#Low Cost Second Hand Car

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: a wealthy older man with a starry-eyed younger woman — it’s a tale as old as time and a scene the saleswoman has seen countless times before … or is it?

The showroom gleams under harsh fluorescent lights, every surface polished to a mirror finish. Cars, sleek and expensive, are lined up like jewels in a case. The hum of quiet conversation fills the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of champagne glasses.

It’s another day at the auto show, and the saleswoman, tall and sharp-eyed, watches it all with a thin veneer of polite disinterest. She’s been here long enough to know who’s serious and who’s just here to gawk.

She spots them before they even step into her section. The man is hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that makes people step aside without even realizing it. His suit is tailored to perfection, probably costs more than her monthly salary.

And then there’s the girl — no, the woman — beside him. You’re much younger, that’s clear. You look out of place, wide-eyed and excited like a kid in a candy store, dressed in something trendy but understated, a deliberate contrast to the man’s sophistication.

The saleswoman’s eyes narrow as she watches you both approach. She’s seen this before — older man, younger woman, the kind of relationship that’s all too common in these circles. She doesn’t have to guess who’s footing the bill here.

“They’re all stunning,” you say, your voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as you walk beside the man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” the man says, his voice low, accented, and rich with an authority that’s clearly second nature to him. He’s smiling at you, and there’s a warmth there that the saleswoman finds almost disarming. Almost.

She steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place, and approaches the two of you. “Good afternoon,” she says, her tone perfectly neutral, though there’s an edge to it, just enough to make her feel superior in this little interaction. “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in today?”

You look up at the man, a slight question in your eyes, as if asking for permission to speak. The saleswoman notices this, of course, and it only confirms what she already thinks.

“The Porsche 911 S/T,” you say, your voice gaining a little confidence as you look back at her. “It’s — wow, it’s incredible.”

The saleswoman allows herself a small, condescending smile. Of course, you’d go for something flashy like that. “A beautiful choice,” she says smoothly. “Though it’s not currently available for sale. It’s more of a display model for now.”

You look disappointed, but before you can say anything, the man steps in. “Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite but firm. “And when will it be available?”

“Not for a few months, I’m afraid,” she replies, keeping her smile in place even as she feels a flicker of unease at the intensity in his eyes. “But we can certainly take your information and let you know the moment it is.”

You’re distracted by another car nearby — a sleek, silver Audi R8 — and the man follows your gaze. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says to the saleswoman, already moving toward the car that has caught your attention. She watches him go, a tightness forming in her chest.

You’re bending slightly, peering into the Audi’s interior, running your fingers over the smooth leather seats. The man is right behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a gesture that’s both protective and possessive.

“What do you think of this one?” He asks, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You smile, and it’s a real smile, the kind that makes your whole face light up.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice soft, almost reverent. “But I think I’m still in love with the Porsche.”

He chuckles, and the sound is deep, genuine. “You have good taste.”

The saleswoman doesn’t hear what you say next, but she sees the way you look up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. She almost rolls her eyes. Of course, you’re infatuated. Who wouldn’t be, with a man like that?

But there’s something else, something in the way he looks at you that makes her pause. There’s affection there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s something deeper, more complicated.

He straightens up, leaving you to admire the Audi, and makes his way back to the saleswoman. She steels herself, ready to resume the dance of negotiation, but his next words take her by surprise.

“I want to buy the Porsche for my partner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinks, momentarily thrown. “As I mentioned earlier, sir, it’s not for sale at the moment. But we can-”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. “I’m not asking if it’s for sale. I’m telling you I want to buy it.”

The saleswoman feels a prickle of irritation, but she keeps her expression neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr …”

“Wolff,” he says, his voice steady. “Toto Wolff.”

The name rings a bell, and she stiffens slightly. Of course, she’s heard of him. Everyone in this business has. But she’s not about to let him walk all over her just because he’s some big shot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolff, but even for you, the car isn’t available. It’s a prototype, and it won’t be released for sale until-”

He cuts her off with a low laugh, and there’s something almost dangerous in the sound. “For me,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child, “they’ll make it available.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. There’s a look in his eyes that makes it clear this isn’t a man who’s used to hearing the word no. And she realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s right. If Toto Wolff wants that car, he’s going to get it.

The saleswoman swallows hard, her professional composure beginning to crack around the edges. “I’ll need to speak with my manager,” she says finally, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence.

“Please do,” he replies smoothly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re still admiring the Audi, completely unaware of the tension playing out behind you.

She turns on her heel, making her way to the back office with quick, clipped steps. The nerve of him, she thinks, but even as she seethes, she knows what the outcome will be. No one says no to someone like Toto Wolff.

As she waits for her manager to confirm the inevitable, she casts a glance through the glass wall of the office, watching you and him from a distance. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand resting on his arm, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels a strange, unwelcome pang of something close to envy.

It’s not just the money or the power that he has — though there’s plenty of that — it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he would move mountains just to see you smile.

The manager finally appears, a mix of excitement and nerves on his face as he hurries over to speak with Toto. The saleswoman stays back, watching as they exchange words, her earlier confidence completely drained. She knows what’s coming, and sure enough, after a few minutes, the manager gestures for her to come forward.

“Mr. Wolff,” the manager says, his tone obsequious, “we’d be more than happy to arrange the purchase of the Porsche for you. It’s not something we typically do, but in your case, we can make an exception.”

Toto gives a small nod, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Good,” he says, then glances over at you, still absorbed in the Audi. “I’ll take care of the details later. For now, I’d prefer if my partner remains unaware of the purchase.”

The manager nods quickly. “Of course, of course. Discretion is our priority.”

The saleswoman feels a fresh wave of irritation as the manager all but trips over himself to please Toto. But what bothers her even more is the realization that she was wrong. This isn’t a simple sugar relationship, despite what she first thought. There’s something real here, something that makes her uncomfortable in ways she can’t quite put into words.

As Toto walks back over to you, the manager gives the saleswoman a sharp look, silently instructing her to follow his lead. She pastes on her best smile, swallowing her pride, and follows after him.

You don’t notice the shift in the atmosphere when Toto returns to your side. You’re too engrossed in the car, asking him questions about its specs and design, your enthusiasm infectious. The saleswoman watches the two of you interact, trying to reconcile the easy, genuine affection she sees with her initial assumptions.

“So,” Toto says, leaning in a little closer to you, “if you could choose any car here, which one would it be?”

You bite your lip, clearly torn, but finally, you sigh. “I know it’s silly, but I keep coming back to the Porsche. It’s just … it’s perfect.”

His smile widens, and the saleswoman feels a pang of something she refuses to name. “Then the Porsche it is,” he says softly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. "Toto, you can't just buy it because I like it. It's not even for sale."

He chuckles, a warm, deep sound that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “You’d be surprised what’s possible.”

The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably, watching as Toto brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long to be purely casual. You smile up at him, oblivious to everything except the man in front of you.

She clears her throat, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Actually, we can make arrangements for the Porsche. If you’d like, we can finalize the details and set up delivery.”

You blink, surprised. “Really? But I thought-”

Toto smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Then you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you mumble a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The saleswoman watches, the professional smile on her face feeling more like a grimace now. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand you or him, but she knows she was wrong.

You pull back, looking up at Toto with a softness in your eyes that’s almost too much to bear. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper.

“Just be happy,” he murmurs back, his voice tender in a way that makes the saleswoman want to look away.

And for a moment, she does. She turns her gaze to the gleaming cars, the reflections of the showroom lights bouncing off their polished surfaces. When she looks back, you’re both still there, lost in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The saleswoman feels a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest as she turns to finalize the sale, realizing that perhaps, despite everything, this wasn’t about money or power at all.

Perhaps it was just about love.

***

The estate in Oxfordshire is nothing short of palatial, its sprawling grounds stretching out in every direction, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oaks. The driveway is long and winding, leading up to a mansion that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a Jane Austen novel — grand, elegant, with an air of timeless sophistication.

The saleswoman sits in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. She’s never been nervous about a delivery before, but then again, she’s never delivered to someone like Toto Wolff before.

Beside her, the driver is humming along to a tune on the radio, completely at ease as they turn onto the estate’s private road. She glances at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Porsche 911 S/T, pristine and gleaming, with an oversized red bow affixed to the roof. It looks absurd, she thinks, a toy fit for a princess.

It takes several minutes to reach the front of the house, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. The saleswoman feels a knot tighten in her stomach as they pull to a stop.

She’s here to oversee the delivery, to make sure everything goes smoothly, but part of her wonders if this is all a colossal waste of time. Surely, she could’ve sent someone else. But she’d insisted on coming herself—perhaps out of some twisted sense of curiosity, or maybe it was just her bruised pride.

The driver cuts the engine, and there’s a brief moment of silence before the door to the mansion opens. Toto steps out first, his movements unhurried, as if he’s in no rush at all. And then you appear beside him, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you walk out together.

“Here we go,” the driver mutters, giving her a nod before he hops out to start the unloading process.

The saleswoman takes a deep breath, composing herself before she steps out of the truck. Her heels sink slightly into the gravel as she approaches, her professional smile back in place. Toto greets her with a nod, his expression unreadable, while you give her a warm, if somewhat shy, smile.

“I hope the drive wasn’t too difficult,” Toto says, his voice smooth and polite, but there’s a hint of something more behind his words. An expectation that everything will, of course, be perfect.

“Not at all, Mr. Wolff,” the saleswoman replies quickly, her smile tightening. “It was a pleasure, really.”

You step forward, your eyes wide with excitement as you look past her to the truck. “Is it …” you ask, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

The driver is already lowering the truck’s ramp, and as the Porsche comes into view, you let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, taking a step closer, your hand still clutching Toto’s arm. “I can’t believe it’s really here.”

Toto watches you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that the saleswoman has started to recognize as reserved only for you. “I told you it would be,” he says quietly, as if this moment is just as special for him as it is for you.

The saleswoman clears her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “We took extra care during the transport,” she says, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Everything is exactly as it was when it left the showroom.”

“Thank you,” Toto says, but his focus is already back on you as you approach the car, your fingers brushing over the sleek lines of the Porsche as if you’re afraid it might disappear if you touch it too firmly.

You circle the car slowly, taking it all in, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels like an intruder in this private moment. She watches as you turn back to Toto, your eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be happy.”

The saleswoman averts her gaze, the tenderness of the moment making her uncomfortable. She’s seen plenty of couples over the years, but there’s something about the way you and Toto interact that feels … different.

It’s not just the age difference, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and the way you look at him, like he’s your anchor in a storm.

The driver interrupts her thoughts as he finishes unloading the car. “All done here,” he says cheerfully, handing the keys over to Toto with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Toto takes the keys with a nod of thanks, but instead of pocketing them, he holds them out to you. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, a light, joyful sound that echoes in the evening air. “Now? I haven’t even driven a car like this before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replies, his tone teasing yet encouraging. “And I trust you completely.”

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the car and then back at Toto. The saleswoman can see the internal debate playing out on your face — excitement warring with nervousness. But then, with a deep breath, you take the keys from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do.

“Okay,” you say, your voice firming with determination. “Let’s do it.”

The saleswoman watches as you climb into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and running your hands over the steering wheel like you’re trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the car. Toto takes the passenger seat beside you, and for a brief moment, the saleswoman catches a glimpse of his hand resting on your knee, a gesture that’s both reassuring and intimate.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the driver nudges her, motioning toward the truck. “We should get going,” he says, glancing over at the car. “Looks like they’ve got everything under control.”

But the saleswoman doesn’t move. She’s rooted to the spot, watching as you and Toto pull away from the estate, the Porsche purring softly as it glides down the driveway. There’s something about the scene that feels almost cinematic, like she’s watching a moment that she’s not supposed to be a part of.

The car disappears around a bend in the road, and the saleswoman finally exhales, not realizing she’s been holding her breath. She turns back to the driver, who’s looking at her with mild curiosity.

“Everything okay?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

She forces a smile, pushing down the strange mix of emotions churning in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, though the word feels hollow. “Everything’s fine.”

They load back into the truck, the engine roaring to life as they begin the long drive back to the showroom. The saleswoman stares out the window, her thoughts racing, replaying the scene over and over in her mind.

She tries to tell herself that it’s just another delivery, just another rich couple flaunting their wealth. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the image of the way Toto looked at you, like you were his entire world.

The driver’s voice cuts through her thoughts as he asks, “So, you think they’re the real deal?”

She turns to look at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, a guy like him, a girl like her … you think it’s more than just the money?”

The saleswoman hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. She wants to dismiss it, to laugh it off and say that of course it’s just about the money. But the words stick in her throat, refusing to come out.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended. “I think it is.”

The driver nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they fall into silence once more. But the saleswoman can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that this delivery has left her with more questions than answers.

As they drive away from the estate, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the road. The saleswoman stares at them, lost in thought, wondering what it must feel like to be loved the way Toto loves you.

She knows she’ll never have an answer to that question, but as the truck rumbles down the road, she can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — there’s more to life than the things she’s always taken for granted.

And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself longing for something she can’t quite put into words.

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: rafe cameron falls for the preachers daughter.

— warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, hand riding for like a second, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), soft!dom!rafe, innocent!naïve!reader, i think that’s it.

— note: this request was amazing. i love love rafe & innocent!reader, it makes me feel some type of way 🥹 this is kind of a long one, enjoy<3 likes, comments and reblogs are SO appreciated!!

❥ preachers daughter— r.c

Rafe wasn’t sure when his obsession with her started, all he knew was that he wanted her, wanted to ruin her.

He remembers the first time he had ever saw her, it was an early Sunday morning, his father had decided to drag him to Sunday morning service, something Rafe had never imagined himself going to…

… But man, was he glad he did.

He remembered every small detail about her from that morning. She was wearing a long green, floral dress that fell well past her knees, she had a white sweater pulled over her upper half, and a pair of beige strappy heels. Her hair had been done in loose curls, a soft white bow tying it up into a low ponytail, making Rafe blush at the innocence that emitted from her.

The smile that graced her beautiful lips had made Rafe grow painfully hard, having to excuse himself to the restroom to readjust himself.

Rafe had pushed her into the back of his mind though, knowing that a woman like her would never be with a man like him.

She was his polar opposite; pure, kind, without any obvious flaws. Whereas Rafe was impure, violent, and covered in issues from head to toe.. You could thank his father for that.

Rafe knew he didn’t stand a chance, so why, and when, did his obsession with her begin? Why had he caught himself following her around town, watching her every move? Why had he found a way to place a tracking device on her car, his possessive need to know where she was at all times pushing him to do such a crazy thing.

Why had he found himself beating the shit out of any man he’d seen talk to her? Why did he care so much? She didn’t even know he existed, yet, he found himself quite literally stalking her, obsessing over her, vowing to himself that he would protect her at any and all cost.

-

Rafe had continued following her for months before he had finally decided to make his move on her. He’d quickly picked up on her schedule, learned all of her favorite places to shop, eat, where she loved to do her Bible studies.

After six months of constantly following her and learning all he needed to know about her, he had decided it was finally time for him to make his move, make her his.

He was parked outside of the small coffee shop she frequented regularly, watching as she sat at a table, flipping through the pages of her notebook, taking small sips of her coffee order.

He loved that she was completely oblivious of the man who had been watching her for months, in his mind it proved that she did need him in her life, she needed him to take care of her, protect her, teach her to be more aware of her surroundings.

Rafe’s head snaps up when he sees her stand from her spot, gathering her books and pens, pushing her chair in and making her way to the front door.

He quickly hops from his truck, rushing across the street, his plan to make a move being set in motion.

She pushes the door to the coffee shop open, her head hung low as she stepped through the threshold, making it easy for Rafe to step in her way, lightly bumping her and causing her head to snap up.

“Oh, i’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention”

Her face is flushed red, her voice soft, angelic.

The corners of Rafe’s lips quirk up slightly, a small smile on his face as he looks down at her small figure.

“Not a problem, I should have said something. I’m Rafe, and you are?”

He extends his hand out for her to take, to which she quickly complies, placing her small hand in his.

He places a soft kiss to the back of her hand, her breath catching in her throat at the action. She wasn’t sure what to think of the man in front of her, she’d never been greeted like that by anyone.

“I-I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you, Rafe”

“Y/L/N? As in Pastor Y/L/N?” Rafe asks, his eyebrow quirked up as he played his part well.

She smiles, her eyes sparkling at the mention of her father. He attends her church? Why had she never seen him before now?

“Yeah, that’s my dad! You go to our church?”

Rafe chuckles, an amused smirk laid on his lips, “Yeah, sometimes. My dad started making me go a few months ago, i’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now”

He feels himself growing painfully hard when he hears the angelic laugh that falls from her pretty mouth, her eyes lit up as she carefully pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Church not really your thing?” She asks, her lower lip brought between her teeth as she smiled up at him.

“Not really, but hey, your father sure knows how to get you into it huh?”

She shifts herself on her feet, readjusting her books in her hands, “Yeah he’s great, he loves what he does”

Rafe notices the large books in her arms, how she continues to shift and adjust them. “Want me to grab those for you?”

She glances down at the books in her arms, and back up at Rafe, his bright blue eyes making butterflies erupt in her stomach, “Uh, sure. Thanks” She smiles, handing him the books and looking toward the ground.

“You wanna ride home?”

She pauses for a moment, her mind drawing a blank as her palms became clammy. Why she was so nervous? She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because he was making her feel things she knew was wrong, maybe it was because she knew better than to get involved with a man without her father’s permission, but something about him made her want to take the risk, break her own rules.

“Sure, that’d be nice. Thank you”

And just like that, Rafe’s plan was falling into place. He had gotten her attention, gotten her to trust him so easily. He loved how naïve she was, how innocent she was, and as much as he’d love to take it slow with her, he felt he’d taken it slow enough, waiting, watching, protecting her for months, even if she didn’t know it.

He had to have a taste of her, had to break her of her innocence, and he needed to do it now. He needed her to be his, and only his.

-

Everything had began moving quickly, Rafe had driven her to his house instead of hers, his lips finding hers in an instant, pulling her from the passenger seat and into his lap.

She was unconsciously grinding herself over his bulge, her hands running over his buzzed hair, his hands tightly gripping at her hips as his tongue explored her mouth.

Her breathing was ragged, hands trembling as she continued pressing herself into him. She wasn’t sure what she was doing or why, it was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so right.

“Rafe” she tries to speak, her words being swallowed by him. He presses his hand flat against her lower back, pushing her further into him as he continues his assault on her mouth.

She plants her palms on his chest, pushing herself back, her back pressed firmly against his steering wheel.

She runs a hand through her hair, her eyes slightly welled up with tears as she tries to calm her breathing.

“This- This is wrong. We don’t even know each other, we- I’m not supposed to have sex until I’m married, I can’t- We can’t-“

Rafe shushes her softly, his thumb running across her bottom lip as his blue eyes burn into her, “Shh, Shh. It’s okay, angel. There’s nothing wrong with this, trust me?”

She sighs, resting her head on his chest, the tears that had fallen from her eyes soaking the fabric of his shirt.

“I-I trust you, but- But this isn’t right, Rafe”

Rafe runs his hand down her side, placing it on her clothed thigh and squeezing lightly, pulling a small squeal from her lips.

“What isn’t right about it? I can teach you things, make you feel things, I promise you’ll love it”

Rafe had his mind set, he was prepared to break her, and he didn’t want to wait any longer. He knew a girl like her, so innocent, so naïve, was bound to break under the pressure.

He could tell she was curious, curious as to what it felt like to be touched by a man, to give her full self to someone, and he wanted to be that person, he needed to be that person.

He was in too deep with her, too obsessed with her. The way she looked, how angelic her voice was, the way she looked wearing clothes that hid even the most innocent parts of her body from the world. He needed her to be his, she would be his.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s go upstairs, and I promise i’ll take good care of you. Do you trust me?”

She brings her bottom lip between her teeth, an action that was so innocent to her, but it drove Rafe crazy. He could feel the blood rush to his cock, making him grow uncomfortably hard beneath the fabric of his jeans.

She gasped when she felt his hard-on pressed into her thigh, an amused smirk playing at Rafe’s lips. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me, you’re so beautiful, let me show you just how beautiful you are. You deserve to be touched, to be made feel good. Don’t you want that?”

A simple “okay” was all she could manage to breathe out, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt him place his hands on her ass, gripping at it tightly.

“Okay what sweetheart? I need you to tell me what you want”

“I-I want you to touch me” She says softly, her voice so low it was almost a whisper, but Rafe had heard her clearly.

He quickly shoves his car door open, his free hand gripping tightly below her ass, keeping her tightly wrapped around his torso.

He gently sets her down onto her feet, shutting the truck door and grabbing her hand, pulling her to the front door of his house.

Rafe wastes no time, pulling her inside and locking the front door and dragging her to the spiral staircase that led upstairs.

Once they reached the top he pulls her into his room, shutting and locking the door. His lips instantly find hers again, the feeling of her lips against his pulling a groan from him. Her lips felt like home to him, warm, and safe- Something Rafe had never felt in his entire life.

He wraps his arms around her waist, his lips consuming hers as he pushes her back flush into his bedroom wall. He runs a hand up her side, his fingers pushing the hem of her shirt up, exposing just the slightest bit of flesh to him. He lightly grazes his fingers up the length of her side, his fingertips finding her bra.

He unclasps it in record time, running a hand up her arm and sliding one strap down her shoulder, moving to the other side and copying his actions until the flimsy fabric fell down her chest and onto his bedroom floor.

He pulls his lips from hers, his deep blue gaze on her face. He burns the image of her current state into his mind, her lips swollen and slightly parted, her chest heaving up and down as she tries to steady her breathing. He loved that he was the one who’d made her like this, loved that he was the one who had her craving more of his touch.

“You wanna take your shirt off princess?” He asks her softly, his thumb swiping across her bottom lip, his other arm still tightly wrapped around her waist.

“Y-Yes”

Rafe grins, pulling his arm from her waist and watching as she brings her hands down to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her cheeks instantly turn a bright shade of pink, her arms flying across her chest to cover herself from him.

He lifts his hands, placing them gently on her arms and pulling them down. “No don’t hide princess, you want me to see you. And you’re so beautiful”

She nods her head slowly, letting her arms fall to her sides. She felt her entire body heat up under Rafe’s stare, his eyes erratically scanning across her chest.

He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, bringing his hands up to softly cup her bare breasts in his palms.

“Such a pretty girl, aren’t you?”

He begins softly massaging her breasts in his hands, his fingers finding her nipples, pinching and pulling at them. He loved the expression that took over her face when he began playing with her sensitive buds, her lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as she panted.

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”

“Y-Yes. Feels- Feels so good, Rafe”

Rafe hums in appreciation, dipping his head down to lick a stripe across both her breasts. She gasps loudly, her head falling back against the wall when he wraps his lips around one of the buds, sucking on it lightly before switching to the other side.

Her hands fly to the back of his head, nails lightly scratching through his buzzed hair. She lets soft moans fall from her lips, and Rafe swore he’d never heard anything so beautiful, so angelic. She was going to be the death of him.

He lets his hands fall, finding her waist and lightly tapping at her thigh, “Jump” he instructs, and she’s quick to obey, straddling him instantly.

Rafe carries her to his bed, letting her fall onto the soft mattress with a soft thud.

He climbs himself on top of her, his arms caging her into the bed. He steadies himself with one hand flat on the mattress, his free hand running up her side, a trail of goosebumps left behind on her skin from his fingertips. He cups her cheek softly, lightly rubbing his thumb across it.

“You want me to take your jeans off? Make you feel good?” Rafe asks, but he gives her no time to answer, his hand being removed from her cheek and finding the button on her jeans.

He swiftly undoes the button, pulling her zipper down slowly before he begins sliding the denim fabric down her legs.

Rafe sucks in a sharp breath when he sees her lacy white panties, an innocent girl like her wearing something like this?

“Fuck”

She blushes at his vulgar words, her breathing shaky as his fingers play with the waistband of her panties.

She lets out a shaky breath when his fingers push down into the front of her underwear, his fingers brushing against her clit, making her hips buck forward from the sensation.

“Rafe” She breathes out, her fingers tightly gripping at his bedding.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“We- We shouldn’t, oh!”

She tries to protest, tries to keep her faith and do as she knows she’s supposed to, but Rafe wasn’t having it. He runs his middle finger through her slick folds, pulling his hand from inside her panties and shoving the digit in his mouth.

He hums in appreciation, the taste of her on his tongue making the blood rush to his already painfully hard and throbbing cock.

“You’re so wet, so sweet. You know this is what you want, isn’t it baby?”

She feels the tears welling up in her eyes, letting a few stray tears fall. Did she want this? She didn’t understand what she was feeling, why she was aroused. She’d never felt like this before. Rafe had her mind racing, she did want this, she knew it was wrong, knew her father would be so disappointed in her, but why deny herself of this feeling when it felt right? Felt good.

She nods her head in response, pulling a small smile from Rafe’s lips. He tugs at her panties, pulling them down her legs and shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans.

He cups her bare cunt, his palm pressing firmly against her clit, making her whimper and squirm beneath his touch.

“You can move baby, make yourself feel good”

She whimpers, moving her hips and grinding herself against his hand. Rafe takes his free hand, his ringed fingers pressing into her thigh as he held her open for him. He removes his hand from her pussy, running a finger through her slick again, gathering her arousal on the digit before he slowly pushes it into her.

“Oh, Oh God!” She cries out, her back arching off the bed, pushing his finger further into her.

“God isn’t here sweetheart, it’s just you and me”

He begins slowly pushing his finger in and out of her soaked core, her velvety walls clenching around his finger. He curls his finger, hitting a spot inside her that had her toes curling.

“I-I, Oh Rafe”

Rafe smirks, adding another finger inside her. He quickens his pace, pushing them in and out harshly. She’s a whimpering mess, her orgasm so close he could feel it from how she was clenching around him.

“You can cum, it’s okay sweetheart, let it out”

She feels a burn between her legs, her belly growing tight as a feeling she’d never felt washes over her. She’s trembling beneath him, legs shaking, fists tightly wrapped around the fabric of his blanket as Rafe helped fuck her through her high.

When he pulls his fingers from her she lets out a small whimper, her body laying limp on his mattress, chest heaving up and down as she comes down from her orgasm.

“See that wasn’t so bad was it?” Rafe asks.

She sucks in a shaky breath, shaking her head. “N-No. Not bad. I’ve never… You know..”

Rafe quirks an eyebrow up at her, that damned amused smirk on his lips. “You’ve never had an orgasm before? I knew that sweetheart”

She hides her face in her hands, body heating up from embarrassment.

Rafe’s hands fly to hers, slowly pulling them down, his free hand rubbing softly across her cheek.

“Don’t hide, it’s okay. I want to teach you, I want you to feel comfortable with me, don’t you feel comfortable with me baby?”

She lets out a deep sigh, “Yes, I-I’m comfortable”

He grins, satisfied that he’d gotten her comfortable with him. He sits himself up on his knees, undoing his belt and tossing it to the floor.

“Do you wanna make me feel good sweet girl?”

She bites at her bottom lip, watching as he undoes the button on his pants followed by his zipper, the fabric sliding down his legs and leaving him in nothing but his underwear and his polo.

“Yes, I wanna make you feel good, teach me?”

Rafe brings his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb sliding across her bottom lip, sliding the digit past her parted lips.

She wraps her lips around his thumb, giving it a light suck, a raspy groan falling from Rafe at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful, gonna be such a good girl f’me, make me feel good, yeah?”

He pulls his thumb from her lips, sliding his briefs down his legs, his erection springing free and slapping just below his belly button. He notices the wide eyed expression on her face, her lips parted in a small ‘o’ as she stared at him.

“It’s okay baby, don’t be scared”

Rafe firmly grasps at his cock, pumping at it slowly, his free hand coming to the back of her head as he helped guide her down. “Put your lips on it baby, I got you”

She does as he says, her lips wrapping around the head first lightly sucking at his swollen tip. Rafe’s grip tightens in her hair, his hips bucking forward.

“Good girl, swirl your tongue around it a little, pretend it’s a popsicle or a lollipop”

She obeys, swirling her tongue around him, the precum that leaked from his tip making its way onto her tongue. She hums around him, the salty taste making her grow wet again.

Rafe slowly pushes himself further into her mouth, his breathing erratic as she takes him fully.

Her teeth graze at his shaft, making him jump back from the pain. “No teeth baby, hollow your cheeks and just move your head up and down slowly”

Her cheeks hollow, her head moving slowly up and down his length, small gags and whimpers falling from her with each push and pull, his head hitting the back of her throat with each push.

Rafe inhales deeply through his nose, his head thrown back in pleasure as she continues to suck and lick every last inch of him.

“Such a good fucking girl”

She feels herself grow wet from his praise, the ache between her thighs back, the craving for more of his touch growing with each passing second.

He tightly grips her hair when he feels himself twitching inside her mouth, pulling her off of him, her cheeks and chin stained with drool.

“Wanna cum inside you, do you want that? Want me to fill your pretty pussy up with my cum?”

She nods her head slowly, laying herself back and spreading her legs for him.

Rafe smiles widely, the innocence that once radiated from her now gone, and all because of him.

He pulls his polo over his head, discarding it on the floor and leaning himself down. He uses one hand to steady himself up, his other hand pumping at his cock and lining himself with her slick entrance.

“Gonna go slow okay? If it hurts, let me know and i’ll let you take a minute to breathe”

She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out except a small whine, the feel of his fat head pushing into her small hole sending a burn through her legs.

Rafe softly shushes her, “Shhh, it’s okay i’m gonna take care of you, alright?”

She blinks away her tears, nodding her head and sucking in a sharp breath. Rafe slowly pushes himself in more, using one hand to lightly stroke her cheek, trying to help her calm her breathing.

He pushes himself inside her fully, stilling his movements and trying to let her adjust to his size. She lets out a soft breath, her hands flying to his shoulders, fingernails digging into the flesh.

“Can I move princess?”

“Yes, please”

Rafe begins to slowly thrust himself inside her, small moans and whimpers falling from her as she begins to rock her hips with his.

“You’re doing so good, my good girl”

She’s a whining mess, the pain replaced with pleasure making her toes curl, her head thrown back into the pillows as she focuses on the feel of each push and pull Rafe makes.

“Not gonna last long with you squeezin’ me like that sweetheart, you feel yourself squeezin’ me? Your pussy begging to be filled with my cum”

She lets out a whine, her bottom lip harshly brought between her teeth as she felt her second orgasm approaching.

“I-I think i’m close” she cries out, her hips bucking up and meeting each of his thrusts.

“Let go for me angel, i’m right behind you”

She clamps down around him, squeezing him tightly and sucking him further into her. His head repeatedly hits at her sweet spot, making her a whimpering, moaning mess.

“Gonna fill you up, give you my babies, don’t you want that baby?”

“Yes! Want you babies, wanna be a mama, please please”

She screams out a moan, her release bursting from her. She was trembling, tears staining her cheeks as Rafe fucked her through her high.

Rafe feels his thrusts grow sloppy, his hips stuttering as he twitches inside her. He pushes himself to the hilt, stilling inside her as the hot ropes of his release spill inside of her.

He lets his head dip down, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his lips attacking the skin with hot kisses.

He pulls himself from inside her, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. He pulls her further into his body, snuggling further into her and breathing in her scent.

“I’m so happy you’re mine now, all mine”

She smiles softly, her eyes drooping as she begins to breathe softly, sleep taking over her.

She wasn’t sure what she would tell her father, or how this would change her life, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her now was the man who had just completely changed her life, and how she was his, and he was hers.

RAFE TAGLIST: @whore-4-drewstarkey @ivy-34 @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @starkeypankowsbae @lizcameron @m-1234 @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @alexisbaumann2004 @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @mel119g @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @jjmaybankisbae @lexasaurs634 @softlilacarrest @fayerite @exhaustedbutelated @lyndys @urmyslxt @presleyanswrites @sierraluvz @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @oceandriveab

moodboard | rafe masterlist | taglist

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[helaintoloki]

Can I request something with Five Hargreeves where Five and Lilia gets back to their family after the 7 years (nothing romantic happened between them, just purely platonic), and when he sees the reader for the first time after almost loosing so much hope in seeing her again, he just can’t help but latch onto her and never let go, kissing her all over cause he finally gets to see the love of his life again :,D

a/n: ty for sending in this request anon i really enjoyed writing it <3 this is basically the “good ending” of the subway incident

warnings: fluff, mentions of five and lila but in a platonic way not the bad way

His lungs feel like they’re on fire as Five pushes himself to continue his sprint to your apartment. It’s been seven years without you, and after almost losing hope of ever seeing you again, all he wanted now was to have you in his arms as proof that he truly was back in his own timeline.

He never should have listened to Lila when she insisted on traveling the subway system in search of a solution to the Cleanse, but he had been desperate to find a way to keep you and his family safe no matter the cost. He didn’t mind having to eat subway rats and sleep in flimsily sleeping bags on dirty platforms for your sake, but with no end in sight the entire thing began to seem futile. What good was putting himself through torture if he could never go back home to you?

Thus, when he found the journal that detailed the way back home, Five did not hesitate to jump on the next subway car and return back to his own timeline. He didn’t feel sorry for practically shoving Lila out of the way as soon as the doors opened, and he didn’t waste a second waiting for her to follow before he was booking it out of the station and down the streets to your apartment. While it would have been faster to just jump there, he didn’t want to risk accidentally placing himself right back where he started, and he didn’t have the patience to wait for Lila to find a car and drop him off herself. Seeing you could not wait, and so he ran.

Though Five has experienced seven painful years of being stuck with Lila in the subway, only four hours have passed since you last spoke to him on the phone to discuss your evening plans. He was meant to be at your apartment thirty minutes ago so you could enjoy a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant, and yet here you were sitting painfully board at your kitchen island watching the minutes tick by. You knew he wasn’t exactly keen on eating out when he’d rather stay at home and spend quality time with you, but surely he wouldn’t stoop so low as to miss your date entirely.

“Screw this,” you huff in indigence as you snatch your keys from the counter and grab your previously discarded purse from its spot on the couch. “He’ll just have to meet me there.”

After putting on your coat, you fling the door open only to met with the sight of a breathless Five, his fist raised in the air as if he was about to knock before you beat him to it. He looks completely disheveled with his mussed up hair and wrinkled suit, his eyes blown wide as he swallows down a big gulp of air and takes in your features. You look more beautiful than he ever thought possible, and he can’t believe that he’s really here standing in front of you after being trapped in a time travel hellscape for seven years with his idiot brother’s idiot wife.

“Five?” You utter gently, brows furrowed in confusion and concern as you reach out to place a gentle hand upon his cheek. He’s warm to the touch, most likely a side effect from having sprinted for three blocks, but it worries you nonetheless. He nearly melts into your palm as his eyes flutter shut in contentment at the feel of your skin against his own. He’s missed this, and he’s missed you. “Where have you been, I was just about to leave without you. You okay?”

You jump at his sudden movement when Five practically throws himself into your arms. You lose your footing and tumble back into your apartment, and it takes you a moment to process what’s happening before you tightly return the embrace. You know Five loves you, but he’s never been so forward with affection like this, so his behavior takes you by surprise.

“Sweetheart, I’ve never been better,” he breathes out in relief as he takes in your warmth and your smell and your touch and everything good about you. He never thought he could miss anyone as much as he missed you, and Five swore in that moment he’d never take you for granted again.

“Are you sure you’re really my Five and not a total stranger?” You question teasingly, poking fun at his uncharacteristically tender behavior. While normally you would be met with a biting and sarcastic response in return, you are instead given a passionate kiss as he cups your face in his hands and desperately pulls you closer to him. Your startled gasp is swallowed by his lips as he deepens the kiss and pushes you further into the apartment before shutting the door with his foot.

“Five,” you manage to breathe out after he pulls away for air, your face hot and your mind frazzled as you struggle to comprehend the sequence of events that have just occurred. “Five, we’re going to be late.”

“I couldn’t care less,” he replies with a faint smile, reaching out to carefully tuck your hair behind your ear. “I missed you.”

“Missed me?” You repeat in confusion. “You saw me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll explain everything in time,” he assures you carefully, “but right now I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

With a faint smile gracing your lips, you know you can’t argue with that. You probably will miss your dinner reservations, but none of that matters as Five pulls you in close and showers you with seven years worth of pent-up affection.

You could really get used to this side of him.

[pudgedork]

there are so many enjoyable milestones in a feedee’s weight gain journey. of course, there are the numbers and stats: 300 pounds, 400 pounds, 500 pounds, the day you weigh twice as much as someone your height should, or three times, or four…

but there’s something special about the tangible signs of just quite how far you’ve let yourself go. of all of these, the greatest is the day you realise you’re too fat to touch yourself. the moment it dawns on you that you’ve packed so much fat onto your frame, you need to rely on someone else to get you off. so far off the deep end of your kink that you can’t even properly enjoy it independently.

other achievements are great; becoming too heavy for your first scale, outgrowing seatbelts and requiring an extender, or reaching the point where you can’t tie your own shoe laces due to all that squishy belly in the way.

if you squint a bit though - and you’re deep enough in denial - you can convince yourself that these aren’t really your fault. you aren’t that fat, not really. the scale was cheap; they probably cut costs and that’s why the limit's so low. seatbelts are designed for skinny people, so even if you are a little pudgy now it’s clearly an oversight in the design. shoes shouldn’t even have laces actually; we’ve come up with better designs at this point. it’s unreasonable of them to assume everyone has the flexibility to reach down like that!

but getting so fat that you can’t pleasure yourself; there’s no way to spin that. you can’t blame a company for that. you can’t blame cost-cutting. you can’t ignore it. it's all on you. you’ve overindulged so excessively - and so relentlessly - that your gut has swollen to a size that evolution itself didn’t anticipate. how could it? in what scenario would a person ever have such an abundant supply of food – and lack of self-control – for this to become a problem?

yet, here you are. stuffed full of thousands of calories of junk once again, you try to reach over your rolls like normal to give yourself the release you crave; but they seem just a little bigger than last time. it’s fine, you planned ahead for this. your toy can reach the last little part of the way. except this time, it doesn’t. you wiggle it helplessly, but it’s not happening.

you shuffle your mass around on the couch, trying to contort yourself to an angle where you can reach with a pudgy fingertip. every movement makes you more breathless, and the sweat is pouring off you. this is the most exercise you’ve done in who knows how long, and it’s all in an attempt to simply get yourself off.

exhausted, you flop back and give in. you feel defeated. humiliated. what the fuck have you done to yourself? a rare moment of clarity. this was never supposed to get this out of hand. you don’t even know how heavy you are, since you couldn’t be bothered buying another replacement scale after the last one caved in on itself. it’s been months since you left the house; even if you wanted to, you're not convinced anybody manufactures clothes that could contain you.

sure, you wanted to get fat. you loved it. the thrill of watching the number on the scale climb, bursting out of clothes, every inch of your body coated in an ever deepening layer of supple flab. but this… this was too much now. you’d ignored all the signs so far, but this one wasn’t going unheeded. your loved ones were embarrassed enough already by what you’d become, but they hadn’t seen you in at least a year. what the hell would they say now? all that potential squandered for a life of obscene gluttony, entirely committed to hedonism.

the thought's cut short by a deep rumble from your belly. you’ve gone half an hour without shovelling calories down your throat, and it wants to know what the hold up is. you hear a car pull into the drive. your partner’s home from work. the front door opens, and within seconds they’re sinking their hands into your mountainous belly and greeting you with a passionate kiss.

they’re obsessed with you, as you are with them. they always dreamed of enabling a whale to live out their fantasies. you’ve been more than happy to do just that. before you have a chance to air your worries, they jump in first to tell you they picked up food on the way home. family-sized orders from each of your favourite fast food places, plus enough snacks to last an average person a month.

well, maybe you could reconsider. they're already used to helping you with things you can't do at your size, after all. maybe you could get a little bigger, just for them.

[awhhayden]

TAKE IT AWAY ⊹₊⟡⋆ 18+

CONTAINS : 20+ age gap, f is 19, james is 40, smut, fem!reader, p in v sex, size kink, praise kink, soft!dom, y/n implied, daddy kink,

SUMMARY: James Kelly is your bfs dad, after a stinging betrayal by your bf you find yourself at James front door.

JAMES KELLY’S doorstep was the last place you'd expect to find yourself at in the pouring rain late at night, but after a painful betrayal by your boyfriend and a rocky relationship with your family, your boyfriend's dad was the only person you could think to go to.

Of course, you knew him. You’d been dating Chris for over a year now—a relationship that began with promise but grew increasingly tangled in his chaotic habits. Chris, a year older than you, had seemed charming when you met at the start of your senior year. But as time passed, his love for drinking and late-night parties began to erode the foundation of what you thought you had. Tonight was the breaking point. After a grueling shift, you arrived at your shared apartment, only to stumble upon a scene you’d never prepared yourself for. Chris lay in your bed, passed out and tangled in the sheets—with another woman by his side. The mess of discarded clothes and disheveled bedding told the story as clearly as if they’d shouted it aloud.

You fled the apartment as quickly as you’d entered, not uttering a single word. The night’s silence was broken only by the soft patter of rain, which quickly turned into a downpour as you sped out of the complex’s parking lot. Hot tears streaked your face, blurring your vision as your mind raced. Part of you had almost anticipated this moment, yet another part had clung to the hope that Chris would never stoop so low. For 30 aimless minutes, you drove through the rain-slicked streets, the clock on your dashboard flashing 1:00 a.m. The storm was heavier now, matching the chaos inside you.

You considered pulling into a nearby hotel, but the cost gave you pause. Going to your family wasn’t an option—they’d never been the kind of safety net you could count on, and showing up at their door in the middle of the night would only make things worse. Your mind drifted to an unconventional idea, one that felt both reckless and oddly comforting: James Kelly. Chris’s father had always been kind to you, a steady presence in the background of your chaotic relationship. He owned a small auto shop, if memory served, and lived alone after Chris’s mother walked out when he was a baby. You’d been to his place a handful of times, and now, with no other options, you found yourself driving down his street. A flicker of hope lit within you, faint but persistent, as you wondered if he might still be awake. The thought of telling James everything—of laying bare what his son had done—sparked a strange mix of boldness and satisfaction that pushed you forward.

You eased your car up to the small two-story house, its silhouette hazy in the rain. To your surprise, the living room light spilled out into the dark night, accompanied by the warm glow of the porch light. Was he awake? you wondered, your chest tightening with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Taking a shaky breath, you pulled into the driveway, the rhythmic drumming of rain against your windshield growing louder.

Glancing at the passenger seat, you realized with a groan that you’d forgotten a jacket in your frantic rush. Bracing yourself, you inhaled deeply before throwing the door open and making a dash for the porch. The rain immediately soaked through your clothes, icy and relentless, but you pressed on. By the time you reached the shelter of the porch, your hair and sleeves clung to you uncomfortably. Hesitating for just a moment, you raised a trembling hand to the doorbell and pressed it. The chime echoed faintly inside, and seconds stretched like hours. Then, you heard the sound of a lock clicking, followed by the creak of the door swinging open. Standing before you was James Kelly, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. His expression flickered briefly with confusion, then concern, as he took in your soaked appearance

James’s brows knitted together the moment he saw you—soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. Concern flickered across his face. “Kiddo, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” His voice was steady but laced with worry. Tears burned your eyes as you tried to respond, but the words caught in your throat. “I…” was all you managed before your voice cracked. Without hesitation, he reached out, gently taking your arm and pulling you inside. The door closed behind you with a solid thunk, and the sudden warmth of the house wrapped around you, a sharp contrast to the cold rain that clung to your skin. He took a step back, studying you with a careful yet alarmed expression. You could only imagine how you must have looked—drenched, trembling, your face a portrait of exhaustion and heartbreak. In that moment, you felt as fragile as glass, yet something about his steady gaze made you feel a little less alone.

James grabbed a soft throw blanket from the closet and draped it around your shoulders, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it tight. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a shaky breath before looking at you with deep concern. “What happened, hon?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the words spilled out before you could stop them. “Chris... He... I came home from work, and he was passed out in our bed—with another girl.” The tears, which had been threatening to fall for hours, finally spilled over, and you wiped at your face, your voice breaking. James's expression shifted in an instant, his features hardening with disbelief and a flash of anger. “He did what?!” he demanded, his voice sharp with fury. You flinched at the force of his reaction. “I... I didn’t do anything. I just left. They were still asleep when I left.” You could feel the weight of your own words as they hung in the air. James’s face softened with regret. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to process the words that didn’t seem to make sense. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with sympathy. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad between you two” You nodded, unsure of what to do with the heavy silence that followed. Your chest tightened, the emptiness of it all pressing in. “I just needed you to hear it from me,” you whispered. “I’ll go now. Thanks, Mr. Kelly.” You turned to leave, your hand hovering over the doorknob, when his voice stopped you, hesitant but firm. “Are you going back?” For a moment, you stood still, torn between the truth and what you thought he wanted to hear. Finally, you let out a shaky breath and admitted, “No... I was planning on sleeping in my car tonight and figuring out the apartment thing tomorrow.” His face softened with worry, his eyes darkening with concern. “What? No, honey, you can’t do that”, he said gently, stepping forward. You can stay here tonight. “Chris’s old room is still open. Please... stay here.” The offer hung in the air, warm and kind, like a lifeline thrown at just the right moment.

You hesitated, heat rising to your cheeks. You’d always found James attractive—his kind demeanor and effortless warmth had a way of making you feel safe, even in moments like this. The thought of losing him, too, in the aftermath of this breakup made your chest ache.

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, glancing down at the floor. “Burden?” he scoffed gently, already grabbing a fresh sheet and blanket from a nearby closet. “Not a chance. You’re not sleeping in your car. That’s final.” He handed you the linens, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Take these up to Chris’s room. There’s no bedding on it right now,” he said, pausing to take in your still-drenched frame. His eyes softened. “You should shower in the bathroom up there. I’m pretty sure Chris has some old clothes in the closet you can borrow. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for tonight.” He offered a small, reassuring smile that made your heart flutter despite everything. You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling to the surface. “Sir… I mean… Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice wavering. He smiled again, softer this time. “Please, call me James.” With a nod, he pointed toward the stairs, and you turned, clutching the linens tightly as you made your way to Chris’s room. Each step felt heavy, but for the first time that night, there was a flicker of comfort waiting for you.

James sank back onto the couch, the soft hum of his show barely registering as he stared blankly at the screen. Letting you stay wasn’t an inconvenience—not after what his son had done to you. He sighed heavily, tipping back his beer, the familiar bitterness doing little to chase away the anger and disappointment that churned in his chest.

How had it come to this? He’d tried to raise Chris better. Sure, his son had always had his flaws—his drinking, his impulsive, reckless streak—but James had held onto the hope that with age, Chris might finally grow up. Turning 20 should’ve been a turning point, yet here they were. James dragged a hand through his dark hair, frustration etched across his face.

And then there was you. Sweet, soft-spoken, kind-hearted—you’d always been a bright spot in the mess Chris often created. James had secretly hoped you might be the one to inspire his son to change, to break free from the careless habits that held him back. But tonight shattered that illusion. The image of you standing on his doorstep flashed through his mind: rain-soaked, shivering, and heartbroken. It stung more than he cared to admit. How could Chris betray someone like you? Someone who, in James’s eyes, deserved so much better.

You stepped out of the shower, steam curling around you as the cold air hit your skin. Reaching for a towel, your hand met empty space. Shit. Your stomach dropped as you realized you’d forgotten to ask for one. Frantically, you glanced around the bathroom, hoping to spot something—anything—you could use. But the room was almost barren, save for a few toiletries and the clothes you’d left in a heap.

Groaning in disbelief, you stood there for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, with a deep breath, you cracked the bathroom door open just enough to call out. “J… James?”

Downstairs, James’s head snapped up from the TV, the sound of your voice cutting through his thoughts. He rose, walking to the base of the stairs. “Yeah?” he called back.

Your face burned with embarrassment. “I… uh… I don’t have a towel,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than the hum of the rain outside. James winced, mentally kicking himself for forgetting. “Right. Sorry about that,” he called up, his tone gruff but understanding. “I’ll grab one and leave it outside the door.”

He trudged upstairs, grabbing a fresh towel from the laundry room. His footsteps were heavy but careful as he approached the bathroom. Setting the towel just outside the door, he cleared his throat. “It’s there,” he said, his voice low. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and disappeared into his bedroom, the quiet click of the door shutting behind him leaving you alone once more.

You peeked out from the door before quickly grabbing the towel and drying yourself off gently. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped the towel around yourself and stepped cautiously out of the bathroom. Just as you did, James emerged from his bedroom, having changed into his pajamas. You turned and gasped, nearly bumping into him as you took in the sight before you. He stood there in nothing but grey sweatpants, his bare chest inches from your face, his tall, toned frame towering over you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your heart racing.

James looked down at your figure, your glistening skin only partially concealed by the towel, and felt a rush of heat pulse through him. “Sorry, kiddo,” he muttered, quickly walking past you and heading downstairs. You turned on your heel and rushed into Chris’s room, shutting the door behind you, your breath coming in heavy gulps, a mix of confusion and rising desire swirling within you.

Quickly, you dressed in one of Chris’s oversized shirts and a pair of old boxers. You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where James was engrossed in his show. “Mr. K—erm, James,” you said softly, not wanting to disrupt him completely. He turned to look at you, a warm smile breaking across his face as he gestured for you to sit beside him.

You settled onto the opposite end of the couch, trying to maintain as much distance as possible, but the charged air between you grew thicker with each passing moment. As the episode concluded and the credits began to roll, James stretched and stood up, preparing to walk by you. But in a moment of boldness, you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Sir,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. His gaze flickered down to your hand entwined with his, surprise etched on his face. “Y-Yes?” he stuttered, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. You patted the cushion next to you, silently inviting him to stay. He hesitated, the tension palpable, before finally sitting down beside you. A rush of emotions surged through you—hurt, anger, confusion, and an undeniable longing. Gathering your courage, you turned toward him, your hand resting on his leg.

“I…I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you whispered, the implications hanging heavily in the air. James tensed at your touch, his eyes widening as he processed your words. “What do you mean?” he choked out, his voice thick with apprehension.

You took a deep breath, hesitating for only a moment before straddling his lap, trailing soft kisses down his neck. His eyes widened completely as his body ignited with fire at the feel of your warmth pressing against him. “Sweetie…you…you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re upset” he protested weakly, but the growing tent in his pants betrayed his struggle. Pulling back slightly, you met his gaze, intoxicated by the electric tension that surrounded you.

You gazed up at him, an intoxicating mix of desire and exhilaration coursing through your veins. “No… please…” you whispered breathlessly, your lips trailing down the warmth of his neck once more. He panted, the sound raw and primal, his hands hanging limply at his sides as he surrendered to the moment, throwing his head back against the couch in a surrender that sent shivers down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, vulnerability etched across your features. “Please, sir… take it away… it hurts… please,” you whimpered, your voice thick with need. Each plea that slipped from your lips only stoked the fire of his desire, the tent in his pants growing more pronounced, his pupils dilating with hunger.

He held your gaze for a heartbeat, tension crackling in the air, before swiftly rising to his feet, lifting you effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, the rush of exhilaration making your heart race, and just then, he gave your ass a playful slap, the sound echoing like a declaration. “You asked for it, princess,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he carried you triumphantly up the stairs, the anticipation of what was to come hanging thick in the air.

As he carried you up the stairs, your heart raced in tandem with each step he took. The world around you blurred, and all that mattered was the thrilling heat radiating from your bodies. He reached the top, and with a swift motion, kicked opened his door and tossed you onto the plush bed, the soft fabric welcoming you against your skin.

You lay there, panting in anticipation, your body tingling with electric excitement. He stepped closer, a feral glint in his eyes. “You wanted me to take it away, didn’t you?” he growled, a predatory smile curling his lips. The heat between you was palpable, a magnetic force that drew him even nearer.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice quivering with an intoxicating mix of pleading and longing. He leaned over you, his breath hot on your cheek, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands found your waist, fingertips digging into your skin as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

His tongue danced with yours, a seductive exploration that ignited every nerve ending in your body. You moaned softly, lost in the taste of him, the way he pressed his weight against you, his arousal evident. He broke the kiss, his breath a ragged whisper against your skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you,” he confessed, his voice low and husky, making your pulse race.

His hands roamed down your sides, exploring every curve, every dip that made you uniquely yours. The roughness of his touch contrasted with the softness of the bedding beneath you, creating a delicious tension that made you ache for more. “I’ll make it go away” he promised, his eyes dark with desire as he captured your gaze.

As he hovered over you, the energy in the room crackled with intensity. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “What would Chris think seeing you this wet for me?,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You naughty girl begging for my cock.”

Your heart raced as he pressed his body against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable. His hands roamed freely over your skin, almost worshiping every curve, exploring the soft expanse of your thighs before moving higher, teasingly slow. “Tell me what you need, princess,” he commanded, his tone both rough and thrilling.

“Please… I need you,” you gasped, your body arching instinctively towards him, craving his touch as if he were the only source of sustenance in your world.

He captured your lips fiercely, plunging his tongue into your mouth, dominating yet savoring you at the same time. “Do you want me to fuck you hard? Or would you rather I take my time and make you beg for it?” His words dripped with sultry intent, fanning the flames of your desire even higher.

“Both,” you breathed, the urgency of your need spilling over. “I want you… I want all of you.”

He grinned wickedly at your response, his eyes blazing with lust. “Good girl,” he praised, the words igniting something deep within you. “You’re so fucking cute when you beg.”

He slid down your body, leaving a trail of kisses that ignited your skin as he plunged further down. He paused, his mouth hovering dangerously close to where you most craved him. “I want you to remember this,” he said, his gaze locked onto yours, “Think about how much you begged for your exs daddies cock. I own you.”

His lips finally found you, teasing at first, sending waves of pleasure washing over you. You moaned, your back arching, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer. The sensation was exquisite, and he lapped at you hungrily, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your hips buck against his mouth.

“Does that feel good, princess?” he asked between trails of kisses, his voice a low, intoxicating whisper that wrapped around you like silk. “God, yes… please don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. “I won’t stop until you’re begging me to let you come.” And with that, he intensified his rhythm, his fingers now working in perfect harmony with his mouth, bringing you closer to the edge.

The tension coiled within you, a tight spring ready to snap. You could feel it building, an insatiable need coursing through your veins as he took his time, drawing you tantalizingly close but never quite over the edge.

“Just a little more,” he urged, watching you with hungry eyes. “Let go for me, let me hear how good I make you feel.” And with one final stroke, he pushed you over the edge. The pleasure exploded through you, radiant and consuming, as you cried out his name, your body trembling as he held you through it, his voice a dark, sultry whisper in your ear. “That’s it, let it all out.”

Finally, he climbed back up, his body pressing against yours once more as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, tasting you, savoring the sweetness of your release. “You’re perfect,” he growled against your mouth, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Now it's my turn.”

With a commanding grip, he positioned himself at your entrance, looking deep into your eyes as he pressed forward, filling you completely. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You’re mine, all mine.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, before ramping up the intensity, each thrust igniting the fire within you once more. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “You like being my little slut.”

“Yes… I’m yours,” you moaned back, surrendering completely to the pleasure.

His pace quickened, urgency fueling every movement as he drove into you harder, taking you deeper with each thrust. “Tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, a rough edge to his tone.

“I love it so much! I never want you to stop! fuck Daddy” you cried.

“Good girl,” he hissed, driving into you harder, faster, the sound of your bodies joining filling the air. Everything faded away until it was just the two of you, lost in this fevered dance, spiraling higher and higher together.

With each thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge, and as your bodies intertwined, there was no denying the depth of your connection. The heat, the passion—it consumed you both, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. And as he whispered words of lust and possession, you became his entirely, swept away in the madness of the moment.

“Let go for me again, princess,” he urged, his voice laced with a dark hunger. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His breath hot against your skin, you could feel the tension building, both of you teetering on the precipice of something profound. The delicate dance of pleasure wrapped around you, binding you closer together. You arched your back, desperate for more, your body aching.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. You could hear the urgency in his tone, the need that mirrored your own. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, craving the sweet release. The room filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy—breathless gasps, soft moans, and the sweet melody of bodies moving in perfect harmony. With one final thrust you came around him one final time with a cry.

With one final Thrust of his own, he captured your gaze, and in that moment, you felt him let go. The powerful rush of his release sent waves of heat through you, and you could feel him spilling into you, filling you completely with a low groan.

As the waves of ecstasy began to subside, he slowly pulled out, a mix of tenderness and lingering desire in each deliberate movement. The warmth of his body left a lingering heat, and the sudden emptiness felt both startling and oddly intimate. You felt the weight of his gaze as you both lay there, the aftermath wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

For a moment, silence enveloped you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing gradually returning to normal. The room was thick with tension, the kind that seemed to pulse with the echoes of what had just transpired. You could still feel the remnants of his warmth surrounding you, the faintest ache reminding you of the deep connection you had forged in the sweet bliss just moments ago.

He turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of satisfaction and vulnerability, as if he was also processing the intensity of the experience. His fingers brushed through your hair, a tender gesture that sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of affection swell within you.

“It was…” he started, searching for the right words, “beyond anything I expected.” you answered voice low, almost a whisper, laden with sincerity. He could see how the rawness of the encounter had affected you too, his usual confidence was softened by the depth of what you’d shared.

he nodded, as you tried to gather your thoughts. The connection felt different, more profound, Nothing that you had ever experienced with Chris. An understanding passed between you—an acknowledgment that this was more than just a fleeting moment. His presence beside you was grounding, comforting, and you reveled in the intimacy of simply lying there together, skin against skin.

The world outside faded away, and in that cocoon of tranquility, it felt as if time had paused, allowing you both to bask in the simplicity of being together. Every breath drawn in was a reminder of the shared pleasures and an exhilarating sense of belonging. You lay there, enveloped in the warmth of his arms, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. James sleepily trailed soft kisses down your shoulders, each gentle touch igniting a warmth that spread through your skin. The comfort of his presence filled the space between you, soothing and incredibly intimate. As you felt his breathing slow, turning into a soft snore, a sense of peace washed over you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere—the quietude, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished. In this serene bubble, worries about consequences or judgments seemed to fade like shadows in the light. You allowed yourself to embrace the moment, the vibrancy of your feelings, and the possibility of something beautiful unfolding.

You didn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring or how you would confront Chris. All you could focus on was the way he held you, the way his arm wrapped protectively around you, making you feel safe. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The only thing on your mind was falling asleep in the warm embrace of James Kelly, letting the softness of his breath lull you into a gentle slumber, where everything felt perfectly right.

ahhh my first story, Thank you so much for reading! it isn’t the best as I’m still experimenting with ideas and writing style but glad I could get something out there!

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part four ]

[ part one & part two & part three ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1531

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

it took you about a half hour to get ready.

okay, maybe you spent a solid five minutes screaming into a pillow, but that’s besides the point.

descending the staircase of the inn, you emerged in the lobby, dressed up and dreamy. stan pines has spent years perfecting his poker face, but when he laid eyes on you, he couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping.

he was so glad that he gambled on a ‘yes.’

“sweet moses.” he breathed, rubbing his face with one hand before taking another good, long look at you.

“how do i look?” you carefully pushed a stray hair back into place, glancing expectantly at your flabbergasted date.

“like you fell from heaven.” a smug grin grew on his face. he was smitten. “i’d offer you my arm, but you look too perfect to touch.”

his charm was working wonders on you. you chuckled softly, rosy cheeks hinting at the feelings that raged within. “i’m far from perfect, you know.”

he held out his hand to you, his voice low. “not in my eyes, doll. i call you angel for a reason.”

you took his hand, and he led you out to where his car was parked. he made a point of opening the passenger side door for you, shutting it after you were situated and coming around to the driver’s side.

you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clung onto the car, but he had totally cleaned up the interior, having crammed all his things into the trunk and scrubbed away troublesome stains. there was even a small pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

“i hope y’like the place i picked. it ain’t much, but i figured it’d be nice.” starting the engine, he snaked his arm around the back of your headrest, looking over his shoulder as he reversed out of the parking lot and made his way out onto the road. you could feel yourself practically buzzing with excitement and curiosity, smiling and folding your hands in your lap.

it was about a five-minute car ride, and neon lights illuminating the bustling cityscape made for a nice view. you found yourself pulling into the parking lot of one of the nicest restaurants in town. wait a second …

your brows rose. “stan, this is—”

you were cut off as he shushed you, waving his hand dismissively. “don’t even think about it. don’t worry about it. just let me do this for ya, alright?”

“but—”

his hand gently pushed your mouth shut from underneath your chin, tilting your head towards him. “it’s my turn t’ be the nice one. ya got it?”

all you could do was silently nod your head. you wanted to question how much this was costing him, but it was obvious that he didn’t want you to know that.

a moment later, you walked into the restaurant, and a waiter led you to your table. sitting down across from stan, you looked around the place, fascinated.

“you know, i’ve always wanted to check this place out, but i’ve just never had a reason to.” you smiled, returning your focus to him. “this is exciting!”

“oh yeah? huh, musta been a lucky guess.” he sighed, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at you.

the waiter came around, and you placed your orders. stanley could barely take his eyes off you the whole time, and they stayed just as glued in place after the waiter left.

“so, i’m gonna cut to the chase …” he paused, fidgeting with a fork on the table, never breaking eye contact.

“... i wanna know everything about you.”

you felt your face heat up. he was staring at you with a lot more intent than he had the last time you’d gone out to eat together.

“you do? … everything?”

“you heard me.” his tone was soft, but serious. “whatever you’re willing t' share, i’ll gratefully take.”

your heart beat louder in your chest. this man genuinely wanted to get closer to you.

“well … my mom is a schoolteacher, and my dad works for the bank.” you stroked your chin thoughtfully. “i’ve always been told i’m good at hosting people. i think that’s sort of what inspired me to open an inn in the first place.”

you continued to infodump about your life, your passions, and whatever else came to mind. stanley was loving every single second of it. he’d occasionally pipe in with a comment on something you’d said, but for the most part, he just gazed dreamily, leaning his head against one hand.

the conversation kept on going throughout the meal, and the two of you took turns talking while the other took a few bites of food. you hadn’t spent quality time with someone like this in so long—you’ve only been worried about minding the inn for the past few years—and you found that you were totally captivated by him.

you wanted to stay like this forever.

after swallowing a mouthful of food, you met his warm brown eyes with your own. “hey, stan?”

“hmm?”

“how long are you staying for?”

he paused, setting down his utensil and straightening in his seat.

“i mean … i wanna keep doing this with you.” your voice was quieter. “getting to know each other, just … talking. but … i know your stay with me is probably temporary …”

his bit his lower lip for a moment, looking down. the bill came, and he scribbled a signature, handing the waiter a few folded bills along with the receipt.

“let’s head out, yeah?”

“okay …”

the car ride back to the inn was silent, save for the ambience of surrounding traffic and the low hum of the radio. there was a certain tension hanging in the air.

pulling into the parking lot, stan put the car in park, taking the key out.

“look.”

he shifted in his seat, turning his body towards you. nervously, he reached one hand out, placing it on your arm and capturing your attention.

“i’ve been walking a tightrope for what feels like forever. and … i don’t know if i’ll get the privilege of keeping you in my life.”

your heart skipped a beat.

he took a deep breath. “i know damn well i don’t deserve you. hell, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. when i’m with you, i feel like i can be appreciated by somebody …” he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“... nobody has ever made me feel that way before.”

tears welled up quietly. he clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his composure, but ultimately failing.

“i … i had no … idea how much i needed that. how much i needed you.”

a single tear rolled down his cheek, succeeded by another … and another. he was choking the words out.

“i … know we haven’t known each other that long, but … do you … feel it, too?”

there was desperation in his voice, in his eyes.

it was as if he were asking for a miracle.

tears were already clouding your vision. turning in your seat, you gently wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, which he quickly returned.

“i feel it too, stanley.” you murmured, biting back a voice crack as you felt the tears falling. you just squint your eyes shut. he held onto you even tighter, as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

“hah … so i’m not crazy …” he laughed weakly, sniffling and pulling his head back to look at you. his thumbs gently wiped the tears from your face. his touch was so delicate … almost reverent. “i knew there was something between us.”

you sighed quietly as he held your face, smiling upon hearing his laugh.

your next words escaped your mouth before you could process it.

“i love you.”

stanley’s eyes went wide.

“you … what?”

“i … i lov—”

you didn’t get the chance to repeat yourself, as he had leaned in and pressed his lips against your own.

stunned at first, you gradually returned the kiss, letting your eyelids shut on their own. it was sweet and sincere, as if it held the meaning of a thousand words.

after a moment, he pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

“i love you, too.”

he shifted closer to you, moving his head to rest on your shoulder as he pulled you into another hug.

“please … no matter what happens, please promise me you won’t ever forget about me.”

“oh, stan … don’t say that. i couldn’t forget you, even if i tried.”

his strong arms tightened around you even further. you could feel his heartbeat through the rise and fall of his chest, and it lulled you into a trance.

“... my love. mine.”

he kept mumbling vaguely into your shoulder, refusing to let go of you. you smiled to yourself, bringing your hand up to his ponytail and undoing the hairtie so that his mullet fell loose.

and for the next half hour, you ran your fingers through his hair while he clung to you like a magnet.

end

[ part five ]

author's note:

i said goodbye to my sanity in the middle of writing this chapter

also THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ?!?!? the first three parts collectively have over 750 notes DANGGG

part five is happening. >:) lmk if you want in on the taglist

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[mangosrar]

call it what you want pt 6.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

mom i literally need him 😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

game day. game day. game day.

the day in tradition where the whole school gathers to watch a game of sports, played by a group of cocky, stuck up, shit eating jocks. aka: matt sturniolo.

-

“you have to wear it y/n!” he yelled.

“i don’t have to do shit! im not your fucking trophy, and i don’t want to be paraded around in your fucking jersey, just so everyone knows you’re not with jessica, i won’t do it.” you yelled back. crossing your arms, holding firm as you watched him pace the living room, hands on his head.

this argument had been going on for the last 10 minutes. he wanted you to wear his jersey, and you refused. you knew the only reason he wanted you to wear it was so he could advertise you instead of jessica, and you weren’t going to let him have that type of satisfaction.

“if you don’t wear the damn jersey y/n,” he paused before stomping over to you and coming to a halt less than a foot away from you. “i will drag you onto the middle of the rink,

in front of everyone and tell the whole school your mine, just to get the message across.” he said in a low tone, he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

quite frankly, you were speechless, there was something about what he said, and the look in his eyes when he said it, that you couldn’t decipher and it made your face hot, and your throat run dry.

there was a pregnant pause, the both of you just staring at each other, faces inches apart. matt was seething, his jaw was clenched and his eyes staring into yours were firm, but you couldn’t deny the low bubbling feeling in your stomach, from the way he took a small step closer, leaning down and bringing his face closer to yours. you swallowed, desperately trying to pull yourself together, but his face being so close to yours was making you swoon.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, his eyes glanced down to your lips momentarily, and if you didn’t know any better, he was about to kiss you.

“we’re gonna be late”

the both of you pulled away from each other immediately. not daring to look at one another.

matt practically disappeared up his own ass, walking off into the kitchen with his head down without a second glance, and you cleared your throat awkwardly while turning to look at nick, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, with a flat expression.

“we were just um…” you trailed off, looking back into the kitchen, trying to avoid his eyes at all costs.

“put on the jersey y/n” nick said with a monotone voice.

there was no getting out of this. you just sighed before reaching for the jersey that was hanging over the back of the couch, and pulling it over your head, finally looking at nick with a frown. he didn’t even say anything. he just sent you a firm nod, opening the door and motioning for you to walk out before yelling for chris and matt to meet them in the car.

-

“why are they playing so bad?” nick exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

the game was about 35 minutes in, and so far the opposite team was up by 5 nil. they had gotten 2 penalties so far because of matts team playing dirty, or in other words, matt gets pissed off and starts pushing them around.

you could see he was visibly frustrated. he kept doing that neck roll thing, like he was trying to relieve some tension.

but where else could you look when elijah had been shooting daggers at you, from the moment you appeared in the sidelines, clad in matt sturniolo’s jersey with a huge 4 stamped on the front and back, a stark contrast from elijahs number 9. you knew he must have been furious, but it only made you wanna grab matt and smooch his face off right in front of him, just to see the look of pure rage on elijahs face. you obviously never would but, a girl can dream.

suddenly the whole crowd gasped and fell into silence, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“shit” nick muttered. you followed his eyes and saw matt, pulling off his helmet, skating towards the edge of the rink, where you and nick stood.

you examined him as he came towards you, trying to figure out what the whole crowd was stunned by.

“what happened?” nick questioned, frantically.

“kid sent the puck flying straight at my fucking face” matt replied angrily, dropping his helmet, bringing a hand to his mouth, wiping a smidge of blood, where his lip had split.

your face scrunched up slightly. but soon fell when matt turned his gaze of you, pausing for a moment, like he was thinking, before he moved closer, letting his arms rest on the barrier separating the rink and the stands.

you watched him, waiting for his next move. you could’ve swore you saw a lightbulb pop up over his head, as a smirk grew on his face.

he turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder, seeing the whole of his team, and the other team, watching, before turning back, glancing behind you, at the whole audience in a stand still, also watching, then letting his eyes fall back to yours.

“kiss it better” he whispered.

you’re eyes widened at him.

“what?”

“all eyes on you sweetheart” he cooed, shrugging with raised eyebrows.

all eyes on you.

elijah.

jessica.

caden.

all eyes on you.

you had no time to even register what was happening, it was like your body moved before your brain told it to, and before you knew it, your hands were clutching at his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours, in a searing kiss. his lips were soft, and fit perfectly into yours.

you heard nick gasp from besides you as the whole crowd erupted into applaud. matt smiled against your mouth before pulling away, eyes boring into yours before opening his mouth to speak.

“almost convincing” he muttered, before turning around and skating off back to the middle of the rink, to the rest of his team, leaving you stood there in utter disbelief.

you kissed matt. you kissed matt and the whole school saw.

but you kissed matt and the whole school saw. he got exactly what he wanted, he got to put his trophy on display, and show everyone that he wasn’t with jessica. that’s why he did it, and you weren’t sure if it was because of that reason, or because you wished it wasn’t that reason, that you felt a little pang of sadness deep in your chest.

“what. the. fuck” nick spoke, staring at the side of your face with wide eyes. you just hung your head refusing to meet his gaze.

he was right. what. the fuck.

you just completely went against everything you agreed on and let matt get exactly what he wanted and a little part of you felt disgusted with yourself.

you could feel eyes burning holes burning into the back of you. out of pure fear, of either jessica or caden, you couldn’t turn around, you were not prepared for the blazing confrontation from either one of them.

you lifted your head back up and locked eyes with matt, he was smirking at you as his teammates clapped him on the back and dapped him up, as if they were proud of him and the more you watched, the more all of that disgust turned into complete fury.

how dare he. how dare he embarrass you and put you on the spot like that. he was just proving your point of what a jerk he was and giving you even more reasons to hate the fucking bones of him.

he was hot and cold. one minute, he was calling you ugly and being straight up fucking mean, then the next he was kissing you in front of everyone like it was nothing. he had been pulling you in just to push you back out again and it had only been one week. one week of pure insufferable tension that made you want to yell in his face and slap him blind.

he knew you never wanted to take this too far, this was supposed to be a harmless agreement to fulfil a jealousy plan, and a stupid “piss off your parents” plan, but he had crossed the line. he had grabbed you by the throat and sunk his teeth into you without a care in the world.

you were furious. your face was hot with rage and you’re breathing became laboured. you weren’t sure if you had ever felt rage like this before.

nick needed to hear this. he needed to know what a head fuck his brother was, but as you turned to him, you were met with a look of pure horror on his face. he was staring at whatever was happening on the ice.

in your moment of anger you hadn’t realised the commotion going on around you, people were yelling, whistles being blown, various coaches and other team members rushing onto the ice in a panic.

and when your eyes snapped to where everyone was looking, your face fell, with eyes wide and mouth hanging open, your heart stopped beating for a second.

————————————-——————————————

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[wandering-winchesters]

No Room for Blame

Summary: After a hunt leaves you injured saving Sam, a tense and emotional ride back to the motel forces Dean to confront his fear, anger, and the unbreakable bond between the three of you.

The hunt had gone sideways, fast. What was supposed to be a routine salt-and-burn turned into a nightmare when the spirit you were hunting turned out to be far more powerful than any of you had anticipated. In the chaos of the fight, Sam had been pinned, unable to move, the spirit’s ghostly hands tightening around his throat. You didn’t think twice—you launched yourself at the spirit, using every ounce of strength and whatever weapons you had on hand to distract it and give Sam a chance to break free.

It worked, but not without a cost. The spirit turned its fury on you, throwing you hard against a wall. You felt a sharp, searing pain in your side as you hit the ground, and everything went dark for a moment. By the time you came to, the spirit was gone, banished by Sam and Dean, who had finished the job. But the damage was done. You could barely move, every breath sending sharp, stabbing pains through your ribs.

Sam was at your side in an instant, his face pale with worry as he helped you to your feet. You saw the guilt in his eyes, clear as day. He knew you’d taken the hit for him, and it was eating him up inside. But there was no time to dwell on it. The three of you needed to get out of there before anything else went wrong.

The ride back to the motel was a quiet one. Sam had insisted on sitting in the backseat with you, his usual spot next to Dean forgotten in favor of being close, making sure you were okay. He kept glancing at you, his brow furrowed with concern, his hand hovering near yours as if he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should.

“You should’ve let me handle it,” Sam finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of guilt and frustration. “You didn’t have to—”

“I couldn’t just let it kill you, Sam,” you interrupted, your voice strained with pain but firm. “I wasn’t about to lose you.”

He fell silent, his jaw tightening as he stared out the window, clearly struggling with his emotions. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists in his lap. Sam was blaming himself for what happened, even though you both knew that in a hunt, things rarely went as planned.

The Impala’s engine hummed steadily, the only sound breaking the heavy silence between you. Dean hadn’t said much since you all piled into the car, his eyes focused on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. You knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. He was angry—angry that you’d gotten hurt, angry that the hunt had gone so wrong, and probably angry at himself for letting it happen.

The motel finally came into view, and you could feel the tension in the car ratchet up another notch. Dean parked the Impala with more force than necessary, the tires squealing slightly as he pulled into the lot. He was out of the car and around to your side in seconds, opening the door and leaning in to help you out before Sam could even unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Let’s get you inside,” Dean said, his voice clipped and controlled, but you could hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You nodded, too exhausted to argue, and let him help you out of the car. The pain in your side flared up as you moved, and you couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips. Dean’s grip tightened around you, his expression hardening as he all but carried you toward the motel room.

Sam followed close behind, his guilt-ridden silence a heavy presence that seemed to weigh down the air around you. You could feel the tension between the brothers, a palpable thing that made your chest tighten with something other than pain.

Dean pushed open the motel room door, guiding you inside and over to the bed. He was gentle as he helped you sit down, but his movements were stiff, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Sam hovered by the door, his eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know whether to come closer or keep his distance.

“Dean…” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp shake of his head.

“Not now,” he said, his voice rough. “We need to get you patched up.”

You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with him when he was like this. He was in full protective mode, and that meant nothing else mattered until he was sure you were okay. But you also knew that his anger wasn’t just about you being hurt—it was about the risk you’d taken to protect Sam. And that was something he couldn’t just brush off.

Dean moved with practiced efficiency, retrieving the first aid kit and kneeling beside you to assess the damage. You winced as he gently lifted your shirt to inspect the bruising already forming along your ribs, but he didn’t say a word, his expression set in a grim line.

Sam stayed by the door, his guilt weighing heavily in the room. He finally spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as he turned to look at his brother. “Don’t start that crap, Sam. It’s not your fault.”

“Dean, if I had just—”

“If you had just what? Let that thing kill you?” Dean’s voice was rising now, his anger no longer held back. “She did what she had to do, and now she’s hurt because of it. But don’t you dare blame yourself for this. We all made choices out there.”

Sam flinched at Dean’s harsh tone but didn’t back down. “But she wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for me.”

“Enough!” you cut in, your voice strained but firm. You couldn’t bear to see them tearing each other apart over this. “This isn’t about blame. We’re a team, and we all did what we had to do. I’d do it again if it meant keeping you both safe.”

Dean looked at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes hadn’t completely faded. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t have to put yourself in danger like that.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. “And you shouldn’t have to either, but we do it because that’s what we do. We protect each other.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained tight. “Just… don’t do it again, okay? I can’t—” His voice caught, and he quickly looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

“I won’t,” you promised, though you both knew it was a lie. In this life, there were no guarantees. But in that moment, it was what he needed to hear.

Dean finished patching you up in silence, his movements gentle but his expression still shadowed with worry. Sam eventually moved closer, sitting on the edge of the other bed, his head in his hands as he tried to process everything.

The room was quiet, the tension slowly ebbing away as the reality of what had happened settled in. It wasn’t the first time one of you had gotten hurt, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it was a reminder of just how fragile everything was, how easily things could go wrong.

When Dean finally stood up, he took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he looked between you and Sam. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice low but steady. “We always do.”

You nodded, grateful for the reassurance, and Sam finally lifted his head, meeting Dean’s gaze with a small, hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. “We will.”

The three of you sat in the quiet motel room, the weight of the night slowly lifting, replaced by the unspoken bond that had always held you together. You knew there would be more hunts, more dangers, and more times when you’d have to put everything on the line for each other. But you also knew that as long as you had each other, you could face whatever came next.

And that was enough.

Taglist: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

[wafflefries13]

The Consequence of Late Night Calls

Summary: You've been friends with Katsuki for years, and you've always thought it's been just that - friends. But when you get a late-night call, it might just change things.

AN: Last repost! The original post got eaten by Tumblr. I'm still really proud of this one. I wrote it back when I was first starting to publish fanfic and I like how it turned out.

Warnings: College au, drinking, language

The call shocked you out of a deep but impromptu sleep. You jerked up from the noise, a page of lecture notes sticking to your check. It fluttered back to the desk covered in its own mess of loose leaf documents, used textbooks that cost more than a weekend trip to Disney World, and a laptop missing three of its letter keys. 

You dragged your tongue against your teeth, trying to get rid of the cotton feel coating the inside of your mouth. Rubbing stars into your tired eyes, you wondered when exactly you had fallen asleep. Was it somewhere near memorizing the latin terminology for court rhetoric or around reading the case file and trial records you were going to be tested over on Monday? Deciding wondering was basically pointless, considering you had pretty  much forgotten all of it anyway, you pawed blindly around for your phone. 

“Hello?” You answered, eyes still closed, although it probably came out and more of a mumbled groan than anything else.  

“(Y/NNNNNNNNN)!” 

You pulled the phone away from your ear, wincing at the sudden loud noise. Blinking bleerally, you looked down at your phone. You had taken the caller ID picture a year ago, at a sorority Halloween party you barely remembered aside from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed followed by an ill-advised scavenger hunt that ended with a call to the police and the dean’s car somehow ending up in the agriculture department’s greenhouse crowded with Jack-O-lanterns. It was a profile shot of Bakugou Katsuki, his mouth opened in a mid-yell scowl, as was his standard expression, and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. One hand extended to try and block the camera, the other clutching a brown bottle. He was wearing a fantasy barbarian king costume, chest bare to show off the taut muscles he worked so hard for all of high school to get. When he’d shown up in it, or, rather, when Kirishima had dragged him along in his own dragonborn costume, you couldn’t believe he still had it. You remembered sitting in your basement in 9th grade, pricking your fingers with a sewing needle as you and the rest of your newly formed D&D group, Bakugou and Kirishima included, spent way too much time and effort into creating your costumes. 

Rubbing at the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to chase away the headache you could already feel forming, you brought the phone back to your ear. You could hear the low thump of bass heavy music in the background. 

“Hi, Suki,” You said, trying not to sound condescending, but it came out like that anyway. 

“Hey!” He said sharply. The rest of his reply was slurred smooth. “I told you not to call me that.” 

You smirked. “It’s cute.” 

“It’s embarrassing! ‘M not cute.” 

“No, you’re calling me at-” You pulled the phone away again to check the time. “Katsuki, it’s like two in the morning, what the hell?” 

You heard someone shout something on the other side of the line that Katsuki mumbled a reply to. To you he said, “Was thinking about you.” 

You felt yourself blush despite yourself. “You were thinking about me?” 

There was a clunk and a bump. You could imagine him falling against a wall and sliding down to sit until the room stopped spinning. “Yeah. I don’t like it.” 

You ignored the jab in your heart. “Well, thanks.” 

“It keeps happening. I’ll just be, like, doing stuff, and then I just think, ‘What would (Y/N) think of that?’ ‘I wonder what (Y/N)’s doing right now.’ ‘(Y/N) would know what to do now. She’s so smart. And her hands look so soft. And her eyes are so pretty.’” He was quiet for a second. “It’s annoying. I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s worse when you’re here.” There was a shuffling as you heard him try to stand up then give up again. “Why aren’t you here? I want you here.” 

You were wide awake now. You clenched and unclenched your hand, trying to process the information your obviously drunk friend had just confessed. Your stomach churned in a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and straight up butterflies. 

What the hell did all of that mean? Well, of course you knew what it meant, or you knew what it meant when spoken by a sober person of sound mind and body. But there was no way, you tried to rationalize, that The Bakugou Katsuki, the guy you’d known since freshman year of high school when he’d punched a guy who had flipped up your uniform skirt on the first day, the guy who had surprised just about everyone in home economics when he busted out a three tiered cake like it was no one’s business, the guy whos ego was big enough to have its own gravitational pull, was confessing his feelings to you in a drunk rant at two in the morning. 

“Katsuki,” You said in a soft voice. “I-” 

There was a retching sound from the other end of the line. Katsuki coughed, tried to say something, then threw up again. “Aw, fuck.” 

That headache was back with avengence now. You sighed, looking for your keys. “Katsuki, where are you?” 

“Uhh, on campus? At the Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. There’s a party. Why aren’t you here?” 

“You know I hate all the Greek life bs. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming to get you. You’re completely wasted.” 

“‘M not. I can handle what I drink.” There was another pause before he wretched again. 

“Did you just throw up again?” 

“...No.” 

“Cool. I’ll be there in ten.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond before hanging it. You didn’t think your heart could take it if he kept going on like he had been. Grabbing your keys and heading out of your crowded studio apartment, you hopped in your car to go save your drunk friend from making any other ill advised decisions that night. 

You realized that you were probably over thinking the whole phone call as you drove through deserted streets. You couldn’t help it, it was a bad habit you had formed as a kid that now  made you obsess over court documents and testimonies in class. But now, instead of helping, it was picking you apart. What did Katsuki’s tone imply when he was talking to you just now? Could you trust the tone of an inebriated person? What did he mean when he said he thought about you a lot? You’d known each other for years now, being involved in almost all the same activities. Wouldn’t it be natural to think about someone you spent so much time with? But you’d known Kirishima for just as long, not to mention the rest of the self-named “Baku-Squad.” You’d never gotten a late night drunk call from any of them. Heck, Katsuki had known Izuku way longer than he had known you, and you were pretty dang sure Katsuki had never called him going on and on about how he always thought about him. 

Stopping at a red light, you pressed your forehead into the soft faux-leather of your steering wheel, willing your thoughts to calm down and just come to a rational conclusion already. Expect, you know, a rational conclusion that wasn’t that the guy you had carried a torch for for almost as long as you had known him might actually have feelings for you back. 

You turned on to the street lined with sororities and fraternities across from the main campus. You had to slam on your breaks almost immediately to avoid running over a tipsy, giggling co-ed who was stumbling out into the road. She didn’t even look up at you. 

You didn’t know exactly which house Katsuki was stranded at, considering you could see at least three different parties all going on at first glance. His “Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever” wasn’t very helpful, either, considering all the Greek letters adorning the houses blended together in your mind at some point. And you really didn’t want to tramp through a bunch of different houses tonight. 

Thankfully, you were saved the trouble when you saw Kirishima’s 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle park half off the curb in front of one of the houses. You’d know that car anywhere. Kirishima had dragged your group to various scrap yards and auto-repair stores all summer after he got his license, the first of you all to do so, in an effort to fix up the worn down Chevelle that he’d bought for a hundred bucks and a turkey sandwich. 

You parked on the other side of the street then jogged across to the house that was practically vibrating with heavy music and Greek life energy. Stepping over a semi-conscious frat boy laying in the doorway, you scanned around the house for any sign of Katsuki’s pomeranian-puff-ball hair. 

You spotted Denki lounging on a couch, a lampshade on his head and a tangle of phone chargers clutched in his fist. His hand sparked every now and then as he used his quirk to recharge the collection of phones. 

You lifted up the edge of the lampshade. “Hey there, Pikachu.” 

“Heeeeeey~” He said, giving you a thumbs up. You could already tell he was too far gone, although you didn’t know if it was from drinking or the over use of his quirk. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice call behind you. A body fell heavily against your back. Sero wrapped his arms around you in a backwards hug. “Where you been? We missed you!” 

“Studying. I’m boring, remember? I’m looking for Katsuki, you seen him around?” 

Sero snickered. “Bakugou, huh? He’s been looking for you for a long time, right, Denki?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Sero snickered again, flopping on the couch next to Denki. “Can’t tell. Part of the bro code. And he said he’d kill me.” 

“That does sound like Katsuki.” 

Sero covered his eyes with his arm, head leaning back. With a wide smile, he waved his hand in the vague direction to the back door. “I think he’s out by the pool or something.” 

You waved bye. “Thanks, I’ll go check it out. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” 

“Look at ‘em go,” Sero said to Denki as you left. “You think they’ll have a spring wedding?” 

“Heeeeeey~” 

*~~~~* 

You managed to weave your way through the crowd of bodies clogging the house to finally spill out into the back yard. You had no idea how people were able to stay this energized this late into the night with this many other people around. You remembered once being stuck at another party, early on in your college days. When it became super clear you didn’t want to be there, overwhelmed by the noise, the crush of bodies, and the suffocation of social enterprise, Katsuki had dragged Kirishima over to you, planting him in front of you as your ‘extrovert shield.’  He’d stayed with you behind the boisterous redhead for the rest of the night. 

You wondered if Katsuki remembered doing that, if he remembered any of the small nice gestures he did for you over the years. And now, with his call, with what Sero said, with your over analyzing brain, you were dissecting every interaction you could remember. Was the time he opened a door for you a signal? Was the reason he would ask to study with you for chemistry, when he was way better in practically every subject than you, just so he could be close to you? Were the times he had given you his jacket when you were cold meant to be a more intimate moment? 

God, you were going to go crazy. 

Walking around the pool, you finally spotted the hot-headed blond. He was sitting slouched over on the end of one of the reclining pool chairs, forearms braced on his knees.  You almost called out to him, stopping cold when you saw the girl behind him. She had draped herself over his back, chin rested in the crook of his neck, one had massaging his shoulder, the other conspicuously sneaking under the hem of his shirt to rub circles on his abs. 

You clenched and unclenched your hands, worry gnawing at you as a headache at the back of your skull. Had something changed between the time he had called you and now? Had there been nothing there to change at all? Had you been misreading this situation the whole time? 

Katsuki looked up, his permanently affixed scowl even deeper. The second his jewel-red eyes met yours, you felt your heart skip a beat. He jumped to his feet so fast the girl behind him fell back against the chair. He tried marching over to you, which was made only slightly less intimidating by the drunk sway to his step. 

You didn’t remember him being so tall. You’d just seen him this afternoon. There was a flushed blush across his face, adding a surprising softness. Were his arms always that strong looking? Were his eyes that piercing? Was his jaw that strong? 

“You came,” He said, voice rough as whiskey soaking into gravel. 

You spread your hands. “Well, you said my name three times, so, here I am!” You laughed nervously, trying to ignore how his gaze pinned you down. 

He took another step towards you, hand reading up. “(Y/N), I-” 

His cheeks turned from pink to green. Lurching to the side, he vomited into the pool. You tried to help him back up, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. The crowd of people around you groaned in disgust before rolling in to sarcastic applause. Katsuki flipped them off. 

“Alright, Suki,” You said, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you back home.” 

He grumbled, leaning his full weight against you. You almost stumbled and fell with the sudden shift of balance. Katsuki slid his arm around your waist, hand firmly grasping your hip, as if he was the one trying to prevent you from a drunken stumble. His fingers felt like fire through your clothes. 

You decided to go around the house instead of trying to push your way through it. Soon you were making your way across the street. It took some maneuvering to unlock and open the passenger door. You practically dropped Katsuki in where his head fell back with a groan. You grabbed his seat belt and stretched across him to fasten it. It wasn’t until he started petting your hair that your realized your position of half-way laying across his lap. You jerked back, some of your hair getting caught in his fingers. He made a disappointed sound at the loss of it. 

You slid back into the driver's seat, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You had to take a few steadying breaths before you were ready to start the car. Pulling out of the neighborhood, you glanced over at Katsuki. His eye brows were furrowed, eyes closed, mouth pulled in a small frown. 

God, he looked adorable. 

You hit the break harder than you meant to at the light. Adorable? Where the hell did that thought come from? He’d probably be furious if he knew you ever thought that. 

But…

You risked another look at him. When he let his face relax like this, you could see the slight chub that still clung to his cheeks. Another thing he would hate to know that you thought was how much you loved the softness that it leant him. It was cute. 

Almost without your realizing it, you lifted your hand. You were overcome with the sudden urge to poke his cheek. A car horn blared behind you when your finger was less than an inch from his face. You let out an undignified squeak, hands slamming back to the wheel. Katsuki grumbled and turned in the seat, head resting against the window. You could feel the blush burning up your face. 

A few minutes later, you pulled back to the apartment complex. You both lived in the same building, Katsuki directly below your own unit. And now you were overthinking his reason for not living on campus. 

When you opened the passenger door, Katsuki almost fell out. You jerked forward to catch him then dragged him out. He half woke up, as feeble on his legs as a newborn horse. 

You lugged him through the lobby. He was muttering under his breath, but most of the words you could make out were curses. Not unusual for him. You pressed the button for the elevator repeatedly. It just blinked back at you. You sighed in frustration. They had been doing maintenance on your building all week, but now might have been the absolute worst time to do the elevator. 

You shook Katsuki’s shoulder a little bit. His head jostled like a bobble-head. “Suki, I’m gonna need your help here for a minute.” 

His head lolled forward, forehead coming down to press to yours. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.” 

You shoved him upright, face burning. “Then walk up the damn stairs yourself!” 

Despite that, you still ended up half-carrying him up four flights of stairs. You were uncomfortably sweaty when you reached the door to Katsuki’s apartment. The two of you had traded copies of your apartment keys when you had moved in. “In case something happens to your dumb ass and I need to come save you,” He had said. He would frequently stop by, usually when you were hours deep into an all-nighter. He’d bring his laptop and work on whatever 12 page essay way due on your bed while you poured over case reports. You’d sit in silence, just together, sharing the same space, content with nothing more than knowing the other was nearby. Or he’d bring you real food to make sure you weren’t just eating ramen all the time. In turn, you’d pull him out for game night with the squad, make sure he’d actually call his mother once in a while, and lend an ear to his semi-nightly rants on whoever he decided to hate that night. 

You fumbled with the keys, jamming the key in the lock then pushing it open with your shoulder that wasn’t currently occupied by a half-asleep, full-drunk boy who had at least 50 pounds and ten inches on you. 

There was always an expectation with the rooms of single college boys. Greasy pizza boxes, empty bottles of booze displayed like expensive decor, at least one poster of a half-naked girl somewhere, probably a basket of clothes that should have been washed weeks ago. And while you knew plenty of guys who fit that description, Katsuki defied expectation. His apartment was always immaculate. His shoes were lined neatly by the door, a calendar above his desk  color-coded with assignment due dates, bed made. Katsuki may give off the persona of a punk, but you knew he was a straight-laced nerd through and through.  

With the last of your strength, you lugged him across the room, dropping him on his bed. With a groan, you stretched your arms up until you heard a satisfying pop in your back. Hands on your hips, you watched as Katsuki moaned, burying his face in his pillow and pulling his feet up from the floor. You sat on the end of the bed, tugging his feet to you to unlace his shoes. You let them fall haphazardly to the floor, too tired to care about his level of neatness.  

You grabbed a bucket from his hall closet, putting it next to the head of his bed for when he inevitably woke up vomiting in the morning. Checking his bathroom, you put a couple of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand with a post-it note saying “Drink Me.” 

Brushing your hands off, you looked around and checked your work. Satisfied that he wouldn’t kill himself between now and when you would inevitably check on him in the morning, you decided it was finally time to head back upstairs and get some well deserved sleep. 

But… 

You turned back at the door. Katsuki was splayed like a starfish, gently snoring with his mouth wide open. You also noticed his blushing red fluffy cheeks. 

You tapped the door knob a few times before sighing in surrender to temptation and turnin back. You knelt down next to the bed. For a moment, you just watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful now. You reached out. Your index finger sunk into his cheek like it was a marshmallow. You couldn’t believe you had never done this before. God, he really was adorable. 

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off as Katsuki’s hand shot up and grabbed your wrist with an iron grip. With a shriek, you tried to scramble backwards. Katsuki lazily opened his eyes, not at all bothered by your struggles. With seemingly no effort on his part, he tugged you forward. Off balance, you fell into his chest. Katsuki wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug, slinging a leg over yours, trapping you on the bed. 

“Katsuki!” You hissed. You squirmed in his hold, not getting any extra room. He just hummed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You were pretty sure your face was hot enough to start a fire. “Katsuki, let me go!” 

“No,” He mumbled. His voice rumbled against your skin sending shivers through your whole body. 

“Katsuki!” 

“You can’t leave. If you leave, you won’t come back.” 

You stopped struggling. “What are you talking about?” 

He squeezed you tighter. “I’m loud. I get angry real easy. I fight a lot. And you…” He trailed off, his breath catching and rattling in his chest. “You’re so much better than me. You’re nice and smart and talented and pretty and caring and… and…” You could feel the hot tears landing on your skin. He was starting to shake. His grip had loosened enough for you to get out, but instead you brought your arms up and pulled him in closer. “If I let you go, you’ll see how much better you are than me. And you’ll leave. You’ll leave me because you’re better and you deserve so much better. But I’m a selfish bastard and I just want you for myself because I love you so damn much.” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You wiggled your hand up, threading your hand into his hair and tilting his head to look up at you. 

“I love you too,” You said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Katsuki crushed you to his chest, letting out another loud sob. You could feel hot tears pressing against your eyes. You had no idea Katsuki felt this way about anything; about you, about himself, about your relationship. 

But one thing you knew for sure: You loved Bakugou Katsuki. 

~~~

The first thing Katsuki noticed when he woke up was the head ache. His head felt like he had a railroad spike jammed through his temples. God, what did he do last night? There was the party at Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. It’d been fine for a while, hanging out with the guys, playing beer pong, winning some extra cash from freshman in poker (where did he put that money anyway?). And then…

And then someone had said your name. He’d heard it across the room, an amazing feat in and of itself, but his ears were trained for any news of you. He’d jerked up right when he heard it, missing his shot at the beer pong table. He gladly took his drink and went prowling through the house. Who had said your name? Were you here? Were you coming?  

It might have been selfish, he knew how much you hated loud crowds, but damn it, he wanted you here. He remembered the last Greek life party you had been at. He’d lost you at some point between getting into an argument with that damn Deku and pulling Denki down from a keg stand. He’d finally found you huddled into some back corner, looking like a rabbit about to dart from a hungry fox (he wouldn’t mind being that fox, honestly, he could eat you right up.) You’d lost the color in your face, hands shaking as you clutched your red Solo cup almost hard enough for your nails to pierce the plastic. 

He snatched Kirishima by his collar as he carved a path through the room. He planted the extroverted red-head in front of you, creating an extrovert shield between himself and the love of his life you. He’d spent the rest of the night talking to you. Nothing special, he couldn’t even really remember what about. But he did remember the relaxed slope of your shoulders, the spark in your eyes, the smile that played on your lips at whatever lame joke he had just made. 

Back in the present (or last night, whatever), he was still stalking through the halls looking for whoever had mentioned you. He heard it again, the tail end of your name, coming from the living room. 

“-(/N) never had it so good.” There he was, lounging along the bottom stairs with a smug look on his face as he regaled the small crowd he had attracted. Katsuki recognized him as one of those legacy kids, the one who showed up to the first day of orientation in a sleek black Bugatti and took up three parking spaces, talked in almost every one of his classes when he even bothered to show up, and was, without a doubt at every party on or off campus. 

And now he was telling a story about you. What were you ever doing with an asshole like him? 

“You would never guess it from how she dresses, you know,” The guy continued, lazily waving his half-empty beer bottle. “But she is stacked.” 

Katsuki tensed up, his heart jumping into his throat. He pushed aside the crowd until he stood right in front of the bragger on the stairs. “What did you just say?” He asked through clenched teeth. “You're talking about (Y/N) (L/N), right?” 

He lazily swept his gaze up, grinning wide when he saw Katsuki. “Yeah, (Y/N)? You know, she comes across as a frigid bitch, but let me tell you, she’s an incredible lay.” Katsuki’s vision went red. The crowd started to subtly shuffle away, feeling the cold change in atmosphere. “Not much besides that, honestly. Thank god her tits and ass are amazing, cause her face sure wasn’t doing it for me. Super boring, too, heard she’s failing her classes. Oh, well. Hey, I could use a side-piece when I’m running my own firm, you know?” 

The asshole never saw it coming. In the span of a heart beat, Katsuki had grabbed his designer jacket and hoisted him off the stairs, pinning him to the wall so his feet kicked to try and reach the ground. 

“You listen to me, asshole,” Katsuki hissed. “You never talk about (Y/N) again. You never look at her, you never talk to your shit-stain friends about her, you sure as fuck never tell another lie about her, or so help me, you’ll get to find out what color your liver is.” 

Katsuki was half-way sure the jerk had pissed his pants. He dropped him in a heap, landing in the puddle of spilled beer on the floor. He brushed his hand off on his jeans, eager to get whatever germs the gossip had off him.  

He was almost out of ear shot when he heard the rich kid spit and say, “Fine. She’s probably crawling with it if you’re dicking her down.” 

The kid’s head made a dent in the wall as he richoched back from the impact of Katsuki’s punch. He would easily have a black eye and a broken nose, the chipped tooth would just be a  bonus. 

Katsuki’s head was fuzzy with rage, stalked through the house, bee-lining it to the nearest source of inebriation. How dare he? How fucking dare that absolute ass-wipe ever even think of saying such horrible things about you? He wasn’t even worth knowing your name, much less saying it. Not to mention the fact he must be blind to think you were anything less than stunning. Ever since he had known you, you had been nothing but kind and smart and caring and funny and…

“Baku-bro, you doing okay?” 

Katsuki didn’t realize how tight he was holding his fists until he relaxed. His nails had made half-moon indents in his palms, his knuckles brushed red from the punch. 

Kirishima had his mouth pulled down in that stupid puppy dog pout. “I’m fine,” Katsuki brushed him off. He grabbed a beer out of an iced cooler, twisting off the cap in a single motion and chugging half the bottle. 

“Well, that’s good, cause I don’t think Tim Flood is making it out of here without a few stitches.” 

“Good.” Katsuki finished the beer and chucked it into a recycle bin. He grabbed another and stalked out of the room. Everything felt too hot, too tight. His head was pounding. If you were here, you’d get a bag of ice and press it against his forehead. You’d probably call him an idiot for getting into another fight, that he needed to learn how to manage his temper better. He’d call you a dumbass but let you lead him away somewhere dark and quiet, away from all the other more insufferable dumbasses. You’d find some pain killers, get him some water, because that’s just the kind of caring person you were. Maybe you’d bring him upstairs, lead him to an unoccupied bedroom. The two of you would sit together on the bed, maybe just a little too close. You’d hand him the water, his hand would brush against yours. You’d look down, shy, blushing cutely. He’d lean forward, thread his hand through your incredibly soft hair, angle your face up to him. Your plush lips would part slightly and he’d lean forward and - 

“Are you sure you’re good?” Kirishima asked, abruptly cutting off Katsuki’s impromptu fantasy. “Cause you don’t look so good.” Katsuki bit his tongue. “Is it because of what that guy said about (Y/N)?” Katsuki whipped around, glaring daggers. Kirishima smiled and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, bro, it’s okay! No one believed him, anyway.” 

Katsuki scoffed, taking a swig of the beer. “(Y/N)’s too good for him anyway.” 

“I bet you think (Y/N)’s too good for everyone here, right?” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to hurry up and tell (Y/N) you like her!” Sero shouted, jumping in out of nowhere. 

Katsuki dropped his bottle, Kirishima catching it just in time, and grabbed Sero by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. Sero just grinned his stupid, wide grin. 

“Come on, Katsuki,” Denki said, slinging an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “We all know you’ve had a thing for (Y/N) since high school. Why don’t you just put us all out of our misery and tell her already?!” 

Katsuki felt his face heat up. “I don’t- I haven’t - Fuck you!”  Katsuki couldn’t remember why he was friends with these three idiots as they all burst out into laughter.

 He snatched his bottle back and pushed through the crowd. He needed some air. He heard Sero yell after him, “You have to tell her eventually!” 

And… That was mostly it. Katsuki’s memories of last night sort of started to trail off after that. He knew that he drank, he drank a lot. At some point he ended up by the pool. And maybe he’d called someone? Oh, hell, he hoped he hadn’t called someone. 

His eyes snapped open at the soft groan. There you were, just inches away from his face, fast asleep and tucked in his arms. You were pressed close, breasts pushing against his chest, legs tangled with his, one hand clutching his shirt. Your lips were parted ever so slightly, breathing heavy and even. 

And you were so fucking close. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His arms tightened around you and he tensed. How the hell did this happen? Did you actually come to the party last night? When, and why? What had called you down there-? 

Oh. Oh, the call! He had called you last night? Some time in his drunken haze he must have figured out to bypass the timed lock he had put on it specifically to avoid calling people with a too-honest tongue. But had you…?  Nervously, he looked down. He sighed in relief. You were both still dressed. At least that was one mistake he knew he hadn’t made. 

Alright, that was one problem. Now, on to the next one: How was he going to get out of here without waking you up? Craning his head around, he checked out the room. Wait, this was his room. He was in his apartment! A picture of last night started to form in his mind. He’d called you, blabbering God knows what, and then you’d been a good person (why were you such a good person?) and had come to get him, to make sure he was okay. And then what? He’d somehow seduced you into his bed? No, it was more likely you had stayed to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit, maybe sat on the bed because it was the middle of the night and you were exhausted, and then… This. 

Okay, okay, no, this was fine, he could fix this. He could slip out, let you keep sleeping. He’d make some breakfast in the kitchen and then you’d wake up, wander in rubbing the sleep from your eyes in that cute way you did when you pulled an all-nighter studying. He’d chastise you for lugging his drunk ass up here, for being out so late at night. You’d wave him off, compliment his cooking, tell him to take better care of himself, and then smile up at him with that blindingly beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. 

“Morning.” Katsuki yelped at your greeting. He stared, wide-eyed, down at you, as you look back up at him lazily with those sparkling eyes. “It’s kinda hard to breathe here.” He realized then just how tight he was holding you. He jerked backward, his shout of surprise cut off as he fell off the bed. He rubbed his sore hip, looking up when he heard your giggle. You were leaning over the bed, smiling shyly when he caught you staring. 

He gulped hard, feeling his face burning up. “Hi.” 

You tucked a loose threat of hair behind your ear. “Hi.” 

He should say something. He needed to say something. God, why wasn’t he saying something? 

“I-“ Katsuki stopped with an incomplete thought in his mouth. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, his stomach clenching and throat going dry. Your face dropped as you lunged forward, dragging a bucket in front of him (where did that even come from?). He surged forward, clenching the sides of the bucket in a white knuckled grip, and threw up. 

You slid off the bed and knelt next to him. You rubbed small circles in his back, whispering small comforts as he coughed up bile and alcohol and who knows what else. You reached over behind him and grabbed a glass of water from his nightstand. 

“Here,” You said. “Rinse and spit. Don’t swallow or gargle, it’ll just mess with your gag reflex.” Rubbing the spike of pain growing in his forehead, he did what you said. When he caught his breath, he accepted the pain killers you had and dry swallowed them. You really had prepared for everything, huh? 

Katsuki shoved the bucket away with his foot, leaning back against the bed. “Fuck…” 

You hummed in response and scooted to sit next to him. “So,” You said. 

“So,” He said back. 

“I don’t suppose you remember much from last night?” 

He clenched his jaw, mouth going dryer than it already was, if that was possible. He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and strained, even to him. “Hey, we’re both still wearing pants, right?” You didn’t laugh back. 

“So that’s a no then?” The seriousness with which you said that made him pause. 

“I, uh, think I called you?” 

“MmHmm. You didn’t sound too great, so I came to pull you out.” 

“Huh. Thanks for that.” 

“Yup.” You paused for a second. “Do you remember… anything else you said?” 

Fuck. 

“Uhh, I owe you breakfast?” 

You looked away. “Is there anything you maybe told Sero that you wouldn’t want him to tell me?” 

Double fuck. 

“If this is about Halloween last year, Mina was the one who brought the Ouija board.” He smirked at you, waiting for you to laugh with him. Instead you didn’t even look up, staring a hole in the carpet with the intensity of your gaze. 

You let out a sigh through your nose, pushing off your knees to stand. “I’m gonna head out,” You said, rubbing the back of your head and still not looking at him. 

Katsuki jumped up, immediately regretting as his head began swimming. “(Y/N), wait-“ He cut himself off with another surge of nausea and lurched towards the bucket. 

“Katsuki,” You said, sounding frustrated. “Look, I…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair and turning back to him. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, right? And for all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been stubborn and pig-headed and aggressive and just, you know, you. But still, in all that time, despite everything, I still…” You pressed your lips, looking for the right words. “I’m happy when I’m around you, Katsuki. I feel at ease, I feel protected, I feel like I can be better at anything. And I’ve thought about this a lot, so much that it makes my head spin and my heart hurt, but through all the trouble I still think it’s worth it. Because at the end of the day it means I still get to be with you and sometimes I just feel like that’s enough, but now I…” Your lip was trembling, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to take a big step forward and wrap you in the biggest, tightest hug of your life. Finally, you sighed in defeat. “But if you can’t say it, if the One and Only Katsuki Bakugou can’t say it, then how the hell can I?” 

Your voice broke on the last word. Katsuki was so stunned and suddenly pinned with guilt that he couldn’t move when you spun on your heels and rushed out of his apartment. 

Oh, fuck. 

~~~

“Idiot,” You murmured to yourself as you fled up the apartment stairs, furiously wiping at your eyes to get rid of the oncoming tears. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” By the time you reached your apartment and slammed the door behind you, you weren’t sure if you were talking about Katsuki or yourself. 

You felt sick. Anxiety gnawed at your mind like a starving coyote. Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki? Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki like that? Would he ever speak to you again? Would things just become too awkward that you’d be edged out of your friend group? They had known Katsuki much longer than they had known you, after all. God, what if he was calling Kirishima right now and telling him about the disaster of a morning, after you had taken advantage of his blitz out state and slept in the same bed with him? 

Well, no. Kirishima was probably still knocked  out from his own night of heavy imbibing. Not to mention that even he, the most kind-hearted and patient person you knew, would have to draw a line at listening to Katsuki rant while dealing with a massive hangover. 

And no, Katsuki wouldn’t do that to you. Despite his rough deminor, his abrasive personality, and his profane tongue, Katsuki was actually a sweetheart deep down. Maybe really deep down, but still. He wouldn’t be so intentionally cruel, even if you told him that you shared all of his baby pictures of him playing in his All Might onesie online. 

So then why were you still huddled on a heap on the floor, back pressed against the front door, crying? Why was this pit of loneliness blooming in your chest?  

You yelped at the sudden banging on the door. Who could be here so early in the morning? You had paid rent this month, right? You sniffed, rubbing your eyes and smoothing out your clothes. You hoped your cheeks weren’t the blotchy red they got whenever you were upset. You took a deep breath to steady your voice for whoever was outside. 

Opening the door, you looked up at a wide-eyed Katsuki, panting hard with determination set on his face. You groaned internally. 

“Katsuki,” You began,” About what I said, I’m sorr-” 

Without waiting for you to finish, Katsuki surged forward. You tried to take a step backward, almost falling, but he caught you, a strong grip on your shoulders. Without waiting for you to get your bearings, Katsuki leaned in, smashing his lips against yours. 

It wasn’t a graceful kiss, all clashing teeth and urgency rather than romance. His eyes were screwed closed. He stayed pressed against you, not moving, grip so tight on your upper arms you thought there might be a mark later. 

Just as suddenly as he had come forward, he jerked back, but kept his hold on you. You both breathed heavily, eyes locked. Your mind whirled, a hundred voices shouting at the same time. For once, you decided to ignore them and let your body do what it wanted. 

You reached up, wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck and pulled him back in. This kiss was controlled, soft and sweet. His hands dropped from your shoulders to wrap around your waist. He pressed in harder, adding desperation in the kiss, as if he thought you would vanish any second. When you both pulled away this time, he leaned his forehead against yours, noses bumping into each other, sharing the same breath. 

His voice was rough. “Sorry,” He said. “I had to brush my teeth first.” 

[kittykattropicanna]

imagine mechanic!simon fixin’ your car with parts that worth thousands but he doesn’t want your money, he wants something else HEHEHEHEHEHE

HEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHE right??????? Genius honestly. 

mechanic!Simon would do anything for you :( but only when you obey him, be an obedient and listen..... he was doing you a favour by fucking you on top of your broken down shit box while the lads were on their lunch break, he saw how worked up and stressed you were, and you had the audacity to disobey him??? You want to get your car fixed free of charge? well, now you get nothing and he gets to take you however he wants, your job is to stand there and shut up like the good girl his training you to be ;)

TW: low-key public sex, thigh-fucking, orgasms denial, Si degrades you for being a needy, disobedient girl :( kinda humiliation, mean!Simon, age gap insinuated, Si shoves a dirty rage covered in grease in your mouth bc you won't stfu :(

Mechanic!Simon masterlist

Regular masterlist

You really aren’t well off, the savings you did have are definitely not accessible at the moment. 

Your shitty ex had logged into your bank account the second he threw you out :( making sure you had nothing

He would always make you transfer him money for his crypto trading, he did it behind your back regularly meaning he new all of your information including your security passwords >:(

He had drained everything except £2.50 because “that’s all your worth” :(((((((( 

he was such a dick AHURGG >:(

Like Si promised, he checked out your car the next morning, taking you into the shop even though it was his day off. 

Of course Johnny jumped at the opportunity to introduce himself, taking your hand and kissing it softly, wicked smile flashing across his face when he didn’t see a boyfriend accompanying you to the shop. :((( 

An easy target in his eyes, you being with Si didn’t even cross his mind, a pretty, delicate thing like you wouldn’t be running around with a beast like Simon….it just didn’t make sense :( 

Si stepping in almost immediately when he saw the way Gaz winked at you and licked his teeth, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat :(

You were HIS….HE found you, nobody else, and that’s how its gonna stay >:(

Maybe a bit of insecurity flared up as well….they were younger then him, more your age….

Johnny was a ball of energy, looked like he could be plastered on the front of some health and fitness magazine and Gaz had a certain charm to him, the type that could make even the most independent women fall to their knees. 

They couldn’t be more different to Si’s rough and grumpy demeanour :((((

But the second you clung to his side, quickly turning your face away from them, flushed red and overwhelmed, it all went away :3

His, he didn’t even have to tell you, you clung to him instinctively, ran to him for protection, looked for him when you needed safety ;)))  

He wanted nothing more then to take you right there, show them both how he could make you cum in ways they couldn’t, even if they had the best vibrater in the world on their side, they couldn’t give you the satisfaction he could :3

Watch the jealousy and envy in their faces as he praised you for being such a good girl, his good girl :)))

He didn’t have to look at your car to know that it was absolutely rooted, a first week apprentice could see that it would cost thousands of pounds to fix, even then, you wouldn’t be getting the best parts on the market meaning it was only a matter of time before it broke down again and became undriveable :(

Quickly slamming the hood he turns to you with a sympathetic look :(

“Listen lovie, its gonna be at least £2000, and that’s jus’ for ya’ engine alone, I don’ even wanna get inta the rest of it cuz fixin’ it is gonna cost more then the car itself”

With teary eyes you tell him you can’t afford to fix it, let alone buy a new car, its the only real possession you have to your name other then your phone and clothes :((((

You needed a car, you needed a way to get to work and its not like you can afford to take the bus!!!

But don’t worry sweet girl, Si’s gonna make it all better :((

Slowly he lifts you onto the hood and slides his hands up your thighs with a rough groan, that tiny little skirt that he picked out for you this morning was a really good idea ;)

Moving your panties to the side, he drags his thick finger through your folds, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he collects your juices :3

Your cheeks go red at how wet you are :((((( you’re so easy to get going, such a dirty, dirty girl >:(

“Don’ play dumb sweethear’, saw ya’ watchin’ me like a piece of meat, rubbin’ those thighs together like a whore, I know when ma’ girl needs some lovin’” 

Pushing his thick fingers into your heat, a small whimper leaving your mouth from the stretch :( 

“Quite love, don’t want em’ to hear us do ya’?” A chuckle falling from his lips as he opens you up more, spreading you open and preparing you for another one of his big rough fingers :(((((

Pumping in and out of your wet cunt at an agonisingly slow pace, holding your hips down so you can’t buck or move closer to him :(( try to take more then what his giving you :(

His the one in control, so don’t even THINK about it >:(

You let out a loud squeak when he forcefully pushes a second finger into your tight pussy :((( wet squelching sounds fill the room :(((

The same men staring at you like a piece of meat only moments ago, eating their lunch in the break room at the other end of the shop, completely unaware that Si was having his way with you :(((

Stimulating your clit with his left hand, he looks up at you with a wicked smile 

“Don’t ya’ make a noise love, old Johnny boy won’t have a problem watchin’ and im sure ya’ don’t want tha’” >:(

His such a tease :(((((

Begging him for his dick, moans and whimpers getting louder as you squirm with teary eyes :(((

But that’s your biggest mistake…..

You went against his orders, he told you not to make any noises, to keep it down, but because you’re a little brat, disrespectful after all his given you, food, a roof over your head, a warm bed, a man to protect you….you’re getting nothing >:(

“My cock Darlin’? Oh no, no, no, no. Ya’ see lovie, good girls get what they want, obedient girls get treated right, not selfish little sluts that can't do what they’re fuckin’ told”

Removing his fingers from you, he undoes his belt and takes out his stiff cock :(((((

Its so leaky, pre cum dripping down his shaft, Si pumps himself a couple times, a low groan falling from his lips as he forcefully turns you around slamming your body against the car 

“Imma tell ya’ what ya’ gettin, I’m gonna fuck your thighs for my pleasure, not yours, and ya’ gonna shut up and take it, no squirmin’ or moanin’, ya’ just gonna stand here and take it”

Taking a dirty rag out of his back pocket that he uses to wipe his greasy hands, he slaps your cheek signalling to open your mouth, shoving the dirty fabric inbetween your lips with a sadistic chuckle 

“There ya’ go petal, much better isn’t it? Finally listenin’”

His thrust between your thighs, the feeling of pre cum coating your pussy is satisfying, but it didn’t scratch the itch of what being filled by his girthy cock did :((((

Your moans fall silent against the dirty rag he shoved in your mouth, the only sound filling the shop being his low grunts and skin slapping against skin :((

His hard cock rubbing against your clit giving you little satisfaction, Si was so mean sometimes, but he was right, his always right :((((

He did so much for you and the very least you could do was follow his orders, you got to comfortable :((( trying to take charge and disobey him when he knows best, he always knows best >:(

You can tell his getting closer, his thrusts get sloppier and his quite grunts tern more strained :3

After a few more deep thrust between your wet and sloppy thighs the feeling of his hot ropes cover your pussy and drip down your inner thighs :(((

He didn’t even try and make you cum :( greedy girls don’t get pleasure, they’re used as fuck toys, walking fleashlights that don’t deserve orgasms :((

And you know his just doing what’s best for you, teaching you the hard way, the only way you would properly learn :((

He makes you walk past the break room and out of the shop with his sperm running down your legs, wet thighs sticking together making you uncomfortable as you take each step, hot, flushed and unsatisfied :(

Once you get back into his car he makes a call to a friend that owns a car dealership. Si has done so much for his mate, the least he can do is hand over a car, and that’s exactly what he does :3

Whatever his angel wants, his angel gets, unless she misbehaves :((((

Your orgasm is just going to have to wait till another time…..and don’t you even think about touching yourself……remember, obedient girls get to cum, not dirty, dirty sluts that don’t follow the rules <3

The thing about mechanic!Simon is that his not taking your shit, he has no time for your attitude and will put you in your place immediately :( his training you to be his pretty little house wife after all :3

Request are open for Mechanic!Simon, I would love to hear your thoughts so feel free send them through and add to the AU.

!Disclaimer! - Above is NSFW content - MDNI - If you follow my blog without your age in your bio, you will be blocked - If you are under the age of 18, you are not welcome here, otherwise, enjoy :)

Cat divider sourced by @positively-mine from Pinterest - Pink line divider by @eloquentreverie - MDNI divider by @cafekitsune

Basic blog housekeeping -  fic requests guidelines, boundaries and my rules for minors

[pucksandpower]

Be My Sanctuary

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles never expected to play Prince Charming to a stranger after a race, but when he comes across you being beaten by your boyfriend, he can’t just stand around and do nothing … it turns out to be exactly what you both needed

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, and serious injury

The sun dips low on the horizon as Charles Leclerc and Fred Vasseur make their way back to the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with post-race energy, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

“That was some driving out there,” Fred says, clapping the Monégasque on the back. “P2 is nothing to sneeze at.”

Charles grins, his eyes bright despite the fatigue etched on his face. “Merci beaucoup. It felt good to be back on the podium. I think we’re really starting to find our rhythm with the car.”

“Agreed. If we can keep this momentum going-”

A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a cry of pain that makes both men freeze in their tracks.

Charles’ head whips around. “Did you hear that?”

Fred nods, his expression grim. “It came from over there.” He points towards a secluded area behind one of the hospitality units.

Without hesitation, they break into a run, rounding the corner just in time to see a man’s hand connect with a woman’s face. The sound of the impact turns Charles’ stomach.

“You stupid bitch!” The man screams, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea how much money I lost because of you? I told you not to come to the race! You’re bad luck!”

You stumble backward, your hand pressed to your cheek. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up!” The man lunges forward, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you violently. “You cost me everything!”

Charles feels a surge of anger course through him. Without thinking, he sprints towards the pair, Fred close on his heels.

“Hey!” Charles shouts. “Let her go!”

The man’s head snaps up, his eyes wild. For a split second, he looks startled, but then his face twists into a snarl. Before Charles can reach them, the man slams your head against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

You crumple to the ground, unmoving.

Charles tackles the man, driving him away from the fallen woman. They hit the ground hard, and Charles feels the air rush out of his lungs. But adrenaline keeps him moving, and he manages to pin the larger man down.

“Fred!” He calls out. “Check on her!”

As Charles struggles to keep the man subdued, he hears Fred’s sharp intake of breath.

“Charles, she’s not responding. There’s ... there’s a lot of blood.”

The words send a chill down Charles’ spine. He glances over his shoulder and sees you lying motionless on the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath your head.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Charles shouts, hoping someone nearby will hear. He turns back to the man beneath him, who’s still thrashing and cursing. “Stop moving!” Charles hisses, pressing his forearm against the man’s chest.

“Get off me!” The man spits. “This is none of your business!”

Charles feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him. “None of my business? You just assaulted someone!”

Fred’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’ve called for help. They’re on their way.” He’s kneeling beside you now, his jacket pressed against your head. “But it doesn’t look good. She needs immediate medical attention.”

The sound of running footsteps approaches, and suddenly there are more people around them. Charles recognizes some of the faces — other drivers, team personnel. Someone pulls him off the attacker, who’s quickly restrained by security.

Charles stumbles to his feet, his heart pounding. He makes his way over to where you lie, dropping to his knees beside Fred.

“Is she ...” He can’t bring himself to finish the question.

Fred shakes his head. “She’s alive, but barely. We need to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive.”

Charles nods, placing his hands over Fred’s on the makeshift compress. He looks down at your face, so pale and still. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Just hold on.”

The wait for the ambulance feels interminable. Charles keeps his eyes fixed on your chest, watching for the slight rise and fall that tells him you’re still breathing. He’s vaguely aware of the commotion around them — people asking questions, security trying to keep everyone back.

“What happened?” It’s Lewis’ voice, tinged with concern.

Fred answers, his voice low and tight. “Domestic violence. The boyfriend ...” He trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Jesus,” Lewis mutters. “Is there anything we can do?”

Charles looks up, meeting Lewis’ worried gaze. “Just ... pray, I guess.”

The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder by the second. Charles feels a small measure of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by fear as he looks back down at you.

“Stay with us,” he murmurs. “Help is coming. Just stay with us.”

The paramedics arrive in a flurry of activity, gently but firmly moving Charles and Fred aside. Charles watches, feeling helpless, as they work on you with practiced efficiency.

“Severe head trauma,” one of them says. “We need to move her now.”

As they lift you onto a stretcher, Charles catches a glimpse of your face. There’s a bruise blooming on your cheek, stark against your pale skin. Something twists in his chest, a mixture of anger and an emotion he can’t quite name.

“I’m going with her,” he says suddenly, surprising himself.

Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Charles insists. He looks at Fred, pleading. “Someone needs to be there for her.”

After a moment, Fred nods. “Alright. I’ll handle things here and meet you at the hospital.”

Charles climbs into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving your still form. As the doors close and the vehicle lurches into motion, he reaches out and gently takes your hand.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says softly, “but you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

As the ambulance speeds through the streets, sirens wailing, Charles finds himself holding onto your hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

The paramedic working on you glances at Charles. “You know her?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, I ... we just found her. Her boyfriend was ...” He swallows hard. “We stopped him, but not soon enough.”

The paramedic’s face softens with understanding. “You did the right thing. You probably saved her life by intervening when you did.”

Charles nods, but the words bring little comfort. He can’t shake the image of your head hitting the wall, the sound it made. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Fight,” he whispers. “Please fight.”

The rest of the ride passes in a blur of medical jargon and the steady beep of monitors. When they finally arrive at the hospital, Charles is ushered into a waiting room while you’re rushed into emergency surgery.

He paces the small room, unable to sit still. His mind races with questions. Who are you? Why would someone do this to you? Will you be okay?

Time seems to stretch endlessly. Charles checks his phone, sees messages from Fred and other concerned friends, but he can’t bring himself to respond yet. Not until he knows something.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor approaches him. Charles stands, his heart in his throat.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in with head trauma?” The doctor asks.

Charles nods. “Yes. Is she ...”

“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “We’ve managed to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the next 24 hours will be critical. Are you family?”

Charles hesitates. “No, I ... I was there when it happened. I rode here with her in the ambulance.”

The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “I see. Well, I can tell you that she’s stable for now, but still unconscious. We’ll be monitoring her closely.”

“Can I see her?” The words are out of Charles’ mouth before he can think better of it.

The doctor considers for a moment. “Normally we only allow family, but ... given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception. Just for a few minutes.”

Charles follows the doctor down a series of hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach your room, he pauses at the doorway, suddenly unsure.

“Go on,” the doctor says gently. “Talk to her. Sometimes patients can hear even when they’re unconscious.”

Taking a deep breath, Charles steps into the room. The sight of you lying there, surrounded by machines, makes his chest tighten. He moves to your bedside, carefully taking your hand once more.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s Charles. The guy from before. I don’t know if you remember, but ... I’m here. You’re safe now.”

He stands there for a long moment, just holding your hand and watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel so connected to someone he’s never even spoken to.

“I don’t know your story,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know that you didn’t deserve this. No one does. And when you wake up — because you will wake up — you won’t be alone. I promise.”

A nurse appears in the doorway, signaling that his time is up. Charles gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

As he leaves the room, he turns back for one last look. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Stay strong.”

Walking back to the waiting room, Charles feels a mix of emotions he can’t quite sort out. But one thing is clear — something has changed. And whatever happens next, he knows he’ll be there to see it through.

***

Days blend into one another as Charles maintains his vigil at your bedside. The rest of the Formula 1 circus has long since departed, but Charles can’t bring himself to leave. He’s made arrangements with the team, grateful for their understanding, and settled into a routine of sorts.

Each morning, he arrives at the hospital with fresh flowers and a determination that today might be the day you wake up. He talks to you, reads to you, and sometimes just sits in companionable silence, the steady beep of monitors a constant backdrop.

On the fifth day, as Charles is midway through reading an article about the benefits of having a dachshund, he notices a slight change. Your fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly. He leans forward, heart racing.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand. “Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, so faintly he almost misses it, he feels a gentle pressure against his palm. His breath catches in his throat.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, painfully slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze is unfocused at first, confusion evident in your expression as you try to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Charles says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now.”

You blink a few times, your gaze finally settling on Charles. Your brow furrows slightly, and you open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Charles advises. “Your throat might be sore from the tube. Here.” He reaches for a cup of water with a straw, holding it to your lips. “Small sips, okay?”

You take a tentative sip, wincing slightly. After a moment, you try again to speak. Your voice is raspy, barely above a whisper. “Who ...”

“I’m Charles,” he says. “I was there when ... when you got hurt. Do you remember anything?”

You close your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. “Jake,” you murmur. “He was angry ...”

Charles feels a flare of anger at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, but he keeps his voice calm. “That’s right. He hurt you pretty badly. But you’re safe now. He can’t get to you here.”

You shake your head slightly, wincing at the movement. “It wasn’t his fault,” you say. “He just ... he gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t have gone to the race. I knew it would make him angry.”

Charles frowns, recognizing the pattern of self-blame common in abuse victims. He takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Listen,” he says gently. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter how angry someone gets, they don’t have the right to hurt you. Ever.”

You look away, tears welling up in your eyes. “You don’t understand. Jake ... he loves me. He just has a temper sometimes.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt,” Charles says firmly. “Love doesn’t leave you in the hospital with a skull fracture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this information. “Is that ... is that what happened to me?”

Charles nods solemnly. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. The doctors ... they weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do now.”

“You press charges,” Charles says without hesitation. “What he did to you was a crime. He needs to face the consequences of his actions.”

You shake your head frantically, wincing again at the movement. “No, I can’t. He’d be so angry. He ...”

“He would what?” Charles presses gently. “Hurt you again? That’s exactly why you need to do this. To protect yourself and maybe even others.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, tears falling silently. “I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

Charles squeezes your hand. “I know. And that’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. But you’re stronger than you know. You survived this. You can survive what comes next, too.”

“But where would I go?” You ask, your voice small. “Jake ... he made me drop out of school. I had to quit my job. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any money, or ...”

Your words trail off as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. Charles feels a surge of protectiveness, coupled with a deep anger at the man who has left you in this situation.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his gaze. “I know we’ve only just met, and this might sound crazy, but ... what if you came to stay with me for a while?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I live in Monaco,” Charles explains. “I know it’s far from here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It would give you some distance, some time to figure things out without having to worry about ... about him finding you.”

“But ... but I couldn’t,” you stammer. “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay rent or-”

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not asking for rent. I’m offering you a safe place to stay while you get back on your feet. No strings attached.”

You look at him skeptically. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Because when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just walk away. And I can’t walk away now, knowing you need help. Maybe it’s not my place, maybe it’s crossing some line, but ... I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

You’re silent for a long moment, and Charles can almost see the wheels turning in your mind as you weigh your options.

“What about your job?” You finally ask. “Don’t you have races to go to?”

Charles nods. “I do. But I have a big apartment, and there’s plenty of room. You’d have your own space. And when I’m away for races, I have friends who could check in on you, make sure you have everything you need.”

You bite your lip, looking torn. “I don’t know ... it’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Charles says quickly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time to think about it. But know that the offer is there if you want it.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. Her face lights up when she sees you’re awake. “Well, look who’s back with us,” she says warmly. “I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to check you over.”

As the nurse leaves, you turn back to Charles. “You should go,” you say. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to stay.”

Charles stands, but he doesn’t move towards the door. “I’ll step out while the doctor examines you,” he says. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back after. We can talk more about ... everything.”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” you say softly. “And ... thank you. For being here. For caring.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps into the hallway, Charles takes a deep breath. He knows he’s getting involved in a complicated situation, one that could have far-reaching consequences. But looking back at you through the doorway, he knows he’s made the right choice. Whatever comes next, he’ll be there to help you through it.

The doctor arrives, and Charles settles into a chair in the hallway. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s neglected over the past few days. There’s one from Fred, asking for an update. Charles types out a quick reply.

She’s awake. It’s complicated, but I think she’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later with details.

As he hits send, Charles leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, for either of you. But for the first time in days, he feels a spark of hope. It’s a start, he thinks. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

***

The sunlight glints off the sleek exterior of the private jet as Charles helps you up the stairs. He can feel the slight tremor in your hand as he guides you inside, noting the way your eyes dart nervously around the cabin.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a warm smile, hoping to put you at ease. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us.”

You nod, your lips pressed into a thin line as you sink into one of the plush leather seats. Charles settles in across from you, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.

“Here, let me help,” he offers, leaning forward to assist. As he clicks the belt into place, he notices your knuckles turning white as you grip the armrests. “First time flying?” He asks gently.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

Charles shakes his head, his expression kind. “Not at all. But I fly a lot, so I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting nervous passengers.”

The engines roar to life, and you jump slightly in your seat. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Charles assures you. “It’s a completely normal fear. Did you know that even some drivers get nervous on planes?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? But you guys race at insane speeds for a living.”

Charles chuckles. “I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I think it’s about control. In a car, we’re in charge. On a plane, we have to trust someone else.”

You nod, seeming to relax slightly at his words. But as the plane begins to taxi, your grip on the armrests tightens again.

“So,” Charles says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about what you were studying before ... well, before everything happened.”

You look at him, confusion briefly replacing the fear in your eyes. “What?”

“You mentioned you had to drop out of school,” Charles explains. “What were you studying?”

A small laugh escapes you, tinged with irony. “You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but ... I was studying law.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Law? That’s impressive. Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”

You shrug, a hint of sadness creeping into your expression. “Just seems a bit ironic now, doesn’t it? Studying law and then ending up in a situation like ... like mine.”

The plane begins to accelerate down the runway, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, reaching across to place his hand over yours. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. Charles can see the fear there, but also a flicker of determination.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now, tell me more about your law studies. What made you choose that field?”

You take a deep breath, clearly making an effort to focus on the conversation rather than the plane’s ascent. “I’ve always been interested in justice, I guess. Helping people who can’t help themselves. I wanted to make a difference.”

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s admirable. And you know what? I don’t think it’s ironic at all that you were studying law. If anything, I think it shows how strong you are.”

The plane levels off, and some of the tension leaves your body. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hand on yours, “you chose a field dedicated to justice and helping others. That takes courage and compassion. The fact that you ended up in a difficult situation doesn’t change who you are at your core.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “I never thought about it like that,” you admit.

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Charles asks. “Finishing your degree?”

You shake your head, a flash of pain crossing your face. “I can’t. I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I can’t go back to my old university. Jake ... he knows where it is. He’d find me.”

Charles nods, understanding. “What if you didn’t have to go back to your old university? What if you could start fresh somewhere new?”

You look at him skeptically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, his mind racing with possibilities, “there are online programs you could look into. Or, if you prefer in-person classes, there’s the International University of Monaco. It’s a great school, and it would be close to where you’ll be staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Monaco has a university?”

Charles nods, a grin spreading across his face. “It does indeed. And they have a law program. I could help you look into it if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I was in school. And the cost ...”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Charles says quickly. “Consider it an investment in your future. And as for being out of practice, well, that’s what studying is for, right?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe it is. Sometimes we overcomplicate things in our heads. But the truth is, if it’s something you want to do, there’s usually a way to make it happen.”

The plane encounters a patch of turbulence, causing it to shake slightly. Your grip on Charles’ hand tightens, but you don’t close your eyes this time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, loosening your grip slightly.

“No need to apologize,” Charles says. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold. Or a distraction. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me about your favorite class from when you were in school?”

As you launch into a story about a particularly engaging Constitutional Law seminar, Charles can’t help but notice how your eyes light up. It’s the most animated he’s seen you since you woke up in the hospital, and it fills him with a sense of hope.

The rest of the flight passes in a blur of conversation. You tell Charles about your favorite professors, the most interesting cases you studied, and your obsession with Legally Blonde while growing up. In turn, Charles shares stories from his racing career, the challenges he’s faced, and the lessons he’s learned along the way.

Before either of you realize it, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing your descent into Nice.

“Oh,” you say, surprise evident in your voice. “We’re here already?”

Charles grins. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping you. “I guess not. Thank you, Charles. For ... well, for everything.”

As the plane touches down on the runway, Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “And hey, this is just the beginning, right?”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your eyes. “Right. The beginning.”

The plane comes to a stop, and Charles stands, offering you his hand. “Ready to see your new home?”

You take a deep breath, then place your hand in his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As you make their way down the steps of the plane, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but looking at you now, seeing the spark of determination in your eyes, he’s filled with hope for what the future might hold.

The Mediterranean sun greets them as they step onto the tarmac, warm and welcoming. Charles watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, gazing at the azure sea in the distance.

Charles smiles, feeling a surge of pride for his home. “Wait until you see the rest of it. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

As you walk towards the waiting Ferrari, Charles finds himself stealing glances at you. There’s still fear and uncertainty in your eyes, but there’s something else too — a resilience that he admires. He makes a silent promise to himself, right there on the sun-drenched tarmac of the Côte d’Azur, to do whatever he can to help you rebuild your life.

“So,” he says as you slide into the passenger seat, “shall we swing by the university on our way home? Just to have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah,” you say, a small smile playing at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

The quiet of the night is shattered by a piercing scream. Charles bolts upright in his bed, heart racing, momentarily disoriented. Then realization hits him like a wave — it’s you.

Without hesitation, he leaps out of bed and races down the hallway to your room. He bursts through the door to find you thrashing in your sheets, eyes squeezed shut, still caught in the grip of your nightmare.

“No, Jake, please!” You cry out, your voice raw with fear. “Don’t hurt me!”

Charles is at your side in an instant, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

Your eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, you recoil from his touch, still trapped between nightmare and reality.

“It’s me,” Charles says, keeping his voice calm. “It’s Charles. You’re in Monaco, remember? You’re safe here.”

Slowly, recognition dawns in your eyes. “Charles?” You whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s right. I’m here. You’re okay.”

The tension leaves your body all at once, and you collapse against him, tears streaming down your face. Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Charles soothes, running a hand gently up and down your back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.”

You pull back slightly, wiping at your tears with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I feel so stupid.”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “You’re not stupid. Nightmares are normal after what you’ve been through. And I’m glad I woke up. I want to be here for you.”

You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. “It felt so real,” you whisper. “I could feel his hands on me, hear his voice ...”

“But it wasn’t real,” Charles reminds you gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

You nod, but Charles can see the lingering fear in your eyes. ���Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I ... I just want to forget.”

“Okay,” Charles says, understanding. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you some water or tea?”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “Could you ... would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep?” The words come out in a rush, as if you’re afraid to ask.

Charles feels a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Relief washes over your face. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Charles helps you settle back against the pillows, then hesitates for a moment. “Is it okay if I ...” He gestures to the other side of the bed.

You nod, shifting over slightly to make room. Charles slips under the sheets, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But you surprise him by moving closer, seeking comfort in his presence.

“Is this okay?” You ask, your voice small.

“Of course,” Charles assures you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without pressure. “Whatever you need.”

You hesitate for just a moment before curling into his side, your head resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around you, feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his side.

“Try to relax,” he murmurs. “Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

You nod against his chest, making a conscious effort to steady your breathing. Charles can feel some of the tension leaving your body as the minutes tick by.

“Charles?” You say after a while, your voice soft in the darkness.

“Hmm?”

“How do you do it?” You ask. “How do you stay so calm and ... and kind, even when I’m such a mess?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “You’re not a mess,” he says finally. “You’re healing. And that takes time. As for staying calm ... well, I’ve had my own struggles. I know what it’s like to need someone in your corner.”

You lift your head slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. He’s never been one to open up easily, but something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes him want to share.

“Seven years ago now, I lost my father,” he says softly. “It was ... it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There were nights when I thought the pain would swallow me whole. But I had people who stood by me, who helped me through it. They taught me the importance of being there for others in their darkest moments.”

You’re silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. “I’m so sorry about your father,” you say finally. “That must have been awful.”

Charles nods, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. “It was. But it also taught me something important. Pain doesn’t last forever. It changes you, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You can come out the other side stronger.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, a hint of doubt in your voice.

“I do,” Charles says firmly. “I’ve seen it in myself, and I see it in you too. You’re stronger than you know.”

You’re quiet again, and Charles can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. “I want to believe that,” you say eventually. “But sometimes it feels like ... like I’ll never be whole again.”

Charles tightens his embrace slightly. “Healing isn’t about going back to who you were before,” he says. “It’s about becoming someone new. Someone who carries the lessons of the past but isn’t defined by them.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. “That makes sense,” you admit. “It’s just ... it’s hard to see that future sometimes.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “But that’s why you’re not alone in this. I’m here to remind you of that future when you can’t see it yourself.”

You lift your head again, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”

Charles is struck by the vulnerability in your eyes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“Because when I saw you that day, something inside me just ... knew I had to help,” he says. “I can’t explain it rationally. But I believe that sometimes, people come into our lives for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to help you heal. Or maybe you’re meant to teach me something. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

You study his face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, you lay your head back on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on healing. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

You nod against his chest, and Charles can feel your body relaxing further. Your breathing becomes slower, more even, and he knows you’re drifting off to sleep.

As the night deepens around you, Charles finds himself wide awake, acutely aware of your warm presence against him. He’s never been in a situation quite like this before, and he’s surprised by how natural it feels.

He thinks about the past few days, about the small victories you’ve already achieved. The way your eyes lit up when you toured the university campus. The quiet determination in your voice when you asked about application procedures. The shy smile that appeared when he showed you around Monaco.

Charles knows the road ahead won’t be easy. There will likely be more nights like this, more nightmares to soothe. But looking down at your peaceful face, finally relaxed in sleep, he feels a surge of hope.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there to face them with you. And somehow, he knows that together, you’ll both come out stronger on the other side.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the windows, Charles finally feels his own eyes growing heavy. He allows himself to drift off, still holding you close, a silent promise of protection in his embrace.

In the quiet of the early morning, as the world outside begins to stir, there’s a sense of peace in the room. It’s fragile, perhaps, but it’s there. And for now, in this moment, it’s enough.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Charles stirs, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He feels a weight against his chest and looks down to see you still nestled in his arms, your breathing deep and even.

For a moment, he simply watches you sleep, struck by how peaceful you look compared to the night before. He’s careful not to move, not wanting to disturb your rest. But as the room grows brighter, he sees your eyelids begin to flutter.

You blink awake, confusion briefly clouding your features before recognition sets in. “Charles?” You murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” he says softly, offering a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

You shift slightly, seeming to become aware of your position. A blush creeps across your cheeks as you pull back a bit. “I’m ... I’m okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t have to stay.”

Charles shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to stay. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”

You nod, running a hand through your tousled hair. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if ...”

Your voice trails off, but Charles understands. “Hey,” he says, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to think about that. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re right. I just ... I’m not used to someone being so kind without expecting anything in return.”

Charles feels a pang in his chest at your words. “Well, get used to it,” he says, injecting a lightness into his tone. “Because that’s just how things work in the Leclerc household.”

You laugh softly, the sound warming Charles from the inside out. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Charles grins. “It’s in the contract. Kindness, comfort, and an abundance of croissants. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.”

You nod, sitting up slowly. “Breakfast sounds great. But you don’t have to cook. I can manage.”

Charles waves off your protest as he sits up as well. “Nonsense. I insist. Besides, I make a mean omelette. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my secret recipe.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Secret recipe, huh? Do I get to know what’s in it?”

Charles taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? You’ll just have to trust me.”

As he moves to get out of bed, a thought strikes him. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back to you. “Actually, before we head to the kitchen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

You look at him curiously, a hint of apprehension in your eyes. “Oh?”

Charles takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was wondering if ... well, if you might want to come to my next race with me?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your next race?”

Charles nods, watching your reaction carefully. “Yeah. It’s in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe a change of scenery might be good for you. Plus, you’d get to see what I do up close. But if it’s too soon, or if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I completely understand.”

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip as you consider his offer. “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just ... the last time I was at a race ...”

Understanding dawns on Charles’s face. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. We don’t have to go if it brings up bad memories.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s just ... I’m worried about being recognized. What if Jake sees me on TV or something?”

Charles leans forward, his expression serious. “Hey, look at me. If you come to the race, you’ll be under the full protection of the team. No one gets near the garage without proper clearance. And as for TV, well, we can make sure you’re not caught on camera if that’s what you want.”

You still look uncertain. “But won’t people wonder who I am? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your team.”

Charles can’t help but smile at your concern. “Trust me, the team has dealt with far more complicated situations than this. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say you’re a family friend. No one needs to know the details.”

He watches as you mull over his words, hope building in his chest. Finally, you look up at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “You really want me to come?”

Charles nods emphatically. “I really do. I think it could be good for you. A chance to create some new, positive memories associated with racing. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “I’d love for you to see me in action. I promise I’ll try to put on a good show.”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood in the room. “Oh, is that so? Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

You shake your head in amusement, but Charles can see you’re still hesitating. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. The offer stands whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, looking grateful for the lack of pressure. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Now, how about that breakfast? I believe I promised you a life-changing omelette.”

As you make your way to the kitchen, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows he’s taking a risk by inviting you to the race so soon, but something tells him it’s the right move. He’s seen glimpses of your strength over the past few days, and he believes that this could be a crucial step in your healing process.

In the kitchen, Charles busies himself with preparing breakfast, stealing glances at you as you settle at the counter. You still look a bit hesitant, but there’s a spark in your eyes that wasn’t there before.

“So,” he says as he cracks eggs into a bowl, “while you’re thinking about the race, why don’t you tell me more about your law studies? Any particular area you’re most interested in?”

You perk up at the question, and Charles listens intently as you launch into an enthusiastic explanation of your passion for human rights law. As he watches you speak, animated and engaged, he feels a warmth spread through his chest.

This, he thinks, is what healing looks like. Small steps, day by day, reclaiming pieces of yourself. And if he can play even a small part in that process, well, that’s a victory more satisfying than any podium finish.

As he serves up the omelettes, Charles makes a silent promise to himself. Whatever you decide about the race, whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there. Supporting you, cheering you on, just as fiercely as any fan in the grandstands.

Because in this moment, watching you take your first bite and exclaim over his “secret recipe,” Charles realizes something important. In helping you find your strength, he’s discovering new depths of his own.

***

The energy in the paddock is electric as Charles makes his way to the Ferrari garage. He can feel the excitement buzzing through the air, the anticipation of the race to come. But today, there’s an extra flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with pre-race jitters.

He spots you standing near the back of the garage, looking a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around you. Your eyes light up when you see him, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” he says, approaching you. “How are you holding up?”

You give him a small smile. “It’s ... a lot. But exciting. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

Charles nods, understanding. “I know it can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. And I have a little surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “A surprise? Charles, you didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off with a grin. “I wanted to. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Charles leads you to a quieter corner of the garage where his race gear is laid out. He picks up his helmet, turning it so you can see the design.

Your eyes widen as you spot the purple ribbon painted prominently on the side. “Is that ...”

Charles nods, his expression softening. “A domestic violence awareness ribbon. I had it added for this race.”

You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers hovering over the ribbon without quite touching it. When you look up at Charles, your eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Why?” You ask softly.

Charles takes a deep breath. “Because I want to use my platform to raise awareness. And because ...” he pauses, meeting your gaze, “because I want you to know that you’re not alone. That there are people out there who care and want to help.”

You blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Charles, I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s incredible.”

He reaches out, gently squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when I’m out there on the track today, I’m racing for you and for everyone who’s been in your position.”

You nod, unable to speak. Charles understands the emotions you’re feeling — he’s feeling them too.

A voice calls out from across the garage. “Charles! Five minutes!”

Charles turns back to you. “I’ve got to go get ready. Will you be okay?”

You take a deep breath, composing yourself. “I’ll be fine. Go. And Charles?” You meet his eyes, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nods, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading off to finish his pre-race preparations.

The race itself is a blur of adrenaline and focus. Charles pushes himself to the limit, hyper-aware of the special helmet he’s wearing and what it represents. When he crosses the finish line in second place, his heart is pounding with more than just exertion.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Charles can see the crowd of reporters already gathering. He takes a deep breath, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot in the media pen, he’s surrounded by microphones and cameras.

“Charles! Congratulations on P2!” One reporter calls out. “But everyone’s talking about your helmet today. Can you tell us about the ribbon?”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “The ribbon on my helmet today is a symbol of awareness for domestic violence. It’s an issue that affects millions of people around the world, and I wanted to use this platform to bring attention to it.”

Another reporter jumps in. “Was there a specific reason you chose this race to highlight this cause?”

Charles pauses, carefully considering his words. “I believe that as public figures, we have a responsibility to use our voices for good. Domestic violence is a problem that often stays hidden, and I want to help bring it into the light.”

“Will the helmet be part of any specific initiative?” A third reporter asks.

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yes, actually. I’m going to be auctioning off this helmet, with all proceeds going to charities that combat domestic violence and support survivors.”

There’s a murmur of approval from the gathered press. “That’s a wonderful gesture,” one reporter says. “Can you tell us more about why this cause is so important to you?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He spots you standing at the back, partially hidden behind a barrier. Your eyes meet, and he draws strength from your presence.

“It’s important because it’s a problem that affects so many people, yet it’s often overlooked or ignored,” Charles says, his voice steady and clear. “I ... I have seen firsthand the devastating impact it can have on someone’s life. And I want to do whatever I can to help break the cycle of violence and provide support for those who need it.”

There’s a moment of silence as the reporters absorb his words. Then the questions start flying again.

“Have you partnered with any specific organizations for this initiative?”

“Do you plan to continue raising awareness for this cause in future races?”

“How do you balance your focus on racing with your desire to address social issues?”

Charles answers each question thoughtfully, his passion for the cause evident in every word. As the press conference winds down, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Not just for his performance on the track, but for using his platform to make a difference.

As he makes his way back to the Ferrari garage, Charles spots you waiting for him. Your eyes are bright with emotion, and he can see the pride and gratitude written all over your face.

“That was amazing,” you say as he approaches. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

Charles shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It was the least I could do. I hope it helps, even if it’s just a little bit.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “A little bit? Charles, do you have any idea how much impact something like this can have? You just brought attention to this issue in front of millions of people.”

He nods, the weight of what he’s done starting to sink in. “I just hope it makes a difference. That it helps someone out there feel less alone.”

You reach out, squeezing his hand. “It already has,” you say softly.

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a voice calls out from behind him.

“Charles! A word?”

Charles turns to see a familiar face — Federica, a respected journalist he’s known for years. She approaches with a warm smile, notepad in hand.

“Federica,” Charles greets her. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” she replies. “That was quite a statement you made out there today. I was hoping we could talk a bit more about it. Off the record, if you prefer.”

Charles glances at you, silently asking if you’re okay with this. You nod encouragingly.

“Sure,” Charles says. “What would you like to know?”

Federica’s expression turns serious. “I’ve known you for a while now. This isn’t just a random cause you’ve picked up. There’s a personal connection here, isn’t there?”

Charles takes a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. He feels you shift closer to him, offering silent support.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “It is personal. I can’t go into details, but ... I’ve seen up close how devastating domestic violence can be. And I realized that I had an opportunity to do something about it.”

Federica nods, her eyes softening with understanding. “That’s very brave of you, Charles. Both to take this stand and to admit the personal connection. Can I ask what made you decide to do it now?”

Charles glances at you again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired by someone very brave. Someone who showed me that it’s possible to turn pain into purpose.”

Federica follows his gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly as she notices you for the first time. “I see,” she says, a knowing look in her eye. “Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. And I would be happy to help spread the word about the helmet auction, if you’d like.”

Charles nods gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

As Federica walks away, Charles turns back to you. “I hope that was okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to say too much, but ...”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “It was perfect. Really. I ... I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

Charles reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Seeing you here, seeing how far you’ve come ... that’s all the thanks I need.”

For a moment, you just look at each other, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between you. Then, impulsively, you step forward and wrap your arms around Charles in a tight hug.

He returns the embrace without hesitation, holding you close. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the paddock, Charles feels a sense of peace wash over him.

This, he thinks, is what really matters. Not the podiums or the points, but the ability to make a difference. To help someone heal and find their strength again.

As you pull back from the hug, Charles sees something new in your eyes. A spark of determination, of hope for the future. And he knows, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

***

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of Charles’ Monaco apartment, warming the living room. Charles is sprawled on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone, when he hears a sudden gasp from the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” your voice carries through the apartment, a mix of shock and something else Charles can’t quite place.

He sits up, instantly alert. “Everything okay?” He calls out, already moving towards the kitchen.

You appear in the doorway, your face flushed and your eyes wide. You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, and there’s an energy radiating from you that Charles has never seen before.

“I ... I got in,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles furrows his brow, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “The university? You heard back?”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “I got in, Charles. They accepted me!”

The joy in your voice is infectious, and Charles feels his own face split into a grin. “That’s amazing!” He exclaims, stepping towards you. “I knew you could do it!”

What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. You close the distance between you in two quick steps, and before Charles can process what’s happening, your lips are on his.

The kiss is brief, a burst of spontaneous happiness, but it sends a jolt through Charles’ entire body. For a split second, he’s frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of your lips against his.

But as quickly as it began, it’s over. You pull back abruptly, your eyes wide with shock at your own actions. “Oh god,” you stammer, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I was just excited and I ...”

Charles can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear that you’ve crossed a line. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that it’s okay, more than okay, but you’re already backing away, words tumbling out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t be mad, I-”

“Hey,” Charles cuts in gently, reaching out to catch your hand before you can retreat further. “Stop apologizing.”

You freeze, uncertainty written all over your face. “But I-”

Charles shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact ...” he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You ... you have?”

Charles nods, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I have. But I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to give you time to heal, to find yourself again.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re not ... upset?”

Charles can’t help but chuckle. “Upset? No, definitely not upset. More like ... thrilled. And maybe a little disappointed in myself for not making the first move.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” Charles confirms. He takes a step closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “In fact, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you again. Properly this time.”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your eyes. “I’d like that,” you whisper.

Charles leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips connecting in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.

This time, Charles is fully present in the moment. He savors the feeling of your lips against his, the warmth of your body as you step closer. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“Wow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “Wow indeed.”

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Charles remembers what started all this.

“So,” he says, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You got into law school. We should celebrate!”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree in a way Charles has never heard before. “I almost forgot about that for a second there.”

Charles grins. “Well, we can’t have that. It’s not every day you get accepted to study law at the International University of Monaco. This calls for champagne!”

He starts to move towards the kitchen, but you tug on his hand, pulling him back. “Wait,” you say softly. “Before we celebrate ... can we talk about this?” You gesture between the two of you.

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You bite your lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “I just ... where do we go from here? I mean, I like you, Charles. A lot. But I’m still ... I’m still healing. And I don’t want to complicate things or ruin our friendship if-”

Charles cuts you off gently, taking both of your hands in his. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. When you meet his gaze, he continues. “I like you too. A lot. And I understand that you’re still healing. I don’t want to rush anything or pressure you in any way.”

You nod, relief evident in your eyes. “So what do we do?”

Charles smiles. “We take it slow. We keep being friends, but we also explore these new feelings. And most importantly, we communicate. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or want to slow things down, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, a small smile playing at your lips. “And what if ... what if I want to speed things up sometimes?”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Then we can do that too. As long as we’re both comfortable and on the same page.”

You nod, looking more relaxed now. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Charles says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, about that champagne ...”

As Charles moves to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, he can’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. This thing between you is new and fragile, but it’s also full of potential. And he’s determined to nurture it, to give it the time and care it needs to grow into something beautiful.

He returns with two glasses and the champagne, finding you settled on the couch. As he pours, he can’t help but steal glances at you. There’s a glow about you that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun — it’s the light of new beginnings, of hope for the future.

“A toast,” Charles says, handing you a glass. “To new adventures in education and ... other areas.”

You laugh, clinking your glass against his. “To new adventures,” you agree.

As you sip the champagne, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles finds himself marveling at how far you’ve come in the past few months. From the scared, broken woman he first met to this confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, noticing his contemplative expression.

Charles smiles. “Just ... how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far, and now you’re starting this new journey. It’s inspiring.”

You blush slightly at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. Your support has meant everything.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Charles insists. “But I’m glad I could help. And I’ll be here to support you through your studies too. Although,” he adds with a grin, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with law textbooks.”

You laugh, leaning into him slightly. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to be helpful. Moral support is important too, you know.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I’m your man. Moral support is my specialty.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing. You discuss your hopes for university, your fears, your dreams for the future. Charles shares stories from his racing career, anecdotes he’s never told anyone else.

And through it all, there’s a new undercurrent of electricity between you. A spark ignited by that spontaneous kiss, fueled by the promise of something more.

As the sky outside turns a deep indigo, Charles finds himself marveling at the unexpected turns life can take. A few months ago, he was just a driver focused on his next win. Now, he’s sitting here with you, on the cusp of something that feels bigger and more important than any championship.

“What are you smiling about?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Charles pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Just thinking about how sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never see coming.”

You snuggle into his side, a contented sigh escaping you. “I couldn’t agree more.”

***

Five Years Later

The sun shines brightly on the streets of Monaco as Charles stands before a modest but elegant building, his heart swelling with pride. He glances at you, standing beside him in a crisp power suit, your eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. It’s a look he’s come to know well over the past five years, but today it seems to shine even brighter.

“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn to him, a radiant smile spreading across your face. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life,” you reply, your voice steady and sure.

Charles feels a surge of love and admiration wash over him. He remembers the scared, broken woman he met all those years ago, and marvels at the strong, confident woman you’ve become. His wife. His partner in every sense of the word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice calls out, drawing their attention to the small crowd gathered before them. “We are here today to celebrate the grand opening of the Leclerc Center for Domestic Violence Support and Legal Aid.”

A round of applause breaks out, and Charles feels you squeeze his hand tighter. He knows how much this moment means to you, how hard you’ve worked to make it a reality.

The speaker, a distinguished-looking woman in her fifties, continues. “This center represents a beacon of hope for those who have suffered in silence, a promise that they are not alone, and that help is available. And we have two very special people to thank for making this dream a reality.”

She gestures towards Charles and you. “Charles and Y/N, would you like to say a few words before we cut the ribbon?”

Charles looks at you, silently asking if you want to speak first. You nod, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who has found their true calling.

“Thank you all for being here today,” you begin, your voice clear and strong. “This center is more than just a building. It’s a promise. A promise to every person out there who’s suffering in an abusive relationship that there is hope, there is help, and there is a way out.”

Charles watches you speak, feeling a swell of pride. He remembers the countless late nights you spent poring over law books, the tears of frustration and determination as you fought your way through law school. And now here you are, a fully qualified attorney, using your hard-earned skills to help others who were once in your position.

“I stand here today not just as a lawyer, not just as the co-founder of this center, but as someone who has been where many of our future clients are right now,” you continue, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I know the fear, the doubt, the feeling of being trapped. But I also know the incredible strength that lies within each survivor. And it is my deepest hope that this center will help them find that strength, just as I did.”

As you step back, wiping a tear from your eye, Charles pulls you into a quick, supportive hug before stepping forward himself.

“When I met my wife five years ago,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion, “I was just a driver who thought he had it all figured out. But she opened my eyes to a world I knew little about, and showed me that sometimes the most important battles are the ones fought off the track.”

He pauses, looking out at the crowd. He sees familiar faces — fellow drivers who’ve supported this project, team members who’ve become like family, and new faces too — survivors, advocates, people who believe in the mission of this center.

“This center is a dream that we’ve shared for years,” Charles continues. “A dream of creating a safe space where survivors can find legal support, counseling, and most importantly, hope. And while I may not be the one providing legal advice,” he adds with a chuckle, earning a laugh from the crowd, “I promise to support this center and its mission in every way I can.”

He turns to you, his eyes shining with love and admiration. “And to my incredible wife, who has been the driving force behind all of this — thank you. For your strength, your determination, and for showing me what true courage looks like every single day.”

As Charles steps back, the crowd erupts in applause. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as the official hands you a large pair of scissors.

“Are you ready to do the honors?” The official asks.

You and Charles share a look, years of unspoken understanding passing between you in that moment. Together, you step forward, positioning the scissors at the purple ribbon stretched across the entrance.

“On the count of three,” the official announces. “One ... two ... three!”

With a satisfying snip, the ribbon falls away. The crowd cheers, and cameras flash as you and Charles stand before the open doors of the center, your shared dream finally a reality.

As the crowd begins to file inside for the reception, you turn to Charles, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it,” you whisper. “We really did it.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, not caring about the cameras still flashing around them. “You did it,” he murmurs into your hair. “I just followed your lead.”

You pull back, shaking your head with a fond smile. “We’re a team, remember?”

Charles laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “How could I forget?”

As you make your way inside, greeting guests and answering questions, Charles finds himself reflecting on the journey that brought you both to this moment. The ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, all leading to this day.

A familiar face approaches — Federica, the journalist who had interviewed Charles after that fateful race five years ago. “Charles, Y/N,” she greets you warmly. “Congratulations on this amazing achievement. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

You nod, your professional demeanor sliding into place. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

“This center is quite different from the usual celebrity charity projects,” Federica begins. “Can you tell me what inspired you to take such a hands-on approach?”

You and Charles share a look, silently deciding who should answer. Charles gives a small nod, encouraging you to take the lead.

“For us, this isn’t about charity in the traditional sense,” you explain. “It’s about using our resources and platform to create real, tangible change. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how crucial legal support can be in escaping an abusive situation. But I also know how intimidating and overwhelming the legal system can seem.”

Charles watches as you speak, marveling at your eloquence and passion. He remembers the early days of your relationship, when you would sometimes struggle to find your voice. Now, you command the room with ease.

“Our goal with this center,” you continue, “is to provide comprehensive support — legal aid, counseling, practical assistance — all under one roof. We want to remove as many barriers as possible for those seeking help.”

Federica nods, scribbling in her notepad. “And Charles,” she turns to him, “how do you see your role in all of this?”

Charles straightens, his expression serious. “My role is to support this center and its mission in every way I can. Whether that’s using my platform to raise awareness, helping to secure funding, or simply being here to show that everyone can and should be allies in this fight against domestic violence.”

You reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Charles feels a surge of gratitude for your unwavering support, both in this project and in his career.

“And how do you balance this work with racing?” Federica asks.

Charles smiles. “It’s all about priorities. Racing is my passion, but this center, and the work we do here, that’s my purpose. I’m fortunate to have a team and sponsors who understand and support that.”

As Federica thanks the two of you and moves on to speak with other guests, Charles turns to you. “You were amazing,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

You lean into him slightly, a soft smile playing at your lips. “We were amazing,” you correct him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Before Charles can respond, another guest approaches, asking for a tour of the facilities. As you lead the way, explaining the various services the center will offer, Charles hangs back slightly, simply observing.

He watches as you point out the private consultation rooms, the children’s play area designed to make the center welcoming for families, the state-of-the-art security systems put in place to ensure client safety. Your eyes light up as you describe the pro bono legal services, the partnerships with local shelters and support groups, the education and prevention programs you hope to implement.

In this moment, seeing you in your element, Charles is struck anew by how far you’ve both come. From that terrifying night in the paddock to this day of hope and new beginnings, it’s been a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

As the day winds down and the last of the guests depart, Charles finds you standing in the main reception area, looking around with a mix of awe and determination.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You lean into him, letting out a contented sigh. “I was just thinking about all the lives we’re going to change here. All the people we’re going to help.”

Charles presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already changed so many lives, you know. Including mine.”

You turn to face him, your eyes shining with love and gratitude. “We’ve changed each other’s lives. And now we get to pay it forward.”

As Charles looks at you, his partner in every sense of the word, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Just as you always have.

“Ready to go home?” He asks softly.

You nod, taking one last look around the center. “Yes,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “But we’ll be back bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got work to do.”

Charles smiles, taking your hand as you walk towards the exit. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Living the Dream

Day #13 - Prompt: Sex, Drugs & Rock n Roll | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sex | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established Long-Term Steddie, Famous Musician Eddie, Regular Guy Steve, Fucking After a Gig, Anal Sex

The crowd is still screaming above him in the arena, hoping for a second encore. He can hear it humming. Still audible, even under all that concrete that separates the stage above and the space under the stadium. It's an echoey place, and Eddie can hear the ghost of their performance still bouncing around the building, even if it's only in his head.

Feet stomping, screaming, demanding more, more, more.

But Eddie's already busy. It's just not happening tonight, and the dull roar of the still hyped as fuck crowd is just spurring him on.

"Yeah, fuck," Eddie says, arching his back, pushing as deep as he can go. He's sweaty and tired from the show, but he's not too tired for this. Never.

He grips Steve's hips, tugging Steve backwards. Dragging his knees across the dressing room carpet. Steve moans, a low sound, his face pressed into Eddie's sweaty show shirt, the one that he's using to keep his cheek from rubbing straight against the certainly filthy carpet.

Tons of rock stars have surely used this room, and Eddie imagines what they're doing together right now is just scraping the surface of the depravity this room has been witness to, night after night.

Eddie on his knees, kneeling behind Steve, buried to the hilt. 

And Eddie will never, ever tire of looking at Steve like this. Ass up, moaning, sweating like a whore in church. It's one of his greatest pleasures in a life that's been full of decadence. He has partied with legends, has drank champagne that cost more than some cars. Definitely more than his first van.

He's been received, accepted and put upon a pedestal. Been lauded, and celebrated. But while Eddie can hold a stadium full of fans in his palm, and then bring them to their knees, Steve's the only one that he yearns to see that way.

The only award he's ever fought to win, to keep.

He runs his thumb along Steve's spine, and Steve shivers under him.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, and this is the best part of his night. The sixty-five thousand screaming, headbanging fans were a nice appetizer. But this? This is the main course.

He slams his hip bones into Steve's round, perfect ass. Pushing him further into the floor. 

Steve doesn't hit every tour stop, can't. He has his own job, his own life. Their life, that he keeps grounded in reality and sanity. 

But now, after all these years, even at nearly forty-years-old, Steve will show up to a gig when he can, and get down on his knees to be fucked, like they're still twenty-five.

Like this won't end in charley horses or other weird sore muscles in the morning, where they can't exactly remember what they've done to cause them.

Eddie runs his hand up Steve's back, and he's given up all the rings. Except for one. And it's brand new, all legal. At least in Massachusetts. 

He's a rockstar, said to be living the dream.

He's a husband, and that's the real one.

Steve whimpers, and reaches back to grasp Eddie's forearm as he holds his hip.

"Good?" Eddie asks.

Steve just nods and moans, and Eddie loves the sound. The sight of his forehead pressed into the shirt.

If he keeps rocking, stays controlled, and steady, maybe they can do this all night. 

Then Steve lets out a breathy sound that will be his downfall, it always is, and tonight will be no different, no matter how much he might want this to never end.

"Car's here, Eddie!" Gareth yells through the door, and Eddie swallows a moan. He's breathing hard. "I'm going up, I'll hold it ten minutes!"

Ten minutes is a lifetime, and he keeps pushing into Steve. Watching the drag, the catch, the head of his dick nearly coming out, before slamming right in. There's nothing like the sight, and he squeezes Steve's ass, watching his own cock filling Steve's hole. 

Like he's never seen it before. Like this hasn't been a regular occurrence for the past twenty years.

And then Steve starts fluttering, clenching at him, and Eddie knows he's gonna come, so he grinds into him, pressing him over the edge with practiced ease.

"Oh, goddamn," Steve whines, and comes all over his own fist, the floor, and Eddie's shirt.

Eddie smiles and slams back into him, picking up the pace again, racing, pushing himself over the edge. Coming with a jerk and a long groan that is rivaling the sounds from above, he's sure. 

His shirt is a mess, and he grabs a clean-ish one from his duffle bag, and pulls it over his head as Steve redresses in front of him. It's a good view, the best view. Eddie stuffs it in the bottom of his duffle, and tosses the whole bag in the pile to be carted to the trucks by the road crew after they've cleared out, and are long gone.

Steve is just standing there, but Eddie gets right in front of him and smiles, "Hi. Glad to meet a fan."

Steve rolls his eyes, but smiles, and that's the good stuff. That's what Eddie lives for, and he sidles up beside him, putting his hand in the small of Steve's back, leading him out of the dressing room, and towards the loading dock, to the waiting car.

One car is gone, Jeff and Goodie surely gone back to the hotel already, so Eddie opens up the door on the remaining car, and lets Steve slide in before him.

In the backseat, Gareth is talking on his phone, but nods in their direction, and taps the divider in the car, signaling they're finally ready to go.

Eddie slides his hand along Steve's arm, until his hand finds Steve's, squeezing.

"Thanks for coming."

"I'd be mad if I didn't," Steve whispers, teasing him, and Eddie laughs. Then presses a kiss to Steve's shoulder, so fucking happy to be right where he is tonight.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[inthesleepydunes]

Clean - Frankie Morales x f!reader

Author’s note: I am sooooo nervous to post this but I thought I’d try writing something to celebrate that I am one month sober. A lot of the stuff in this fic is based on my personal experience (and also based on Clean by Taylor Swift!) So I just ask that you please be kind since I’m still pretty new to writing and since it’s so personal. Big ups to @evolnoomym and @clawdee for taking the time to listen to me today 🤍🤍🤍

Summary: You recall the highs and lows of your tumultuous relationship with Frankie Morales. WC: 1,072

Content warnings: drinking, drug use, allusions to smut, unhealthy relationship dynamics, angst, half ass editing, all mistakes are my own

Dead flowers. Sitting in a vase you can’t bring yourself to throw away. Picture frames caked in dust. All depicting times when you were happy.

At least that’s what you thought.

When Frankie came into your life, you were immediately enamored with him. He was older, easy on the eyes, and had a soft side. But quickly you were sucked into his world.

Addiction. Crippling addiction.

But you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t fun at times. Some of your favorite memories are drinking and dancing at the bar, sneaking off together to a line in the bathroom. His pupils would be wide, looking at you with a mixture of lust and love. At least you thought it was love.

Frankie was already an affectionate guy, never afraid to subtly let everyone know that you were his. But when he was high he was practically hanging off you. His lips were glued to your neck, trailing up to your jawline. You’d lean back into him as he wrapped his around your waist. You’d close your eyes and listen to the heavy bass of the music. You’d try your hardest to focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, feeling your cheeks heat up even more than they already work. The bulge in his pants would grow ever so prominent, straining the fabric of his pants.

He’d pull back and spin you around so you were facing him, giving you his famous “let’s get out of here” look. You didn’t need to be told twice.

The walk back to the car was electric, holding each other tight and swaying as you walked. The laughter would ring through the nighttime air, laughing so hard your stomach would hurt.

But there were red flags. So many red flags you missed. So many mistakes you made. Like getting in his truck with him after these nights out. Thankfully nothing bad happened, but looking back on it you couldn’t believe how stupid you’d been.

The second you got inside you were pinned against the wall. His large hand would slide up your skirt and toy with the lacy fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, you don’t know what you to do me,” he groan, placing his hands on the wall by either side of your head.

“Show me then,” you teased.

The next thing you knew you were on the bed, undressed and shivering under the AC. He reached on his nightstand for another dime bag. He sprinkled a line between your tits, closing his eyes and cursing once he was finished. You loved when he did that. You loved when he used you. And the way he fucked you during his high was unforgettable.

But as high as the highs were, the lows hit even harder. What was just a fun thing to do on a night out turned into a crippling addiction, costing him his pilot license. He was jobless, ambitionless, and a true addict. You felt the weight of his addiction slowly consume you but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. Doing drugs took away the pain of what the relationship truly was; unhealthy codependency, a distorted idea of what “love” was. Fuck, he’s so much older than you and you’re the one taking care of him, cleaning his dirty dishes, doing his laundry, supporting his addiction. All while he did nothing to bring himself out of it, all while he slowly brought down with him. The relationship soured faster than milk left in the sun. You were bitter, bickering, and hating life.

It wasn’t until you got caught doing a line in the bathroom at work did things start to change. Your boss was lenient with you. You were a model employee before you met Frankie and you could almost see the pity in your boss’s eyes when he looked at you.

That day you kicked Frankie out and started the journey to becoming clean. Free of the drugs and him. He left that day with tears in his eyes and for a moment you saw a flash of the sweet, sensitive man you fell for. A part of you wanted to take it all back, to forget about what happened at work and let him in again. But the bandaid had already been ripped off.

He slammed the door when he left and a picture frame fell off the wall and broke. It was one of the first pictures you took together. You always looked at it with fond memories. But with the lens you have now all you see are two people shit faced out of their minds.

Ten months after that, he came to you in the middle of the night, knocking on your door like a mad man. Flashbacks of times you kicked him out in a drug induced rage flooded your memory. You crept out of bed and listened to him outside, begging for just a few seconds to talk.

“What do you want?” you said through the door, your hand inching closer to the deadbolt.

“This might be the last time you’ll ever see me again.”

Ugh.

You unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to look him in the eye. It was raining that night, raindrops peppering his light gray t-shirt.

“What’s wrong now? In trouble with the law again?”

“I’m going to South America for a mission.”

Huh?

“But you’re not—”

“It’s not an official mission.”

“Frankie, I swear to God—”

“I just had to see your face one more time before I go… And I needed to apologize. For everything I put you through, my love.”

Tears sting your eyes but you can’t give in.

“I’m so sorry. I mean it.”

You were at a loss for words. But before you could say anything, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, whispering a soft “I love you” before disappearing into the night.

You watched him walk back to his truck and drive off while you tried to process the very little information he gave you. It doesn’t even matter. That was classic Frankie, always getting into stupid shit. Whatever he told you (if it even was the truth) sounded like a suicide mission.

You closed the door and glanced at the dead flowers in the vase and the picture frames caked with dust. That night you had the strength to throw them away. That night you were finally clean.

Thank you so much for reading! I still have a lot I want to explore about my old relationship so this might not be the last time we hear from these two. I hope one day I’ll get to say “ten months sober” like Taylor sings in the song 🤍

The beautiful rain divider is by @saradika-graphics

[rottiens]

GONER | GOJŌ SATORU

✮ wc. . 2.3K

✮ tags. . angst, fem reader, major character death, manga spoilers. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ about. . a sequence of events that begin with you ending your relationship make you reflect on the effect your decisions have on the future.

How long is "forever"? For a child who is left in line at a supermarket while their mother goes back to get something else to put in the cart probably a long time, for someone who is sick it probably feels like an eternity.

For someone to whom you tell for a whole year that you love them, and that you will always be together probably the phrase ceases to carry the same weight as when it was first said, after a few months, one of you may say the words because they sound nice rather than because you really mean it.

Looking back you're not sure you remember it very well. The scene is a blur in your head, just like those old VHS's where you start in one scene and if it wasn't cautiously recorded it ends up jumping to a totally different one. You're not sure exactly what you said or how it sounded, nor what he responded to hearing you say it, you struggle to remember because it's important now.

You can't quote the exact words that came out of your mouth but you have etched in your memory his flushed cheeks, the way the gentle breeze ruffled his hair naturally. Everything felt like slow motion or at least that's how it's saved in your head, you think the detail of his blush was stored so clearly in your memories because you've never seen him so red before.

His face was just like a painter's canvas that had had a big red stain spilled down the center.

"Come on. Let's go home before it rains," Satoru suggests, ignoring the knife you casually plunge into his chest.

You clutch the black bag hanging from your shoulder tightly to your body and avoid his blue eyes at all costs, after all, the oval sunglasses do little to hide them and you don't know if you'd rather he was wearing the blindfold today. You glance down at his high-soled loafers, as shiny and shimmering as the rest of his outfit. You divert your eyes to his briefly to stall for time and refocus on your shoes.

He calls your name, reaches out his hand breaking the infinite distance between you and you pull back adding more space. You think you hear his heart break.

"You can't be serious." His hand returns to his side in submission, his throat rising and falling swallowing saliva. "Are you serious?"

"I want to focus on other things."

"I'm unfocusing you?" Satoru laughs dryly, briefly bringing a hand to his chest pointing to himself before lowering it.

"I'm not sure if we're compatible, I think we're only together because we're both lonely."

His lower lip trembles because what you said was a low blow, it's not fair for you to mention the things he's secretly told you while you were snuggled under the covers of his bed for a situation like this. Concern flashes fleetingly across his face along with a lightning bolt that breaks the sky. The parking lot is practically empty, there are couple of cars scattered around as if it had been put there specifically as part of the scenery, you lose yourself in satoru's porsche behind him, gray as the cotton clouds that suffocate the sky, the flash of the kisses you have shared, the laughter, the secrets that stay stranded in it stick in your chest like a sharp arrow but you quickly disguise it by blinking fast and pretending to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in your clothing.

The silence is heavy. Satoru stares at you so intently that you think he has forgotten to blink.

Satoru opens his mouth but the sudden torrent of water that flows over your head startles you. Satoru gets wet in seconds which makes you wonder why he doesn't activate his infinity and take refuge in his technique, why he stands next to you as if made of stone, still contemplating you.

"You're tearing me apart!" he shouts through the sound of the rain collapsing against the pavement, the water making his shirt cling to his chest, his white skin glistening through the fabric.

"I'm so sorry."

You need to run from there, the rain is everywhere just like the pain that covers your body from head to toe. You feel it all over, crushing your bones, squeezing your lungs and stealing your breath. You are ready to run and flee by his side, but his long fingers stop you, catch your wrists and pull you to him.

Leaving you no escape he pulls you into a forced kiss full of hunger and resentment, his fingers squeeze your cheeks tightly almost as if he's forcing you to stay close but it doesn't matter if he hadn't, you wouldn't have pulled away anyway. He brushes your tongue with his, you let him taste you one last time as he tastes the trace of the drink you were given at the event you attended only minutes before.

The perfect couple, he strongest next to the best sorceress, everyone was talking about the children they would have together, about the future of both clans and the great family they would form, all without asking you first about how you felt. You immerse yourself in a lot of expectations that you have to live up to when all you want is to survive at the end of the day, with so much pressure from your family and the higher ups it is only logical that the band that keeps your appearance of the perfect woman stretches and torn.

You hate yourself for doing this to him before he leaves on a week long mission away from you but you think it's the perfect time for him to detox from you.

As you pull away to breathe he still holds your cheeks possessively, gazing at you just like the most valuable object on display. You can't know what those pretty eyes that hide a sea in them are saying, but you wouldn't blame him for hating you.

"Let me take you home," he asks in a raspy voice and you shake your head.

You can't be near him alone again, not in his car, not in your apartment.

Then Satoru releases your cheeks and they immediately burn from the absence of his fingers and embarrassment, he takes the longest backward step he can and lets you run away from him, literally and metaphorically.

That was the last time you saw him, after leaving him soaking wet in the rain.

It's not like you were desperate to see him again but you weren't sure that would be the last time you'd see his face either. With everything that happened after that day you purposely decided to avoid him, you took missions as far away from Tokyo as you could, avoided going to school on the days he would be working as a teacher and ran away from every social activity you know he would be involved in… little by little the big strong couple fell apart until people accepted that it wasn't a rumor and that you two were really over.

Then he was called to Shibuya along with the other sorcerers who were available. Conveniently you were in Latin America, too far from home to do anything more than hope that all your friends made it out alive from the massacre that was happening there while all you could do was wait and find a plane ticket as fast as you could. You had your phone taped to your chest all night at the airport and all day until you got off the plane until Yaga personally called you to tell you the details.

Satoru Gojo was locked up in the prison realm, I have a death sentence on my head… You'd be lying if you said you heard anything else after that. The phone rolled free from your hand to the ground, crashing to the concrete of the street in a muffled sound.

On your way back you found Tokyo in a mess. Shibuya seemed to have been crushed by a large black hole that consumed and destroyed everything in its path, that it had been a phenomenon fallen from space would have been easier to deal with than admitting that the monster that had created that was still there, hiding in Itadori's body lurking like a predator ready to strike at the precise moment and you could do nothing but wait for it. Guilt digs into your chest as deep as a knife, you refuse to cry and swallow the pain like a hard pill, you should have been there.

Since then you did everything you could to rescue Satoru as you know he's the only one who can take on a now free Sukuna, you can't do it without his help or a logical plan. And after everything that happened between you you feel you owe it to him, as a silent pact that you must keep your word to.

So this is the first time you see him after that afternoon. He looks different from the last time you saw him, maybe it's your fuzzy memories that didn't store the information correctly but he looks bigger even, his hair has grown and his shoulders are broader.

"I knew you'd be here," he jokes in his usual tone.

Here, away from the show his students prepared to welcome him as the celebrity he is. Your belly was in knots and you didn't want to see him, you weren't ready.

You want to slap him for being the first thing he says after months of not seeing each other, for treating you like the sweet friend you always were to him because you feel you don't deserve it, but instead and against all odds you pounce on him. Your arms wrap around his waist embracing an infinite cold emptiness that then materializes in the warm body of your partner.

You hadn't realized how much you missed him until now, until his fingers melt into your hair massaging your skull and pulling you further into him, until you hear him unabashedly sniff your hair and say between giggles how much he missed the smell of your shampoo, you soak his black t-shirt in your tears while his chest burns. You feel safe, you feel at home, and you realize that everything you did was a mistake.

As you lift your clouded eyes to him, you see everything blurred by the raindrops threatening to overflow like that day yet at the same time, you have never seen so clearly in your life.

I love you so much, I'm so sorry - It's at least what you would have liked to say before he interrupted you, his lips make you weep when they touch your forehead so soft, so delicate, you want to stay here forever, you want to tell him to quit, you don't have to save anyone else, you want to tell him to run away with you, that you're ready to start a family and grow old together but you know what he's going to say. Instead, his words make you keep silent:

"You can tell me all that when I get back, I have a lot to tell you too."

You hit the cold table hard where half of Satoru's body rests and the whole room shudders as your cursed energy emanates from you in great waves.

"You promised you'd come back so get up off that fucking table," you sniffle through your nose without letting a single tear fall. Shoko next to you says your name as low as if she doesn't want to be heard, her fingers squeezing your shoulder feels like she's doing it with pity, like she's comforting you, why is she doing it? Perhaps it's her way of telling you that that's it . "Tell me you can do something." You look her straight in the eyes but she keeps quiet, like everyone else, no one dares to speak or scream, why is everyone acting like this is part of the plan? Why are you the only one sinking into a deep salty sea? "Shoko, fuck!"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

Your knees fail you and you have to lie down on his legs, hiding your face in the white sheet covering what's left of him, your heart dropping to your stomach as something sour and bitter rises up your esophagus.

"Leave me alone." That's all you ask, you don't get up to see if she's heard you over your voice drowned out by the white cloth.

The smell of the hospital and medication, unused gloves and alcohol makes your gut knot, it's all too much. You can barely breathe, your throat burns and it would be so much easier to feel a curse tearing you from the inside out.

"You promised…" you sob again hugging the corpse of the one you recognize today as the love of your life. "I'm so sorry," you mumble with a mouthful of saliva.

When you broke up with satoru you missed him every day, every hour, everything reminded you of him because you didn't just lose a boyfriend, you lost a friend. You missed him but you knew you were going to see him again someday, when the symptoms of grief would subside for both of you, maybe you could even get back the friend you lost because of your relationship but now, missing Satoru is a feeling of anguish that won't go away, because you can't call him anymore, you can't show him the pictures you took in the day, you won't be able to hear his voice again, you won't be able to hold his hand again….. It is a loop of a feeling of emptiness that cannot be filled with anything because he is now gone forever, a black hole that no matter how hard you try to fill it with things and people it will not fill, because nothing and no one will be able to take his place.

And for a person who has lost a loved one who told them that he would be there with them until they grow old, forever is a long time.

notes. . ngl this is really a catharsis for me. i miss a person who is no longer with me irl and what better than to open my heart and let out some of the pain through one of the characters i adore the most <3

thanks for reading! Reblogs are appreciated. And don't forget to spend time with your loved ones and remind them how much you love them whenever you can.

[modelbus]

Have I ever mentioned I’m a Greek mythology nerd? If not… here’s a good time to drop that. This is HEAVILY Orpheus and Eurydice inspired!!

This is just a little writing EXERCISE, I know it’s not good :) I will be posting an actual writing thing on WEDNESDAY!!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

He Doesn’t Look Back

You’d follow your lieutenant through fire if he asked you to. And he never did ask, but you still did it. Bullets pinging at your feet, all you can do is grip your gun and keep your eyes trained on his back.

Ghost doesn’t look back.

Hesitating for even a second would get you both killed, and he knows it. Glancing back at you, even just to confirm you’re alive and following, would end with a bullet in his head too.

It’s not far from cover, a building you two can duck into to reload and go back at it. Call Price for an evac, inform him the mission went sideways.

Damn intel leaks.

This was your mission, technically. You were sent out alone, collecting information on a mobster from afar. It was simple, safe.

Until the Task Force servers were hacked and your mission was leaked.

Being disconnected from the team unless you called them left you unable to know what happened. When the mobster suddenly went into hiding, you searched the city high and low, trying to figure out what had triggered it.

Ghost was the one to come into the city to tell you, to save your ass. And now he’s the one helping you get out, helping you live, continuously saving your ass.

Despite what everyone says, Ghost is hardly callous or emotionless. If you chose, you’d liken him to a tragedy. For all intents and purposes, he’s the makings of a hero: strong and brave, loyal enough to dive into hell to save you. But he’s got the air of a dead man walking, someone who has so many ghosts that they’ll drag him down. Ironic, considering his Callsign.

You let out a muffled curse as a bullet zings past you, barely missing. Ghost doesn’t turn, too busy dodging his own bullets.

There’s just a few more paces, then you’ll be in the safety of cover. This is the last time you’re letting Price put you on undercover work, you swear. Soap will probably tease you for days for needing Ghost to come rescue you.

Your hands tighten on your gun instinctively, glancing over as you catch a glimpse of fabric. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve been in a worse situation. At least in other times you had all of 141 to back you.

Finally, Ghost ducks into the doorway of the abandoned house, looking back at you before he’s even fully in. You can see his eyes through the mask, relief clear as he reaches back to haul you through with him.

You lower your gun, stretching to grab his arm, eyes only on him and the prospect of safety.

Neither of you ever sees the grenade.

It flings you back, the ground seeming to erupt beneath your feet as you fly. You slam against someone’s abandoned car, scrabbling for purchase as you’re sent tumbling across its hood. Glass tears through your sleeves and gloves, piercing through to your skin.

Ghost shouts your Callsign, but you can’t even hear it past the ringing in your ears. Like everything is muffled, you can barely get yourself to focus on pushing yourself to a sitting position.

Pain shoots through your body, but you ignore it. You have to get up, you have to get to Ghost, you have to fucking live.

You look up, right into the barrel of a gun.

A man you’ve never seen before stares down at you, sneering. As you watch, his hand tightens around the grip.

Ghost is nowhere in sight. He came back for you, but at what cost? He looked back to help you, to make sure you were still alive, and you were a fool for dropping your gun to reach for him.

The man above you squeezes the trigger.

Ghost’s name is the last thing on your lips.