it lives in both fresh and salt waters.” Halsin explains as he holds up his whittled figuring.
“Right yes. Very cool.” Tav hurriedly spits out.
“I can tell you aren’t here to discuss my hobbies, Tav. You seem… a bit perturbed. Anything I can help with?” Halsin asks.
“Gods, yes. Or at least I hope… Can we talk… inside your tent?” Tav says as she turns her head around briefly, looking at the last light of the fire and wondering if anyone else was still up and about. “It’s… kind of embarrassing…”
“Of course.” Halsin rises to his feet to hold the curtain of his tent open for her to enter ahead of him. She quickly ducks inside.
Halsin gestures for her to sit on his makeshift mattress as he sits down on the stool at his desk littered with herbs and potions.
“What’s ailing you? Your face seems flushed. Do you feel feverish at all?” Halsin says as he gets a better look at Tav, seated on his bedroll with their legs crossed, illuminated by the candlelight.
Tav sighs. She looks down at her hands in her lap and wrings them uncomfortably.
“Yes! I’m so warm!” Tav exclaims. “Okay so… I wanted to convince these squirrels to put on these little hats and ride on Scratch like a pony because I thought it would be cute, but I realized I was out of animal speech potions and I was trying to whip one up but I realized I used the wrong herb…. But Astarion said it would be fine! He gave the mushrooms to me after all!”
Halsin chuckled.
“A noble endeavor indeed. I would like to have seen that.”
“And so the elixir looked fine, but I drank it and now I… I don’t feel so good…” Tav says quietly, but Halsin could hear the fear and worry in her voice.
“Hmm… I see. Other than the flush and fever, do you have any other symptoms?” The druid asks, looking her over.
“Well my skin, it has chicken-skin all over that won’t go away… and I can’t stop sweating… and well… there’s this painful ache…” She trails off. “Can I just show you?”
“Please do.” Halsin nods.
Without warning, Tav strips her clothes off leaving her just in her underthings. She settles back on the bedroll and spreads her legs shyly. Once her knees were parted, it was very obvious to Halsin what the ache she was describing was. The gusset of her cloth panties showed a drenched patch covering her sex, the wet fabric sticking desperately to her meaty outer lips.
“Aahh…” Halsin mused as he looked over Tav’s trembling body. “My assumptions were correct, it seems.”
“Your assumptions? And what were those, exactly? Speak plainly, will I survive?” Tav sits up on her elbows and presses her knees together again.
“You must have used black mushrooms instead of acorn truffles. Similar in appearance, but very different in alchemical composition.” Halsin states as he flips through one of the books littering his desk. “I smelled your pheromones before you even appeared in front of my tent. Instead of the potion of animal speaking, you drank a potion of animal breeding.”
“I bed your finest pardon? Shit, I mean beg! I beg your finest pardon?!” Tav becomes increasingly irritated and frustrated by the druid’s casual manner of speaking.
“Yes, commonly used by ranch hands in order to increase the offspring output of their flocks, it drastically increases the heat cycle in mammals. I’ve never seen or heard of the effects of it on humans, but it seems it works the same.” Halsin replies, standing from the stool at his desk and approaching his bedroll where Tav laid.
“So? Is there a cure, an antidote of some kind?” Tav pants.
“Not that I know of. I know the effects subside once the animal has been mated, but I can’t say for certain how to dissolve the effects in a humanoid creature.”
Tav groans and reaches her hand between her clenched thighs, clearly too far gone from the effects of the potion to care about modesty. Halsin sees her wrist flick desperately, but there was no relief on her face… he can’t help but find himself growing erect at the sight of her barely covered, sweaty body writhing in his bed.
“You’re in pain… there might be a way I can help…” Halsin says softly, his eyes searching Tav’s pleading ones.
“Anything. Help me, please.” Tav huffs out through gritted teeth.
“I can… try to alleviate the pain through the intended means… If you’ll allow it.” Halsin’s eyes dart from Tav’s gaze to her hard nipples peaking through her bra and back to her face again.
“You mean.. you’d fuck me? You think it would work?”
“I can’t guarantee it, but I’m happy to give it a try.” Halsin replies with a soft smile.
Tav thinks for a moment before sitting up fully and ripping her bra over her head and tossing it to the floor of Halsin’s tent.
“Gods yes, I’ll do anything.” Tav shimmies her panties down her legs and throws them to join her discarded bra. “Do you need me to, you know… touch you a bit? To get things going?” She says sheepishly.
“Hah, no..” Halsin chuckles. “Seeing you in my bed like this has made me harder than I’m keen to admit. Let me just…”
Halsin takes a few moments to remove all his clothing. Once he was stripped bare, thick cock standing at attention, he turned back towards Tav and was met with quite the sight.
Tav had shifted to her knees, face pressed into Halsin’s pillow with her ass arched high in the air in Halsin’s direction. He was met with her puffy, glistening folds being presented so desperately just for him. Slick drooled out like sap from a mighty maple tree, slowly seeping from Tav’s hole and coating her lips and thighs. He could see her engorged, pink clit peaking out from the apex of her slit, just aching to be touched.
“Oak Father preserve me…” He says quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “What an incredible sight…”
“Halsiiiinnnn…. Will you hurry uuuup?” Tav whined and wiggled her backside in the druid’s direction, beckoning him to enter her.
“Right, of course. You will tell me if there’s any discomfort, yes?” He asks.
“Yes fine yes, just fuck me.” Tav glares at him from her position pressed into the pillow.
“As you wish…” Halsin takes his position behind Tav and guides the leaking tip of his cock to her entrance. “Bit of a stretch now, love…” Halsin coos as he pushes his hips into hers.
“Aaaggh! Ah! Fuck!” Tav cries out and turns her head to bite down on his pillow.
Halsin feels a gush of warmth on his pelvis and notices the hard squeeze of Tav’s cunt as his tip presses against her cervix deep within her. She had climaxed just from him bottoming out inside her.
“Already?” Halsin chuckles again. “Do you feel better? Should I stop?” He runs a soothing hand down her spine.
“Aahh!” Tav moans and pushes back on her knees, forcing him impossibly deeper. “More! Need more!”
“The potion is stronger than I thought… very well… Hold on to something, dear.” Halsin warns as he wraps his large hands around Tav’s milky hips. He begins thrusting into her hard and with great purpose. Normally he would have to take time to prep his smaller partners, but the effects of the elixir had caused Tav’s body to accept his intrusion hungrily. “So warm… like nothing I’ve ever felt…” Halsin groans as he feels the impossible heat from Tav’s walls pulse around him sensually.
“Harder! More!” Tav grits out, brow furrowed, fists clenched in Halsin’s sheets.
Halsin mounts her fully, hunching his back over her to press his chest against her spine. His grip on her hips tightens as he humps into her harder.
“Yes! Fuck! I-I’m cu-!“ Tav yelps out. “Ah!”
Halsin feels her cunt clench on him hard again, the familiar spray of liquid a welcome feeling trickling down his thick thighs. After two orgasms, Halsin assumed she would finally be free of the potion’s effects. He pulls out of her and picks her shaking body up and positions her back down on his bed on her back.
“Better now?” He smiles down at her.
He was met with an even deeper look of desperation.
“No. Need more!” Tav gasps out as she locks her arms behind his back. Without warning, Halsin was tossed on his back on the bed and Tav was hovering above him. She grips his dripping cock and lines it up to her sex, sinking down on it quickly.
“Shiiiit yes…” Tav moans out and throws her head back in pleasure. She begins rocking hard against him, grinding her clit against his pelvis to stimulate all her senses. “Fuuuuck…”
“My darling…” Halsin says hesitantly as he places his gentle hands on her breasts, softly toying with her nipples. “Don’t hurt yourself…”
“Fill me, Halsin, please!” She cries out loudly. “Breed me, Halsin. I need it!” She slams her hips down onto his impossibly fast.
An animalistic, bear-like growl leaves Halsin’s lips.
“You can’t say things like that, little dove.” He grits his teeth, trying to hold back from absolutely ravishing her body.
“But please! I want you to fill me, need you to fill me! Put your fucking babies into me, Halsin, please!” Tav looks down finally and makes eye contact with the large elf. There was a wild, fiery heat glowing in her eyes. Who was he to deny her?
Halsin plants his feet on his bedroll and growls louder, his large hands moving to her waist.
"Halsin, Halsin, Halsin!" Tav spills his name like an invocation as she bounces violently on his cock. "Breed me, please, Halsin!"
He uses this newfound leverage to slam his hips up into hers at a brutal pace, lost in the fantasy of filling her up with his seed. How gorgeous she would look swollen and heavy with his young… breasts plump with sweet milk...
“Yes! Yes!” Tav chants towards the sky as a cock-drunk grin spreads across her face.
“I’ll give you what you need, love… stay still now… shit…” Halsin’s grip on Tav was sure to leave bruises in the morning. Tav was moaning loudly, clearly too far gone in her state to care about anyone else in camp hearing her. “I’m going to fill you now, be good and take it…” He grits out the last bit.
Tav shrieks as she feels the first wave of hot spend fill her insides. Rope after rope of Halsin’s seed stuffed her to the brim, the druid grunting and panting beneath her, pushing her hips down on his so his tip kissed her cervix directly.
Halsin breathes heavily as his orgasm abates and leaves Tav finally satisfied.
“Woah…” Tav dizzily leans forward and collapses against Halsin’s broad chest.
The pair laid in silence for several minutes catching their breaths.
“Here, I’m going to lay you down now. I’ll make you some tea.” Halsin says as he lifts Tav off his softening cock and tucks her into his comforter. “Make sure you drink it before tomorrow.”
“Mhmmmmph.” Tav snuggles tiredly into his mussed sheets, the effects of the potion finally dissipating now that she was stuffed full like a broodmare. She looked too serene in his bed, he couldn’t care less about the large mess she was no doubt leaking onto his mattress.
So what if she didn’t drink the tea tonight… maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea…
Halsin would have to thank Astarion tomorrow.
#baldurs gate smut#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate fanfiction#baldurs gate tav#baldurs gate fanart#bg3 fanart#bg3 tav#tav#halsin#halsin x tav#halsin x reader#halsin x oc#halsin smut#bg3 fanfiction#bg3#bg3 halsin
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I Can't Lose Him (Part Three)
Pairing: Ariel x Cassian's twin!healer!reader
Summary: Finally, Ariel wakes up.
Warning: Painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.
a/n: Part three of I Can't Lose Him! Let me know if you'd like to hear more about the pair!
The commotion in the tent gets louder as you rush toward it. There’s an argument happening inside, and the sound of shattering glass reaches your ears. It isn’t until you hear Nesta shout at Azriel to “Sit down!” that you realize you’ve left the two most stubborn fae in all of Prythian alone together.
When you whip the tent flap open, you’re met with a dizzying scene.
Azriel, leg still splinted straight and right arm bandaged tightly to his torso, has a white knuckle grip on the wooden chair beside the bed. It groans under the pressure as he puts all of his weight on it to help him stand. Nesta, however, is attempting to form a human shield, with two hands splayed on his chest, attempting to push him back down to the bed.
“Damn it, Azriel, sit down! You’re half dead; do you want to be all dead?” Nesta pushes with all of her strength, but even injured, centuries of training is not lost on the Shadowsinger as he refuses to be forced down. Clearly, the two have not heard you enter the tent, as their arguing only continues.
“Tell me where she is, Nesta,” Azriel hisses through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain that you’re sure is ravaging his body.
“Y/N is going to kill you herself when she finds you out of bed. Plus you’ve smashed the pain tonic. Now for the last time: Sit. Down. Right. Now.” Nesta pushed with each word, anger lacing her voice, but still, your mate would not relent.
“I don’t care if Cassian is with her, tell me where she is. Knowing him, she’s probably worse off than being alone.”
“What is going on in here?” you shout, rushing to Azriel’s side. “Are you insane, Az? Sit down before you rip your stitches out!”
Both Nesta and Azriel instantly stop their arguing at the sound of your voice. The hazel eyes that meet yours were ablaze with worry and confusion, but instantly soften to relief when he sees you.
“Thank the gods,” Nesta said, dropping her arms to her sides and stepping away from Azriel. “You have the most possessive and unreasonable mate in existence.”
“Oh, like yours is any better,” you joke, convincing Azriel to at least sit on the side of the bed for the time being.
If Nesta was affected at all by your words, she didn’t let on, her face as neutral as ever. “He’s not my mate,” she deadpanned.
You felt a smile working its way into your mouth and you quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see. “Sure he isn’t, Nesta,” you replied, amused by both her’s and your brother’s blatant ignorance. You winked at Azriel, hoping to lighten the mood and reference the countless times the two of you had whispered about Nesta and Cassian. But your attempt at making the joke was met with a look of displeasure from your mate.
“Are you going to tell me where you were? Why did you swear Nesta to secrecy?” Azriel interjected, his eyes boring into you with frustration and pain.
You signed. “Honestly, I’d rather not,” you replied, pushing his dark hair away from his sweat soaked forehead.
“Rhys and Cassian took her to Devlon’s tent to heal him.”
“What?!” Azriel made to stand again but you pushed him back down with one hand on each shoulder. Centuries of training hadn’t been lost on you either, despite your exhaustion.
“Nesta!”
“See you later,” she said, fake innocence in her voice as revenge for calling Cassian her mate. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and spun away to leave, pushing the tent flaps open and closed with more force than seemed necessary.
“Why would you do that for Devlon?” Azriel asked, eyes roaming over you for signs of the Lord of Windhaven and his less than respectful approach to Illyrian females.
“Relax, Az, he barely tolerated me near him, let alone him wanting to touch me.” You took this opportunity to get Azriel back into bed, swinging his legs up and helping him reposition himself. “Besides, Cassian and Rhys were with me. Cassian almost ripped his head off for much less.”
He chose not to respond, instead closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths.
“Why didn’t you take the pain tonic I left for you?” you asked, already knowing the answer. It was at your feet, the bottle shattered in a million pieces and the liquid seeping into the dirt floor.
“I’m fine,” was his only response. Stupid, prideful, Illyrian baby, you thought.
Digging through your medical bag, you found another tonic and touched it to his lips, encouraging him to drink. But the moment you brought it to his mouth, he pulled his head away, refusing to drink it.
“Don’t make me force feed you, Az. I need to check your stitches,” you warned, hoping it would convince him to drink it.
“No.”
“Don’t be stupid, it will help you.”
“Why did you close your side of the bond?” he asked, opening his eyes and cocking an eyebrow in your direction. You were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. You turned away and placed the tonic on the side table with a quiet clink before sitting on the side of the bed, admitting defeat.
“I didn’t want you to know where I was in case you woke up. I know how much you hate Devlon. But obviously that didn’t work out as I planned.”
“You never close your side of the bond. I thought something had happened to you. And then when I woke up, Nesta was there, not you. She refused to tell me where you were or what happened. I tried to reach out, but you were completely closed off to me. I thought… I thought something…” he stopped, his good arm flying up to the stitches on his side and hissing in pain.
You reached for the pain tonic, and this time, you gripped his chin and tipped it inside his mouth. “Drink it,” you demanded. With a swift bob of his Adam’s apple and quick dart of his tongue across his bottom lip, you were satisfied.
The two of you sat quietly for a few moments, Azriel’s confession laying heavily in the air between you. After what felt like forever, you knew you were going to have to be the one to break the silence. Azriel was, afterall, a spymaster for a reason.
“I was scared,” you admitted, dropping your gaze to your hands. “You fell 200 feet out of the sky. When you were first hurt, I thought I was going to lose you. And then you were screaming. I had never heard that sound come out of you before in my entire life. I had both my arms inside your chest, Az. I had to cut you open while you screamed for me to stop. I couldn’t be your mate in those moments; I couldn’t hold your hand and tell you it was going to be alright. I couldn’t send comfort through the bond. At that moment, all I could do was scream at Cassian to hold you still while I butchered you.” You turned your hands over and stared at your palms, remembering the blood you had to wash off of them after you had finished putting him back together. “I had both my hands inside your chest,” you repeated, trailing off into a whisper.
“You promised me,” you continued, allowing the vulnerability to become present in your voice. Your eyes were rimmed with wetness as you thought of how close to death your mate had been. “You promised you’d come back to me.”
“Technically,” Azriel started, reaching a scarred hand up to brush a piece of hair out of your face. He cupped your cheek and pulled your gaze away from your hands and back to his eyes. The mountains and valleys of his scarred skin felt comforting and familiar. “Technically, I kept my promise. There were just a few bumps along the way.”
You blinked, letting out a weak laugh and let the tears flow over. You leaned your forehead to his and closed your eyes, inhaling his familiar scent. Opening your side of the bond, you felt a wave of emotions wash over you from him. Love and appreciation filled your soul, spreading from the center of your chest where the golden thread that connected the two of you were joined.
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry, love,” Azriel said, lacing his fingers through your hair and holding you to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, soaking in the rare time alone together. It wasn’t until he shifted in the bed again that you pulled back, wiping your tears and getting up to check on how he was healing.
“Oh gods,” Azriel groaned. “I feel like the morning after Cassian’s birthday at Rita’s.”
You let out a laugh, still choked with leftover tears, but felt yourself send a jolt of amusement through the bond unintentionally.
“Hey! That’s my birthday too, you know,” you joked, unwrapping the splint that held his leg tightly in place. His fae healing truly was remarkable. You were able to bend his leg up to his chest, still being careful of the damaged lung and healing stitches underneath the dressing wrapped around his torso.
“Yeah but you’re not the one insisting I keep drinking.” He grunted through the stretches, allowing you to rotate his hip out, around, and back a few times.
You shrugged, a smile spreading across your face. “No one ever said you had to drink them. You could just dump them and tell Cassian they were delicious.”
His eyes narrowed at the suggestion. “And is that what you do? Because I seem to remember that for the past few centuries, you've been roaring drunk on your birthday. Last year you refused to come home with me because you thought I was a random stranger trying to pick you up for a one-night-stand.”
You threw your head back in a boisterous laugh, remembering how you woke up with a horrible hangover and found Azriel asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. A smile spread across your mate’s face at the sight of your joy, despite your fingers massaging deep into the tissues of his leg to work out any lingering pain.
You worked your thumbs into the muscles of his thigh and swore the moan of relief that left Azriel’s lips stirred something deep in your belly. You shook the feeling off and kept going.
“Should I mention some of the times you’ve drank too much? How about that time Rhys kept buying you shots and you kissed me in front of all of Rita’s, almost blowing our secret of nearly 300 years?”
Azriel smiled and you felt the memory wash across the bond. The vision of you giving into the kiss before hastily reminding yourself that your match was supposed to be a secret, played in your mind. Thankfully Cassian, the only other person besides you and Azriel that knew about the mating bond, faked the possessive brother act, pushing Azriel off of you and dragging him outside where, instead of telling him off like everyone thought, had actually dunked his head in the icy barrel of rainwater to help him work off the alcohol.
You gasped in surprise and shook your head to clear your mind of Azriel’s memory. “You never told me he dunked you underwater. No wonder why you came back soaking wet. Cassian said you fell face first into the Sidra!”
Azriel rolled his eyes. “Of course he did, that bastard.”
After a quick peek at the stitches along his left flank and a thorough stretching of his right shoulder, you flopped yourself onto the bed beside him. Exhaustion washed over you again and you felt Azriel’s concern flood your senses. You ignored it, instead choosing to wrap a blanket around yourself and close your eyes. Shuffling closer to your mate, you came as close as you dared without worrying about hurting him.
You felt a scarred hand thread through your hair to scratch at your scalp. A pair of lips touched your forehead and your mate’s voice sounded deep in your ears. “Sleep, love. I’ll be right here.”
Without another word, you fell headfirst into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
#azriel fluff#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar#pro azriel#azriel#azriel smut#azriel angst#azriel spymaster#shaodwsinger
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Web of Gold (aegon has a cold)
- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.
- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen
- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)
- Previous part: aegon in love
- Next part: aegon is jealous
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995
Aegon lounges pathetically in his chamber, propped up by an unreasonable number of pillows, surrounded by the evidence of his misery. The usually bright and playful gleam in his eyes is dulled, his silver hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A crimson flush colors his cheeks, but not from wine this time—no, it's from the fever that’s had him whining and moaning for hours. He coughs dramatically, letting out a moan that echoes through the chamber as if he’s on the brink of death.
Alicent stands at his bedside, her expression a mixture of concern and deep irritation. In her hand, she holds a small vial containing a thick, unpleasant-looking tonic, brought to her by Grand Maester Orwyle. She tries to smile, though it’s clear she’s struggling. “Aegon, you must take this tonic,” she says, her tone firm but coaxing. “It will bring down the fever.”
Aegon grimaces, turning his head to the side as though the very sight of the tonic might poison him on the spot. “No,” he mutters, voice muffled against the pillows. He pulls the blankets up to his chin like a petulant child. “It smells like the dungeons.”
Alicent’s smile tightens, and she takes a breath, clearly summoning her patience. “Aegon, you must be sensible. You’ll feel better once you take it. Orwyle says it will—”
But Aegon interrupts her with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his face. “No, Mother, I don’t want *Orwyle’s tonic! It’s foul, and it will probably kill me faster than the fever!” He opens one eye to gauge her reaction and, seeing her unimpressed look, he lets out an even louder groan. “Why don’t you just let me die in peace?”
Alicent's patience snaps, her voice growing sharper. “Aegon, stop being ridiculous. It’s just a tonic.”
Aegon, however, is already gearing up for a proper scene. He shifts dramatically under the covers, clutching his chest with a moan that would rival a dying knight on a battlefield. “I’m going to die, Mother, I can feel it. The fever’s too strong. I can barely lift my head. The end is near!” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding in a pitiful whine, “And if I am to die, I want Y/N here with me!”
Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Y/N?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Aegon, you need medicine, not—”
“I need Y/N!” Aegon insists, reaching out to grab his mother’s hand with a feverish desperation. “She knows how to take care of me. She’s warm, and she’ll make me feel better with her presence. And she’ll bring honey cakes!” He glances at the tonic in her hand with a scowl. “Not that awful sludge Orwyle calls medicine.”
Alicent pulls her hand back, her lips thinning into a displeased line. “Aegon, Y/N isn’t a healer. She’s not going to make your fever go away.”
Aegon, determined to be as difficult as possible, shifts to stare up at the ceiling, adopting a pitiful, far-off look. “Then let me waste away. Alone. Unloved. Without the touch of my sweet lioness by my side.”
Alicent pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “Aegon, you are not going to waste away. You have a cold, not greyscale.”
But Aegon is already in his own world of dramatics, ignoring her entirely. He clutches the blankets tighter, his voice dropping to a rasping murmur as if his strength is ebbing away. “Tell her I need her… Tell her it’s my last wish.” He glances sideways at his mother, his lips trembling with a pout that might almost be convincing if it weren’t so exaggerated. “You wouldn’t deny a dying man his last wish, would you, Mother?”
Alicent’s eye twitches, and she takes another breath, visibly trying to keep her composure. “You are not dying, Aegon. You’re being overdramatic.”
But Aegon ignores her, already raising his voice to the empty room. “Someone fetch Y/N!” he calls out to the ceiling. “Bring her here, or I shall succumb to this fever and perish before the day is done! I can feel the darkness closing in…”
Alicent looks heavenward as if praying for patience. She sets the vial of tonic down on the bedside table with a decisive thud, her expression turning steely. “Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “I will send for Y/N, if it will stop you from this nonsense. But you will take the tonic when she arrives.”
Aegon’s face immediately brightens, his sudden smile undermining all his previous complaints. “Oh, thank you, Mother! You won’t regret it. Y/N will make everything better, you’ll see.”
Alicent gives him a tight smile that looks more like a grimace. “Yes, I’m sure she will,” she mutters, turning on her heel and leaving the chamber with an air of resignation. She doesn’t bother to hide the annoyance in her stride, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the hall as she goes to find the only person capable of soothing her impossible son.
As soon as she’s out of sight, Aegon relaxes back into the pillows with a contented sigh, a satisfied smile curling his lips. He reaches for the goblet of water by his bed and takes a sip, already picturing the way you’ll fuss over him and bring him sweet treats to “help with his strength.” For Aegon, being pampered by you is the cure to any illness—no tonic required.
You sweep into Aegon’s chambers with a swirl of your golden skirts, exuding the warm energy of someone who has absolutely no idea how to take care of a fever but is determined to make a show of it. Aegon, who is propped up in bed like a tragic hero, immediately brightens when he sees you. He looks as pitiful as ever, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a dramatic flush on his cheeks. The moment you step through the door, he gives a loud, exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Oh, Y/N, you’re finally here!” he croaks, though his voice is suspiciously more robust than it was when Alicent was present. He reaches out a hand to you, his expression one of desperate longing. “I feared I would perish before you arrived.”
You smile indulgently, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed and taking his hand in yours, patting it as if he’s a fragile, wilting flower. “Oh, Aegon, don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure you’ll make a full recovery,” you reply sweetly, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. “But I brought honey cakes just in case.”
Aegon’s expression lights up immediately, and he clutches your hand even tighter. “See? You understand me better than anyone. You know exactly what I need.” He leans back against his pillows, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’ve been telling Mother that you are my cure.”
You cast a look over your shoulder, catching Alicent’s displeased expression as she lingers by the doorway, but you offer her a serene smile. “It’s only natural for a wife-to-be to tend to her betrothed, Your Grace.”
Alicent’s expression tightens, but before she can respond, there’s the sound of footsteps approaching, and Aemond strides into the room, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. He takes in the scene with a raised brow, his single eye sweeping over you and Aegon in bed, with Alicent hovering nearby looking thoroughly exasperated. Aemond’s lips twitch in what might have been amusement, though his tone is as dry as ever.
“I heard that my brother was on his deathbed,” Aemond says, a slight edge of mockery in his voice as he crosses his arms and looks down at Aegon. “But it seems he’s found his miracle cure.”
Aegon, never one to miss a chance to exaggerate, clutches your hand to his chest with renewed fervor. “Oh, Aemond, it was terrible. The fever—it was like dragonfire coursing through my veins. I thought I wouldn’t make it through the night!” He glances over at you, batting his lashes in a way that he probably thinks is charming. “But now that Y/N is here, I feel hope returning to me.”
You play along with a sympathetic look, pressing a cool cloth to Aegon’s forehead as if that might truly stave off the fever. “He’s been so brave, Aemond,” you say, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice. “But I think he just needs a bit of pampering. And perhaps a few more of these honey cakes.”
Aemond rolls his eye, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. He looks from you to Aegon with a resigned expression, then sighs. “Brother, you’ve caught a cold, not the Grey Plague. Surely even you can endure a little discomfort without turning it into a full-blown tragedy.”
Aegon shoots his brother a wounded look, releasing your hand to point accusingly in Aemond’s direction. “You just don’t understand, Aemond! You’re all… stoic and serious. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to suffer through this kind of agony.” He lets out another dramatic sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “But Y/N understands. She knows how to take care of me.”
You pat Aegon’s hand again, your smile turning a little smug as you glance at Aemond. “Well, I can’t fault him for wanting a little comfort in his time of need, can I, Aemond? Surely you wouldn’t begrudge him that.”
Aemond’s gaze flickers with barely concealed amusement. “Oh, I don’t begrudge him anything, Y/N. I merely question whether he is truly in as much peril as he claims to be.” He arches a brow at Aegon, who is now picking at the edge of a honey cake, nibbling on it like a spoiled child.
Aegon, catching his brother’s skeptical look, scowls and quickly adopts a pitiful expression, pressing the cloth to his head as though that might convince Aemond of his dire condition. “You see? Even now, my head is pounding. I’m practically burning up! Feel my forehead, Y/N. It’s like touching the sun.”
You humor him, pressing your hand to his forehead with the most serious expression you can manage. “Hmm,” you murmur thoughtfully, as if considering a grave diagnosis. “Yes, it’s very warm indeed. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long, Aegon.”
Aegon beams at your attention, thoroughly delighted by your pampering. “See, Aemond? Y/N understands. She’s the only one who truly cares about me.”
Aemond, however, just rolls his eye again, his expression one of long-suffering endurance. “If you’ve truly caught a fever, brother, then you should rest and stop talking so much.” He glances pointedly at the untouched vial of tonic on the bedside table. “And perhaps actually take the medicine that Orwyle prepared for you instead of relying solely on sweets.”
Aegon makes a face, shoving the tonic aside with a weak swipe of his hand. “I told you, that stuff is poison. I won’t drink it.” He turns to you, eyes wide and imploring. “You wouldn’t want me to suffer through that awful stuff, would you, Y/N?”
You offer Aegon a conspiratorial smile, tapping a finger to your lips. “Well, perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll bring you something that tastes better. A little wine, maybe?”
Aemond’s eye narrows at you both, clearly exasperated. “Yes, because what you need right now is more wine,” he mutters under his breath, though you catch the faintest twitch of his lips.
But Aegon’s already nodding eagerly, looking far more animated than any feverish man has a right to be. “Yes, yes, that’s what I need. Wine and Y/N. The two best remedies in the realm.”
Alicent, who has been silent but watching the entire exchange with a tightly controlled expression, finally speaks up, her voice clipped. “Aegon, please. Stop behaving like a child.”
Aegon gives her a wounded look, but his grip on your hand tightens as though you’re his only tether to this world. “But Mother, Y/N is taking such good care of me. Can’t you see how much better I feel already?” He turns his gaze back to you, his voice dropping to a more pitiful tone. “Y/N, don’t leave me. I need you.”
You give Aegon a reassuring pat, your tone soothing. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, Aegon. Not until you’re feeling better.” Then, casting a look over your shoulder at Aemond, you add with a playful smile, “Besides, it’s not every day I get to dote on a king.”
Aemond meets your gaze, his mouth twisting into something resembling a smirk. “Indeed. Though I can’t say it’s doing wonders for his dignity.”
Aegon ignores the jab entirely, snuggling deeper into his blankets, content to have you by his side and blissfully unaware of the thinly veiled amusement on Aemond’s face—or the deep irritation on his mother’s. And you, for your part, settle in for what promises to be a thoroughly entertaining afternoon.
#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#game of thrones#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#fire and blood#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x you#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#aegon x reader#aegon x you#aegon x y/n#web of gold#house targaryen#house lannister
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2, 9, 15, 17, 23 for C'Fille please!!
2.) What does your OCs handwriting look like? The best way to describe C'vimi's handwriting would be cramped and difficult to read. The eorzean alphabet is a beast i won't touch so the closest equivalent i can think of is like. russian cursive. godspeed to anyone that needs a note from her.
9.) If your OC were to imagine their idyllic life (realistically or otherwise) what would it be like? Traveling the world and having all kinds of new experiences while having a warm home and friends to return to!...with no high stakes, no countries that need liberating or 1000 year old wars that need ending, please. I can't decide if she would've joined the Redbills or stayed a wandering dancer/white mage though.
15.) What is a common misconception about your OC? (Alternatively, what do people assume about them which is either incorrect or misconstrued?) Although it wouldn't be entirely remiss to think she has a head full of air, with her being the first to admit she's not great with book-smarts, C'vimi catches on to things pretty quickly! Also, one would think that as being a healer first and foremost, she would not be a fan of fighting but. she loves it, C'vimi lives for the thrill of coming out on top of difficult fights and challenging herself.
17.) What sort of role do they take on in relationships, either familial, romantic or platonic. i.e. are they a defender, protector, nurturer, etc. Nurturer, i think. C'vimi encourages others to find and be their best self, and will be there to assist in whatever way she can.
23.) What sort of routines, rituals or rules do they have or set for themselves? A personal rule she has is that she will heal and otherwise provide aid to anyone who needs it, no matter who they are. It can be hard to remember, sometimes.
#the sylph speaks#C'vimi#tyyyyy for asking <3 <3 <3#i miiiiight go back and add more later but. gestures here u go asdfghkj#her self reflection was Real after stormblood bc like. up thru ARR and HW she was a Healer. thats what she Did and was a driving force into#coming to gridania and learning conjury. she only wanted to help but after learning dnc and sam C'fille realized that oh#this might actually be fun? and im enjoying myself? and hearing zenos talk at the ala mhigan palace she was like damn alright cant deny it#bc til then if asked she'd be like 'ahaha no no ofc not i'd never take pleasure in fighting that'd be so base of me pls dont ask again tho'#tldr ARR -> SRB is the pharmacy to harmacy slowburn#this made more sense in my head lmao
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Ok this one of my ideas not sure if I have actually read it before or if it was a fever dream. Az has a girlfriend/ mate that the inner circle hasn’t met before.she works with marja as a high and has maybe other powers I don’t know. I have 2x options in which to take this idea. 1. Azzy gets very hurt on a mission and his brought to you to fix him. Very emotional IC and reader. They save him blah blah. 2. Some of the healers are working on so far out town. Az was cutie and like don’t go. She was like boo you go all the time I going to help people. Love you be back soon. But while they are there they are kidnapped by someone ( you pick). Word gets back to Marja who tells Rhys and Az happens to be there. Az freaks out when he hears our name on the list of miss. Blah blah.
totally cool if you don’t wanna use. It is just an idea.
azriel being worried about you going on a mission
azriel x reader
fulff
a/n: i ain't really not for angst these days, so i only took the beginning of your second idea, hope u dont mind :)
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“You will not go,” Azriel sates, and his voice is so commanding and serious you stop in your tracks.
“Azriel, we’ve been through this. I’m a healer. This is my job.”
“No, your job is to heal people being safe,” he explains as if you were stupid. You know he means well, but you are growing more irritated by the moment. “Your job is not putting your life in danger.”
“Well, saving lives in the middle of a war comes obviously with my life being in danger.”
Giving him your back, you continue packing all you need for the journey. You hear his footsteps getting closer, then his hand is on your back, gently stroking. “Y/N. Please,” and it sounds enough of a plea for you to turn and face him.
“Azriel, you constantly put yourself in danger. Almost everyday I have to see you leave to work, with no assurance you will come back.”
His eyes drop to his feet in defeat. “I know, and I know it’s not fair for me to ask you this. But - I simply don’t care.” He watches you again, a spark of confidence and hope settles in his eyes. “I cannot risk loosing you, and the risk of loosing you is higher than yours is to lose me on a mission.” When he catches your frown, he adds, “You must give me this; I know how to defend myself better than you in the battlefield.”
You let out a soft chuckle, the seriousness of before fading a bit as a timid smile blooms on his face.
But your mind is made up. “Azriel,” you sigh. “I must go still.”
His lips close to a thin line, worry back in his face. He takes your hands in his scarred ones. You are to hear his angry pleads again, but to your surprise, he simple answers, “Alright.”
You open your eyes wide in astonishment. “Alright?”
Your mate grins before adding, “Alright.” And that grin means two things. Trouble, or planed trouble.
“What is your mind up to, Az?” you ask accusingly, as if he was no more than a kid planing mischief.
His grin grows more teasing. “Nothing, nothing,” he says as he turns to your travel trunk, putting things. His things. “It’s just that I'm going with you.”
“What?”
“What?” he says, totally unfazed by the situation. “You need protection. I want to know you are safe. You are no good with a sword, yet excellent healing people. I’m quite good with a sword. I think it’s a perfect plan.”
“You miss that Rhys has assigned you a mission in the Spring Court. Tomorrow.”
He looks at you, looking at you as if what you’ve said it’s dumb. “I don’t remember that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Love,” he says, and his voice is serious again. “Please. I beg you, don’t make me suffer like this. Let me accompany you. I will talk to Rhys and he will understand. He knows how terrible it is to know your mate is in danger, no mater how strong or brave she is. And you are, but I am not strong enough to spend every second of the following days not knowing if you are safe.”
You sigh, now you are defeated. “Alright.” He smiles triumphantly, so you are quickly to add sternly, “But no scaring anyone that comes near me, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” and he has that teasing smirk on his face again.
-Characters by Sarah J Maas
HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3
and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters
#azriel x reader#azriel angst#azriel#azriel x female!reader#azriel x you#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x y/n#acotar fic#azriel fanfic#azriel fic#az imagine#azriel imagine#azriel fluff#azriel spymaster
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Four Square
Starring Yandere Hisoka,Chrollo,and Illumi aka the adult trio x healer chubby reader
Warnings-manipulation,lying,coercion,hinted stalking,breaking and entering, Hisoka being Hisoka,ass slapping,foursome,dirty talking,breeding kink(no creampies tho), dry humping,pussyjob, thigh riding,fingering,praise, a dash of degradation, unhealthy behavior,obsession,possessive behavior,YANDERE,hairy pussy,hairy legs(Body hair is normal and I’m totally pushing the agenda with my fics),spitting,odd scent kink?,blow jobs,hand jobs,pussy eating,omg finally protected sex in one of my fics. Honestly not so many tbh(compared to my other fics)not really proofread! Sorry!
Wc-13.6k(ya’ll I got rid of 7k more words)
Taglist- @shaisuki @lilyalone @999-ang3l @queenmimis @agnl2000 @thewickedofrizz @kelly-fushiguro345
"Illumi,you will not wed to a woman that does not carry the same blood as us. She's nothing but a mere commoner." A high posh voice protests.
Black,empty eyes star deadly daggers at the person who spoke those words with such confidence. "I will not hesitate to cut off your tongue if you speak one more ill word about my soon to be wife,mother." The woman gasps,"Illumi! You don't speak to me in such a way!" A monotone voice counters,"I can and will. You mean nothing to me compared to her."
Just the mentioning of his sweet savior in the third person arouses cherished memories,memories that he's saved and replayed ever since he's left your care. He remembers your gentle caresses,the calm tone you spoke to him as you nursed his intense wounds. How you uttered his name with such affection the longer you took care of him.
He longs to see you again,longs to feel your touch,longs to hear your honeyed voice rant and ramble about your day to him. He misses oh so very much,his bride who's so far away from him now. He wonders what you're doing—he should call.
A ghost of a smile draws onto his face at the thought. Should he video call you or no? He wants to see your bright smile as you say his name so happily. He's pulled away from his thoughts by his father's deep voice. "If you really feel this way for such a low woman why didn't you just take her away?"
This question peaks Illumi's interest—why didn't he take you back home with him? His family would've grown to love and be fond of you quite easily. Was is because he thinks you'd be angered with him? He couldn't bare to feel you being cross with him—resenting him for stealing away your free will. No,he just needs you to treat him as you do,with such care and love that he'll never get enough of. But apart of him wishes he took you with him,wishes you were here now—lounging with him and touching him in the he way he's grown to love. And this causes Illumi confused,an emotion he often feels when it comes to you,not used to the foreign feelings you give him.
The confusion leaves Illumi without a answer to his fathers question. But that doesn't stop Illumi from replying,"That is besides the point,mother is fighting me on claiming what surely belongs to me. I deserve my (Reader),I deserve to have her as my wife and as the mother of the future Zoldyck bloodline." His parents are baffled by their quiet and normally unfeeling son who seems to be throwing a tantrum at the ripe age of 26. Silva's cool yet bright blue eyes stare into his son's black ones,thoughtfully thinking about a way to go about this.
Finally he sighs,"Take her then. Wed her and bed her. But know they're are others who want her just as badly as you do." Illumi squints his eyes at that—what others would possibly have the guts to take you from him,one of the most deadly assassins there is. "And those others will be killed by my hand mercilessly."He coldly states. Silva huffs with humor,"Not when you find out who those others are."
Illumi hands clench into fists,"How do you know such information and I don't?" It angered Illumi that his father dare know more about you than he does. Especially because Illumi keeps a watchful eye on you through others,hiring many spies to report to him about you whereabouts. So how does his father know this?
"You think my son being interested in a woman for the first time in his life isn't business to me? Me and your mother know much more than we lead on about your little healer woman." Illumi speaks with tight lips,"Who.is.it." Silva smiles,"She's your woman,find out yourself."
Illumi manifests a needle out of thin air,"You will tell me exactly what I want to know." Silva chuckles heartily,"Threatening me? Wow you must really love this common woman,huh? Tell me Illumi when was the last time we fought?" Illumi frowns deeply at his father's amusement—irked with his enjoyment of playing with his newfound emotions.
"Don't toy with me father. I'm no longer a little boy." He spits with venom. "That you are not,my son. I suppose I will give you a small hint since you are a smart man. Two men you've allied yourself with in the past want are the ones who wish to have her. "
Illumi looks as shocked as his face will allow him to be. It couldn't be who he thought it was....right?
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"Oh Hisoka,don't buy me that!" You demand. "Nonsense,my dove. You'll look so pretty for me in this little dress." You shiver due to the proximity of his plush lips to your skin. "So,you only want to buy me something cause you'll like it? And here I thought you were being nice to me 'Soka."
The male wraps his lanky arms around your wide waist,not forgetting to grip the pudge of your stomach through the material of your wool turtle neck. He bends down to your ear,whispering lowly—the tone so seductive you get chills going down your spine. "You know I'll always be nice to you...unless you don't want to me which I can gladly do as well."
You clear your throat, flustered by his actions,"I'll keep that in mind 'Soka." He hums,his sharp nails digging into the pliable flesh of your plentiful stomach. "So,my dove will you allow me to get you this dress or will you be stubborn with me?"
"You already know the answer." You say teasingly. "Your stubbornness is so cute—but you must know either way I always get what I want." Your brow raises,"And what do you want this time?" Hisoka leers at you with his cat like eyes,licking his lips before his answer,"I want you to stop denying me when I wish to spoil you. I owe you after all."
You laugh sarcastically,"You owe me? Last time I checked you saved me even if you didn't mean to." You recall the night so vividly as you mentioned. You were calmly walking in the night,just getting home from a long day and your tired body became slowly unaware to the world around you. You became so numb,so unaware in fact you didn't hear the running steps of someone behind you. Before you knew it a man covered in bruises and wounds head to toe had grabbed you,pushing you to shield him in some way.
Then you felt a cool blade pressed against the plushness of your neck. You remember fighting and struggling against the male's overpowering strength. He shouted across your shoulder,muttering about something along the lines of "I'll kill her if you take one step closer." In the midst of that though you finally meet the eyes of the bloodied clown.
Hisoka had easily disposed of the man,shaming him for putting someone as weak as you are in a fight you're useless in. After that you chased him down,begging him for a chance to thank him properly. He was disinterested in you from the start and it wasn't until you offered to heal his wounds that he even entertained you.
From then on Hisoka would pop up when he got injured and you'd loyally heal him as thanks for saving your life. Eventually the two of became actual friends? You don't know what you're relationship is with him due to how he does things such as this.
"Oh noooo my dove,I only killed that man because he was hurting your pretty little neck." You roll your eyes,"Okay then,what about after,huh? You said people like me were pathetic and wastes of space." Hisoka leans his head on your shoulder,his tall body looking deformed from how far he's bending,"Hush,I was only being so mean to you cause I didn't realize how useful these hands of yours are."
At his words you're reminded what type of man Hisoka really is. A man who sees only the strong and never the weak,a man who's full of intense bloodlust that simply gets turned on in promise of a good fight. So it makes you ponder why he hasn't gotten rid of you yet? Sure,you're a healer but there's many others who better at it. You're not even a healer who uses nen,only herbs and traditional medicine being practiced by you. And still you remain alive,untouched and unharmed by a killers hand.
It seems Hisoka has made you feel too important,too valuable to him,that you've grown to feel comfortable—safe from his bloodlust. "So I'm only alive because of my healing ability?" You try to conceal the hurt in your voice but Hisoka still picks up on it. Immediately he turns to comfort you,"Oh my dove—no,no, you mean so much more to me than that. I just worded it wrongly."
"Yeah,right. So how long do I have until my hands have no use for you Hisoka?? I can't believe for a second I thought—" Your rant is cut off when a pale hand loosely wraps around your throat. The grip is painless,barely noticeable honestly but it's the fact you know that Hisoka could easily kill you with just a tightening of his grip. "Hush,do you think so low of me as to murder you? How dare you. Honestly,you need to give me some credit." He practically purrs out.
"I care for you my dear (Reader), a concerning amount might I add. So when I say something"—he leans down closer to your face,his lips gently kissing the chubby skin of your cheeks,"I mean it. Do not ever accuse me of just simply using you again,you understand,my dove?"
But Hisoka is using you in a sense,just not that one you were implying. He's not using you for the learned skill you possess—no no,it's much more. You've given something to Hisoka that rivals even his bloodlust,you've laid bare to him the feeling of obsession. A feeling that drives him deliriously mad in sick pleasure—like a drug he can never get enough of. He doesn't know what it is but only you can give him such a feeling. A feeling that leads to him feeling...in love with you.
"I understand Hisoka." You nervously say. He lets go of his grip on you,patting your cheek gently in approval as he does so. "Good,my smart girl knows just what to say. Anyways,shall we get this dress for you?" He phrases it like a question but you know Hisoka will buy it anyway. "Let's buy it." You mutter with an uneasy smile,still not recovered from feeling Hisoka's hand on your throat.
"Right answer again! You're on a roll aren't you,my dove?" Hisoka praises you excitedly. "Yeah—" you're once more interrupted by the crude ringing of a cell phone. You dig in your pocket and see just who's calling you. On the screen it reads no caller id and you know exactly who it is.
"Oops,sorry Soka I gotta answer this." You wiggle your way out of his hold. This leaves Hisoka pouty,"Can't it wait? I wanted to buy food for you after this too." You chuckle,"No it can't,it only take a few minutes. And I'll be right outside." Hisoka rolls his eyes,"Alright but stay right there."
You nod and rush out the doors of the store. As soon as you feel the cool winter air on your skin your thumb presses the accept button. "You took a little long,didn't you?" The smooth voice says. "Oh give me a break, I was doing something." You playfully bite back. "Yeah,like what little spider? Were you watching those silly movies again and almost missed my call?" His tone seems playful but what lies beneath it is an annoyed man. But no,he can show his spider how upset he gets when you don't answer right away—no no such a gentle thing like you doesn't deserve to see him like that.
"Noo,for your information Chrollo, I'm actually Christmas shopping right now. I even got you a little something but I'm not sure if I should give it to you if you're gonna tease me." Chrollo chuckles,"Mmm,well I guess I have to stop for a little then. Who are you with by the way?" Your brow raises at that,"Umm what makes you think I'm with someone?"
"Don't consider me a fool (Reader), I just have a hunch." You roll your eyes at Chrollo's need to always seem mysterious in front of you. "Alright, I am with someone." You admit. "Who?" He asks,more like demands. "A friend. And does it really matter anyways?" Chrollo wishes to tell you that yes,it does really matter. Because every waking second that you don't spend with him drives him crazy. Not a single person deserves to be close to you the way he is. He wants to say all that but he settles for,"Yes because I want to see you tonight. I don't another person to hinder our time together."
"Oh no are you hurt again?" Chrollo chuckles at how concerned you sound,finding it cute. "Must I be hurt to see you,little spider?" You hum,"Mmm,yes cause those are the only times you visit me. Ya know it's not nice to do that—coming to me when you're all battered and then leaving so soon,it's so mean Chrollo cause I'm left worrying and missing you for how long God knows." Chrollo's heart beats at that,you miss him just like he does you. But there's also ache at the fact his little spider is left worried about him,that you're hurting cause of him.
But you have to understand he can only speak to you sometimes—if he did it too much you'd be hunted. And until Chrollo has you his he can't allow that. But at his core Chrollo is a truly selfish being and his selfishness is starting to show more and more. He's been indulging more frequently in his needs to see you,to smell you,to touch your velvety skin—like now.
"I'm sorry (Reader),but I'm a dangerous man I can't show up whenever I want. It's so you don't get hurt." He says. "Yeah,yeah I get that. But it still leaves me worried ya know? Anywaysss can we meet up a different day?" Chrollo sighs,"It's too late. I'm already in your house."
You nearly drop your phone in shock,"YOURE WHAT? YOU CANT JUST BREAK IN MY HOUSE!!" Chrollo hushes you,"Sshhh my spider, I just wanted to see you so bad and I knew if I waited any longer I would go mad." His soft voice eases you from your anger a little,"I get that I guess,but it's so not okay to break in my house Chrollo!" Chrollo makes small comforting noises through the phone,"I know,I know but don't be mad at me,little spider. I only longed to see you and I will confess that has caused me to act...a bit rash."
This damn sweet talker. You had to admit you had a soft spot for him since the night you met him and that paired with his soothing words were a weapon against you. "Alright,I'll be there in a hour. Don't rush me either." You say,caving into him. "Mmm,you listen so well (Reader). Always so good to me. I'll see you,okay?"
"Okay. See ya,Chrollo." With that Chrollo hangs up and you sigh,the cool air making your breath look like fog. You turn back around and open the door only to feel the hard abdomen of someone. "So,Chrollo,huh?" The purring voice taunts.
"Hisoka! What're you doing out here?" He hums,"Well you were taking a little long for a quick phone call and wanted to make sure you weren't hurt." That was a lie Hisoka was listening from the very beginning you went outside and only now has he made himself known.
"Oh well it's not nice to easedrop,you silly clown!" You embarrassingly scold. "I wasn't easedropping,I just heard you say his name right before you hung up." He lies. His lengthy fingers reach down to grab your chin,"I was checking up on you,my dove. It's late and a cute thing like you shouldn't be outside at night for too long." His index finger and his thumb caress your chin gently,softening your suspicion of him.
Your left without a reply to that,simply settling to hum in acknowledgment. "I'm assuming you have business with him then,so that means we're not getting food?" Hisoka asks. You look at Hisoka and then remember how excited he was to take you out and for the most part you had a lot of fun minus the almost choking incident. You smile at him,"No,let's get some food 'Soka." You did say to Chrollo that you'd be an hour...so it's not a big deal,right?
Hisoka smiles brightly,"Good,I'm starving." The two of you venture off to a small burger place that you recommended to go to. Your orders come quickly and you scold Hisoka for simply getting a strawberry milkshake while you have a whole combo meal. "Hisoka you said were starving and you order a strawberry milkshake...."'
"I said I was hungry,not for what." With that his large hand makes a move to grip your plush thigh licking his full lips as he does so. "Don't make me regret sitting next to you 'Soka." You say warily. "I don't think you'd dislike what'd I'd do to you (Reader). " He purrs. "Oh yeah? What makes you think that?" You say challengingly. He leans close to your ear,preparing to whisper,"You know I could easily unbutton those little jeans you got on and put my hand on that pussy. You wouldn't fight me either,huh? You'd probably like being fingered in public,right? You dirty girl,of course you would. "
Hot heat rushes in your veins,shocked by the filthy words of your companion. " 'Soka!" You whisper shout in embarrassment. "Hmm?~" He replies,lips now trailing the shell of your ear. "S-Shut up and drink your shake." You command. Hisoka pulls away,chuckling,"You're such a innocent little thing,aren't you?"
"Hush and drink." You say. Hisoka surrenders and does as you say. It's silent and that allows you to think for a little bit. Your brain and body finally catch up to how Hisoka's words made you feel. As he uttered each filthy syllable you couldn't deny how your thighs slightly clenched close,how your breath hitched in hesitant arousal.. It made you feel perverted for feeling such a way because Hisoka didn't mean what he was saying,right? He's overtly sexual all the time so why'd it feel so...intimate? It's as if he really meant it.
"My dove,you're hardly touching your food. Here let me fix that." Hisoka brings a slight cold fry to your lips. "Say ahhh.." He says playfully. " 'Soka 'm not a baby..." You announce begrudgingly. You say that but your lips still part open for the fry and then you do the same for another and another and another. It goes on so long that Hisoka just starts causally hand feeding you in public. "Do you want a bite of your burger,my dove?" You nod and he easily complies,holding the burger to your mouth as you take a good size bite.
You chew and chew,missing the way Hisoka observes you. His yellows eyes light up in pure enjoyment as you let him do as he pleases to you. He revels in the way you barely even resisted him feeding you finding it so cute how you just gave into. He enjoys how much you've grown to trust him even from the beginning—following him around like a little kicked puppy,desperate to thank it's savior. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him—how he softens up around you,how he constantly spends money on you despite his motto of saving money,how he can't keep his hands off your supple body.
Not to mention how he feels when he imagines someone else treating you in such a way it makes him disgusted. How lowly of said imaginary person to believe they could actually make you happy? No,no, only Hisoka can. Only he can get you to smile that one specific way,to get you to laugh until you feel like you have to pee.
"Can I have another bite?" You ask expectantly at the man. "Yes buttt you have to say the magic word." Hisoka teases. "Please 'Soka." You plead. Hisoka gets chills running down his back,the kind he gets in a really good fight but instead of blood,he craves you. You asked so very sweet that he can't help but imagine if that's how'd you ask for his cock—soft and kind with a begging glare in your eyes.
"Of course my dove,anything you want." You smile at him as you take another bite. Hisoka continues to feed you bite of the burger or transitioning to the even cut fries. Occasionally his poised fingers stop feeding you to clean off crumbs or sauce that lands on your cheeks,always licking his fingers once he wipes it off.
Finally you take your last bite,eating in grateful content. "Was that good?" Hisoka asks pleasantly. "Mhm,it was." Despite how good you said it was you sound bothered...bothered by the fact that you let Hisoka feed you,without a fight. Was it a haze of blinded trust or perhaps something else? You try not to think of it too much,deciding to change the topic.
" 'Soka I just remembered about the shopping bags. What happened to them?" Hisoka waves you off good naturally,"I stuck them in my car,no need to worry your pretty little head about it." You smile happily,a wave of alleviation crashing against you. "Good,we should get going then!"
Hisoka obliges,his tall frame standing up right and a well toned arm slinks itself around the plushness of your middle. "Let's go." He walks you over to the door and you stop abruptly to bid a goodnight to the kind employees of the establishment.
The two of you saunter off into the night,the obnoxious neon lights of the restaurant being nothing but a mere trail. Hisoka's arm tightens around your waist,pulling you even closer toward him. You can feel the heat radiate off of him,easing the cold biting air just a bit. You lean into his touch,sighing contently. An action Hisoka notices with excitement—a fox grin curling at his lips.
"You know (Reader),how I've always said that you never owe me when I buy you something?" He says. "Yes...why are you bringing this up?" You attempt to keep your tone steady but all you can think is "Oh my god,he's finally done with me! I have no use to him anymore! He's going to kill me!" Hisoka stops walking therefore stopping you as well and at that moment you could feel yourself swallow rocks. He leans down,leering down at you menacingly—his playful grin gone and replaced with a straight expression.
"I'd like to kiss you. I promise it'll be worth your while." As soon as he mutters those words his mischievous mask paints back on. "Kiss me?" You say breathlessly,deeply confused as to why the killer clown would want to do that. "Yes,I don't usually like to repeat myself either,(Reader).You might push me too far.~" Your eyes look at his,searching for some playful game or plot in them. There's nothing but pure excitement though,the kind of excitement you've seen his eyes light up with when he's recalling a gruesome fight to you when you patch him up. He's sincere.
Without hesitation because you know anymore thought would muddle your confused brain even more—your lips open to form the first syllable of yes but are interrupted by Hisoka's mouth. He takes advantage of your already open mouth and sticks his large tongue in ,the pink muscle doing something oddly pleasurable inside. You can't help but whimper quietly as he uses your mouth so passionately. Your dull nails dig into Hisoka's forearms,causing a lewd moan to fall out of the man's mouth.
The clown takes advantage of his arm already wrapped around your waist—a skilled hand gripping the love handles with a teasing force that makes your knees weak. He pulls you closer to his own body—relishing in the fact that you're so close to him,loving the heat your soft body exudes. He finally pulls away staring down at you—lust glazing over his bright yellow eyes.
It's silent between the two of you and you expect Hisoka to say the first word but instead he pulls you into him,enveloping you into his hard chest. " 'S-Soka?" Your voice unintentionally shakes,the shock from the kiss still overriding your brain. "You taste so good,you little minx. I'd take you right here on this sidewalk if you weren't so pure. It's okay though,I'll wait and mold you into the perfect cocksleeve. My sweet good girl who'll take my cock so well...I just know you have the prettiest pussy. So so pretty,just like your face."
Hot red heat flushes throughout your blood system—the cold weather no longer being a bother. Was he ranting? Could he not control the filthy words flowing out of his mouth? This reminds who about how he rants and rambles when he's facing a strong opponent,yet all you've done to get him so riled up is kiss him. Your mind muddles itself to a all too thoughtful puddle—too shocked to even understand what's going on.
You thought you and Hisoka were friends,a friend to him that he'd flirt with and touch constantly—but that's just Hisoka,right? Hisoka who comes to your small home in the middle of the night,injured yet excited. Hisoka who's now patched up,that convinces you to let him stay in your bed with you. Hisoka that sometimes cuddles with you for a few hours before he disappears for another months time. Hisoka who'll call you or leave playing cards around for you to know he's still alive and well. You may not be the smartest cookie in the batch but you know Hisoka hasn't and probably never do that for anyone else. His selfish nature being a unforgettable attribute he possesses.
Hisoka who's pressed tautly against you—his hard bulge grazing against your squishy belly. You're breathless and left wordless—your body being the only thing left to communicate with. You feel hot,so hot that you can feel how burning your hands are against Hisoka's muscular forearms. He stares down at you,his predator like eyes practically eating up your reaction of his action. He could see your body turn rigid yet you're still frame is like puddy in his experienced hands. You liked it,he knows you did. Otherwise you'd be resisting him—telling him you don't want him to touch you in such a way—to not spew such dirty things at you.
This makes Hisoka wonder how far can he go? Can he go as far putting his hand down your pants? Would you allow him to curl his extremities up into your warm hole as the two of you stand onto the calm sidewalk? Would you let him kiss the nape of your neck while he's hushing you to be mindful of people as you moan crazily on his fingers? Would you let him hump your plump jean clad ass as he gets you off on his hand?
Hisoka doesn't get to find out anything though because you've seem to finally be able to speak a sentence. "I-I have to go home 'Soka." The killer clown knows why you're saying that,knows who's waiting patiently for your promised arrival. He feels a sense of jealousy, a feeling he's never really bothered to feel before and that irks him to his core. Why? Because you were leaving him for Chrollo. He wonders if he should go with you and already begin the fight he's long been craving with the leader of the troupe. He can just see the vision of him basking in the blood of his own body and his dead's opponent,he'd beckon you over and seduce you gently,coaxing you into letting him fuck you in the pool of blood. Chrollo's dead body ominously watching as he ruts and thrusts into your body.
The fantasy alone makes Hisoka's hardened dick throb in his loosely fitted pants. But he pushes away his own lusts,smiling as he pulls away from your body. "Okay then let's go." He says cooly. You look at him with puzzlement though you drop the expression—after all you're on a time limit. He uses his arm that's connected to your waist to start the monument he stopped only a few minutes ago.
The walk to the car is quiet and awkward mostly for you. You can't shake off how that kiss made you feel...it makes you want to ask what you truly are to Hisoka. You know he does not see you as an equal—a fair opponent he wishes to fight to the death with. So like your thoughts earlier you're lead to believe you give Hisoka something he cannot go without—at least for now,til one dreaded day he's tired of you. You like to think though that you mean more to him than you really know—a comforting thought to have instead of impending death.
You wonder if Hisoka just sees you as something he wants to fuck. No—if he did than from the beginning he wouldn't have been so aloof to you. Why'd he have to be so confusing? You curse the man you've grown to weirdly cherish.
Hisoka opens the car door for you and you settle in,buckling your seat belt and fixing your clothes slightly. Before you know it he smoothly starts driving ,taking you home—the home Chrollo is patiently(impatiently) waiting for you at.
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Charcoal black eyes peer from the window of a cozy home. They watch as a obnoxiously bright car pulls up into the little drive through. Two people get out of the car,a shorter one and a much taller figure. The eyes recognize the shorter one as you—looking soft and pliable as you usually do. A bright smile plastered on your face as you hug the taller figure.
But the soft gaze the eyes held when they were staring at you is gone once they figure out just who exactly you're hugging. Chrollo wonders how this damn clown knows you—is this a ploy to get him to fight him faster? To use something he holds so incredibly dear against him? He wouldn't put it beneath Hisoka to do,nor himself though. He knows he's not all that much better compared to him.
But this is simply impossible,no one knows about you. No one even knows a shred of Chrollo's feelings for you...so maybe,just maybe this clown knows you for different reasons. Chrollo tells himself Hisoka doesn't even know your connection with him.
The man becomes so lost in thought he doesn't notice you've already made your way inside,bags in hands. His head snaps as he takes you in up close—walking over to you and reaching for the bags. "Woah,now I know I said I had a gift for you but you can't just take my bags Chrollo." You joke. Chrollo scoffs,amused,"My apologies,I must've gotten too excited."
"I guess I can let it slide since your visits are always a special occasion." You say with a bright smile,similar to the one you showed Hisoka. This irks Chrollo slightly but he just smiles back,happy to be in your warm presence once more. Chrollo sets the bags onto the table in your kitchen,knowing exactly what you're about to do.
He predicts you correctly because he feels your pillow like arms wrap around his shirtless middle. He could feel the affection you radiate for him—feeling it soak and burn itself into his body. It's the feeling of authenticity—real,not fake like Chrollo's learned emotions. That's why he liked being with you so much,you invoke a mystery feeling for him—a feeling he must learn to keep and nurture.
Your chubby face leans against the furriness of his warm jacket—the burning feeling of your cheek resting on his back. "I missed you." You croak out weakly. Were you crying for his long awaited absence? Chrollo smiles,wiggling his fingers to intertwine with yours that are securely wrapped around his torso. "I know you have my needy little spider. Tell me what you've been up to during my absence?"
Chrollo knew what you have been up to,always. But he wanted to see if you'd divulge in instances like Hisoka,an instance he had no clue about til now. How'd that slip past him? Would his little spider lie to him? He can't wait to see. He turns to face you,finding that yes,you were crying. Your eyelashes are wet and slightly more clumped together and your expression is frumpy—a small frown gently tugging at your lips. Chrollo hates and loves you're crying over him. He hates that you're sad and not crying because he's fucked you to the deepest edge of pleasure,those being the only tears you should be shedding with him. And he loves it because you're feeding into him so well,you're so receptive and even more affectionate than Chrollo himself. Perfect.
This is all going in fruition,all according to Chrollo's well thought out scheme. From your first ever encounter Chrollo found you intriguing and by the second one he knew he wanted you as strictly his. So the leader knows how gentle he has to be with you,knows he needs to slowly lead you into his obsessive hold. But tonight changed everything,Hisoka was involved with you. And that meant one thing to Chrollo—competition.
Chrollo doesn't know why the clown is interested in you but he knows for a fact that he's hanging around you for a specific reason. He's obsessed with something about you or worse obsessed with you as a whole. With Hisoka in the way,Chrollo can't smoothly lead you into his web and trap you. No,instead he has to deal with another greedy predator before he can get you.
"I'm too tired to talk about all that 'Ollo." You mutter. He knows he can't push you too far so he drops it for now. "Mmm,I knew you looked a little tired. Do you want to rest on me?" He offers gently. He sees you nod so he elegantly grips your hand pulling you with him as he sits down on one of your dining chairs.
"Chrollo I didn't think you meant on your lap!" You spew in a flustered manner. You wiggle in his grasp only making him wrap two strong arms around your fleshy middle. "Don't fight me,you'll never win. Just sit here with me." He says soothingly. You peer back at him—your body getting hotter as you get to see his handsome face in person once more. You note his cross tattoo on his forehead that sits in harmony with the rest of his handsome face,the nice slicked back comb over that shows off his pale and clear features. But nothing compares to the few times you seen Chrollo with his hair in his face—the style framing his facial structure in such a flattering way.
"Chrollo can I....?" There's a pause,the rest of the vowels and syllables unsure if they should continue. "Hmm?" He asks. "Can I play with your hair?" It comes out shy,too shy and it causes the man you're sitting on to burst out in laughter. "Whattt?" You whine. "Nothing,it's just how hesitant you were. It's cute,don't worry about it. But to answer,yes,you may."
He likes how you grin up at him for the agreement of your affection. But he finds it silly that you don't know how much he craves your touch. It's gentle and kind,much like you. Do you not notice how he always slightly hums when you rub him or even fiddle with his fingers? Do you not notice how he shuts his eyes contentment? It's amazing that you don't know what effect you have on him.
Your chubby hand reaches up and starts playing with the strands,occasionally going up further to calmingly rub at his scalp. It's silent,like it often is when you have Chrollo as company. You guys do talk but most of the time that is spent with Chrollo is tranquil—void of anything but quietness.
"Chrollo?" You call out again. "Hmm?" His eyes are shut,enjoying the treatment of having his hair played with. You don't know what compels you to ask this but after the events with Hisoka touching you in such a intimate way...you really can't help it. "How do you feel about me?"
The air is thick,coated with tension that the sharpest knife couldn't even cut. It feels like hours before he answers and honestly you felt like crying just out of the pure embarrassment you felt. Chrollo's grip on your middle runs down to your abundant hips—gripping possessively at them. "I feel happy around you...genuinely happy, in a way I haven't felt since I was a little kid in Meteor City. I feel real around you, like I don't have to reel you in with any charm or tricks because you simply like me. I like that simplicity of that,how you actually like me and I can't help but keep coming back for more of you. The way I feel about you (Reader)..." he grips even tighter on your pliant hips,"is something I never felt before."
Chrollo barely scrapped the tip of the iceberg of how he feels about you. He wouldn't dare tell you that he's deeply obsessed with your existence. Wouldn't even dare speak of the grotesque acts he's ordered down on others for the sake of the relationship he wants to build with you. That would ruin his slow conditioning he's enforced since day one.
"C-Chrollo I don't know what to say..." you slump in his lap,staring back at him in uncertainty. His warm lips lean down to grace the little exposed skin of your neck,"Then don't think..just feel how I want to you to feel for the rest of your time with me." Your brows crinkle at that,what could that possibly mean? But then you feel it...the feeling of Chrollo's talented hands explore the expanse of your body.
It feels like whiplash having this happen twice,especially so close in time. It almost makes you feel dirty—ashamed for allowing not one but two men to touch you in such a way. The only thing stopping you from pulling you away from Chrollo is how good his hands felt on your clothed body.
They wander,touching your covered chest—squeezing the fatty flesh in a vice grip. "You're...so soft." Chrollo murmurs,almost in a trance. "Mmf t-thank you!" You hurriedly spit out. His hand goes to your tummy—his slippery fingers creep underneath your thick turtleneck,the cool contact of his skin making you gasp lewdly. "You sound so good too." He hums.
Underneath you,you couldn't ignore the hard bulge pressing against your ass. You could feel the imprint of it,even the bent shaft that's partly stuffed into the side of his pocket. It's big—really big,at least it feels like it. Hands that lay beneath your shirt—touching and caressing the rolls that adorn the sides of your torso—the fingertips touch you so gently causing the illusion of soft kisses riddling your tummy. "You're such a sweet thing, everything about you is malleable,so moldable. You're perfect,so perfect." Chrollo whispers in your ear,the tone full of affection and lust.
"Don't say that...'M not perfect." You deny. "No but you are to me. You're everything I could ever want." He kisses your ear,a loving action. Ironic for a thief to say—to admit he's fulfilled with you yet he and his troupe still take from the weak. "I want to do something,is that okay with you,my spider?" You look up at him,glazing trust in your eyes that makes Chrollo melt. "Okay." You say breathlessly.
"Turn to face me,I want you to sit on one of my thighs,okay?" You look at him curiously but you still find your legs straddling his thigh. "Good,good." He places his hands back on your hips,the warmth making you feel even hotter than you initially were. "I want you to move now. You can do that right,(Reader)?"
"M-Move?" You repeat. Chrollo could see the worry paint your pretty features—he wants to laugh but he holds it in. "Don't think,my darling. Just do as I say. You'll feel good,I promise." His honeyed voice oozes dominance despite the leveled tone he speaks with. "Move." He says.
It's like there's some type of drug in his voice—something that compels you to follow his orders. You start moving very slowly on his thigh,barely feeling any friction. But the small moments you do your posture shoots up straight like an arrow and small pleasures gasps tumble off your tongue.
Chrollo watches you as he normally does—drinking in your reaction. This was rash—Chrollo wasn't planning to introduce something so sexual to you yet,he was going to wait to establish his feelings for you and organically build what he wanted with you—slowly grooming you for his obsessive and possessive ways to the point you wouldn't question him. But something in him snapped,perhaps it was the questioning of how he felt or the realization of Hisoka's unexpected company.
Chrollo's possessive and he supposes he wants leave a mark on you. He figures you hadn't let Hisoka get away with something this far and he'd be the first and only. "Take off your pants for me." You look up at him,anxiety coating your glazed pupils,"C-Chrollo no one's ever seen me like that before ..." His expression softens,the lust in his eyes practically fading away.
Perfect! Perfect! No one has touched or seen you in such a way,this was amazing news for the man vexed with you. He could have you fully to himself if he played his cards right—he has the urge to be greedy right now and completely strip you away from your virginity. But he decides against it,his little spider would take baby steps to him just like he planned. Plus he's already pushing the limits by initiating something so sexual.
"Oh my love,no need to be shy with me. I love how you look regardless,just trying to make you feel good,that's all. But I can't do that if you keep your pants and panties on." His tone is babying,talking down to you like a learning a child. "Would you please take them off for me, hmm?" He makes it sound like a suggestion but you get the feeling it's not—just a gentler method of getting what he wants from you.
You slide off his thigh,standing upright and leisurely unbuttoning your pants. It's slow,shy and accidentally seductive to the man before you. You could feel his eyes burn into you,making you even more insecure than you'd like to be. Chrollo usually makes you feel safe despite his dangerous status,yet something's different within him now. This is the first time you've ever felt smaller to Chrollo—powerless and forced to a meek little thing that obeys him. Chrollo feels carnal—lacking his gentleness he usually exudes,reduced to nothing more than a predator succumbing to his hunger.
Your pants pool to your ankles and you're regretfully reminded of the poor choice of underwear for this moment. They're dingy and old,comfort panties—not a really hot guy wants me to get half naked for him panties. It embarrasses you to no end so you find yourself quickly pulling them down—a stark contrast to the pace of your pants. But once you pull them down you feel another embarrassment,a more permanent one.
Hair litters your mound,blocking any view of the inner beauty that's in between the fat lips. At this point you wouldn't even like to indulge in anything with the man you find so attractive. Your hands go to cover your private area,ashamed of the hair that basically hides your pussy. "Don't—Don't hide for me. I want to see everything." He says.
"But I haven't shaved or anything and it doesn't even look good and and—" You're cut off—two strong arms wrap around your wrist to pull you in and once your are you're met with a hot kiss that quickly gets broken. "Nonsense,it's just as pretty as it would be bare. Don't shame what I want to call mine—saying it doesn't look good is an insult to me. Especially cause I'm so hard for you—look," he pauses to pull your hand to his throbbing length,"you feel that,that's for you,my shy girl." Your finger's carefully trace the shape,causing the man to wince a little in unreleased pleasure.
"As much as I'd like to feel you touch me...this isn't about me. Get on the edge of the table and spread your legs for me." You obey,awaiting the man's actions with opened legs. He hums appreciatively,eyeing the wet slit he gets to see now—he eats up how the the moisture slightly sticks to the pubes,finding it incredibly erotic knowing he made you that wet. His hands slide you even more forward to the point you'll fall front ways if he wasn't nestled in between your thighs.
He places his thigh to the height of your cunt,pulling you closer by your ass cheeks. You gasp as his fingers dig into the self made holes of cellulite that riddle your ass. Another gasp falls from you as he now fully sits you on his thigh. You wonder if it'll give out soon due to your not so light weight but you don't voice this,knowing Chrollo would wave the notion away.
"Now you can move." Chrollo states. It's a few seconds before you think to move but Chrollo gives a warning slap on your ass to obey him. Your shaking hands grip onto his muscular shoulders—your pelvis making an effort to move back and forth onto the expanse of his thigh.
Small mewls and whimpers of pleasure tumble out your o shaped lips. But that's not good enough for Chrollo—no he needs to hear you moan for him. He abuses his grip on your ass by forcing you to move faster—harder onto his leg. "Just like that...just like that. You're doing so good...I could feel your slick go through my pants,so cute how wet you are for me."
He leans into you,kissing your face affectionately in a loving manner instead of a lustful one. His lips set sights on the little skin of your neck that's exposed from the turtle neck and they latch on—sucking and biting his claim onto you. He pulls away to look at his work,admiring how the mark is a slight darker complexion compared to your skin color. His eyes watch at your expression—engrossed in your ajar mouth that moans for him and your shut eyes that are closed so tight the skin around your eyes wrinkle.
He feels his cock throb at the sight—the sight of your hips stuttering occasionally against him,the sight of your hairy pussy spread apart by his thigh—it's not only the view that leaves him throbbing it's feeling of your oozing wetness seeping into his pants,coating his pale skin underneath.
"Chrollo!" You whine,the grip of his shoulders tightening immediately. "You're gonna cum soon,aren't you?" You furiously nod. His hands once again move you faster against him,his grip onto your ass being unbreakable. "That's right...cum for me,yes that's a good girl. So good,so good!"
He feels your hurried breaths against him,the desperate whines that flee your parted lips—dull fingers dig into the warmth of his usual coat. You begin to feel like a weak tree flailing in the wind,loosing control of your own stimulated body. Your ministrations come to an halt,leaving Chrollo confused,he hasn't felt you cum so why'd you stop? "Why'd you stop?" The way he says it is calm yet you could hear the annoyance slightly oozing out. "Just need a break,'m not used to feeling so much." You reason breathlessly.
"Did I tell you to stop?" He asks. "No but—" He silences you with a sentence,"No,that's right. I didn't so that means don't stop." He slaps your ass roughly—a consequence,no a reminder he's the one who's in control. "I'm sorry Chrollo, I didn't mean it like that!" The man hushes you,rubbing your head gently,"I know,I know,you're not used to something like this but you just need obedient which I know such a smart girl like you can be. But instead of one orgasm,you're gonna have to give me as many as I would like,okay?"
You nod warily,not wanting to disappoint Chrollo once more. "Good girl. Now,start again." The minute you pick up momentum it's a never ending attack of orgasms against your cunt. You begin to lose hold of your conscious,only becoming a slobbering mess on top of Chrollo.
Babbles upon babbles escape you to the point you don't care what you say. You have no room to think—no room to even breath,the sex filled air snuffing your senses. And throughout each earth shattering orgasm Chrollo's there to talk you through it. Soft hymns of praises direct your eardrums to keep moving,to keep grinding your cunt on his thigh.
But you can't take it anymore,your abdomen aches from thrusting so hard,your heart is beating so rapidly,and not to mention the dull feeling that throbs uncomfortably between your dripping thighs. You slump forward into the shirtless man, unable to even hold your body up anymore,your back is met with Chrollo rubbing soft circles on it,kissing the side of your temple as he does so.
"Good,that's enough now. Let's take you to bed." You huff against him tiredly,furthering your position to lean on him more. He easily lifts you up,grabbing the underside of your thighs with his hand to keep your body snug against him. He walks you over to your bedroom,gently setting you down onto the fluffy mattress once he arrives.
He walks around your room,somehow knowing just which drawer you keep your panties in and he grabs a comfortable pair that he cautiously slides up your meaty legs. "Don't leave mee 'Ollo. Please,won't get to see you again." You sleepily call out. Chrollo smiles amusedly,"I won't leave. Don't worry. I'll take care of your while you sleep." He reassures,although it's a lie.
He would be leaving as soon as you shut your eyes but not because he wants to. Because has to. He knows you'll be upset about it in the morning,hurt and conflicted by his disappearance. You wouldn't have to suffer that any longer though,soon you'd always be by his side. He 'd have you in his web,soon,maybe sooner considering the complication of Hisoka.
He watches you collapse into slumber,leering over you like a overbearing shadow. His apparent bulge standing even more upright,he now wishes he had let your warm supple hand wrap around his cock while you pleasured yourself. He sighs,annoyed with himself. He supposes he could use your still moist cum and slick as lube when he gets back to his "home." That would be fine,his imagination could the rest of work just alright.
He gives you one last loving look before bending down and placing a soft kiss to your lips. With that Chrollo leaves you in the night,resting,knowing you'd be searching for him in the morning.
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It's been two whole weeks since you've seen both Chrollo and Hisoka. You've called and texted Hisoka,only to be met with voicemails and unread texts. You would've done the same with Chrollo but it would've been futile because the man always has new numbers due to his chosen profession.
Your heart burns and your brain won't stop scolding yourself for being so easy. You've gone all your life being untouched in such a way yet these two man in the same night made it seem like easy work. Maybe you were too trusting...putting too much faith in evil men. You wonder what you've done wrong...were you feeding in too much? Or were you too shy?
Tears sting your vision,blinding you as you attempt to stay attentive to the cheesy romcom you've put on for some comfort. You want to slap yourself and get a grip but you can't. Your booming heart hurts,the feeling of being used aches so deeply it's unforgettable. You begin to tell yourself that's all they possibly wanted from you anyway,you were just something entertaining,not anything of value.
Your mind goes back to the moments you've shared with them both,happy and memorable times that help aid the heaviness you feel weigh at you. What if you fought back their advances? What if you said you wanted to keep things strictly platonic despite the strong attraction to them both? What if? What if? What if? What if? Dozens of scenarios flash through your mind of what could be now if you just said no...
Your wallowing session is cut short though due to a sharp knock on the front door. You arise from your couch for the first time in hours and waddle over to the door. And once you open it you wish you weren't dressed like a hobo right now. The saggy oversized shirt and underwear combo not being a good look in front of the handsome man on the doorstep.
"Illumi!" You shout embarrassingly. You try to seem put together but you know it's useless. Your eyes are dark and baggy,your usual warm looking face is cold and sad. And that's without including the tear stains on your pudgy cheeks. You want to run and hide from Illumi's watchful gaze but you wouldn't even be able to run from him.
You can't help the urge to scrunch into yourself,to disappear into a hole and be swallowed completely for the shame that runs hot in your system. "Who made you cry?" He asks darkly. "Oh n-no one Lumi. I'm just real emotional lately because of hormones.."
The lie doesn't seem to work because Illumi because he only asks again only more irritated. Normally you wouldn't dare to tell Illumi about someone that hurt,knowing the man would murder the person who upset you. But you're so vulnerable,so hurt,so sensitive and needy for any sense of comfort. That neediness leads you crashing into the leanly muscled chest of Illumi as you sob and tell him what transpired two weeks prior,regrettably leaving out no details.
Needless to say the man who came over here to ask(demand) for your hand in marriage is furious. Of course,they got to you first. Of course,they already exposed you to the carnal urges that Illumi's been barely able to hold back in your presence. The pale man attempts to not take his anger out on you but he can't help it. The loose grasp he held on you,now tightening uncomfortably so. You attempt to pull away from him but his strength keeps you towards his chest.
"Lumi,you're hurting me!!" You don't sound upset,only panicked. You know the man isn't used to his strength,similar to a baby who just learned to walk. That snaps him out of it and he loosens his hold,blinking coyly as does so. "Apologies." He says. "It's okay just be gentle with me,I'm not like you. I can't take such force casually."
He nods thoughtfully,staring down at you with his empty doll like eyes. "Umm would you like to come inside? I'll make us some tea and then I'll even play with your hair too if you'd likeee." You say singsong. You didn't have to bribe Illumi with playing with his hair he would've came inside regardless—finding you and your home comforting. That's not even putting in account how much Illumi missed you.
"Okay." He agrees plainly. "Good!" You say happily,pulling him in. The pair of you walk into your home,Illumi shutting and locking the door behind him. "Sorry for the mess...I've been a little sad since you know..." It angers Illumi that you missed them so much,that they made you hurt,that they had your attention. And what about him? Had you forgotten him since you weren't nursing him back to health anymore?
Illumi couldn't have you caring more about anyone besides him. Jealousy floods through his veins,that's he's far too angry to communicate. "You could sit down 'Lumi! I'll be in just a minute." You turn to walk to the kitchen only to be stopped by a strong grasp. You look down at Illumi's clasped hand around your wrist. "Lumi?" You voice,confused.
"Stay. I want you to sit with me." His request is void of emotion,sounding like a reading of a poor script but you know better than that. You know he's missed you but can't express it in the proper way. "Okay,whatever you want Illumi." You smile at him,kind and in the gummy way he often thinks about.
The stoic man ends up sitting in between your thighs,the position being decided on the offer of playing with his hair which you're happily doing. You hum as you do so,fingers running in the silky follicles. Your talk mostly about what you've been up to,deciding to leave Hisoka and Chrollo out of it after you dumped that information to the assassin earlier. Illumi only talks when you ask him a question about his life and it's always met with something vague that you don't mind at all.
Your meaty fingers start to work on a small braid in his hair but your fingers stutter when Illumi asks a odd question. "Did you enjoy it when Chrollo and Hisoka touched you like that?" The silence is deafening and you swear you could feel yourself swallow your lax tongue. " Lumi why would you want to know that?"
"Answer." He demands. You sigh,feeling ashamed of your answer,"Yes." At this point your hands have let go of the man's hair,finding refuge in your lap where they twiddle with other fingers. "Would you enjoy it if I touched you like that?" The question sounds innocent but the implication of what he's asking sinks into you.
"Illumi I don't think you know what you're saying..." You mutter shyly. "I do,I know of sexual intercourse and I know that's something I'd like to do with only you." Heat rushes up your body,his blunt words absorbing in your mind. "Illumi...I don't know what to say."
"Say you'd like to have sex with me too. I plan to make you my betrothed,to make you the mother of future heirs. I'd take care of you and bed you every night." One thing you missed about Illumi was his curt honesty but his multiple confessions were too much to handle right now. "Lumi are you okay? This is all so sud—"
Your breath catches in your throat when Illumi turns back out his dull eyes starring into yours and at this moment you realize how grave this situation is. Illumi's not one for sarcasm or for doing things without cause. You know he means every word he said.
"I am fine,I just want to make you mine and breed you already. Marry me (Reader)." Your eyes go wide and your mouth flacks open. This is just too much too process! Only thirty minutes ago you were wallowing in sadness and desperation and presently you just got offered a marriage proposal.
"Illumi I can't just give an answer right now...I do care for you a lot and—" Illumi asks a pointed question,"Do you love me?" Do you love Illumi? You think of him often,you call him all the time,you connect with him. He has a special place in your heart as the quiet man you saved so long ago..so yes,you do love Illumi.
"Yes I do but I can't just marry you so soon.You haven't even asked to be my boyfriend yet,let alone a husband." You say gently. Illumi looks confused,"Why not? Do you need convincing?" Your brows raise in curiosity,what type of convincing could change your mind about out of the blue engagement?
Illumi answer that question the moment he pounces on your dry lips,his desperate tongue moistening the skin as he begs for entrance inside. Due to shock you accidentally give him an opening and he takes it instantly. You feel bad for your stinky breath that most likely tastes like junk food but Illumi doesn't seem to care as he grips your chubby face in his hands.
He pulls away and searches your eyes for an answer, a clue on how you feel about his actions."I want to fuck you. I want to claim you so no other man like Chrollo and Hisoka can ever say they've been inside you. I want you now. Let me take you please."
Maybe the hungry kiss drove your brain to mush? Maybe the need for comfort kicked in at it's ultimate form? Or maybe it was the pool of slick that built up in your plain cotton panties—that convinced you to say yes. The second the man gets your agreement,you're forced to lay flat on your back,legs spread and your t-shirt raised to your braless chest.
Illumi slots himself in between your thighs,his cool and slender hands running up and your textured legs. Your brain scolds yourself for not shaving the limbs,you feel the need to apologize for being so hairy but you're stopped by Illumi's vague praise. "So soft. You feel good."
Illumi's hands travel higher to your inner thigh gripping the excess fat that adorns it. His grasp is bruising and stings in a way but it feels pleasant at the same time. Black eyes stare straight at your mound,locked in on the wet spot produced by slick. He moves with quickness to slide off his loosely fitting pants leaving him in his briefs that are fighting to constrain his hard length.
Pale hands pull your form closer to him—his bulge now flush with your cunt. Your legs rest on his shoulders while he experimentally thrusts his hips. He languidly moves back and forth against the warmth of your cunt. You begin to unsteadily breath as the tip of dick makes contact with your clit, a faint keen fleeing from your mouth. Squeaks here and there come from you,on the other hand your counterpart is being completely silent.
The only way you could tell Illumi is finding the friction pleasurable is his oozing tip dripping pre-cum. It feels slightly embarrassing to you that you're the only one crying out from stimulation especially because that's one of the few sounds you can hear besides the sounds of chaffing fabric. You want to hear Illumi feeling good too—the solo of your sexual noises not being good enough any longer.
Your hands gently reach for the roots of his hair and ever so slightly tug—the man groans quietly but you could still hear it. But similar to the silence of the room—rubbing crotches isn't enough anymore. "Closer 'Lumi,wanna feel you." The man wordlessly curves you body into a U shape,your hips being arched and your lower body resting on his muscular chest. He slides off your panties and places you down on your back.
"Spread." He directs. You obey and spread your legs hesitantly,still shy of being unshaven. Illumi seems irritated of the slow pace and just grabs your inners thighs flat onto the couch. You gasp,finally feeling the cool air on your spread slit. You could feel his hold on your thighs bring the beginning throbbing of bruises staring to form—the sharp pain making your brain dizzy.
"Not so rough 'Lumi..." you warn. He seems to pay you no mind and instead you could feel the grasp tighten. Something hazes his usual empty eyes—lust dominating him and distracting him. Illumi pulls out his bobbing cock—resting his pants underneath his full balls to keep them from interfering.
You're left scared for a few minutes...wondering if this is the very scary second you'll lose your virginity. But instead you're shocked when Illumi's smart fingers squish your fat lips together and slowly so very slowly place his cock in between the moist lips.
The man in between thrusts with a animalistic groan the comes from deep in his covered chest. His cock is warm and it gets even warmer the more frequent his thrusts rub against you cunt. The tip of his cock gently prods and pokes at your clit,making you arch up and whine airily.
" Lumi...!!" You moan. The man looks down at you as he pistons his hips between the fleshy folds—his doll like eyes staring straight into your soul. "You feel,"a low grunt cuts him off,"so good." His thin brows knit together as he admires the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your lips—he groans heartily,enjoying the sight.
There's a crude ring that loudly can be heard throughout the room. Illumi stops his sharp thrusting and glares down at the device interrupting the moment he's been longing for such a long time. He reaches for the phone in his back pocket,answering with a hint of anger in his voice.
However after only a few seconds that anger seemingly melts away. You watch curiously as he seems very interested in whatever the other person on the line has to say. After a few more moments he hangs up and looks at you,"I'll be back,I have something to take care of." He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead—sliding your panties back up onto your spread legs.
"Wait! You can't just leave Illumi! What's so important you have to leave me?" You sound desperate and pouty—unintentionally making you cringe. There's silence before Illumi calmly says,"I have a match to the death." You can practically feel any color of your skin flee your body,"What?! Illumi no! Stay with me please! You can't leave me." It's silly to stop someone who practices in death to not do such a thing—you know that but desperation claws at your heart.
"Please Illumi,stay with me! We can get married and do whatever you'd like but please don't...you might die." Illumi raises a thin brow,"I won't. I'm doing this so I can stay with you. So one else can take your attention away from me." You look at a Illumi with pleading eyes—fat tears threatening to spill,"What do you mean 'Lumi?"
"Chrollo and Hisoka,they're trying to take you away from me. I have to fight them to have you." If the news of him wasn't heart wrenching enough—the information of his opponents being two other men you also hold dear to felt organ failing. You're silent and empty of any feeling for a good minute,your brain and heart so confused on what to feel—to do.
"You can't! Illumi you can't! Please,I'll only belong to you! Just don't go!" You grab onto his lax hand,bringing it to your shaking chest. "I have to. They'll take you away from me if I don't."
You peer at him,glassy eyes staring determinedly to come up with a way for all of them to live.
There had to be something—a solution to ease the pain of losing two of the men who's charmed their way into your life. It finally hits you—they could all share you! They could compromise something,a deal that would leave them satisfied and alive.
"You don't have to that Illumi. You could all share me...I'd still belong to you, just differently." Illumi frees his hand from your touch,"No. I don't want to share you. You belong to me."
You look at him pleadingly gripping his hand,"Please,'Lumi,I'll never be the same if all of you can't be in my life..please." Illumi liked you as you are—kind,gentle,loving and affectionate,so the promise of you not being the same woman he met almost a year ago disheartens him.
He remembers how you welcomed him into your home,constantly being at his side and treating him with so much worry. He couldn't bare to imagine to only have you as a shell of a woman he used to know—the thought being unbearable.
His doll eyes stare into your teary ones deciding that's it better to have a part of you than to have just a shell of what you used to be. "Okay." He hesitantly agrees.
He doesn't miss how you immediately brighten up—smiling widely and tackling him to the floor in a rejoicing hug. He wraps his arms around your round middle, hoping he didn't make the wrong choice.
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"Look at how many marks they left on you...I thought we would take your first time together but they're just barbaric with you,my dove." The voice purrs out. Long nails trail up your neck that's littered with different and shapes of marks.
"Oh shut up Hisoka, don't act like you don't mark her up." Chrollo hisses. "I'm not saying that but I'm lot more efficient than you. Look—,"Pale hands make work to lift up your pant less leg,showcasing the heart like mark the clown has made,"Isn't it just so much prettier than what you two have left on her?"
"It doesn't matter the marks,she doesn't complain when my fingers are inside h—" You slap your hand over the assassins mouth," Illumi! You can't say things like that!" Thin brows furrow,"Why not?" You huff and sigh," Never mind 'Lumi."
"Illumi's right (Reader),you shouldn't be so shy about thing like that, at least with us. After all tonight's the night." Chrollo says.
That's right,this is the day that was agreed upon,the night the all fuck you,the night they strip you away of your virginity. A few months ago before this night happened it was equally agreed upon they'd all be present during first time and from then on they could fuck all they want when they have their turn with you. This was the only thing the loose binding holding the arrangement of sharing you,the only thing keeping them from getting rid of one another. You'd been so lost with the constant courting from the three men and the jealousy that's constantly paired with obsession that this agreed date had completely slipped your mind. Suddenly you could feel all the anxiety hit you like a ton of bricks.
The most intuitive of the three men seems to notice you visibly stiffening up. "Oh my love,don't be so scared. You'll just have to worry about being on your cocks and that's all you'll have to worry about,okay?" Chrollo comforts. "See? I'm gonna get you all ready and nice and wet for me—I mean us and then you'll be feeling too good to even care." Almost to cement his words Chrollo begins to suckle at your already bruised neck,making other marks. You whine and grip at him,already whimpering pathetically at the simple touch.
"I can't let you just hog her." Hisoka makes a move to slither himself in between your legs,forcing your sitting position to become a laying one. He easily slides of your panties to which you notice he puts in the pocket of his pants. He pulls you away from the Chrollo by grounding your lower half closer to his face. He practically smooches his face and your pussy against each other. You could and hear how he inhales your scent,how his fingers part the fat hairy lips to get a better whiff. He inhales the musky scent—moaning loudly when he can catch the natural musk of the wet organ.
"You smell so good,my dove! But I bet you taste even better.." As soon as said those words his tongue dives into the tight canal—a keen of shocked pleasure coming from you. "Mmm,you feel good,spider?" You nod but that's not the answer the man on top of you wants. He taps the fat of your hips and gives a firm grasp,"Use your words. You have such a pretty voice to answer me with."
"I feel good!" You say—already breathless with the stimulation. "Yeah,who's making you feel good?" You grips his shoulders tighter,"You are!" A hard slap comes to your cellulite ridden thigh,a reminder of the man that's so faithfully fucking your hole with his tongue,"And S-Soka!" The man in between with your thighs rewards you for your answer by moving up to suck your clit,replacing his tongue for fingers instead now.
Chrollo would've preferred you stuck with him only but he doesn't voice that,too distracted by the pebbling nipples underneath the ragged shirt. His hand moves to lift up the shirt and once he does he can't help but eat up the beauty before him. There you are,breasts slightly drooping,the natural weight of them hanging them lower and your hard nipples that are begging to be sucked on. But he can't forget the most supple part of you—your tummy that's constantly moving up due to your heavy breathing,that looks so grippable and plump—and oh my god the soft rolls between the layers of skin makes him want to just sink his fingers into the flesh while he's carefully thrusting into you.
"You're so beautiful,so pretty..." He runs his fingers across your skin,igniting goosebumps to flare up. He bends down to suckle on your breast,you could feel the slight bites and pulls he does with his mouth which has you arching and begging for more. Suddenly another grip is felt and you turn to see an all too focused Illumi,massaging and groping the fat. You almost forgot about his presence due to his lack of talking and action.
He leans down to bring your lips into a feverish kiss. With each lick of Hisoka's tongue,with Chrollo's comforting sucking on breast and Illumi's hungry touch and kiss you find yourself jerking away from their touch. Jumping and flinching away from any affection,the feeling of an orgasm being too strong to handle. But three strong men hands stop you from moving away from the pleasure,forcing you to feel every wave and earthquake that comes crashing down onto your body.
You stay panting open mouthed into Illumi's, body shaking and trying to recover. Chrollo finally pops off your boob,a small smile painting his dark features. "You did so good. So,so,so good." Hisoka arises from your thighs,"Mmh and you tastes so good too." He rubs your unshaven legs,squeezing and gripping the flesh harshly as he does so. He licks the sheeny slick off your lips,making your turn away from the lewd sight.
"Do you think one orgasm has helped you eased up a little?" Chrollo asks. You're about to nod but you remember his words a few minutes and instead opt for verbally answering,"Yes,I can handle everything now."
Chrollo and Hisoka stare at Illumi,warningly. "We're letting you be in her first because you're a virgin too but if you can't control yourself we won't hesitate to hurt you." Chrollo spits out with venom. "And here," Hisoka tosses a colorful green condom his way,"put this on before you fuck her. You won't be breeding her anytime soon." Illumi catches the colorful item and looks at it in disdain,much preferring to fill you with his kids instead. He doesn't resist though and snuggly slides on the protection. You find it intimidating how you're the only one really showing the most skin,Illumi just having his cock out of his pants and Chrollo and Hisoka still relatively clothed as well.
The male walks to your spread legs,his cool hands making sure to spread them even farther for better access. He slots himself between them and places his upper half to partly lean against yours, chest flush with yours. He cradles your face in his single hand and very slowly begins to slide into you.
Your moans and his slight gasps pair together before he's fully in. You felt your self shape and stretch to accommodate the length inserted. "Oh...'Lumi." Your meaty hands reach for his back,slotting the fingers into the muscles on it. He begins an unsure thrust,still trying to get used to the warmth and wetness he could still feel even with the condom. But once he gets the momentum he's practically ramming into,forcing you to call and moan for him,the hands on his back scratching at it.
The motions of the hands stop though because Chrollo reaches for it,bringing it low to touch his now free and throbbing cock. He looks at you expectantly,hunger and desire eating up his charcoal eyes. You wrap an unsure hand around the length,going up and down at a even pace. "Fuck...just like that (Reader). Doing so good." He praises.
You're met with another hungry man,begging for much needed attention. Hisoka's hand turns your face towards your him, a throbbing pink tip being only near millimeters away from your lips. "Say ahh~" You expect him to place his cock in your mouth but instead a long line of saliva falls flat on your tongue. "Swallow it." You do and that's met with astounding praise,"Good girl! Now you deserve my dick." Hisoka slowly slides the the expanse of his dick inside your mouth.
You struggle to move your head but the man aids you by moving your head for you,a large hand bobbing your head up and down. “Mmf! You’re doing so good! Taking me so well!”
You feel yourself melting into the pleasure you’re receiving and giving. You feel comfortably void of any thought—the body taking over any type of consciousness. You don’t know how long you feel Illumi thrust into,making you see stars when he’s particularly rough—you know though that you cum with a muffled moan that vibrates against Hisoka’s cock.
It’s a domino effect it seems—Illumi cums soon after then Chrollo who spurts his cum on your hand and face,finally Hisoka cums in your throat—a slender hand rubbing against the pudge of your cheek,rewarding you for the hard work.
You slump against the bed,feeling like you can actually focus and breath again. “ ‘m tired.” You mumble against Hisoka’s smooth thigh. “No no,that just won’t do. You’re not done yet.” Hisoka purrs. You sit up,”What do you mean?” Chrollo wipes off his cum that’s partially splattered on your forehead and other cheek,bringing his hand to your lips to clean him up. You do while he says something that makes your tired body prepared again,”We want more. We want to feel you more.”
Illumi shows how serious those words are by his flaccid cock getting hard inside again. “It’s my turn to be in her Illumi,don’t be greedy.” Hisoka says. “I get to have her mouth.” Chrollo says happily,already caressing your puffy lips.
For the rest of the night they use you as a unit—abusing every hole they can get their greedy cock in. Working as a group for their own selfish reason—you.
REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED🫶🏽🫶🏽!! TYSM FOR READING!
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