#Imagine someone making your thoughts stop at the drop of a pin

[thefelinefox]

this is terrifying! (Shadows over loathing spoilers)

You are quite literally taking control of Bruise’s body, or forcing Terrence’s mind to go blank.

That is. Kind of disturbing actually! Cool as hell, but scary

[pucksandpower]

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.

[cz19y]

MERCHES !? [HCs]

Multiple × Bllk Player!GN!Reader

THEME: You start getting famous in the NEL. You have merches now! How'd they react? Would they buy a keychain? A plushy? Your jersey??

∆ Reader is part of Blue Lock, fluff, SFW, some of them will be extremely short, they have a crush on you, OOC[?], grammar & spelling errors.

[!] reference for plushie at the bottom.

NOTE: This has been sitting on my drafts for half a year now. Finally decided to finish.

∆ FT: Isagi Yoichi, Rin & Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness, Shidou Ryusei, Niko Ikki.

[ Starting … ]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ISAGI YOICHI

"Cool/Cute!" First thing he thought about when he saw the plushy.

Def buying the plushy. He also looked into the jersey but dropped the idea cuz he's just shy like that.

Silly keychain hanging from his wallet.

Gets all awkward when someone teases him(Reo + CHIGIRI).

“You got [L/n]’s merches? Can I tell them??!” Bachira was so excited to tell you.

“No.”

Anyways,

Gets all awkward next time talking to you but pretends it's ok. (It's not ok)

Loves the fact that you're having somewhat of the attention you deserve for being the great player you are.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ RIN ITOSHI

You really think he's buying it? What a joke.

He is.

Just because you annoyed him to do so, of course.

Just the keychain tho. The idea of a jersey would "decrease" his ego and he thinks that the plushie is a waste of space.

Jokes, he bought the plushie.

Almost died on spot when you mentioned that you saw the plushie on his bed.

BUT he’ll kill you if you mention it to others.

Has the keychain on his keys.

When waiting for a bus or something, he fidgets with it.

Likes to start a staring contest with the plushie.

AGHhH ok but he's so cute.

Since you're “important or whatever”(his words, not mine), I'm imagining him taking good care of the plushie.

Ok but he def drowled on that plushie.

Blushes if you ever buy his merches. Like in the Sae scene after the U20; eyes shining and all.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ SAE ITOSHI

Debated if it was worth it or not.

He means, how lukewarm..

But those keychains are adorable, no?

Yeah, why not.

Keychain hanging out from his phone.

Fidgets with it too.

Ignores his teammates if they ever mention it and glares at them if they push it.

Will not tolerate Shidou.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ MICHAEL KAISER

Bought the plushie to annoy you. That's one of the main reasons why he bought it.

The other reason is because he actually wanted one.

Has it sitting near the mirror.

Poses and talk to that thing like it's actually someone.

Unboxing time was def something. Smug smile with brows acherd, inspecting the mini version and humming in approval.

Ness doesn't know how to feel about this.

NOT buying the jersey. You're a good player too, his pride is gigantic and would NEVER betray himself.

He may be pinning on ya but that's different.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ALEXIS NESS

Bro's smile got even happier when he got the plushie[HE'S SUCH A CUTIE STOP].

Has a jersey somewhere in his closet.

Shy about it.

Keeps everything clean and neat.

Finds it so cute, he absolutely loves the plushie.

Keychain keychain keychain-

Inner child coming alive once more.

Unboxing with ultimate happiness.

Loves you and all but would prefer if you don't know about it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ SHIDOU RYUSEI

The moment he heard about it, you can bet he was already ordering it.

Keychain, plushy, or jersey?... huhh.. Nah, he's buying it all.

But his favorite is the jersey.

Would start wearing it as a joke, but then it becomes part of his weekly clothing.

Shidou ordered a GG size plushy and named it "[Lame Nickname]".

Ordered a small size plushy too, and named it "[Lame Nickname Jr. The II]".

Will talk to it like it's an actual conversation when bored or when he wants to get something out of his mind and there's no one around for him to pester.

Not shy about it.

Brags, even.

Makes your and his plushie kiss in front of the whole team hahaha-

Sometimes you're worried about the plushie’s safety.

Bros 100% pleading forcing you to buy his merches so you two can match.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ NIKO IKKI

Got too embarrassed when buying.

I can picture him with his neutral ass face unboxing the plushy but inside; he's jumping and giggling while he stares at the eyes of the small goofy mini version of you.

Gets quiet the next time he sees you.

Gets embarrassed when spots the plushie looking directly at him.

*Cutely goes and move its head to another direction* /j

He’s an anime fan; probably and will make a secret collection of those merches.

Plushie sitting at the top spot of his shelf among the mangas or anime merches he has.

Will delete himself if you ever mention it.

If ever hanging out at his place, expect having to wait for some minutes outside his room because he's trying to find a good spot to hide it.

Bro has pride to keep, give him some time.

Lmao. Feels bad whenever the plushie falls off his bed and pets it to make up for it(just like me fr).

[!] Plushie Ref

They're so cute.

[princessbrunette]

Sunshine!Reader just adores rafe. like i imagine she’s a friend of sarah who has always had a crush on her cool older brother, following him around and watching his every move cs she’s so obsessed with him x rafe who is nonchalant at his very core & basically just ignores her presence even when she’s practically hanging off his arm & living in his skin. “Why is it that everytime i turn around, you’re there?” he just raises his eyebrow at her. “i’m not your friend, kid.” - 🍄

no bc im salivating …….. hang on let me cook

₊˚🦢✩ 🎀⊹☁️♡

sunshine!reader who’s always at the cameron home because her home life is bad— more specifically, daddy issues !! it’s a wonder how you’re so sweet n happy toward the people around you when you’re being treated so poorly!

you follow rafe around like a lost puppy, because duh — his nonchalance hurts you in all the right ways that just makes you crave his attention more, a product of your bad relationship with your father. you’re over at tannyhill more and more, increasingly without sarah being there as she starts a life with the pogues— but you don’t mind, happy anywhere as long as you’re not at home.

“are you goin’ anywhere today rafe? can i come?” you seemingly pop out of nowhere in the kitchen, startling him as he closes the fridge— clutching his chest for effect.

“jesus, why is it everytime i turn around you’re there? ‘you ever go n’hang around at your own house or what?” he busies himself, carrying a carton of juice in one hand and moving you out the way with the other as he passes.

“i prefer to be here! hanging out with you!” you chirp and he stops in the doorway, turning to look at you.

“kid, i’m not your friend. a’ight?” he drawls before heading out, the same time his father is entering the room. ward sends you a sympathetic look before he’s trailing after rafe.

“son you gotta be nice to the girl. i didn’t raise you like that.” he nags, speeding up to walk in time with the younger man.

“why? she’s practically living rent free here, should be able to talk to her how i want.” rafe complains, uncapping the carton and taking a swig.

“her home life, it’s not great.” he lowers his voice, swivelling his head round to make sure you weren’t lurking. “she’s — she’s sarah’s friend. i’m taking pity on her, think her dad doesn’t treat her all too well.” he rambles and rafes movements slow to stop, eyes trailing up to meet his fathers, suddenly attentive.

“huh.” he speaks, sinister intrigue occupying his gaze which his father barely picked up on. he continued speaking but rafe had heard all he needed to hear, concocting ways to use this to his advantage.

the opportunity presented itself sooner than he was expecting once he’d got you backed up against the wall in the hallway a few days later, practically pinning you there.

“you— you know it’s time you start respecting me if you wanna be hangin’ out around here. especially now my dads on his trip. i’m older than you, the man of the house now and — and that means you answer to me.” he drawls, quiet and intimate— so close his breath warms your face as you blink up at him.

“i do listen to you rafe.” you chime, losing a little bit of pep in your step under his intimidating gaze. you knew something was up, but you couldn’t help but melt — finally feeling like rafe gave a shit about you. that he was going to save you.

“wanna see you actin’ like it from now on… you know i realised,” his finger comes to his temple, lightly tapping. “you’re missin’ something. someone to guide you. an authority figure… ‘nd it must be your lucky day ‘cus i can be just that. you’ll… be in good hands.” he now drags his finger lightly down the side of your face, scooping round to beneath your chin to lift it.

“i thought you said you didn’t wanna be my friend.” you whisper, eyes flickering between his mouth and his eyes, the proximity tempting.

“didn’t say we would be friends… i was thinking something a little more… hands on.” his drops his voice to a mere whisper, hovering his lips right over yours. you give in to the urge, craning up and pressing your lips against his, which he lets slide for maybe two seconds — before drawing back and slapping you, grabbing your jaw instantly to bring your gaze back.

you gasp, tears springing to your eyes, usual smile wiped from your expression even more so now. “you don’t… you don’t do that without my permission. alright? i said you answer to me now.” he grits his teeth, squeezing your jaw just a little harder making your brows furrow in fear.

he ends up not being too mean on you, especially when you’re later cumming around his cock, the oldest cameron forcing you to call him ‘dad’ whilst you do so.

₊˚🦢✩ 🎀⊹☁️♡

[zer0pm]

Imagine being the one chained to Luis Serra instead of Leon and he’s flirting with you the entire time.

“So, uh, you come here often?”

If your back wasn’t to him, he’d be on the receiving end of a pointed look asking him if he was being serious right now. Instead, you opted to get up from the ground where you sat and assess the current situation. The cuffs around your wrists are attached to a heavy chain that seems to hang overhead and you follow the length of it with your eyes until they stopped to another set of metal cuffs clamped around the man that was speaking to you. He was already standing by the time you take account of his attention on you, his grey eyes slowly taking you in before a playful, lascivious smile curves upon his chiseled face.

“Gracias a Dios. Glad they stuck me with someone so attractive,” he says before dropping to a low bow. The gesture seemed awkward due to his bound hands but it did little to dampen the dramatic flair he exuded. “Luis Serra. Encantado.”

You immediately recognized him as the man in the sack that you and Leon found in a basement before being knocked unconscious by some giant of a man. This Luis was a talker then too despite his apparently ever changing and unfortunate predicaments. He must have quite a story to tell and perhaps can be of use to your mission.

Pinning the thought to question him after you have freed both of you of your shackles, you look up at the mount that kept the chain suspended and give the metal a firm tug. The action catches the Spaniard off guard as he is dragged towards you.

“Easy, my friend. If you wanted me to come closer, all you had to do was ask.”

No amount of willpower could stop your eyes from rolling.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Your words set off a spark in his eyes and you realize your mistake too late.

Luis smiles, “Ah, so you finally speak! Any more of the silent treatment and I was about to start serenading you with sign language.”

Thankfully your focus on your mission outweighed your curiosity at imagining this man dexterously using his hands and fingers to communicate with you, feeling the support for the mount give slightly. Another tug and this time Luis seemed prepared for it as he braced himself in place, the sound of the mount straining against the chain finally catching his attention.

“Ah, I see your thinking. Muy bien.”

With him finally coming up to speed on your intentions, the man met your strength with each pull upon the chain, the support nails keeping the mount up gradually weakening. Sweat was beginning to pour down your brow. Just a few more…

“May I have your name?”

The question made you stop in your efforts.

“What?”

“Your name. I’d like to know what to call you.” The damn smile widened as he spoke, evidently amused at your responses to him.

“What does it matter?” You tried to hide your increasing excitement with indifference, he didn’t seem at all put off by this.

Luis shrugs, “Given that I introduced myself to you in such gentlemanly fashion, I’d expect the same courtesy in turn. It’s only fair, sí?”

He made a point, but of course rather than answer him, you gathered the chain in your hands for one final pull and was grateful he had the sense to pull back. The mount and chain fall to the floor with a loud clank and Luis was on his back once again from using too much force.

“¡Mierda!” He groans and you couldn’t help the smirk creeping on your cheeks. “You’re very good at playing hard to get.”

You were about to offer him a snide apology as he moved to stand up once more but saw an infected coming towards him with an axe swinging. Quick to react, you drag Luis towards you and the unsuspecting Spaniard collapses to his knees before you. He looks up at you and you would have thought he’d be annoyed if not for the playful grin he continued to wear.

“This isn’t exactly my ideal place to be tossed around. I’d prefer somewhere much softer, but if you insist-“

“Shut up and brace!”

Using the chain, you make fast work of wrapping it around the infected man attacking you two and effectively snap his neck. Luis swiftly rushes over to the body as soon as it collapsed and searched through their pockets. He finds the key and unlocks his cuffs. You were about to take it from him to remove yours but he steps back and uses his long arms to keep it out of your reach.

“Give it here, Luis Serra.” Despite the obvious mirth in your voice, the man appeared pleased at the sound of his name on your tongue.

“Of course, my friend, but first,” he started, playing with the key between his fingers for you to see, “I have a proposition.”

If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. “You being serious?”

“Mi luz, know that I’m always serious. Especially when it involves someone with a face like yours.”

You sincerely hoped that the heat burning on your cheeks was from the adrenaline of just killing an enemy and not at all from his charming words. Luis took your sigh of defeat as a sign to keep going.

“Obviously you’re not a local. But, lucky for you, I happen to know the area like the back of my hand.” He twists his hand, dangling the key into your view for emphasis. The scoff he earned from you made him laugh.

“We can help each other, keep each other safe. I watch your back,” his lecherous gaze makes a shameless journey over your form before stopping at your hips. You made a point not to turn or twist your body in any way. “You watch mine.”

Just as you were about to tell him off, he continued, “And who knows, perhaps we can reunite you with your agent friend and rescue a certain señorita?”

A thousand alarms went off in your head. Luis definitely knew more than he let on. It was always your intention to question him, but now you realize that you weren’t the one holding the cards between you two and the shit-eating grin he wore showed that he’s well aware of this fact. Countless curses flooded your mind at how ridiculous this situation is, but the rational part of you knew that this idea was the most logical course of action. You needed to find Leon (assuming he is still alive somewhere) and finish the mission. This is what you rationalized and not at all because Luis’ incessant attention was beginning to grow on you. After a long moment of contemplation, you sigh.

“Fine,” you acquiesced, making sure the displeasure in your tone was evident even though there was none in your heart. The smile he gave you radiated throughout his entire being and warmed you from the inside.

“¡Excelente! We are partners, then!”

Assuming that was the end of the exchange, you move over to grab the key from his hand. Once again, Luis pulls it out of your reach. This was getting frustrating.

“What now?”

The man deflects your sharp tone with a click of his tongue, a teasing glint in his grey eyes. You were about to start threatening him until you felt an unexpected tug around your wrists, your whole body tumbling forward until your hands forcefully made contact with his firm chest. The sight of his other hand gripping the middle of your cuff catches your attention.

When the hell did this man grab a hold of your shackles?

Instinct kicked in to hit him but before you could regain your composure to do so, you feel the warmth of long slender fingers against your skin. His thumb caressing gently against the exposed part of your arm below your wrist before wrapping around to keep you firmly in place. He finally brings the key down in the space between you two, inserting it in the lock but not twisting it.

You cast an impatient glare up at him and fell into the trap of his gaze. The way he looked at you suggested that he had been watching you the entire time he brought you to press against him and you noticed then that he no longer wore the chesire cat grin. His voice reaches your ears, low and husky.

“I still didn’t catch your name.”

.

.

.

A/N: hope you enjoyed that ;) spicy continuation can be found here.

[veltana]

Mutual Satisfaction - Avengers!Bucky x Avengers!Reader

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

✦ Word count: ~3k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings: One shot, pwp, A LOT of dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Bucky, sub!reader, manhandling, piv, slight dumbification, pet names (angel/master), safe sex, condoms, cum shot, aftercare, fluff (because I neeeeed it!)

✦ Summary: "Was it because of what I said," he leans forward to whisper into your ear. The warmth of his body pressing against yours even though he's not touching you. "Did your tiny little brain think of all the ways I could fuck you until you're a mess?"

✦ Note: This is nothing but pure self-indulgent smut, that's heavily dialogue-based. Let me know if you like it! (It's also posted on AO3)

Masterlist | AO3

The chime from your phone makes you look away from the TV screen.

"Sorry, one sec."

You find it buried under some pillows but the excitement you initially felt quickly turns sour when you see the response. With a sigh of disappointment, you drop it and return to choosing a movie together with Bucky.

"Bad news?" he asks as he flips through the list.

"Yup," you conclude.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"It's honestly nothing, just scheduling issues."

"With your boyfriend?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"He's not my boyfriend. We just sleep together," you point out.

"I'm sure you can find someone else, you're an avenger now. Bet they're lining up to get a chance with you," Bucky shrugs.

You scrunch your nose. "I'm tired of being disappointed. I'd rather wait and have my needs met, even if it's frustrating."

"That long huh?"

"Between all the missions and not being free at the same time, it's been months."

"Yeah, same." Bucky murmurs and stops on a movie. "What about this one?"

"Yeah, sure."

You settle down against the numerous pillows you have been bringing to Bucky's room since you started having these movie nights a couple of months ago. His TV is bigger and his couch is much softer than yours. Plus the two of you fit comfortably on this one, with enough room for both to stretch out.

"So why won't just a regular guy do it for you?" Bucky asks and takes a fist of popcorn, stuffing it in his mouth.

Shrugging you say "I need someone I can trust, with my body and my mind. Takes a lot of talking in the beginning, but now it's almost as good as therapy for getting out of my head."

"Don't like thinking?"

"Not during sex. I just need someone else to make decisions for me, use me however they like. Not ask me what I want, just flip me over, make me come until I can't see straight, and fuck me until they're satisfied. If I pick someone up at a bar, all they do is slap my ass and finish a minute later."

Both of you are silent and watch the movie before you ask.

"What about you?"

"Look at me," he chuckles. "The metal arm scares the majority and the ones that are left usually can't handle what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"Control, over something, someone. Watching as they go dumber and dumber the more orgasms I can force from them. Until they can't speak. Just owning their warm body for a moment, taking as long as I need because they don't want to be anywhere else than on my cock," Bucky laughs.

The laugh gets stuck in your throat because there is no denying Bucky's words have an impact on you. Hopefully, he doesn't notice and you refuse to move and rub your thighs together. Then you both continue to watch the movie, but it's hard to concentrate. All you imagine is Bucky using your body and finally getting the release that you've been longing for. How much would it fuck up the team dynamic if you started sleeping together? You force yourself to watch the movie and not entertain those thoughts anymore.

Two hours later, after the table has been cleaned off, you're heading for the door, mind already back in your own room and the toys you'll undoubtedly need to take care of yourself to be able to sleep. Then you feel a hand on your wrist, and in a flash, you’re pinned with your back against the door, Bucky's hand securely holding both your arms above your head. You're not sure if the breath that leaves your lungs is because the force pushes it out of you or because you're instantly so turned on. Either way, there is no denying the impact his closeness has.

"So, are you going to tell me what you've been thinking about the whole movie?" There is a knowing smirk on his lips.

"What? Nothing? I was watching it."

"Don't play dumb with me, you were far off somewhere else for most of the time."

You swallow hard, opening and closing your mouth a few times. It's embarrassing that you've been on his couch, thinking lewd thoughts about him when you're not even that close—something between coworkers and friends.

"Was it because of what I said," he leans forward to whisper into your ear. The warmth of his body pressing against yours even though he's not touching you. "Did your tiny little brain think of all the ways I could fuck you until you're a mess?"

A whine crawls up your throat unbidden and you turn your head to the side, shame making your ears warm.

"All you have to do is ask," he prompts. "Or tell me to let you go and we can pretend this never happened."

The last thing is out of the question. You just need to work up enough courage to tell him what you need. Everything about him pierces your senses, making you high of his smell, touch, and sound.

In the end, all you can come up with is, "Bucky please." And bucking your hips up in the hope of finding some friction for your throbbing core.

But he just makes an unimpressed sound.

"No, you have to do better than that." Then he pauses and uses his free hand to turn your head until you're looking into his blue eyes.

"We'll go over everything properly before next time," his voice is calm and to the point. Making it clear he expects you to listen. "But right now I think we need each other. We'll use traffic lights or you'll tell me if it's too rough or too much. Understand?"

"Yes Bucky," you answer.

He releases your face and your arms, placing his hands on either side of your head instead. With a smile that makes you wetter than you already are, he says, "Good girl. Now do a better job at begging."

He is effectively displaying his whole body for you and in seconds you have your palms on his chest, caressing carefully up and down, feeling his corded muscles beneath the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Bucky please," you beg in a delicate voice. "I need you to touch me. I want to feel you everywhere. Please help me come, it hurts so bad."

His pupils dilate, almost eclipsing the blue in his eyes. Then he presses his knee up between your legs, lifting you off the ground enough that only the tip of your toes reaches the floor.

"Here, use my leg and hump it. We'll see what you deserve after that."

Oh, he's got a mean streak, you realize, and you're all for it. Wiggling on his thigh to get a better position you grab a hold of his shoulders to steady yourself and try to move. It's difficult and not nearly enough to get you where you wish but you're absolutely enjoying the way he's playing with you and speaking to you.

"Look at the innocent little angel using my leg. What else can I make you do to get off huh?"

With a whine you work faster, chasing something barely there.

"Something you'll learn very quickly, little angel, is that I don't share, but I do like showing off my property. Let everyone see but not let anyone touch."

"Yes!" you moan. "I'll be anything you need, just help me, please Bucky!"

"I'll hold you to that," he promises. Suddenly his knee is gone but instead, his body is pressed hard against yours and his lips descend. The kiss is filthy and needy, your hands grab onto his head, trying to get more of him even though he's already as close as he can come. You suck on his tongue and lips and he does the same to you, before mouthing his way over your jaw and down your neck, nipping and sucking. His beard pricks you but it's a mild discomfort to the one between your legs.

A string of needy noises tumble out of your mouth and you're about to start begging again but right then he lifts you and turns around, heading over to his large bed. As your body touches the sheets his hands start pulling at your clothes and you do the same to him. Moments later both of your are naked on the bed, making out like horny teenagers, rutting mindlessly against each other. His fingers find your hard clit, gently circling it a few times before dipping into the wetness at your opening. You mewl into his mouth in delight, thinking he's going to start filling you with his fingers, but instead, he spreads the slick back up to your clit and starts flicking it slowly.

Throwing your head back you moan his name loudly, no thoughts if you can be heard through the walls, everything is focused on the way he's touching you. His mouth finds your nipple and you get impossibly hotter and wetter. The months-long dry spell quickly catches up to you. Bucky fingers are expertly playing with you, never too hard or too light, hurling you towards the climax.

"Can I cum Bucky? Please can I cum?!"

His laugh tickles your skin, his fingers slow and he looks up at you.

"Yes, you can this time, just because you asked so nicely."

His fingers gather more of your wetness before picking up speed again. The band in your stomach quickly snaps and you scream out your release, blabbering "Thank you-thank you-thank you!"

Without getting a second to breathe you're flipped onto your stomach, then his hands lift your hips and you fold your knees in under you.

"Grab me a condom in the drawer angel," he directs and with unsteady hands and a complaining whine you open the drawer and rummage around until you find a square package.

"Don't whine when I'm trying to do the right thing," he growls and smacks your ass. "I know a little slut like you wants to be pumped full of cum until you're dripping." He leans down over you until his mouth is next to your ear, his raw dick rubbing against your sensitive cunt. Plucking the condom from your fingers he whispers, "You'll have to earn my cum, angel."

A jolt of pleasure-filled electricity shoots through you, just imagining yourself on your knees in front of him, doing anything he asks.

"I'll do anything, master," the name slips out by pure habit. "I'll be good, let you use me in any way you like, any hole. Anything to earn your cum, please, master."

A groan can be heard from behind together with the sound of the foil being torn open. Impatiently you wiggle your ass, arching your back even more, presenting yourself. In reward you get several more slaps, making you cry out as the pain shoots straight to your cunt.

"Oh, angel, keep talking sweet like that and you'll earn yourself another orgasm."

His dick notches at your opening and you still obediently. Both of you moan in unison as he presses inside. He's clearly on the bigger side but there is hardly any resistance since you're dripping with slick. In moments you're fuller than you've been in months, clawing at the sheets in front of you.

"Good girl, taking me so fucking well," his hands spread your cheeks. "I wish you could see how your greedy little pussy is swallowing me."

"Wa-want it, master, want it so much, feels so good!"

A wail leaves you as he starts pistoning his hips into you. If it weren't for the fact that he also pulls your hips back towards him every time, you'd end up with your head in the wall.

"Give me your hands," he instructs and you put them behind your back quickly, folding them and gripping your underarms. His vibranium hand closes around both your wrists while the other grabs your hair, pulling your head back.

You love his harsh grip on you, how he does what he wants with your body while he fucks you. All you can do is moan and whine and cry as he thrusts without any sign of slowing down any time soon. Usually around this time your FWB is about to come, and even though you're always satisfied in the end, sometimes you wish for more. The serum in his veins must give him superhuman stamina when it comes to everything.

Without warning he releases your hair and pulls hard on your arms, raising your body from the bed, his free hand coming round to grab your neck.

"Color?" He grunts, never missing a beat with his hips.

"Green! Bucky it's fucking green. Please! More!"

"You dirty little slut! Can't get enough of my cock huh?"

"No, master, want it always!" You cry.

"That's fucking right, god you feel so good. Next time I'm going to fuck you raw and watch the cum pour out of your pussy. How about right before Tony's big party? Put you in a short little dress with no panties so everyone can see my cum running down your legs."

The image of yourself, flustered and embarrassed while Bucky parades you around makes you keen, pushing back against him. You are nothing but his toy, he can do whatever he wants and you would gladly say 'Yes, master.'

The incessant need to come makes your legs weak, trembling from being held up and fucked within an inch of your life.

"Master, can I come? Your dick feels so good, can I please come on it?"

Releasing your wrists, his vibranium arm comes around your waist, pulling you flush with his chest before traveling down to your aching clit.

"This what you need, angel?"

The unrelenting metal against the softest part of your flesh pulls more desperate sounds from you as you try to rock against it, the pleasure eating you up from the inside, erasing every trace of cognitive thought. When you don’t answer he chuckles next to your ear, "I think my cock has made you dumb, angel. No thoughts left in that tiny little head of yours."

Your hands land on his arm, needing something to hold onto. He hasn’t permitted you yet, the orgasm is shimmering right underneath your skin, threatening to break through any second. The only thing you know is that you don’t want to disappoint him.

"My angel is doing so good, go ahead and come for me, make sure you scream my name when you do. Let everyone hear that this cunt belongs to me."

Instead of continuing with his fingers, his whole palm lands on your clit, a few slaps that don’t hurt in the slightest, only enhancing your pleasure, before the heel of his hand presses against your clit.

"Come on, show me how you look when you let go. Be a good little angel for me, come on my cock."

In a blinding light of pleasure, you scream his name, just like he wants, bending your head until it rests against his shoulder, shuddering and shaking from the release.

"Looking beautiful my little angel, so fucking pretty, strangling my cock." He hugs you tightly towards him for a second before pushing you forward. Your arms only cushion the fall lightly, there is no strength left in your body. Looking over your shoulder you see his eyes, blazing with lust, his mouth slightly open. Then he pulls out and you watch him tear the condom off, jerking himself, and with a loud groan of your name he finishes on your ass and back. As the spurts of cum hit your skin you close your eyes and sigh in contentment. Owned. Used. Satisfied for the first time in months.

With a giggle you fall to the side, uncaring if you're messing up his sheets. He lands on his back in front of you a moment later, chest still heaving.

"That was…" he begins, turning his head towards you with a small smile. Before continuing he rolls over on his side, reaching and pulling you in towards his naked chest, tilting your head up, and placing a small chaste kiss on your lips.

"Amazing? Wonderful? Mind-blowing?" you suggest with a smile to finish his sentence.

"All of the above angel."

For a couple of minutes, you lie there, just content with what just happened, before Bucky says,

"Come on, we need to clean you up."

He stands from the bed and picks you up with no effort, carrying you to the small bathroom and turning on the shower. Carefully he places you down on the tile and the warm spray is a harsh contrast to the cold sweat that has dried on your skin.

"How do you feel?"

Your only response is a happy humming noise that makes him smile, before he reaches for a bottle of shower gel. He makes you turn around, leaning your arms against the wall as he begins to clean you. His touch is firm as he washes your back and ass, giving you a light massage before he moves on to the rest of your body. Then you help him, even if what you do is mostly smear suds over his pecs. When he's done the both of you stand under the warm spray.

"Any immediate soreness?" He asks.

"No," you sigh happily. "Might feel something tomorrow, but we'll see then."

He finds you a clean towel afterward and dries you off, before handing you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers. Without questioning you put them on.

Fortunately, the sheets have minimal staining and both of you are too exhausted to care about changing them. Suddenly you realize you've just fucked Bucky and now you're staying in his bed for the night, with your head resting on his chest.

"What is this Bucky?" you mumble, even as sleep is dragging you down.

"Whatever you want it to be, angel, we'll work out the details in the morning," he assures you.

And if the other people at the compound heard you the night before, or notice that you're wearing one of Bucky's t-shirts to breakfast the next day, nobody says a word.

[cyberkinks]

“Keep Quiet.” ︙𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇. (𝖬) (draft)

⤷︎︎ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬, boyfriend!Jaehyun, wom!reader.

⤷︎︎ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, use of foul language, use of pet names (maybe), misspellings (maybe).

⤷︎︎ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞, angst, smut, fluff, non-idol au.

⤷︎︎ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲, none.

⤷︎︎ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫!, this is for entertainment purposes only!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ❛ hello, hi. i know it’s been a minute since i’ve uploaded but here’s a small imagine for you all, hope you like :). ♡❜

⤷︎︎ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝?: no. unedited.

It was too much. the way his hips rolled upwards into yours, the way he sounded, the clapping noises, the lewd sounds, the way he felt…it was all too much and it grew worse when his unoccupied fingers were rubbing your swollen clit as you rode him.

Your eyes rolled into your skull and your grip on his shoulders tightened. you tried your hardest to keep quiet even though your neighbors probably knew what was going on since the headboard was thumping against the wall and the bed was squeaking.

“Jaehyun!” You whimpered quietly, trying to finally slow down your hips but he quickly grabbed your ass and started pounding into you harshly from underneath you. your mouth dropped open as your body shuddered.

The quickness of his hips almost made your moans louden but you quickly covered your mouth, trying your best to take him. you buried your face in the nape of his neck, panting heavily. “Ah, god!” He grunted at the way your tight folds felt around him.

He spanked you, making you yelp and you quickly covered your mouth again. he chuckled at your reaction before biting his lip. he watched as your ass recoiled with every thrust of his hips.

Your eyebrows pinned together in pleasure. you grabbed onto his biceps while pushing your hips down against his, making his head go back. “Y/n!” He groaned “S’Fucking good.” he panted, quickening his hips once more.

The pleasure was overwhelming and you swore you were close to your orgasm due to the knot in your stomach. you were almost there until you heard a knock at the door. you groaned and tried to stop but he wouldn’t let you. “Cmon, give me one more, i know you can.” He breathed out before spanking you once again.

“S-Someone’s knocking.” You panted. “let them knock.” His hips quickened. you nuzzled your face in his neck, moaning against it.

Your walls squeezed around him tightly, making him throw his head back. your muffled moans louden as you continued riding him, meeting his hips halfway. his hand spanked you again and again. “Mm, gonna cum!” you whimpered, gripping harder at his biceps.

The banging at your door continued and it slowly started to annoy you both. with a few more pumps into you, your second orgasm spilled from you and onto his cock making your body shake from the intensity.

He fucked you through your orgasm while listening to the sound of your heavy breathing.

You closed off your eyes, breathing heavy as you inhaled his scent. once you two were cleaned up and finished, you both finally answered the door seeing that it was your neighbor, Area. “Need something?” you asked and she nodded “Yes i do need something, i need you two to be quiet so i can sleep!” she exclaimed.

“Maybe you should move out.” you said in the most sweetest tone making Jaehyun chuckle. you closed the door in her face before locking it. “That was kinda rude, wasn’t it?” You asked him, feeling kinda guilty.

Jaehyun shook his head. “No, not at all.” you thought for a second. “I’ll just apologize tomorrow.” you said as he carried you towards the bedroom since your legs were unusable right now.

“You’re too sweet.” He mumbled. “No, i’m just not as rude as you are.” you said with a small grin.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He says as he carefully say laid you down on the bed.

“Of course you will.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐜𝐲𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: Peaches[*]

A/N: I have a request for some soft!dom Azriel in my inbox, so I’m kind of using this as a little bit of a practice run :)

Warnings: ass-eating and rimjob (m receiving), some light wing play, Az being a little mean in the beginning then softening out, slightly more sub!Az at the end

Word Count: 2,518

You can just imagine how good he would feel in your hands. And with the way he’s walking up the stairs, the plump and toned muscle of his ass wrapped up tight in leathers…

His wings twitch, shadows undulating and he stops at the top of the stairs, turning to look at you over his shoulder, two plates of food in his hands, leaving you to carry the drinks. “I can feel your eyes on me, you know,” he remarks with a raised brow. You flush, having been caught.

“Oops,” you say, grinning as you walk past him, “guess my gaze slipped.” He snorts, shadows pinching your ass as you strut by, making you yelp. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, wishing you had a free hand to rub the sore skin. He gives you a panty-dropping grin, pissing you off just enough to have you kicking the door shut on him once you get in your bedroom.

He chuckles from the other side, shadows reopening the door while you set the glasses down. “Someone in a poor mood because she got caught eyeing me up?” He drawls, the smirk clear in his voice.

“I was not eyeing you up!” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest in a way that plumps your tits. His attention drops appreciatively, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. When his eyes return to yours, they’re a little darker, and you know he marks the roll of your throat.

“Please,” he purrs, setting the plates down on the bedside table. “You were looking at me like how Cassian looks at beef jerky.” His grin turns a little feral, “like you wanted to sink your teeth into me.” Heat blossoms across your lower body as he pin points the exact intent with which you had been staring at him.

Still, you raise your chin, looking down your nose at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

————

You know you’ve been staring at his ass all day.

How could you not? It’s so plump, and—and round, and…you’re actually salivating.

He hasn’t been giving you a break, wearing those leathers first thing in the morning until the last thing at night. He has to know what it does to you. Which means, he’s teasing you. You grown inwardly, knowing how your mate can be when it comes to denying your wants for his own pleasure. He’s probably enjoying this opportunity to get back at you for that one time, and the objective side of your mind knows it’s well-deserved. Still.

“What’s going on in that dumb, little mind of yours, pet?”

Arousal slams into you, knees nearly buckling at the rough timbre of his voice. You manage to keep yourself strong, refusing to allow that whimper to slip from your lips. “Where did you sneak up from?” You ask, and even to your own ears, you sound a little hoarse. His lips twitch, pressing his front into your back as he tips your chin upward, so he can look down at you properly. His hand practically swallows your throat, just holding, lightly.

“I thought I’d check in on my wife,” he drawls, and you feel the male satisfaction as the title slips smoothly from his tongue. His wife. He’d been just as obnoxious when the two of you had accepted the mating bond, calling you nothing but his mate for months on end. “See how she’s faring with these miserable chores that her miserable husband is forcing her to do.” His eyes gleam as your spine arches almost imperceptibly, his hips pushing tighter into your rear.

“He is quite miserable, isn’t he?” You murmur back. “Always denying me my fun.”

Azriel’s hands settle at your waist, spinning you around so you’re attention is fully on him—not the cleaned laundry you were folding. “And what fun are you after, wife?” He asks, hands grazing up the sides of your body until he’s cupping your cheeks, squishing them ever so lightly.

Warmth flushes your skin, but you lean into him. Your eyes flutter shut, his heat seeping into you as you allow your fingers to brush his forearms, travelling to his biceps, settling on the muscled edge of his ribs before grazing down. Your hands move over his waist, snaking around his back, descending past his hips, and—

You yelp when shadows bat your hands away, so close to finally, finally feeling him. Your eyes fly open, immediately locking on his own heated gaze, colour dusting his cheeks, canines digging into his lower lip as he watches you with an intensity that makes your legs want to fall open.

“Has no one ever taught you manners, pet?” He asks, hand sliding down to your waist while the other tilts your jaw upwards. “Ask before you touch.”

“I need permission to touch what’s mine?” You retort quietly, hunger blazing in the pit of your belly. You can scent his own arousal grow in response, grip biting into your soft skin.

His grin turns feline as he drags you closer to him, mouth brushing over your own, forcing you up onto your tiptoes, “you want more than just to touch, though, don’t you?”

————

You’re so worn out. So tired, and so ready for bed.

Between Azriel’s teasing, your job, and your own damned mind, you think you might be going crazy. The few dreams you’ve managed to keep with waking from sleep have consisted mostly of fruits…phallic and…peachy. He would never let you live it down if he knew even your subconscious was goading you to him.

You think your knees might actually collapse when you make it to your shared bedroom.

He’s sprawled across the mattress, a thin sheet covering his lower half, wings splayed gorgeously over the bed. His hair’s slightly damp, curled at the ends from the shower, and his skin looks warm, and healthy, and delicious. Marvellously firm with muscle.

Azriel doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading as your bags drop to the floor and you make a soft sound of disbelief and hunger in the back of your throat. And then you’re clumsily stumbling forward, crawling onto the bed, easing yourself between his sheet-covered legs. Falling onto your front, pressing yourself onto his ass like it’s the comfiest pillow you’ve ever come across.

It’s only then he shifts, peering over his shoulder, and you can practically imagine the smug grin on his lovely mouth seeing you finally give in. You suppose it’s not like you made a secret of your desire, but still…

Arousal builds across your body, hunger finally breaking you as you lift, prowling up his figure. He looks like he’s about to get up, so you swing your legs over his hips, keeping him pinned to the mattress. You know he could easily lift you with him, but he settles back down, a sound like a purr rumbling from his chest.

“You’re being rather dominant, wife,” he drawls, shifting so he’s comfy. You snarl softly, fed up with his teasing, setting your hands between his shoulder blades, then running them lightly to the base of one of his wings. His muscles shift and contract beneath you, rippling as your fingers skate up lightly.

The tension seeps from him as you reach the dip beneath the first joint of the powerful limb. His skin heats and a quiet groan spills from his lips, needful and soft. It’s so rare something like this happens, but it seems he’s had a long day, too, and is ready to be taken care of. You couldn’t be more relieved. Dread to think how things would have gone if he’d had the energy or the will to deny you any longer. He seems to get off of refusing your pleasure, sometimes.

You shift closer, so you’re straddling his upper back, rolling your hips down languidly from time to time, basking in the slow build of warmth. Slow, because you both have the time to indulge. Slow, because you’re in no rush. Slow, because you have all the time in the world and right now, you want it with each other. To find pleasure in the other’s body.

Leaning forward, you attach your open mouth to the ridge of his wing and he shudders, a deep, drawn-out moan purring into the silence. The sound urges your hips to roll down a little harder, basking in the delicious and firm press of hot muscle beneath you. Teeth nip, and your fingers graze those spots you’ve had memorised since the first time he’d allowed you the pleasure of touching him like that. It’s rare enough he lets you look after him, rarer still he accepts direct comfort to his wings.

You’re not sure how comfortable he is with that vulnerability. You’re mated, married, and joined in every way that counts, but you’re not going to pretend that you share absolutely everything with one another. There are still times the two of you will just sit in silence, mentally recovering from whatever trials have gotten you down that day. Plenty of times where you’ll spend a few hours apart, just to get out of the house. And it’s wonderful that way. To be comfortable enough to trust and know someone will to come back to you even after you’ve put a line in the sand…

Your tongue flicks out, dragging up the dip of bone, grazing over the powerful muscle that flexes beneath your tongue. His breath catches softly, and you pull away. Groans roughly as he falls away from the edge, but doesn’t fight for it, content to enjoy the edge.

Pulling back, you brush your thumb once more over the sensitive skin of his wing, and a sharp breath exhales from his lips. You shuffle down his body, pushing away the sheets as you go, leaving him entirely bare for you. It takes every ounce of willpower he’s instilled in you over the years to keep from pushing his legs apart right then and there and moving your mouth to your pleasure—hopefully his, too.

Instead, you tap his hip twice, lightly, then grip his side, urging him to roll over. He sighs, but turns obediently, knowing it will benefit him in the long run, wings pulling in tight as he switches onto his back. Then your mouth is opening over him, tongue flicking over the bead of moisture nestled in the slit of his tip.

Azriel moans softly, back arching as colour dusts his cheeks, fingers gently threading through your hair, raising his hips. You press a kiss to his tip, licking up the underside of him, watching as his eyes flutter closed and those quiet sounds of pleasure start becoming more regular.

He tugs lightly on your hair, and you take him into your mouth, hand gripping his base as you pump what you can’t fit. He hisses with pleasure, brow furrowing then evening out as he rolls his hips upward, gasping softly when your throat contracts around him. Again, you pull up to his tip, hand stroking him firmly but not roughly—not this time. You flick your tongue once again over his slit, pressing another kiss down, before you’re urging his bent legs further apart.

A slightly startled moan slips from his lip as you press your mouth low on his inner thigh, working closer to where you want to please him from—giving him the chance to stop you if he doesn’t yet want to try it. But his skin is warm and clean, smelling distinctly of soap and himself, and your mouth is watering.

His spine arches as your tongue circles the tight ring of muscle, flicking over then pulling away to kiss the surrounding area. His hand has released your hair in favour of the bedsheets, fingers gripping hard as you continue pumping him. He twitches, and you pull up, giving more attention to his cock.

Azriel’s shadows have joined you, grazing over his inner wing with silky softness, helping you work him to the steadily budding orgasm that will leave him hot and trembling. The darkness flicks over his gleaming chest, swirling over his nipples, making him pant. His eyes are still closed, plush lower lip caught between his teeth and you again dip down, pleased with his reactions.

You circle the tight muscle again, pumping a little harder, moving in time with the gentle roll of his hips. Your tongue pushes inside, and you hear him inhale sharply, bucking into your hand. He’s close, and now that you’ve again gotten him to the edge, you can’t bring yourself to deny him.

How could you, knowing he’s receiving pleasure everywhere he can be? In all those intimate, sensitive areas?

Your tongue flicks over him again as you squeeze him deliciously, just the right side of painful. His shadows flick and swirl, and a deep, rich moan is pulled from between his lips, spine arching enough to tip his head back into the plush pillows. He twitches again before he releases, hips bucking in time with the waves of pleasure, hot cum spilling from his tip, spurting up onto the firm planes of his toned stomach. You keep pumping until his hips begin stuttering, and then you’re easing your pace, softening your grip as he becomes infinitely more sensitive.

When he’s done, thighs trembling, panting softly into the sex-tinted air, you raise from between his legs. Lick your lips when you see the mess he’s made of himself: hot, milky liquid gleaming on the sweat-slicked muscles of his stomach, shifting and glistening in the light with his breathing. The perfect dessert.

You crawl forward slowly, careful not to ruffle him too much, tongue lolling out as you begin lapping up the creamy liquid. His hand again finds your hair, stroking gently as you hum, drinking him up. It’s only when you’re certain you’ve licked up every drop of him that you prowl up his body, until you’re on top of him.

He’s still flushed, and offers you a lazy smile that sings songs of his satisfaction. “And here I had just gotten out of my shower,” he murmurs over your up-tilted lips. You smile gently, enjoying him being the one fully naked, for once, “I’ll change the covers tomorrow, husband.”

Azriel smiles up at you, lifting his head from the pillows as he brings your mouth down to his own, soft lips slanting over your own, tasting himself on you. He groans quietly, shadows and fingers already working deftly to remove your clothes. As soon as they’re gone, and you’re gloriously bare, he’s pulling you down on him, hot skin pressing flush together.

His shadows hook beneath the sheets, pulling them up and to cover once his wings have curled over you, keeping you tucked into his chest. The heat and warmth quickly lulls you to sleep, the two of you pulled under in a matter of minutes. Breathing deepening and evening out as you fall together, wrapped in each other’s scent and warmth.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming

[unsolved-duvall]

I know — I'm sure, it's fact, that Eddie would accept and listen to any kinky confession of hi SO without judgment, and he'd find it kinda hot. Like he would be so turned on only by you talking about what makes you all hot and bothered, he would encourage you so much you'd just keep talking and talking and talking and he'd be sooooo red, and soooo so hard-🙈 sorry, is it too much?

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 - 𝐞.𝐦. (𝟏𝟖+)

Nothing is ever too much on this blog, Eddie has a chokehold on all of us, it’s okay <3

Eddie would practically melt hearing you talk about your kinks. The man would almost stop breathing. He thinks it’s so fucking hot that you can be so open and honest with him about what you like, what you want him to do to you, or with you.

And imagine that you maybe aren’t the type to be so open about these things normally. Maybe you’ve been dating a while, the sex is good. Really good. Eddie is the only man you’ve been with who has actually made you cum. Maybe before him you even struggled to get yourself there. But Eddie will take as long as he needs to have you a moaning, whimpering mess underneath him. He refuses to stop until your legs are shaking and all you can say is his name, and he’s barley holding it together himself. “Yeah angel? Fuck you look so hot when you cum, Jesus”

And that’s good. You love having sex with Eddie, you’re practically horny teenagers. If you have any free time, you’re having sex. Whatever that may consist of changes depending on the mood you’re both in, but it always ends with you clinging to him whilst he tells you how good you were for him.

And Eddie loves that. He loves being in control. He’s so grateful for the amount of trust you put in him. He knows that letting someone else have so much control over your body is a scary thing, and he’s always checking in. If he thinks you’re too far gone, that you can’t properly consent anymore, he’s stopping. No questions asked. Even if you’re blabbering away, begging him to keep going. He won’t do it. “Nuh-uh baby, you can’t even remember your safe word. We’re done. You were so good for me baby, I promise” He needs you to be completely there and with it when he makes you fall apart underneath him.

And aftercare with Eddie? Fuck.

He will never skip aftercare. He knows how much you need it every time. But especially if you’ve been in sub space, he knows that drop is going to come. The rush of emotions, the vulnerability that comes after being in that headspace. And Eddie needs it to, needs you to know how much he loves you, he needs to know how much you love him. “I love you so much baby, thank you for trusting me.” “Love you too, Eds”

So sure, the sex is fucking hot. But what’s even hotter? When one day you start to tell Eddie about your kinks. He had noticed how slowly you had started opening up to him, telling him what you liked and wanted to try during sex. But one day it’s like the dam burst and you needed to tell him everything. Wanted to tell him everything. So you did.

And Eddie’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven but holy fuck hearing you talk like that has him gripping the arm of the couch to stop him from pinning you underneath him and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name.

But he won’t do that.

Because hearing you tell him your kinks, your turn ons, every dirty thought you’ve ever had? Fuck.

A couple of times he noticed you start to go red, your voice going quieter and your hands fiddling with each other. You were nervous. He knew all your tells, of course he did. But he needed you to keep talking. He needed to know how he could make you fall apart for him.

So he’d encourage you.

“Yeah? Keep going, angel.”

“Fuck baby why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You’re killing me here sweetheart.”

And you tell him everything. Everything. And Eddie’s making a mental list of everything you say. Because he will do every single thing you’ve told him about. He’s determined to try every kink, every turn on with you. Some of them he’s never even thought about himself, but with you sat in front of him he’s pretty sure he’d sell his soul to the devil if you told him that’s what you wanted.

By the time you’ve finished talking Eddie’s barely breathing anymore. He’s sure he’s never been this hard before. He’s also sure that he’s never loved someone more than he loves you. Not because of the sex, but because someone trusts him enough to be so vulnerable with him.

By the end of the night you’re pinned underneath him on his bed and he’s looking up at you from between your thighs. You don’t know how many times he’s fucked you already. How many sloppy make out sessions you’ve had between rounds, how many times he’s eaten you out. But there is one thing you know.

He’s going to be the death of you. You’re certain of that.

[year2000electronics]

I read that part on both finally being seen in willford and now I want to hear more of Stanford Gleeful's thoughts on his pathetic triangle demon bf throughout the years if that's alright

ALRIGHTY i can take a crack at it.

when they first meet, i imagine, is a lot similar to canon billford, with will primping and preening ford's ego like "of COURSE i chose you! youre special!" and ford eagerly accepts the praise, but the more time they spend together, the more ford gets a read on will, and the more ford realizes will is very purposely kinda showing "holes" in his plan because he's really falling for ford/using him as his Emotional Support Human. and that's fine by ford, he'll do whatever he needs to get the success he so richly deserves, but in my mind, he slowly starts getting less and less impressed by will. he still likes him, to be sure, but less like a muse and more like... i don't know, a pet. as a random, non-specific example. like a stray cat you found at the side of the road.

then, the "betrayal" happens, in which ford shackles will into his servitude because fiddleford left the portal project right before they were good to test it. ford knows will feels incredibly betrayed by this, but really, who will nurture will like he does? who's going to be a better subject for his muse? nobody. it's better this way for both of them. one day will's going to see that.

ford's return from the portal has him realizing that dipper and mabel have been "looking after" will for a couple years now, and although he's initially happy to share, he just would like everyone to know. thats HIS dream demon. not yours. so as the days go on in the gleeful manor, ford ends up spending a lot of time with will and just generally trying to re-bolster their connection, using everything from threats to charms- all that. and, of course, will does all his chores. he missed the simple luxury of having someone swoon over you all day

during weirdmageddon, he views will as a partner, because he's "willing" to give a 50/50 split to their power now that will's got a physical form, and perhaps he'll stop being quite so weepy. but there's a moment during all that, when will casually starts dropping a LOT more violent language, and doing his sad little laugh a lot more often, and ford realizes "oh. oh, i've been making a DEMON slowly lose his patience over the course of 30 years." and that yes, will IS still mad about their deal. and it all comes to a head when will lets slip that he is planning on killing the rest of the gleefuls.

as of the book of will/will getting locked in the theraprism, i feel like theyre still on each others' minds, but with ford gleeful it's like "maybe one day he'll come back and we can make a better life together and atone" and will is like "i am going to pin him to a wall like a butterfly and make him watch as i paint the entire room red from his family's blood" so. maybe some time apart for them is just fine!

overall i want them to kinda be a funhouse mirror reflection of bill and ford's canon dynamic, but since will still has the power and mentality of a demon in this dynamic, and since ford gleeful's still just a man, it's not 1-1 exactly

[bearw-me]

Good thing Lute and Carmilla are two of my favourite women from the show. There's lots of ideas I'd love with Carmilla but to start without jumping straight to nsfw (although that woman does things to me), what about her reaction when you ask her to help train you? Who wouldn't want to keep up with her, perhaps an icebreaker/joke on a first date or something you mention after a few dates.

amen anon, amen.

𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𐐒 includes : carmilla carmine x gender neutral! reader 𐐒 cw : first date mention, little angst, fluff 𐐒 summary : carmilla toys with the idea of training you (and maybe toys with you in general) 𐐒 note : anyone else obsessed with carmilla point blank?

she'd think its an absolutely gorgeous idea, sitting there swirling the wine in her glass. . .

she knew you'd be fun

it makes her laugh- both the fact that you asked and her thoughts.

first date: she'd adore the idea, in fact i'd like to imagine her smirking and leaning closer in order to hear what other crazy ideas you'd have on your mind. . .

at first she assumes its a joke and your just. . . charming

so if your serious you'll sort of have to prove it to her (and literally what a fun idea, if it were the first date it'd make her remember you for sure)

"Prove yourself, mi corazón, then we'll see what I can do."

she tells you to stand up and show her what you have to prove- if you know anything at all about fighting- and if it'd be worth her time teaching you

this could be literally anywhere. like if you had a date at her house or out in public at a restaurant (you'd better mean your words is what im saying bc SHE WILL make you do it)

Even then I'd think she'd have a lot of fun just watching you. leaning against the wall, trying to hide her fanged smirk

(and yes, Carmilla Carmine has no shame in making a public commotion, especially if she's had wine on a date. She's and overlord who's gonna tell her to stop?)

If you had absolutely no idea what to do (and she can tell btw) she'd ask to see your stance

"Say I wanted to kill you right now. . . how would you try defend yourself"

A little playful, but honestly, her smile drops for a moment when she sees something in you

ugh, all the things she could teach you!

literally, if you aren't as committed as she is then don't waste her time (would go for relationships too winkwink)

usually pins her hair up when she trains, when it falls down its a big problem (you've kept up with her too long, or you've either actually put up a fight)

i think it would truly endear her to know that someone genuinely wants her advice, kudos if you seem to adore it too

be careful. carmilla hardly has boundaries when you train. like if you aren't holding your arms up high enough she'll smack them to the right position.

(on your date w/ her) when she's satisfied or done with the topic the date will continue like normal- minus the fact that you've absolutely captured her attention

she definitely had fun anyway

[beenbaanbuun]

Not sure if this is a request or me just going insane after reading your dumbification yeo fic but oop-

Been thinking about jealous Yeosang nonstop since then because I always get a little disappointed when fics paint him as this super passive, open lover. I mean it's all well and good to be someone who's genuinely okay with their partner having multiple partners/being kinda flirty, but I honestly don't see him as the type to be that chill

I mean sure he wouldn't exactly be as loud or aggressive about it as sayyy.... Joong or Sannie, I am a switch!Yeosang enthusiast after all, but I still think he'd get upset if he saw you being too chummy with one of your guy friends or one of the other members.

Early on in the relationship it would probably be all cute, he gets pouty and quiet, maybe clingy after and he needs lots of affirmation and assurance before he feels secure again.

But once he's comfortable with you? C'mon, you CANNOT tell me he's not the type to pin you against the door as soon as you get home, hands and lips desperately latching on to you as you clutch at his hair, deep voice muffled by your skin as he seethes over That Guy who kept hitting on you or how Wooyoung was a little too touchy for his peace of mind (woo totally did it on purpose btw).

And oh my god if those angry growls turn desperate? If you're not responding verbally cuz you're just so overwhelmed by everything that's Yeo?? And he suddenly whines into your neck and nuzzles your pulse point seeking verbal affirmation??? And you grip his hair and he whimpers when you tug so he has to look you in the eye?????

I need to calm tf down before I drop a whole 1.5k word smut fic in your ask box but you get the idea XDD

Jealous yeo lives rent free in my brain and you're writing has him running LAPS TwT we as a fandom have failed to have enough yeosang smut on the market and it Saddens Me

~Lyra

i am CLINICALLY INSANE!!!!!!!! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME 😭😭😭

like i’m sorry but i can imagine him just pinning you to the door, fully clothed, and grinding up against you. his mouth is just on your neck, sucking, biting, kissing at your flesh until its mottled with purple bruises. like there’s literally no rhyme or reason, he’s just that desperate to his his mouth on you and mark you up that he barely gives you a minute to think straight.

like you’re still both fully dressed and your back is still presses uncomfortable against the door, but that doesn’t stop yeosang from bucking his hips up into yours, dry humping you because he doesn’t have the patience with you right now. he needs you to know that you’re his and his alone.

“can’t fucking believe you,” he growls before biting down on the soft flesh. you keen at the sensation, legs going weak. you’re glad he has you pinned to the door; if he didn’t, you might fall, “all over that guy as if you don’t have a perfectly good boyfriend who takes care of you. what? did you just want my attention? because now you have it.”

you whimper as he grinds down hard against your pelvis, his clothed hard-on rubbing so deliciously against your folds. you want him in you, but with everything that’s going on, you can barely think, let alone talk.

“s-sangie-” you choke out, trying to tell him how bad you need him, but you’re cut off by the whine that claws it’s way up your throat.

“what?” he grunts into your neck, “you want to tell me something?”

you nod, but no words come out. yeosang chuckles darkly into your neck.

“go on then, baby,” his teeth graze against you, threatening to add to the purple bruises that run up and down your skin, “if you’re going to tell me anything, tell me how bad you need me.”

you know it’s an ego thing. of course it is; yeosang was obviously hurt when he saw you flirting with the other man, and now it’s your job to repair that. and you would, if you could hold a thought for more than two seconds. you’d love nothing more than to stroke his ego, make him feel all big and powerful and like he’s the only man in the world.

but you just can’t. every time you open your mouth, you lose your train of thought and all that comes out is a few pants as yeosang tears your mind down to nothing. you cant even focus when he pulls back a little, studying your face with glassy eyes before diving right back into your neck. he doesn’t suck, or bite, or kiss this time. he just nuzzles the sticky skin with his nose, mumbling almost incoherent words against it.

“baby,” he says after a moment or two, voice a little breathier than before, “baby, please tell me me how much you need me. need to hear it.”

his tongue darts out and he begins to lap one of the bite marks, as if trying to soothe it. it only makes your mind race more.

as do the continuous whimpers that you can hear spilling into the air, only this time they’re not from you. they’re from yeosang.

yeosang who is still grinding into you, albeit with sloppier, softer motions than before. who is still pinning you to the wall, only with a more desperate grip, as if you’ll slip away if he lets go. who still has his face pressed against your neck, words slipping from his mouth, but now they beg rather than degrade.

“baby, please,” he whispers, and you feel something wet fall against your neck; a tear, “i need you tell tell me you need me.”

he sounds so pathetic, crying into your neck like that, and it soon sinks in that the tables have turned without you even really realising. the man that had pinned you to the door minutes prior, wanting nothing more than to teach you a lesson, had vanished. he’s been replaced by your baby boy, who was so desperate to hear how much you wanted him. so desperate to know that you loved him as much as he loved you.

you try your hardest to gather your thoughts, just enough for you to be able to scrape together a sentence or so. but with yeosang bucking against you like a dog in heat, its so incredibly hard. add that to the fact that he’s gone back to suckling at your neck like its going to bring him some sort of comfort and there’s no way you were getting a coherent sentence out.

so you lace you fingers into his hair, grateful of how long it had gotten, and tug. he lets out a long whimper, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you tug his far enough back to see his face. you tug again, wordlessly pleading for him to look at you. just once would be enough for him to see how thoroughly mindless he has you already. just once for him to understand that he is all you can think about right now.

[marksbear]

hate sex with patrick bateman? perhaps 🤔

patrick hating reader for being "better" than him (contemplates killing him), they fuck, patrick turns into a desperate mess

i <3 seeing these cocky "alpha males" turn into whiny desperate sluts <33

Anon we both think like great request my friend! Cocky men becoming a slut is one of the things I live for. And sorry for taking so long I fell asleep writing this

Warnings! SMUT, brat taming, teasing, talking about killing, about to kill, Patrick is a asshole, swearing

PATRICK BATEMAN X MALE READER

"Hey did y'all hear that Y/n got another big promotion?"

"Oh my fucking God." Patrick thinks to himself. He feels like hes gonna puke if he hears your name being mentioned one more time.

"Yeah! The man is gonna have it all. He already has the women dropping to his feet and the bosses practically worshiping the man." The guy next to him says causing Bateman to clench his fist.

He never met Y/n personally but he has to hear about him all day long. "Y/n this. Y/n that. Y/n.y/n. Y/n." Patrick says mentally feeling a headache coming from hearing about the things he did.

"What about you Bateman. What do you think about L/n?" All of the men's heads turning around giving Patrick their full attention.

"That hes a annoying son of a bitch. And he makes me wanna kill him with my bare fucking hands. And he's a waste of space in this damn earth"

Well of course he didn't say that but he only imagined he did and says this instead.

"I never met him, but he seems like a great guy." Patrick gives them a short lie making them all pleased. "You never met him!?! That truly can't work. How about I schedule a dinner for you both to meet?" One of the men offers his co-worker.

"Yes, for I can finally kill him." "Sounds good how about tonight?" Patrick says instead of his first thought. The co-worker gets the phone calling up Y/n so Bateman can hear. "Hey L/n, are you busy tonight? I have someone you should meet. You are great! I know you're gonna like him. Meet at the restaurant where I always take you. Okay bye."

"I just changed your life for ever Bateman! Get ready to meet the greatest man in your lie."

TIMESKIP

Patrick arrived before Y/n checking his watch impatiently and slightly annoyed.

"You're here early."

Patrick looks up at the figure that he's guessing is Y/n.

"Fuck hes handsome. And he looks sharp wearing a suit that hasn't even gotten released yet. Y/n looks exactly like hes described from the stories he heard. Why the fuck does he look better than me!?!"

Bateman rambles in his mind and sticks his hand out. "Patrick Bateman."

"Bateman? I heard of you. And seen you around at work a lot just never made an effort to go up and talk to you. Y/n L/n nice to meet you." Y/n says with a smile and takes a hold of Patrick's hand giving it a tight shake.

The dinner was far from quiet. Y/n almost had every single conversation starter under his sleeve. Some sparked a short topic and some sparked a long conversation and some even started a debate or an argument.

"Hey L/n it's getting late. How about we continue this in my place?"

"Good idea Patrick. How about I pay?"

Right when Patrick opens his mouth about to argue about how Y/n doesn't need to pay Y/n hands the waiter his card.

TIMESKIP AT PATRICK'S PLACE

As soon as the two step inside the place Y/n pins Patrick on the wall by the front door. "Patrick. Tell me what do you want from me? Because I know you hate me. I know we were not friends, so why invite me here?"

Y/n backs away from Patrick slowly with a smirk on his face before heading into the living room. "You think you're better than me don't you Y/n?" Patrick says in his mind before quickly follows after the man. Patrick stops in tracks fighting with himself mentally just to get his axe and drive it through the other man skull.

Patrick snaps himself out of his thoughts and goes to the living room. "Nice place you got Patrick." Y/n says looking outside through the window watching cars and other things. Patrick finds a knife and walks up to Y/n slowly raising it.

Y/n turns his head around slowly and Patrick throws the knife somewhere else becoming nervous. "For a man who hates me you sure do love being close." Y/n puts his hands on Patrick's hips bringing him closer.

"Tell me Patrick. Do you love being close to me?" Y/n uses his right hand to bring it to Patrick's chin then uses his thumb caressing Patrick's bottom lip.

Patrick hated you. He hated how you talk, how you walk and even how you breathe. He hated you with his life. But now why is he acting like this, His body became putty by your touch. The way you look down at him, the grip you have on his hip, your hand on his chin and your thumb lazily on his lip.

What are you doing to him?

Patrick gives Y/n a weak nod as an answer to his past question. "Use your words." Y/n smirks moving his thumb off of Patrick's lip and back to his chin. "Yes." "Good boy Bateman."

Y/n pushes Bateman away from him and walks around looking for the bedroom. Patrick quickly picks up the knife from the floor and follows after Y/n.

Y/n stops in the hallway turning around at Patrick staring at him like a predator like hes taunting Patrick to come closer to him. Patrick clenches his jaw tightly setting the knife on the nearest flat surface. Patrick's blood boils and his veins pop once he's the smirk on Y/n face.

"After you Patrick." Y/n opens the bedroom door inviting Patrick in. Slowly Patrick walks into the bedroom already knowing where this is leading. Y/n shuts the door after he goes inside walking up behind Patrick. Y/n takes off his shoes and socks then takes off his suit jacket. Patrick watches the men take his clothes off.

"Can you just strip and stop being a brat." Y/n says catching Patrick a bit off guard.

Patrick takes off his clothes and shoes. After hes done Y/n attacks his lips with his own.

The kisses are rough and a bit painful because Patrick refuses to be the submissive one. Y/n groans in annoyance and tackles Patrick on the bed so hes under him. Patrick tries to push Y/n off of him but fails just ending up scratching his arms. "You're such a brat Patrick." Y/n says pulling away from the harsh makeout,

"What? You don't like underneath a man like me? Well you better get used to it." Y/n laughs at Patrick before using one of his hands going down to Patrick's cock.

"You're already hard? Wow and the only things we did were just kiss." Y/n doesn't waste anytime jerking off Patrick. "Fuck! L/n s-stop touching me!" Patrick tries to contain his moans but some fall out. "Ohh~l-let me go! fuck!"

Y/n hand doesn't slow down anytime soon he even goes faster up and down every time Patrick begs.

After a while Y/n stops moving his hand with a smirk on his face. Patrick doesn't even notice Y/n's hand not moving and raising his hips up and down into Y/n hand. Y/n lets go of Patrick cock and puts two fingers on Patrick's lip."Suck them."

Patrick didn't want to. At first he bit them because he didn't want to look weak and desperate. Y/n watched him bite his fingers and let out a sigh. "If you keep acting like this i'll just fuck you dry and you get no prep." Y/n warns Patrick but lets out another sigh when Patrick tries to flip him over.

"I warned you Patrick. Now your just getting me fucking irritated." Y/n flips Patrick over so his belly and chest are on the bed but Y/n holds Patrick ass in the air.

Y/n spits a few times on Patrick hole making him mad. "Stop spitting on me Y/n! You're a dirty disgusting bastard!" "Don't you fucking dare put that disgusting cock inside of me---- fuck~" Patrick insult was cut of by his own moan once he felt Y/n cock pushing inside him. "Oh!~ fu-- oh gOD~" Patrick holds the sheets tightly as he feels Y/n moving inside him. "Ju-just shove it in already!~ please just gi--vie me your cock." Y/n decided to be nice and answer Patrick begs by thrusting his cock fully inside him.

Patrick lets out breathy moans feeling Y/n cock go up and down inside of him. "Fa-faster! fuck me faster Y/n!" Patrick hates himself for begging but god Y/n felt too good inside of him he couldn't help it. Y/n snaps his hips into Patrick at a face pace abusing his hole like he was a toy.

Patrick sneaks his hand down to his cock jerking himself off as hes getting fucked.

Y/n take Patrick's arm harshly holding it above his own head pinning his hand down. "Sluts like you aren't allowed to touch themselves without permission" Y/n thrust became aggressive using his free hand to Patrick hair.

Patrick feels Y/n cock twitch inside him and he panics. "No no no! Don't cUm~ inside of me! fu-fuck no!" Patrick's own cock twitches from imagining Y/n cumming inside of him but his mind feels disgusted at the thought.

Y/n thrust quickness searching for Patrick prostate. "Shi~ FuCk oh fuuck~! agaIn hit it again!~ more more please." Patrick screams into the sheets when he feels Y/n cock push against his prostate.

Y/n hits that spot over and over again until Patrick cock is twitching rapidly and aching precum leaking out of the tip. Patrick feels the knot in his stomach become tight and moans words and sentences that don't even make sense. "I'm cumming! fu-fuck i'm cumming! ahhHh!~" Patrick cums hard on the sheets and his head is in full bliss not even feeling Y/n hot cum inside him.

After Patrick gets out of his high he feels something hot and sticky leaking out of him and getting onto his thighs. "Y-you asshole! you dirty bastard I told you not to c-cum inside!" Patrick shouts.

Y/n laughs and says "I couldn't even pull out. Your slutty hole kept me inside~" Y/n teases letting go of Patrick's hand and hair putting both of his hands on Patrick's hips. Y/n snaps his hips deep inside Patrick causing him to yelp out. "fuck~ Y/n give it to me please! I-im your desperate slut please! keep fucking me until I pass out please! Fuck me like that slut I am!~"

"Fuck I hate you Y/n for making me like this!~" Patrick thinks feeling Y/n cock inside of him moving slowly.

"Be a good slut this time Patrick. Then I may let you suck my dick."

THE END

[iliketangerines]

Reader that’s like Bucky the winter soldier?? Like has the arm and doesn’t really know about the new age stuff- and is hella strong. Like maybe she effortlessly fights shao khan and someone like syzoth or Reiko are like “that’s pretty hot” and she’s just like “what-“

admiring your strength

a/n: i do not see enough love for reiko

pairing: reiko x gn!reader

warnings: suggestive :)

you flex your arm and clench your fingers as you look at General Shao across from you in the sparring ring

he smiles at you and readies his battle axe before swinging toward you, and you lunge forward as well, using your metal arm as a shield as you attack

it’s a sight to watch, and Reiko watches from the sidelines, arms crossed and brows furrowed as he watches you easily fight off General Shao

he was the strongest man Reiko had ever known, the best fighter, and yet here you were, easily fighting him off with no weapon besides your arm

for some reason, it makes his face heat up and his heart stutter in his chest as you take Shao’s axe and throw it to the side and engage in hand to hand combat

the fight doesn’t last long after that, and Shao is face down in the ground as he begrudgingly yields

you get off Shao and stand in the middle of the ring, awaiting the next challenger

Reiko wants to get in, to fight against you and feel the cool metal of your arm against him to restrain him, and he has to shake his head to rid of the thoughts

Shao had already told him to train the other initiates, to stay focused and on task, and yet you plaque his thoughts as he goes through the day

he can’t stop thinking about your arm, the one that restrained Shao so easily to the floor, how it flexed and shined in the sunlight

his face flushes as he imagines you pinning him down to the training grounds after sparring with him, how your other hand would creep up his armor and squeeze his chest

one of his initiates snaps him out of his daze when they ask him a question about their form, and he clears his throat and continues to teach them

the day passes by slowly, and every so often, he catches you in the corner of his eye in the arena, constantly fighting, sparring, winning

eventually, Shao comes up to Reiko and tells him to get in the ring, to test his fighting skills against you, and Reiko tries not to seem too eager to fight against you

he walks into the ring, bracing himself and puffing out his chest as you circle him slowly, eyeing him up and down and tensing your form

you look at him dead in the eye, and he can see something underneath, something furious and angry trying to claw its way out

you leap first, metal glinting in the sunlight, and Reiko struggles to keep up with your pace as you throw punches and try to catch him off his feet

the first few minutes are a struggle of trying not to get hit, dodging and moving and turning, as you follow his steadily

you don’t even seem out of breath, only a single drop of sweat on your forehead as you lunge toward him again with a stern face and quick fists

your movements are unpredictable, erratic, angry, and he can’t even try to break through your defense to try and land a hit

his footsteps become sloppy, and his movements become sluggish as you wear down his endurance

soon enough, you catch him in a moment of weakness and sweep his feet from under him and press your knee into his chest as you restrain his wrists with your metal hand

Reiko struggles to think clean thoughts as you stare into his eyes and bellow at him to yield, and he coughs out a surrender before you let go of him

you walk off to the corner of the ring, eyes narrowed at Reiko

it seems that he had peaked your interest as well, and he can feel your eyes burning into his skin, roaming across his figure, as he walks back to General Shao

maybe he really would be able to see you around more often

[archangeldyke-all]

Anon may not be flirting but I am tf, my partner and I are tryna kiss you Angel 😏 consensually ofc

nah im jp (or am i~) but this leads me into my ask

reader in a throuple with ran and sevika

i read 'throuple with ran and sev' and i passed out and died and was resurrected by sappho herself to make this happen

men and minors dni

okay but imagine you walk into the last drop and ran and sev have been dating for a bit and they see you and come up to you and ran's like 'hey, me and my gf saw you from across the bar and we really dig your vibe' lasjdf;laksjdf;lkj i'd pass out

you and ran would constantly be playing practical jokes on sevika. one of you distracting her with kisses while the other ties her shoelaces together, or both of you answering to each other's names when she calls.

you and sevika would tease ran sexually all. the. time. they're a little feral. so you and sevika kissing in front of them, or groping each other, or even just fondling each other, it drives ran fucking crazy.

sevika and ran would tease you non fucking stop. about everything. the way you chew, if you mispronounce words, sometimes even the way you breathe. you just roll your eyes and bite back the smile threatening to pull up your lips at the sound of your lovers' laughs.

(of course, if anyone else tries to poke fun at you in the same way, they better be prepared for Two Death Glares from your gf and partner-- and then maybe actual death ajsal;sdjlk)

hng, sevika making you and ran make out in bed while she watches?

and you guys get so into it you kinda forget sev's even there until she rips you guys apart and pins one of you to the bed to fuck you, making the other ride their face??

fuckkkkk... getting spitroasted by the two of them

they'd be so into making a mess of you. a lot of times, sex is just sevika and ran competing to see who can make you moan louder.

sevika walking between the two of you, one of her hands in each of your back pockets, a smirk on her lips

you and ran getting into mischief together, then running to your Scary Girlfriend to protect you when someone calls you out on it.

of course, sevika intimidates the fuck outta whoever you pissed off, but then once they leave she just rolls her eyes and glares at the two of you giggling.

constant bickering between sevika and ran because they're both so strong-headed and stubborn. not actual arguments, just little spats and petty disagreements that you have to settle.(you usually settle it by just flashing the two of them. it shuts them both up pretty quickly)

ran and sev bonding over their mech arms and you feel left out :( asking them to chop one of your limbs off so you can fit in and they just laugh at you

having to have a california king sized bed to comfortably fit the three of you (and sevika's giant ass)

ran does all the finances in the house. sevika does the cooking, you do the chores.

but small things like dishes and laundry-- that's on a rotating schedule. (ran always tries to get out of their chores. bribing you and sev with head or money or snacks. sevika will catch you doing laundry on ran's day and snort, 'they got to you, huh?' she asks. you nod. 'i don't think they've done laundry in two weeks now.' she says, shaking her head with a fond smile.)

you and ran make sevika laugh more, you guys make her a whole lot happier. you and sevika bring out ran's wild side, they feel safe enough around the two of you to be completely wild and feral. and, of course, ran and sevika let you be as unapologeticly yourself, not worried about anyone's reaction when you've got two of the strongest mfs in zaun by your side.

god i have a million thoughts about this.

also! be sure to check out @abitohoney's submit! the newest part is a ran/sev/reader threesome. it's so fucking good and hot holy fuck.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[sixatrocities]

── our little secret

pairing: fyodor dostoyevsky x nikolai gogol

content: anal sex, sadism, edging, overstimulation if you squint.

wc & notes: 1,496 words!! a big thank you to the lovely flora, aka @/pussydrunkfyodor for helping me with the colored text.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky never once imagined that he would be in this state- bare, naked and vulnerable on this bed. Darkness consumed every inch of the room, including the bed he was lying on. With no way to see except the faint glow of moonlight seeping in through the silk curtains, the weak and exhausted man didn’t even think of the possibility of someone walking in and seeing him in such a state.

Even though he himself was aware of how exposed he was, he couldn’t stop. Why, the greatly feared man had his worn out hand wrapped around his aching cock, a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the obscene sounds he was making. 

Sweat clung to his forehead as he continued to stroke, whining into his palm. He began to lazily but desperately thrust his hips up into his own hand, letting out a choked up whimper as he began to speed up the pace. 

See, our dear, sweet Fedya here was a virgin. He’d never felt the touch of a woman or even a man, and it’s no surprise why. He was and still is an anemic, physically weak nail biter who never washes his hair or sleeps. 

The only thoughts that filled his head as he sloppily jerked himself off were ones of utter shame and sin, how could the renowned Fyodor Dostoyevsky be reduced to such a pathetic creature? Pleasure coursed through his entire body, the feeling of the close release that he was chasing being overbearingly disgraceful. 

He was now thrusting into his hand at an ungodly pace, eyes rolling back before closing from the overwhelming bliss that he felt. His mouth hung open, as he had finally abandoned the hand that had been tightly closed around it. 

Now moaning with nothing to hide the noises, he let out a loud whine as the coil snapped and he shot out cum as far as his stomach. Collapsing back on the bed, he was trying to catch his breath. He failed to notice the door creak open.

A certain Ukrainian clown crept in, admiring the faintly illuminated fucked out expression of his superior. The man in question was still recovering from his first real orgasm, not yet noticing the other presence in the bedroom. 

“Oh my! Do my eyes deceive me? Is that really the great Fyodor Dostoyevsky? It cannot possibly be that same person who I heard whining like a dog in heat, no?”

The black haired man's eyes immediately shot open, absolutely horrified at what he was hearing. How could it be? He surely must be hallucinating, this isn’t real. Certainly not. He was roughly pulled out of his panic filled thoughts when he heard the clink of Nikolai undoing his belt. 

The taller man let his striped pants drop to the ground before stepping out of them and slowly making his way toward his dear “friend”. Fyodor was feebly attempting to cover his naked form with the comforter, but his sad attempt was no help- as Nikolai had already reached the side of the bed and roughly yanked it off. 

The anemic in the room shivered as he felt the cold air hit his entire body, horrified and disgusted with how unable he was of speaking at this moment. What was wrong with him? He usually had no problem at all speaking to people, yet now he’s been reduced to nothing? He was broken out of his thoughts once again as the other man pounced on top of him. Crawling up his body until Fyodor was caged under all fours, he grinned and leaned in closer. He snatched Fyodors hands and pinned his wrists above his head, as his other hand slowly dragged down the Russian’s exposed body. He shivered at the sudden touch, a feeling so unfamiliar to him. Nikolai shoved Fyodor’s thighs apart with his own, the shorter man groaning from the slight friction the rough movement created for him. 

“Fedya, is this what you’ve been doing while the rest of us were gone? It sure would be a shame if your subordinates found out about this, hm?” Fyodor could do nothing but stare at the man above with his eyes blown wide, unsure what to do or how to react for the first time in his life. Nikolai continued to speak with that same idiotic smirk on his face, clearly enjoying tormenting Fyodor. “I have an idea!! Let’s play a game!! If you manage to make me cum, I won’t tell a soul about what I saw or what we did together!! Does that sound fair to you?”

Not wanting anyone, let alone his subordinates to know about this, Fyodor reluctantly agreed by nodding his head. A gesture so simple, yet so telling. Nikolai suddenly thrust two fingers into Fyodor’s exposed hole, an action that made him moan in both immense pain and pleasure. 

The jester scissored his fingers in and out of the other man’s barely stretched opening with zero remorse, and no sign of stopping. Fyodor was writhing around in pain, but he could barely move considering both of his wrists were still being pinned above his head by his far stronger friend. He could no longer control the noises he was making, only getting louder by the second. When he felt that barely recognizable, overwhelming sense of an orgasm approaching he didn’t even pay attention to the pain anymore. He was too focused on this agonizing yet amazing feeling that he was experiencing, but was pulled out of it the very second Nikolai quickly pulled his fingers out of the black haired man. 

“You really thought I was going to let you cum? Silly Fedya!! I’ve just barely begun…” 

Fyodor gasped as he was thrown over onto his stomach and roughly grabbed. He was practically manhandled into weakly standing on his knees. His hands were now free, and as soon as he realized this he grabbed his still erect cock and began to furiously jerk it before his hand was ripped away and shoved behind his back. He gasped as his upper half was shoved into the pillows beneath him, ass arched high in the air. 

Nikolai had now abandoned his boxers and the rest of his clothes and rubbed his hard dick into Fyodor’s ass, missing the entrance of it entirely on purpose. Both men lightly moaned from the gesture, Fyodor more than Nikolai. Fyodor was awaiting the feeling of Nikolai inside him, but it never came. Just when he was finally about to speak up, he felt the jester ram his shaft into his painfully stretched out hole. It burned but felt so good he saw stars. 

Nikolai was already tired but enjoyed hearing just how pathetic Fyodor was being for him. He collapsed onto the other man’s back, but continued to thrust in and out of him with force. The Russian’s noises of pleasure were now muffled by the pillows beneath him, but it was still so easy to hear him with how loud he was being. Nikolai let go of Fyodor’s wrists and chose to instead grab him by the hair and pull him up. Back arching in an uncomfortable manner, Nikolai decided to shove his fingers down the black haired man’s throat instead. 

Fyodor began to gag on the fingers in his mouth, but that only egged Nikolai on further as he felt his release approaching. Fyodor bit down on Nikolai’s ungloved fingers in desperation, getting what he wanted when Nikolai hissed and pulled them out. Both men could feel their release bubbling up, and Nikolai knew this. He hooked his hand under Fyodor’s hips and grabbed his cock, sliding his hand up and down to help him reach his release too. The clown had started to get louder a few minutes prior, but now he was full on whining, sounds that made Fyodor’s twitch dick in his hand. Both men were falling apart with each thrust Nikolai made, and then it came. Nikolai groaned and came inside of Fyodor with one final thrust. The Russian came a few seconds later, once again finished with a loud, slutty moan of Nikolai’s name. 

Nikolai’s mouth hung open, drool spilling out as his arms gave out and he practically slid off of Fyodor. His dominant persona disappeared long ago, and even he was shocked that Fyodor’s ass gave him such an amazing orgasm, practically the best one of his life. What he was unaware of was just how much Fyodor needed this, the exhausted man passing out mere seconds after shooting out his release.

“Dos? You alive?” He shook the man next to him, but not even an earthquake could rouse the snoring Fyodor. Nikolai instead pulled the sleeping man closer to him, stroking his hair as he whispered in his ear, “You know Fedya, I was going to tell everyone anyways, but since you made us both feel so good I think we can keep it our little secret”