#and instead I’m looking up what white lilies mean

[drivebypainter]

Sometimes I am really out here researching flower language and cultural painting styles in order to make a illustration of a fictional man.

[pucksandpower]

Love Again

Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader

Summary: you never thought you would be able to let someone else into your heart after your husband passed away, but when a bucket list your husband left you to fulfill inadvertently leads you straight into Charles’ path, you learn exactly what it means to love again

Warnings: death of significant other

The funeral is everything you expected it to be and nothing like you imagined. The church is suffocatingly full, every pew occupied, and the walls themselves seem to press in on you.

You sit in the front row, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles white against the black fabric of your dress. You haven’t said a word since you walked into the church, since you caught sight of the casket at the front, draped in a flag. You can’t speak because if you open your mouth, you’re certain you’ll break apart.

You focus on the details instead. The way the flowers — lilies, his favorite — are arranged with too much precision. The way the air smells faintly of old wood and incense. The way the murmur of the crowd sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Your head is spinning, but your body is still, a statue carved out of grief and shock.

You hear the scrape of a chair being moved and look up just in time to see the man taking the pulpit. You recognize him, vaguely, as someone from the organization — Doctors Without Borders. He was there when it happened. He was there with him.

He clears his throat, glances down at a piece of paper in his hand, then up at the crowd. “I’m not sure I have the right words for this,” he begins, his voice low and trembling just enough to be noticeable. “But I’ll try.”

You hate him a little for that — for having to try. You don’t want him to try. You want him to fail, to stumble over his words, to not be able to get them out. But he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“James was ... the best of us. You all know that. He was selfless, tireless. He didn’t just want to save lives — he did it. Every day. In the most dangerous places, under the most terrifying conditions. He was a healer in the truest sense of the word.” The man’s voice catches for a second, but he pushes through it. “And he was my friend.”

You flinch at that, a sharp pain slicing through your chest.

“He saved us that day,” the man says. “He saved all of us.”

The church is so quiet now, you could hear a pin drop. You can’t take your eyes off the man at the pulpit. You want him to stop talking. You want him to stop telling you things you can’t bear to hear. But he doesn’t stop.

“We were in the middle of the compound when the shelling started. It came out of nowhere. One minute we were patching up a kid who’d been hit by shrapnel, and the next, the whole world was exploding around us. We were trapped. There was no way out.” The man’s voice lowers, almost like he’s talking to himself now. “But James ... James didn’t hesitate. He ran toward the blast, toward the fire. He pulled people out, dragged them to safety.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you swipe it away angrily.

“He was hit by the last shell,” the man continues, his voice trembling now. “He was trying to get one of the nurses out. She was trapped under some debris. He managed to free her, but then the shell hit, and ...” The man’s voice falters, and he closes his eyes for a moment. “He didn’t make it.”

There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, a ripple of shock that moves through the room like a wave. You feel it crash over you, pulling you under. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but sit there and listen as the man finishes his eulogy.

“He died a hero,” the man says, his voice breaking. “He died saving lives, the way he always wanted to. And I ... I don’t know how to make sense of it. I don’t know how to make it okay.”

He steps back from the pulpit, his head bowed, and there’s a moment of silence so thick, it’s suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning, like the walls of the church are closing in on you. You need to get out, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in place, trapped in your grief.

Finally, you manage to take a breath, and it feels like your lungs are on fire. You get to your feet, unsteady, and start to make your way down the aisle. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the church on you, but you don’t care. You need to get out. You need air.

You push through the heavy wooden doors and stumble out into the daylight, gasping for breath like you’ve been underwater for hours. The sky is too blue, the sun too bright. Everything is too much.

You lean against the wall of the church, pressing your forehead to the cool stone, trying to steady yourself. But the tears come anyway, hard and fast, and you can’t stop them. You don’t even try.

You don’t know how long you stand there, sobbing into the wall, but eventually, you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is — your husband’s best friend.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, hesitant.

You don’t respond. You can’t. You just keep crying.

“I ... I’m so sorry,” he says. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth of his presence beside you. “I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” you manage to choke out, your voice raw.

He’s silent for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath. “James ... he gave me something. To give to you. In case ... in case something happened.”

You turn to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. He’s holding an envelope, white and plain, with your name on it in James’ handwriting. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“He asked me to give it to you,” he says, holding the envelope out to you. “But only when you’re ready.”

You stare at the envelope like it’s a bomb about to go off. You don’t want to take it. You don’t want to know what’s inside. But you reach for it anyway, your hand shaking.

“Take your time,” he says softly. “There’s no rush.”

You nod, clutching the envelope to your chest like it’s a lifeline. You can’t bring yourself to open it, not yet. You don’t even know if you ever will.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his eyes full of sympathy and something else — something you can’t quite place. “I’m here if you need anything,” he says. “Anything at all.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something more, but then he just gives you a small, sad smile and walks away.

You watch him go, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand, and you feel the weight of it like a stone in your chest. You know that whatever’s inside is going to change everything, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

But you don’t have a choice.

***

The envelope sits in the top drawer of your nightstand, hidden beneath an old notebook and a stack of receipts you keep meaning to throw away. It’s been there for over a year, untouched.

Some days, you forget about it entirely, letting the routine of work and lonely dinners numb the ache in your chest. But most days, it lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet hum of guilt and grief that you can’t quite shake.

You know you’re supposed to open it — James left it for you, after all. But every time you reach for the drawer, your hand hovers just above the handle, frozen. Because what if the letter makes it worse? What if the words on the paper bring everything crashing back down on you, when you’ve spent so long trying to build yourself back up?

So you leave it. Days turn into weeks, and then months, until a whole year has passed. Friends have stopped asking how you’re doing, their well-meaning calls and texts fading away into awkward silence. You don’t blame them. It’s not like you’ve been much of a person to be around.

But today, for some reason, you can’t ignore it any longer.

It’s raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that makes the world feel smaller, quieter. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the drawer like it’s going to open itself. The house is still, too still, and the sound of the rain against the window only amplifies the silence.

Your hand trembles as you pull the drawer open. The envelope is right where you left it, the edges slightly yellowed now, but the ink still bold and clear: your name, in James’ handwriting. Seeing it sends a pang through your chest, like someone’s reached inside and squeezed your heart.

You sit there for a long time, just holding it. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just paper. But it feels heavier than anything you’ve ever held.

“Just open it,” you whisper to yourself, but the words feel hollow, like they belong to someone else.

Finally, with a shaky breath, you tear the seal.

Inside, there’s a folded letter. Beneath it, another piece of paper — something thicker. You hesitate, then unfold the letter first. The handwriting is familiar, the slant of the letters uniquely his. You read it slowly, your eyes scanning the words with a mix of dread and longing.

My love,

If you’re reading this, then I’m not there with you. And I’m so, so sorry for that.

I wish I could tell you how much I wanted to come home. How much I needed to come home to you. But I know that wherever I am now, I’m still with you in some way. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I think I’d lose my mind.

This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you to be strong, to keep living your life. And you will. I know you will. But it’s okay to fall apart first. It’s okay to break, to cry, to scream at the universe for being so damn unfair. I would.

There are so many things I wish we could’ve done together, so many things we talked about but never got the chance to do. So I’m leaving you with something. A list. It’s not a list of things you have to do — it’s a list of things I wish we could’ve experienced together. But more than that, it’s a list of things I want you to experience. For both of us.

The first one’s a bit selfish. But the last one ... that one’s for you.

I love you more than words can ever say. And if there’s any way for me to still be with you, to still be a part of your life, then I hope this is it.

Yours always,

Jamie

By the time you finish reading, tears blur your vision, dripping silently onto the letter. You wipe at your face, but the tears just keep coming. His words cut through you, raw and tender, like a wound that’s never fully healed.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the rain outside matching the rhythm of your sobs. It’s only after you’ve cried yourself out that you remember the second piece of paper, still folded in the envelope.

With a shaky breath, you unfold it.

It’s a bucket list. Five items, written in James’ scrawled handwriting. Your heart clenches as you read them, one by one.

1. Go to an F1 race. You know how much I wanted to see one in person. Do this for me. I want you to feel the rush, the excitement. It’s something I never got to experience, and I want you to feel it for both of us.

2. Visit that little café in Paris we always talked about. The one by the Seine with the red awning. We were supposed to go there on our honeymoon, remember? Have a coffee, eat too many croissants. Just sit there and watch the world go by.

3. Take a road trip with no destination in mind. Just drive. Don’t plan anything. Turn down random roads, get lost, stay in tiny motels, and eat at diners where they don’t know your name. I always wanted to do that with you.

4. Dance in the rain. We talked about doing it, but we never did. Just let go and do it. Don’t care if people are watching. Don’t worry about looking silly. Just feel the rain and think of me.

5. Find love again. I know this one is hard, and I know you might not want to think about it right now. But promise me that one day, when you’re ready, you’ll open your heart again. It doesn’t have to be soon. It doesn’t have to be anyone like me. But don’t close yourself off to it. You deserve that kind of happiness.

You sit there, staring at the list, your chest tight and your hands trembling. It’s so ... James. The way he could be both lighthearted and deeply thoughtful, the way he always wanted you to live fully, even if he couldn’t anymore.

But how can you? How can you even think about doing these things without him?

You read the list again, and this time it feels different. Less like a burden, and more like a challenge. A promise, almost. To live. To try.

But the last item — that’s the one that breaks you. Find love again. The words echo in your mind, and you can barely breathe through the weight of them. It feels impossible, inconceivable. And yet, it’s the one thing James wanted most for you.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. You quickly wipe your eyes, folding the letter and the list back into the envelope before shoving it into the drawer again. You stand up, trying to compose yourself.

When you open the door, you find his best friend, the one who gave you the letter in the first place, standing there. His expression softens the moment he sees your face.

“You finally opened it,” he says gently.

You nod, unable to speak for a moment.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been wondering when you would.”

“I ... I couldn’t,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not until today.”

He sits down on the couch, and you join him, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable.

“What did he say?” He asks softly.

You hand him the list, unable to find the words yourself. He reads it, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reaches the last item.

“That’s James,” he says, shaking his head. “Always thinking about everyone else.”

You laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. “How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to just ... live my life without him?”

“You’re not,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re supposed to live your life with him. By doing these things, you’re keeping him with you.”

You stare at the list again, your heart aching. “But the last one ...”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, quietly, he asks, “Do you think he’d want you to be alone forever?”

You shake your head, tears spilling over again. “No. But I don’t know how to ... move on.”

“You don’t have to move on,” he says. “You just have to keep moving. One step at a time.”

You nod, even though it feels impossible. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe this list isn’t just about James’ dreams. Maybe it’s about helping you find your way back to yourself.

“I guess I’d better start with number one,” you say, your voice shaky but determined.

He smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you can do this.

***

The roar of engines echoes through the air as you step out of the taxi, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The circuit sprawls out before you, a sea of red, blue, and green flags waving in the hands of thousands of fans, all buzzing with excitement. You clutch your ticket tightly, the edges crumpled from your nervous grip.

It took everything in you to get here. The flight, the hotel, the whole ordeal of buying a ticket from some sketchy reseller online — all of it felt like a test of your resolve.

But this is for James. You repeat that to yourself like a mantra. He would’ve loved this, you think, as you look up at the towering grandstands. The hum of the engines, the electricity in the air, the sheer intensity of it all — it’s exactly the kind of thing he would have dragged you to, his enthusiasm infectious.

But now, you’re here alone. And that thought twists in your chest, a painful reminder of why you’re doing this in the first place.

You make your way to the entrance, the ticket clenched in your hand. The queue moves quickly, fans eager to get to their seats, their conversations a mix of English, French, Italian, and other languages you can’t quite place.

You try to blend in, keep your head down, and avoid drawing attention to yourself. Just scan the ticket and get inside. That’s all you have to do.

When it’s finally your turn, you hand your ticket to the attendant, offering a small, nervous smile. He takes it without much thought, scanning the barcode with the device strapped to his wrist. But instead of the usual beep, there’s nothing — just a blank screen.

The attendant frowns, tries again. Still nothing.

“Uh, let me just check something,” he says, his tone suddenly cautious.

You feel a cold knot forming in your stomach. “Is there a problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away, fiddling with the scanner, trying different angles. The queue behind you is growing restless, and you can feel eyes on your back. Finally, he looks up at you, sympathy in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, “but this ticket isn’t valid.”

You blink, not understanding. “What do you mean? I bought it online ...”

���It’s a fake,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You must’ve been scammed. It happens sometimes with resellers.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You feel the color drain from your face, your mind reeling. Fake. Scammed. The ticket crumples in your hand as you step aside, trying to make sense of it. How could this happen? You did everything right — or at least, you thought you did.

“But ... I paid a lot for this,” you stammer, the reality of it sinking in. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I’m really sorry,” the attendant repeats, glancing over your shoulder at the impatient crowd behind you. “There’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to contact whoever you bought it from.”

You nod numbly, stepping away from the gate. The world around you seems to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. You feel like you’re suffocating, your chest tight with a mixture of humiliation and despair. This was supposed to be the first thing you did for James, and you can’t even get that right.

You don’t know where you’re going, just that you need to get away from the entrance, away from the people. Your legs carry you to the far side of the parking lot, where the crowds thin out and the noise dulls to a low hum. You lean against a concrete pillar, your breath coming in shaky gasps.

It’s too much. The weight of it all — the grief, the loneliness, the pressure you’ve put on yourself to make this trip meaningful — it’s crushing you. You slide down to sit on the curb, burying your face in your hands as tears spill over.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words meant for James, though you know he can’t hear you. “I’m so sorry ...”

You’re so caught up in your tears that you don’t notice the figure approaching until he’s right in front of you. When you finally look up, your vision is blurry from the tears, but you can make out the silhouette of a man standing there, watching you with concern etched on his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is soft, with a lilting accent you can’t quite place, but it’s gentle enough to cut through the fog of your despair.

You quickly wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but it’s a losing battle. “I’m fine,” you manage to choke out, though it’s clear to both of you that you’re anything but.

He doesn’t move, just crouches down in front of you, his brow furrowed. “You don’t look fine. What happened?”

You shake your head, embarrassed by the whole situation. “It’s stupid ... I just — I bought a ticket, and it’s fake, and I ... I just don’t know what to do.”

The words tumble out between hiccups and sniffles, and you feel ridiculous for crying in front of a stranger. But he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression grows even more sympathetic.

“That’s not stupid at all,” he says gently. “You came all this way for the race, didn’t you?”

You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying again. “Yeah. But now I can’t even get in. I feel like such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he reassures you, his tone firm but kind. “People get scammed all the time. It’s not your fault.”

You look up at him then, really look at him. He’s young, probably around your age, with messy brown hair and striking green eyes that seem to radiate warmth. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd, but there’s something about him — maybe the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world that matters right now — that makes you feel a little less alone.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not really a fan. It’s just ... something I had to do.”

He tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes. “For someone else?”

You nod again, fresh tears welling up. “My husband. He ... he passed away, and this was on a list of things he wanted me to do. I thought ... I thought I could at least get this right.”

The man’s expression softens even more, if that’s possible. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sits there with you, letting the weight of your words settle between you.

“I’m really sorry,” he says finally, and you can tell he means it. “That must be so hard.”

You shrug, wiping at your face again. “It is. But I wanted to do it anyway. For him.”

He nods, and then, after a brief pause, he says, “What if I told you I could help?”

You look at him, confusion and hope warring in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He smiles, and it’s a kind, genuine smile that makes you feel like maybe things aren’t as hopeless as they seem. “I might be able to get you into the race. If you’re okay with that.”

Your heart skips a beat, a flicker of hope sparking to life. “How? Are you some kind of VIP or something?”

He laughs, a soft, melodic sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Something like that. Just trust me, okay?”

You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person who’s really listened to you in a long time, or maybe it’s because you’re so desperate to make this work. Either way, you nod.

“Okay,” you say, your voice a little stronger now.

He pulls out his phone and dials a number, glancing back at you as he waits for the call to connect. “This might take a minute,” he says with a reassuring smile.

You watch him, your heart pounding as you wonder just who this man is and how he plans to help you. But as you sit there, your tears drying and the noise of the race humming in the background, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

***

Charles doesn’t leave your side while he waits for the call to go through, his green eyes focused on you as if making sure you’re still okay. The sincerity in his gaze is almost unnerving, and for a brief moment, you forget about the pitiful mess you’ve become, losing yourself in the quiet strength he radiates.

Whoever he is, it’s clear he’s not just a fan — there’s something about him that feels different, like he’s used to handling situations like this with a calm confidence that most people can only fake.

He speaks briefly into the phone, in a language you don’t understand, and within minutes — faster than you would’ve thought possible — a Ferrari team member rushes toward you both, holding a shiny red VIP pass. The emblem glints in the sunlight, and as he hands it over to Charles, your brain starts to catch up. Your eyes flicker between the pass, the Ferrari logo, and Charles, who’s now holding the pass out to you with that same reassuring smile.

“Here,” he says gently, placing the pass into your trembling hand. “This will get you into the paddock, and pretty much anywhere else you want to go.”

You stare at the pass, then at him, the realization dawning on you slowly. Ferrari. VIP. Charles. It suddenly clicks into place, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. He’s not just a concerned fan. He’s someone important.

You swallow hard, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Who ... who are you?”

He chuckles, but it’s soft, not mocking, more like he finds the situation endearing. “I’m Charles. Charles Leclerc. I drive for Ferrari.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. You’re mortified that you didn’t recognize him, that you didn’t put it together sooner. You’ve heard the name before, of course — who hasn’t? But you’ve never been into F1, and you hadn’t expected to meet someone famous today.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, looking down at your feet. “I didn’t realize ...”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Charles interrupts, waving off your apology. “You’ve had a rough day. The last thing you need to worry about is recognizing some racing driver.”

“But I should’ve known ...” you begin, but he cuts you off again, this time with a playful smile.

“Now, why would you know that? You already told me you’re not a fan,” he teases lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And I’d much rather be remembered as the guy who helped you out than as that Ferrari driver you didn’t recognize.”

You can’t help but laugh, albeit weakly. His charm is disarming, and it’s hard to feel embarrassed when he’s making it so clear that he doesn’t care about your mistake.

“Thank you,” you say, meaning it. “For all of this. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Charles shakes his head, his expression turning serious again. “You don’t need to repay me. Just enjoy the day. Experience everything to the fullest — in honor of your husband.”

You blink at him, the mention of James sending a fresh wave of emotion through you. But instead of the sharp pain you’ve grown accustomed to, it’s more of a gentle ache this time, softened by the kindness of the stranger-turned-friend standing before you.

“I know what it’s like to lose people you love,” Charles continues, his voice low and sincere. “And I know how important it is to keep their memory alive by doing things they would’ve loved. It’s not easy, but ... it’s worth it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. The depth of his words, the understanding in his eyes — it’s like he’s speaking directly to the part of you that’s been hurting the most. And suddenly, you feel a connection to him that goes beyond the superficial. He gets it. He understands.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “Really, thank you.”

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a long moment before he stands, offering you his hand. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You let him lead you through the bustling parking lot, your heart still pounding but now for a different reason.

There’s something surreal about walking next to Charles Leclerc, knowing he’s one of the biggest names in the sport and yet treating you like you’re the important one.

As you approach the entrance to the paddock, the atmosphere shifts. It’s a different world in here, a world of precision, speed, and power. Team members rush about, focused and intense, the hum of engines a constant background noise. But as you pass by, more than a few heads turn, eyes widening as they take in the sight of you walking with Charles. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

“Here we are,” he says as you reach the Ferrari hospitality area, gesturing to the sleek red building with the prancing horse logo proudly displayed. “You’re my guest today, so feel free to make yourself at home. The team will take good care of you.”

You look up at the building, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s too much.”

“It’s not too much,” Charles insists, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s exactly what you deserve today. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. He’s serious. He really wants this for you, and the sincerity in his voice makes it clear that this isn’t just about being nice. It’s about giving you something good in a time when good things have been hard to come by.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I’ll try.”

Charles smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. “That’s all I ask.”

He leads you inside, where the air is cool and the decor is modern and sleek, all polished surfaces and red accents. A few team members glance your way, but Charles waves them off, his focus entirely on you.

“I have to get prepped for the race,” he says, stopping just inside the entrance. “But I’ll come see you afterward, okay?”

You blink, taken aback by his offer. “You don’t have to do that,” you stutter. “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

Charles just shakes his head, that same determined look in his eyes. “I want to. Besides, I’ll probably be in a better mood if I know you’re here cheering me on.”

The thought of actually cheering for him, of being invested in the race, is a foreign one. But the way he says it, so casual and confident, makes it seem almost natural.

“I don’t really know much about racing,” you admit, feeling a little silly.

He grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up quickly. And if you have any questions, there’ll be plenty of people around who can help. Just relax and enjoy it.”

You nod, still feeling a little out of your depth but also oddly comforted by his words. He makes it sound so simple, so easy, like all you have to do is show up and everything else will fall into place.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Charles says, his smile widening. “I’ll see you after the race.”

He gives you a small wave before turning and heading off, his stride confident and unhurried. You watch him go, still trying to process everything that’s happened in the last hour.

It’s almost too much to take in — the ticket fiasco, meeting Charles, the VIP pass, and now being his personal guest for the day. It feels like you’ve stepped into someone else’s life, one filled with glamor and excitement, so different from the quiet, grief-stricken world you’ve been living in.

But as you take a deep breath and look around at the world Charles has invited you into, you can’t help but feel a spark of something you haven’t felt in a long time — hope. Maybe, just maybe, today will be a good day.

***

You sit in the Ferrari hospitality suite, watching the festivities from a distance. The energy in the room is electric, everyone buzzing with excitement over Charles’ win.

His face is plastered on every screen, grinning as he holds up the trophy, spraying champagne with the other drivers on the podium. The cheers echo in your ears, but there’s a strange numbness in your chest, a disconnect between the celebration and what you’re feeling.

You’re happy for him, of course you are. But the fact that Charles just won a race feels surreal, like something out of a dream. And you’re not sure where you fit in the dream — or if you fit in at all.

The hospitality suite is more crowded now, filled with people congratulating one another, toasting with glasses of champagne and sparkling water. The clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter fill the air, making the room feel smaller, more enclosed.

You keep to the side, clutching your phone and fiddling with the VIP pass Charles gave you earlier. The weight of it around your neck is a constant reminder that this isn’t your world.

The minutes tick by, each one stretching longer than the last. You tell yourself it’s okay to leave, that Charles won’t mind if you slip out quietly. After all, he’s got plenty of people to celebrate with. People who belong here, who know him well, who are part of his world. You’re just a stranger he happened to help.

But something keeps you in your seat, a small flicker of hope that he might actually come back. It’s silly, really — he’s a race winner, he should be out there celebrating, soaking in the victory. Still, you find yourself glancing at the door every few minutes, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he’ll keep his promise.

Nearly an hour and a half after the race ends, just as you’re convincing yourself to leave, you spot him. Charles enters the suite, now changed into a Ferrari branded polo, hair damp from what you assume was a quick shower. He’s scanning the room, and when his eyes land on you, they light up in recognition.

Your breath catches in your throat as he makes his way over, weaving through the crowd with a purposeful stride. He looks different out of the car, more relaxed, though there’s a tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless when he finally reaches you. “Sorry it took me so long. There were media duties, and then a debrief with the team after the podium ceremony.”

You blink up at him, stunned that he actually came. “You — You came back.”

“Of course I did,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I told you I would.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “But you should be out there celebrating. You just won a race, Charles. You didn’t have to come just to see me.”

Charles waves away your concerns, his smile widening. “I came because I wanted to. Celebrations can wait.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that takes you off guard. He’s not just saying it to be polite or to make you feel better. He actually means it. You search his eyes for a sign that he’s just being nice, but all you find is that same genuine warmth that he’s shown you from the start.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you murmur, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from anything.”

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” Charles reassures you, his voice gentle. “I’m glad you stayed.”

You nod, still feeling a little out of place, but his words soothe some of your anxiety. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you,” he says, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “It was a good race.”

There’s a brief silence, the noise of the room fading into the background as you stand there, just the two of you. You’re not sure what to say next, the weight of the moment making it hard to think straight. But Charles doesn’t seem to mind the quiet, his presence calm and unhurried.

After a few moments, Charles clears his throat, his voice hesitant. “Are you staying nearby?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink up at him, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “Um, yes, I’m staying at a hotel downtown.”

His eyes brighten at that, and he gives you a small, almost shy smile. “I’m staying in the same area. There’s a great restaurant nearby. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

You’re taken aback by the offer, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. Dinner? With Charles Leclerc? It feels like too much, like something you shouldn’t accept. You don’t want to intrude on his life any more than you already have.

“Charles, you don’t have to spend time with me,” you start, shaking your head. “You’ve already done so much-”

He interrupts you gently, his voice firm but kind. “I want to spend time with you.”

The way he says it, so straightforward and sincere, leaves no room for doubt. He’s not asking out of obligation or pity — he genuinely wants your company. And the thought of having dinner with him, of spending more time with someone who actually seems to care, is suddenly more appealing than anything else.

“Okay,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I’d like that.”

His smile widens, and you can see the relief in his eyes. “Great. Let’s get out of here, then.”

You follow him as he leads the way out of the suite, the noise of the celebrations fading behind you. The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun sets. Charles is quiet as he walks beside you, his presence comforting in its steadiness.

As you reach the paddock parking lot, you spot the familiar red of a Ferrari, and you can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s fitting, in a way, like everything about this day is part of some surreal, unexpected adventure.

Charles opens the passenger door for you, waiting until you’re settled before rounding the car to get in himself. The engine purrs to life with a smooth growl, and you feel a thrill of excitement as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

You glance over at him, taking in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the easy way he handles the car. It’s strange how comfortable you feel with him already, like you’ve known him for longer than just a few hours. Maybe it’s the way he’s treated you from the start — with kindness and understanding — or maybe it’s just the way he carries himself, with a quiet confidence that makes you feel safe.

As you drive through the city, the lights of downtown reflecting off the car’s polished surface, you can’t help but wonder what this evening will bring. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this way — hopeful, curious, maybe even a little excited. And as Charles navigates the streets with practiced ease, you start to think that maybe, just maybe, you’re finally ready to start living again.

***

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, it’s all exposed brick, warm lighting, and rustic charm. The kind of place that feels both intimate and alive with history, where every detail seems to whisper stories of countless other dinners, other nights, other lives.

You follow Charles to a corner table, noticing the way the candlelight flickers across his features, softening the angles of his face. There’s a natural ease about him, a kind of unspoken confidence that makes you feel a little more at home in this unfamiliar setting. He holds out a chair for you, and as you sit down, you can’t help but feel like you’ve stepped into a scene from someone else’s life.

“This place is incredible,” you say, glancing around at the cozy surroundings. “How did you find it?”

Charles smiles, settling into the chair across from you. “It’s one of my favorites. A friend introduced me to it a few years ago. I come here whenever I’m in town.”

You nod, taking in the atmosphere, the scent of fresh bread and herbs mingling with the low hum of conversation. It’s the kind of place that feels special, even if you didn’t know anything about it.

The waiter appears to take your order, and before you know it, the table is filled with plates of beautifully arranged dishes, each one more enticing than the last. Charles gestures for you to start, and you pick up your fork, feeling a little more at ease with each bite.

“This is amazing,” you say between mouthfuls, savoring the flavors. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Charles replies, watching you with a soft smile. “It’s one of the things I miss most when I’m traveling — good, simple food.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you both enjoy the meal, the clinking of silverware and the quiet murmur of the other diners providing a gentle backdrop. You’re grateful for the peace, for the way Charles doesn’t push you to talk, doesn’t ask any questions that feel too invasive.

But as the meal draws to a close, you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Charles seems to be choosing his words carefully, his expression thoughtful as he looks across the table at you.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he begins, his tone gentle, “but ... would you like to talk about your husband?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you can answer it. It’s been so long since anyone asked, since anyone cared enough to ask, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to go back to that place, to open up the wound that’s still so raw.

But there’s something in Charles’ eyes, a quiet understanding, that makes you feel like it’s okay to share this part of yourself with him. Like maybe he can handle it, even if you’re not sure you can.

“He was on a mission in ... well, it doesn’t really matter where. There was an attack — one of those random, senseless things that happen in places like that. He was helping a patient when it happened. They said he died a hero, but ... it doesn’t feel like that to me. It just feels like he’s gone.”

The tears that you’ve been holding back all evening finally spill over, and you don’t even try to stop them. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of keeping it all inside. And somehow, with Charles sitting there, listening so intently, it feels okay to let it out.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.”

You wipe at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “It’s been over a year, but ... it still feels like it was yesterday, you know? Like I’m still waiting for him to walk through the door, to tell me it was all some terrible mistake.”

Charles reaches across the table, his hand covering yours in a gesture that’s as comforting as it is unexpected. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says softly. “And you don’t have to rush through it either. Grief doesn’t have a timeline.”

His words are like a balm, soothing some of the raw ache that’s been sitting in your chest. You nod, unable to speak, afraid that if you do, the tears will start again and won’t stop.

There’s a brief silence, and then you continue, feeling the need to explain, to make him understand. “He left me a letter ... and a list. A bucket list, of things he wanted us to do together, but he didn’t get the chance. He asked me to do them for him, to ... to live the life he didn’t get to.”

Charles leans forward slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “What’s on the list?”

You hesitate for a moment, but then you reach into your purse, pulling out the folded piece of paper that’s become a permanent fixture in your life. You unfold it carefully, smoothing out the creases before passing it across the table to him.

He takes the list from you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before he begins to read. You watch his face as he scans the items, his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something almost reverent.

He’s quiet for a long time, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s judging you for carrying out such a personal task, for holding on to a life that’s no longer yours.

But when he looks up at you again, there’s no judgment in his eyes — only empathy, and maybe even a touch of admiration.

“Have you done any of these yet?” He asks, his voice soft.

You nod your head. “I’ve only just started. The first item was to go to an F1 race ... that’s why I’m here.”

Charles’ gaze softens even more, and he nods slowly, as if understanding the weight of what you’ve shared. “And Paris?” He asks, his tone careful.

You can’t help but laugh a little, despite the heaviness in your chest. “Paris ... I mean, who doesn’t want to go to Paris? But I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to tick that one off the list.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, then he hesitates, as if he’s debating something in his mind. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and tentative. “You know ... the summer break has officially started. I don’t have another race for a month, and I don’t have anything I have to do for over two weeks.”

You blink at him, not quite understanding where he’s going with this. “Okay ...”

“I’ve always loved Paris,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. “And ... I know we’ve only just met, but I would love to help you tick off the second item on your list.”

You stare at him, your mind reeling from what he’s suggesting. Go to Paris? With him? It’s crazy — it’s absolutely insane. You don’t know him, not really, and the idea of going on such a personal trip with someone you’ve just met feels like stepping into a world that doesn’t belong to you.

But there’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something in his voice, that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, it’s not as crazy as it seems. Maybe it’s exactly what you need.

“Are you serious?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles nods, his expression earnest. “Sometimes the best things in life are crazy and spontaneous. And ... I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really would love to help you with this. I want to be there for you.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, a mix of emotions swirling inside you — fear, excitement, uncertainty, and something else you can’t quite name. It’s terrifying, the idea of letting someone new into your life, of opening yourself up to the possibility of connection, of loss.

But at the same time, it feels like a lifeline, like a chance to finally start living again.

“I ... I don’t know,” you stammer, unsure of how to respond. “It just seems so ...”

“Crazy?” Charles finishes for you, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Crazy.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you with those steady, kind eyes. “Maybe it is. But sometimes the craziest things turn out to be the most important.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you weigh the decision. It would be so easy to say no, to stay in your safe, controlled world where nothing ever changes. But where has that gotten you? Nowhere.

And then, almost without realizing it, you find yourself nodding, your voice small but determined. “Okay.”

Charles’ eyes light up with something close to relief, and he smiles at you — a genuine, warm smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this is the right choice.

“Okay?” He repeats, as if needing to hear it again.

“Okay,” you say again, a little more certain this time. “Let’s go to Paris.”

You both sit there for a moment, the reality of what you’ve just agreed to sinking in. It feels like the beginning of something — something that scares you as much as it excites you.

Charles reaches across the table, gently taking your hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, his voice sincere.

You look at him, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not alone in this.

***

You’re still reeling from the decision when the check arrives at the table. Charles grabs it before you can reach for your purse, waving away your protests with an easy smile.

“Trust me,” he says, his tone light but firm, “this one’s on me.”

You thank him, still half-convinced that this is all some surreal dream you’ll wake up from any minute. As you step outside, the cool evening air brushes against your skin, grounding you in the reality of what just happened.

You’re going to Paris. With Charles Leclerc. You glance at him, wondering how he can be so calm when your world has just been flipped upside down.

“Okay, so ... what’s the plan?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind races with all the logistics you need to sort out.

He turns to you with that relaxed smile, as if planning a spontaneous trip to Paris is the most natural thing in the world. “Plan? We drive back to the hotel, grab our things, and head to the airport.”

“The airport?” You blink at him, thrown by the suddenness of it all. “I haven’t even booked a flight yet. Or a hotel. Or anything.”

Charles chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. I’ve got it covered.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him that you can’t possibly let him do this, but he cuts you off before you can say a word.

“Really,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m an F1 driver, remember? I’ve got more than enough resources, and I want to do this for you.”

You stare at him, at the easy confidence in his tone, at the sincerity in his eyes. You know he means it, but it still feels like too much. “Charles, I ... I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You’re not.” He steps closer, his expression softening. “This is something I want to do. For you. For your husband. Please, let me help you.”

There’s a quiet intensity in his voice that makes it impossible to argue. You nod slowly, feeling a mix of gratitude and disbelief. “Okay ... thank you. I just — I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you. “Just pack your things and meet me back here in a few minutes. We’ll take care of the rest.”

And just like that, you find yourself heading back to your hotel, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You pack quickly, throwing your essentials into your suitcase with trembling hands. The reality of what’s happening starts to sink in, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the sheer craziness of it all.

You pause, standing in the middle of the room with your half-packed suitcase, wondering if you’re really doing this. Paris. With a man you’ve just met. It’s all too surreal, too spontaneous, too-

There’s a knock on your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You open it to find Charles standing there, his expression calm and reassuring.

“Ready?” He asks, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

You take a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah ... I think so.”

“Good.” He smiles, and somehow, that simple gesture is enough to steady you. “Let’s go.”

You follow him downstairs, your heart racing as he drives you both back to his hotel. He parks the car, and you watch as he disappears inside, returning a few minutes later with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“That’s it?” You ask, surprised at how little he’s carrying.

He nods, tossing the bag into the back seat. “The team will pack up the rest of my stuff and have it sent home later.”

You don’t have time to process the implications of that before he’s back in the driver’s seat, navigating the streets with the kind of ease that comes from years of traveling. You try to keep up with the conversation, but your mind keeps drifting to what lies ahead, to the sheer audacity of what you’re about to do.

It’s only when you pull up to a private airstrip that the full reality of the situation hits you. You step out of the car, staring in awe at the sleek, chartered jet waiting on the tarmac. The sight of it leaves you breathless, the sheer scale of what Charles is doing for you almost too much to comprehend.

“Charles ...” you begin, your voice catching in your throat.

He turns to you, his expression soft. “Yes?”

“This is ... I mean, I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined. Are you sure-”

“I’m sure.” His tone leaves no room for doubt, and he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Come on. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

He leads you up the steps, and before you know it, you’re inside the luxurious cabin, sinking into a plush leather seat. Everything about the jet screams opulence — the polished wood accents, the soft ambient lighting, the quiet hum of the engines in the background. It’s the kind of luxury you’ve only ever seen in movies, and you can’t quite believe that it’s real, that you’re really here.

Charles takes the seat across from you, his expression relaxed as he buckles his seatbelt. “Comfortable?”

You nod, still too stunned to form a coherent response. He smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, and you realize that this kind of thing must be second nature to him. For you, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. For him, it’s just another day in the life of an F1 driver.

“Just sit back and relax,” he says, as if sensing your thoughts. “We’ll be in Paris before you know it.”

The flight itself is smooth and uneventful, the hours passing in a blur of disbelief and quiet conversation. Charles keeps things light, sharing stories from his racing career, and you find yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. It’s easy to forget about your worries when you’re with him, easy to get lost in the charm of his stories and the warmth of his smile.

Before you know it, the plane begins its descent, and the lights of Paris come into view below, twinkling like a sea of stars. The sight of the city leaves you breathless, the sheer beauty of it almost too much to take in. You press your face to the window, unable to tear your eyes away from the breathtaking panorama of the City of Light.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Charles’ voice is soft, and when you turn to look at him, there’s a wistfulness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling a surge of emotion welling up inside you. “It’s ... it’s perfect.”

The plane touches down smoothly, and within minutes, you’re whisked away in a sleek black car, driving through the streets of Paris as the city comes alive around you. The streets are bustling with life, the cafes and bistros glowing with warm light, the air filled with the sound of laughter and music.

It’s everything you’ve ever imagined and more, and you can’t believe you’re really here, experiencing it all with Charles by your side.

The car pulls up in front of an exclusive, centrally located hotel, and you step out onto the cobblestone street, your heart pounding in your chest. The hotel is grand, its facade illuminated by golden lights, and as you step inside, you’re greeted by a world of elegance and sophistication.

You barely have time to take it all in before you’re being led to a two-bedroom suite with the most stunning views of the Eiffel Tower you’ve ever seen. You stand by the window, staring out at the iconic landmark as it sparkles against the night sky, the reality of your situation hitting you all over again.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles steps up beside you, his gaze focused on the view outside. “Believe it,” he says softly, his tone filled with quiet conviction. “You’re here. We’re here. And tomorrow, we’ll start checking off that list.”

You turn to look at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and something else — something you’re not quite ready to name. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”

He smiles, a warm, genuine smile that lights up his face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I can be here for you.”

You feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out and pull him into a hug. It’s a long, lingering embrace, filled with all the gratitude, all the emotion you can’t put into words. Charles holds you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that makes you feel safe, comforted, understood.

When you finally pull back, there are tears in your eyes, but they’re tears of relief, of something like hope. “Good night, Charles,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

“Good night,” he replies, his voice just as soft. “Sleep well. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You watch as he heads to his own room, and then you turn back to the window, staring out at the glittering Eiffel Tower. It feels like a dream, but for the first time in a long time, it’s a dream you’re ready to embrace.

***

The sun is already high in the sky when you finally open your eyes, the weight of the past few days still pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The exhaustion is bone-deep, the kind that makes every movement feel like wading through thick syrup.

You stretch out in the luxurious hotel bed, the cool sheets tangling around your legs as you blink against the soft light filtering through the curtains. Paris. You’re in Paris. The thought slips through your mind, almost unreal, as if you might wake up any second to find yourself back in the monotony of the past year.

You sit up slowly, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furniture and the faint sounds of the city outside. It’s almost noon, you realize, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Just as you’re about to contemplate the day ahead, there’s a gentle knock on the door connecting your room to Charles’. You almost forgot about him for a second — almost.

“Good morning,” you call out, your voice still thick with sleep.

The door opens, and Charles steps in, a smile lighting up his face as he sees you. “Good afternoon, you mean,” he teases lightly, leaning against the doorframe. “I was beginning to think you might sleep through the whole day.”

You rub your eyes, shaking your head as you try to fully wake up. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

He nods, his expression softening. “No rush. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

It’s that statement that hits you more than it should. All the time in the world. You used to believe that too. You push the thought away quickly, not wanting to drown in it.

“What’s the plan?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on this strange, wonderful day that’s somehow yours.

Charles grins, his eyes sparking with something mischievous. “How do you feel about lunch at a little café by the Seine?”

Your heart skips a beat. The café. The red awning. It’s what your husband wanted, what he wrote down on that list. You swallow, trying to keep your emotions in check. “That sounds perfect.”

Charles seems to sense the shift in your mood, his smile softening into something more understanding. He doesn’t push, just nods and steps back, giving you space to get ready. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

When he’s gone, you take a deep breath and head to the bathroom, the reality of where you are and what you’re doing starting to sink in. You can’t help but think of the letter, the list. Of the man who should be here with you instead of buried under the earth. You splash cold water on your face, trying to shake off the melancholy that clings to you like a second skin.

By the time you join Charles downstairs, you’ve managed to put on a smile, though it feels fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. He greets you with a warm, reassuring look, his eyes scanning your face as if to check that you’re really okay. You nod, and he leads you outside, where a car is waiting.

The ride to the café is quiet, filled with the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of the city. Charles doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and you’re grateful for that. Instead, he lets you stare out the window, watching as the streets of Paris unfold before you like a storybook.

When the car finally pulls up in front of the café, your heart clenches. There it is, just like your husband described it: the small tables lined up outside, the red awning casting a warm glow over everything, the view of the Seine just beyond. It’s almost too much. You hesitate, feeling a lump in your throat, but Charles is already out of the car, holding the door open for you.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, his gaze steady on yours.

You nod, though you’re not sure if you believe it. “Yeah. Just ... it’s exactly like he said.”

Charles doesn’t say anything, just offers his arm in a gentle, old-fashioned gesture. You take it, letting him lead you to a table by the water. The waiter greets you with a smile, and Charles orders for both of you without hesitation — coffee and croissants, just like on the list.

The sun reflects off the Seine, making the water shimmer like it’s made of liquid gold. You sip your coffee slowly, savoring the rich taste, though your thoughts are a million miles away. You can almost see your husband sitting across from you, that goofy grin on his face as he tries to explain something in broken French to the waiter. You smile at the memory, even as it twists something painful deep inside you.

Charles doesn’t interrupt your thoughts, just lets you have this moment. You’re grateful for that. The croissants arrive, warm and flaky, and you find yourself laughing softly as you break off a piece, thinking of how your husband always complained that they never made them right back home. Here, though ... here they’re perfect.

“This was his favorite place,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “He talked about it all the time. Said it was the best spot in Paris, hands down.”

Charles listens, his eyes never leaving your face. “He had good taste.”

You smile, though it wobbles a bit. “He did.”

There’s a pause, a comfortable one, where you both just sit there, watching the world go by. It’s everything your husband wanted, everything he put on that list. And yet, it feels different — like you’re living a dream that isn’t entirely yours.

After a while, Charles speaks up, his tone gentle. “Have you thought about what you want to do next?”

You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “Next?”

“With the list,” he clarifies, his eyes searching yours. “I mean, you don’t have to ... but if you want to keep going, I’d like to help.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Charles holds up a hand, cutting you off before you can start. “I know what you’re going to say,” he continues, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And I’m telling you right now, you’re not bothering me. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. It’s overwhelming, this kindness he’s showing you, this willingness to be a part of something so deeply personal. You don’t know what to say, how to express the jumble of emotions swirling inside you.

“Charles, I-” You falter, trying to find the right words. “This isn’t your responsibility. You’ve already done so much ...”

He shakes his head, cutting you off again. “It’s not about responsibility. It’s about doing something that feels right. And this — being here with you, helping you through this — it feels right.”

The tears well up before you can stop them, spilling over as you look away, embarrassed by how easily they come. Charles doesn’t say anything, just reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking on the words.

He squeezes your hand gently. “You don’t have to thank me.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want you to feel obligated ...”

“I don’t,” he assures you, his voice firm but kind. “I promise you, I don’t.”

You nod, blinking away the last of your tears. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoes, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You smile back, a real one this time. “Okay.”

There’s a quiet moment where everything feels ... settled, like a weight has been lifted from your chest. It’s not gone — not by a long shot — but it’s lighter, more manageable. You can breathe a little easier, see a little clearer.

Charles leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “So, what do you say we finish this coffee, eat a few more croissants than is probably advisable, and then figure out what our next adventure is?”

You laugh, a real laugh that surprises you with its brightness. “I think I’d like that.”

And so you do just that. You sit there with Charles, sipping coffee and eating too many croissants, watching the world go by as the sun moves slowly across the sky. It’s peaceful, almost idyllic, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something that might be happiness.

As the afternoon stretches into evening, Charles brings up the rest of the list again, but this time, you don’t try to wave him off. Instead, you find yourself talking about it, really talking, and it feels good to share it with someone who actually seems to care.

You tell him about the road trip with no destination in mind, about the other things your husband wanted you to experience. It’s bittersweet, but there’s a warmth to it too, a sense of connection that you didn’t expect to find.

“We’ll enjoy a few more days in Paris,” Charles says, his voice steady and reassuring, “and then we’ll hit the road. No plans, no deadlines. Just ... see where it takes us.”

You look at him, feeling that same pull, that same inexplicable draw that’s been there since the moment you met him. It’s crazy, all of this — crazy and spontaneous and completely out of your comfort zone. But maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you need.

“Let’s do it,” you say, your voice stronger than you expected. “Let’s do the road trip.”

Charles’ smile broadens. “Perfect. We’ll make it an adventure.”

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a golden glow that seems to soften the world around you. You stretch in bed, feeling a lightness in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. There’s a sense of anticipation humming through your veins as you get ready, knowing that today marks the beginning of a new adventure.

When you step into the lobby, Charles is already there, leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. He grins when he sees you, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Ready to go?” He asks, his voice warm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

Charles nods, gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on, then.”

You step outside, and your breath catches in your throat. Parked at the curb is a sleek black Ferrari, its curves gleaming under the morning light. You glance at Charles in surprise, your eyebrows shooting up.

“Where did you get this?” You ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly. “Let’s just say I know a guy.”

You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “Of course you do.”

Charles opens the trunk, helping you load your bags inside. There’s a thrill in the air, a sense of freedom that you haven’t felt in ages. Once everything is packed, he opens the passenger door for you with a small bow, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Your chariot awaits,” he says.

You roll your eyes, but the gesture makes your heart warm. You slide into the car, sinking into the plush leather seat as Charles walks around to the driver’s side.

“Ready?” He asks, his hand resting on the gear shift.

You glance over at him, meeting his gaze. There’s something reassuring in his eyes, something that makes you feel like, for the first time in a long time, everything might just be okay.

“Ready,” you say, and with that, he starts the engine, the car roaring to life.

The two of you set off, the city of Paris fading in the rearview mirror as the open road stretches out before you. There’s no set destination, no strict itinerary — just miles of road and the promise of wherever the day might take you.

For the first hour, you drive in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine and the wind rushing past your ears. You watch as the landscape changes, the bustling city giving way to rolling fields and quaint villages. The farther you go, the more the tension in your chest eases.

Eventually, Charles turns to you with a grin. “Pick a direction. Left or right?”

You blink, looking at the fork in the road ahead. “You’re letting me decide?”

“Of course,” he replies. “This is your adventure, after all.”

You hesitate for a moment, then point to the right. “Right.”

Charles nods and turns the wheel, the Ferrari smoothly gliding down the chosen path. “Right it is.”

The day passes in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You turn down random roads, sometimes doubling back when you realize you’re hopelessly lost, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no rush, no pressure to be anywhere but right here, right now.

You stop at a tiny roadside café for lunch, the kind of place where the menu is handwritten on a chalkboard, and the waitress knows the regulars by name. The food is simple but delicious, and you can’t help but savor every bite, feeling more alive than you have in months.

After lunch, you continue driving, the hours slipping away as you explore hidden corners of the French countryside. You pass through small towns where time seems to have stood still, with cobblestone streets and old stone houses that look like something out of a fairytale.

As evening approaches, you start to feel the weight of the day settling in your bones. You glance over at Charles, who looks just as content as you feel, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel.

“Should we start looking for a place to stay?” You ask, your voice soft.

He nods, glancing at a sign by the side of the road. “There’s a small inn a few miles ahead. We can try there.”

You hum in agreement, the idea of a cozy inn sounding perfect after a day on the road. The Ferrari winds its way through narrow streets until you arrive at the inn, a charming, ivy-covered building that looks like it’s been plucked straight out of a storybook.

Charles parks the car, and the two of you head inside. The lobby is quaint, with old wooden beams and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The innkeeper, a kindly older woman with a warm smile, greets you as you approach the front desk.

“Bonsoir,” she says in a lilting accent. “How can I help you?”

Charles steps forward, his voice polite as ever. “Bonsoir. We were hoping to get a room for the night.”

The innkeeper’s smile falters slightly, and she glances at the reservation book. “Ah, I’m afraid we are nearly full tonight. There is only one room left, and it has only one bed. I’m sorry.”

Your heart sinks, and you glance at Charles, unsure what to do. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you also don’t relish the idea of finding another place so late in the evening.

Charles, however, seems unfazed. He turns to you with a reassuring smile. “It’s up to you. We can stay or keep looking.”

You bite your lip, weighing your options. The day has been long, and you’re both exhausted. Finally, you nod. “Let’s stay.”

The innkeeper hands Charles the key, and he leads you upstairs to the room. It’s cozy, with a low ceiling and a large, comfortable-looking bed dominating the space. There’s a small window overlooking the garden, where the last rays of sunlight are casting everything in a golden hue.

You drop your bags by the door, glancing at the bed. It’s big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with Charles makes your heart flutter nervously.

Charles seems to pick up on your hesitation. “I can sleep on the floor,” he offers, his tone gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”

He hesitates for a moment, then nods, his expression softening. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

You both get ready for bed, the atmosphere between you growing more relaxed. When you finally climb under the covers, you can feel the warmth radiating from Charles’ side of the bed, a comforting presence in the quiet room.

For a while, you both lie there in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of the sheets as you try to find a comfortable position. Despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself inching closer to him, drawn by the sense of safety he brings.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the darkness.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice soft.

You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath. And then, almost without thinking, you shift closer, until your head is resting on his shoulder, your body curled against his side.

Charles tenses for a moment, and you almost pull away, but then his arm wraps around you, holding you gently. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he holds you is enough. It’s not romantic or suggestive — just a simple, comforting embrace that makes you feel less alone.

You relax into his warmth, feeling a sense of peace wash over you that you haven’t felt in what feels like forever. The road trip, the bucket list, everything fades into the background as you allow yourself to just be in this moment.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Charles’ arms, you can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — you’re starting to heal.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the small inn room. You stir slightly, the warmth of the shared bed coaxing you into a slow wakefulness. Charles is still beside you, his breath even, his face relaxed in sleep. It’s almost surreal how peaceful this moment feels, as if the world outside has paused just for the two of you.

You turn onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow, and watch him for a moment. The lines of worry that usually crease his brow are gone, replaced by a serenity that makes him seem younger, almost boyish. You wonder how he manages to carry so much weight on his shoulders and still offer you comfort, still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The faint clatter of dishes from downstairs pulls you out of your thoughts. You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. The cool wooden floor sends a shiver up your spine as you pad over to the small window. The view outside is a picturesque scene of rolling hills and a cobblestone street winding through the tiny village. It’s the kind of place that feels untouched by time, where life moves at a slower, more deliberate pace.

A soft knock on the door startles you. You glance back at Charles, who stirs but doesn’t wake. Quietly, you open the door to find the innkeeper, a woman in her late fifties with a kind face and a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she whispers. “Breakfast is ready whenever you and your friend are.”

You nod, offering her a smile in return. “Thank you. We’ll be down soon.”

She leaves you with a slight nod, and you close the door softly behind her. Turning back to the bed, you see Charles is awake now, blinking away sleep. He stretches lazily, his eyes finding yours, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “The innkeeper says breakfast is ready.”

He nods, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’ll be down in a minute. You go ahead.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then you nod and head downstairs. The small dining area is cozy, with a fireplace crackling softly in one corner. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You take a seat at one of the wooden tables, the innkeeper greeting you with a pot of coffee.

“Is it just the two of you?” She asks, pouring you a cup.

“Yes, just us,” you say, taking a grateful sip. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, waking you up fully.

“Such a lovely young man,” she comments, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re lucky to have someone like him.”

You smile at that, unsure how to respond. Are you lucky? It feels strange to think of Charles in that way when the loss of your husband is still so fresh, still so raw. But you can’t deny that Charles has brought something into your life that you didn’t know you needed — comfort, companionship, and maybe even a little bit of hope.

Charles appears a few minutes later, his hair slightly tousled from sleep, but he looks more awake now. He greets the innkeeper with a polite nod before taking the seat across from you.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, reaching for a piece of the fresh bread.

“I did,” you admit. “And you?”

“Better than I have in a while,” he says, and there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you believe him.

The innkeeper returns with plates of food — scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and more of the bread you’ve already sampled. It’s simple, but it’s the kind of breakfast that warms you from the inside out, reminding you of the comforts of home.

As you both eat in companionable silence, Charles looks up at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Have you ever been to Monaco?”

You pause, caught off guard by the question. “No, I haven’t. I’ve heard it’s beautiful, though.”

“It is,” he agrees, a smile playing on his lips. “Would you like to go?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Of course I would, but realistically, I know I probably never will. Life has a way of getting in the way of things like that.”

Charles’ smile widens, his eyes glinting with mischief. “That’s not true at all, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure where he’s going with this. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because my mother is expecting us for dinner tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You stare at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Wait, what?”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You heard me. We’re going to Monaco. My mother has been asking about you, actually.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the words. “Charles, I ... I don’t know what to say. That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet, but I don’t want to impose. And we haven’t exactly been planning on going to Monaco.”

“You’re not imposing,” Charles insists, reaching across the table to take your hand. “She’s already expecting us, and it would make her really happy to meet you.”

You look down at his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. There’s something about the way he says it, so earnest and sincere, that makes it hard to say no.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your voice soft.

“Absolutely,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “Let’s make the most of this adventure, okay?”

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay. Let’s go to Monaco.”

The drive to Monaco is nothing short of breathtaking. The Ferrari roars to life as Charles maneuvers it expertly along the winding coastal roads, the Mediterranean Sea sparkling to your right. The windows are down, and the wind whips through your hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the promise of something new.

Charles hums along to the music playing softly through the speakers, glancing over at you every so often with a contented smile. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart flutter, and you find yourself smiling back, unable to resist the infectious energy that seems to surround him.

When you finally cross the border into Monaco, it feels like stepping into another world. The city is a blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, with grand buildings perched on cliffs overlooking the sea and sleek yachts bobbing in the harbor. The streets are bustling with life, but there’s an air of sophistication and elegance that sets it apart from anywhere else you’ve been.

Charles navigates the narrow streets with ease, eventually pulling up in front of an apartment building that exudes quiet elegance. He cuts the engine and turns to you with a smile. “We’re here.”

You take a deep breath, your nerves suddenly kicking in. “I’m nervous,” you admit.

Charles reaches over and takes your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You have nothing to be nervous about. She’s going to love you.”

You nod, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach as you step out of the car. Charles comes around to your side, taking your hand once more as he leads you up the steps to the building. The door opens with a soft creak, and you find yourself in a beautifully decorated foyer, the scent of fresh flowers filling the air.

Charles leads you down a hallway, stopping in front of a door with a gold number plate. He looks at you, a reassuring smile on his face, before knocking softly.

The door opens almost immediately, and there stands a woman who can only be Pascale. She’s petite, with kind eyes and a warm smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. Her face lights up when she sees Charles, and she immediately pulls him into a hug.

“Charles, mon chéri,” she says, her voice filled with affection.

Charles hugs her back, and you can see the love between them in the way they hold each other, the way they speak without words. When they finally pull apart, Pascale turns her attention to you, her smile softening even more.

“And you must be Y/N,” she says, stepping forward to embrace you as well. Her hug is warm and comforting, the kind of hug that only a mother could give.

You hug her back, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of maternal warmth, and it brings tears to your eyes. But they’re good tears, the kind that remind you that maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to heal.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Pascale says, pulling back to look at you. “Charles has told me so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you reply with a small smile, trying to compose yourself.

Pascale laughs softly, a musical sound that fills the hallway. “Only the best.”

Charles takes your hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we?”

Pascale nods, stepping back to allow you both inside. As you step into the warm, inviting space, you can’t help but feel a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

***

Pascale’s apartment is cozy, filled with warm lighting and the comforting smell of something delicious simmering in the kitchen. You’re still standing by the door when she pulls you into a tight hug, her embrace firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you feel a wave of unexpected comfort.

“Welcome, mon ange,” Pascale murmurs in your ear, her voice soft and motherly, the kind you haven't felt in so long. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

You blink back the tears that suddenly prick at your eyes. There’s a part of you that’s still surprised to be here, in Monaco, of all places, with Charles — let alone meeting his mother. “Thank you,” you manage to say, feeling a little overwhelmed by her warmth.

Charles gives you an encouraging smile as he slips out of his shoes, motioning for you to do the same. “Come on,” he says lightly, “I told Maman we’d help with dinner.”

You glance at Pascale, who’s already moving toward the kitchen. “Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Pascale calls over her shoulder. “You’re our guest, and in this house, guests are family.”

Charles nudges you playfully. “She means it. Better get in there before she tries to do everything herself.”

You follow them into the kitchen, trying to shake off the nerves that have settled in your stomach. The space is as welcoming as the rest of the apartment, filled with the sounds of something sizzling on the stove and the scent of fresh herbs. Pascale is already at work, her hands moving deftly as she chops vegetables with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times.

Charles rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cutting board, handing you one as well. “Here,” he says with a grin, “let’s show Maman what we’ve got.”

You’re not much of a cook, but there’s something about the way Charles and Pascale move around the kitchen that makes you feel at ease. Before long, the three of you are working together, chopping and stirring and laughing as Pascale regales you with stories from Charles’ childhood.

“He was always getting into trouble,” she says with a fond smile, passing you a bowl of something that smells divine. “Climbing trees, chasing after the neighborhood cats ...”

“Maman,” Charles groans, but he’s grinning, his eyes sparkling with that same mischievous glint you’ve seen more than once.

You chuckle, picturing a younger Charles, wild and full of energy. It’s easy to see where he gets his charm — Pascale is a force of nature, and the love she has for her son is palpable in every word, every look she sends his way.

As dinner comes together, you find yourself opening up to Pascale in a way you didn’t expect. She asks about your life, your past, and though it’s hard to talk about your husband, something about her gentle demeanor makes it easier.

“I’m sorry,” you say at one point, when the conversation dips into quieter territory. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

Pascale shakes her head, her eyes full of understanding. “You didn’t, dear. It’s important to talk about the people we’ve loved and lost. It keeps them with us.”

Her words resonate with you, and for a moment, you just stand there, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the comfort of their presence wash over you.

“Your husband,” Pascale says after a beat, her voice soft. “He sounds like he was a wonderful man.”

“He was,” you whisper, your throat tightening with emotion. “He really was.”

Pascale reaches out, covering your hand with hers. “And you,” she says gently, “are an incredible woman.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod, swallowing back the tears that threaten to spill over. Charles catches your eye from across the kitchen, giving you a small, encouraging smile, and you feel a surge of gratitude for him — for bringing you here, for making you feel like you’re not alone.

Dinner is a simple affair, but it’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a long time. The conversation flows easily, and for a while, it feels like you’re part of something you’ve been missing for so long — a family.

At some point during the evening, you and Pascale find yourselves alone at the table. Charles has stepped out to take a call, leaving you with Pascale, who has been watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” she begins, her voice gentle, “when Charles told me about you, I could see how much he cares. He’s a good boy, my Charles, but he doesn’t let people in easily.”

You feel your cheeks warm under her scrutiny. “He’s been ... incredibly kind to me,” you say softly. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Pascale nods, as if she already knows. “He’s been through a lot, just like you. Losing his father, and then Jules ... it changed him.”

There’s a sadness in her eyes, and you realize that, like you, she’s carrying her own grief. “I’m sorry,” you say, the words feeling inadequate. “I didn’t mean to bring up-”

“Don’t apologize,” Pascale interrupts, reaching across the table to take your hand. “It’s good to talk about these things, to remember. Charles ... he doesn’t talk about it much, but I know it’s there, always.”

You nod, understanding all too well. The weight of loss is something that never truly goes away; it just becomes a part of you.

“I see a lot of his father in him,” Pascale continues, her voice wistful. “That determination, that drive to be the best. But it’s more than that. He’s got a good heart, my Charles. He cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.”

You smile, thinking of the way Charles has been with you — patient, understanding, always knowing just what to say to make you feel better. “He does,” you agree. “He’s ... he’s been more than I could have ever asked for.”

Pascale’s gaze softens, and for a moment, she just looks at you, as if she’s seeing something she’s been hoping to find. “I’m glad he has you,” she says finally. “I think you’re good for each other.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. It’s too soon to think about what all of this means, but there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder where this is going — what it could become.

Before you can dwell on it too much, Charles returns, his usual easygoing demeanor back in place. “Everything okay?” He asks, glancing between you and Pascale.

“Perfect,” Pascale replies with a smile, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you think she knows more than she’s letting on.

The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable blur, with more stories and laughter, and by the time you’re getting ready to leave, you feel like you’ve known Pascale for much longer than just a few hours.

As you’re putting on your coat, Pascale pulls Charles aside, and you see her lean in close, whispering something to him. He nods, his expression serious, and when he glances back at you, there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

“What did she say?” You ask when you’re finally alone with Charles, walking back to the car.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just that she likes you,” he says simply. “A lot.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but there’s also a flicker of something else — something that feels a lot like hope.

“She’s wonderful,” you say honestly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Charles stops walking, turning to face you. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I’m just glad you came.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re an incredible person, you know that?”

You blink, taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. “I’m just trying to get by,” you admit quietly.

He nods, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer. “Aren’t we all?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just give him a small smile, hoping he understands.

You reach the car, and Charles opens the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slide inside. There’s something different in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniably there, and as you drive away from Pascale’s apartment, you can’t help but wonder what it all means.

What you do know, though, is that you’re not alone anymore — not really. Charles is here, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

***

The drive from Pascale’s apartment to Charles’ place is filled with comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional hum of the engine and the soft tunes playing on the car’s stereo. You find yourself stealing glances at Charles every now and then, noticing how relaxed he seems, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other is lightly to the rhythm of the music. His calmness was contagious, and you lean back in your seat, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

When the car finally pulls into an underground parking garage, Charles cuts the engine and turns to you with a soft smile. “Ready to meet Leo?” He asks, his tone almost teasing.

“Leo?” You echo, raising an eyebrow.

“My dog,” Charles clarifies, his smile growing. “He’s ... enthusiastic, to say the least.”

You laugh lightly. “I think I can handle enthusiastic.”

Charles leads you to the elevator, and a few moments later, you are stepping into a sleek, modern apartment. It is tastefully decorated, with large windows that offer a stunning view of the city. Before you could take in all the details, a high-pitched bark echoes through the space, and a small beige dachshund comes skidding around the corner, his tiny legs moving at lightning speed as he raced toward Charles.

“Leo!” Charles greets the dog with a wide grin, crouching down to scoop him up. The dachshund wiggles excitedly in his arms, his tail wagging furiously. “This is Y/N,” Charles introduces, turning Leo’s attention to you. “Be nice.”

You kneel down, and Leo wasted no time leaping from Charles’ arms to yours, showering your face with a flurry of enthusiastic licks. You can’t help but laugh as you try to fend off the affectionate assault, gently rubbing the little dog’s back.

“He’s adorable,” you say, looking up at Charles with a wide smile. But when your eyes meet his, you noticed the way he was watching you — softly, intently, as if seeing you in a new light. It was the kind of look you hadn’t seen since ... since James. The thought hits you with a sudden pang, but there is no sadness in it. Just a quiet, tender acknowledgment of the past and the present.

Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat as he straightens up. “I’m glad you like him,” he says, his voice a touch quieter now. “He’s been good company.”

You stand, Leo still wriggling happily in your arms. “I can see why.”

Charles smiles again, that same gentle warmth in his eyes. “Come on, let me show you to your room. I had one of the guest rooms made up for you.”

You follow him down a short hallway, the soft pads of Leo’s paws following close behind. Charles pushes open a door, revealing a cozy, well-appointed room with a large bed, a dresser, and a window that looks out over the city skyline. Your bags are neatly placed at the foot of the bed.

“I hope it’s comfortable enough,” Charles says, glancing around the room as if assessing it himself.

“It’s perfect,” you assure him, setting Leo down on the floor. The little dog immediately hops onto the bed, circling a few times before settling into a comfortable spot.

Charles chuckles. “Looks like you’ve already got company.”

You smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and giving Leo another affectionate pat. “He’s a good boy.”

There’s a pause, comfortable and full of unspoken things. Charles lingers by the door, as if he wants to say something but is weighing his words.

“If you need anything,” he finally says, “my room’s just down the hall. Don’t hesitate to knock.”

You nod, appreciating the offer more than you could put into words. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something more. But instead, he simply nods, giving you a small, almost bashful smile before stepping back into the hallway.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, his voice warm and sincere.

“Goodnight, Charles.”

As the door closes behind him, you’re left alone in the quiet room, Leo’s soft breathing the only sound. You sit there for a moment, letting everything that had happened over the past few days wash over you. The unexpected kindness of a stranger who is becoming so much more, the gentle way he helped you navigate the grief that still lingered like a shadow ... and the way he looked at you, as if he saw something in you that you’d almost forgotten was there.

With a deep breath, you lie back on the bed, Leo curling up beside you. The city lights twinkle through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, you are beginning to heal.

And as you drift off to sleep, you find yourself thinking of the days to come, and the possibility of something new and beautiful growing from the ashes of what you’d lost.

***

The next morning, Charles is practically buzzing with excitement as he leads you out of his apartment and towards the harbor. His hand is warm and sure around yours, and you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

The sky is a brilliant shade of blue, the kind of color that seems to only exist in this part of the world, with the sun glinting off the water and the scent of salt in the air. The harbor is alive with activity, the gentle hum of boats rocking in the marina, the occasional laughter of tourists, and the distant sounds of a city going about its day.

“I’m taking you to my favorite spot,” Charles says, his voice light and cheerful. “It’s a bit of a hidden gem. The tourists don’t usually find it, but the locals love it.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him as you walk side by side. “Sounds perfect. I’m always up for good food.”

Charles grins at that, his eyes twinkling with a boyish charm. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

The walk is leisurely, and as you near the harbor, you notice how Charles slows his pace, as if wanting to savor every moment. The way he talks about Monaco, you can tell how much he loves it here, how much this place means to him. It’s like seeing the city through his eyes, and you find yourself appreciating the little details more — the old stone buildings, the narrow streets, the way the sunlight reflects off the water.

The brunch spot is tucked away, a small, unassuming place with a few tables outside, shaded by a striped awning. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wafts through the air, and you immediately feel at home. Charles greets the owner like an old friend, exchanging a few words in rapid French before leading you to a cozy table by the window.

You sit down, and Charles orders for the both of you — pastries, fresh fruit, eggs cooked just the way you like them, and, of course, coffee.

As you sip your coffee and nibble on a flaky croissant, you take in the surroundings. The café is quaint and charming, with wooden tables and mismatched chairs, the kind of place where you could easily spend hours just watching the world go by. It’s clear that Charles has a deep connection to this place, and you feel honored that he’s sharing it with you.

“This place,” you say, setting your coffee cup down, “it’s perfect.”

Charles smiles softly, his gaze lingering on your face. “I knew you’d like it.”

For a while, the two of you talk about everything and nothing — his childhood in Monaco, your favorite books, the little things that make life sweet. There’s a comfort in the conversation, a sense of ease that comes from being with someone who understands you, who doesn’t need you to be anything other than yourself.

After brunch, Charles suggests a walk along the harbor. The day is warm, the sun high in the sky, and as you walk, you can feel the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. The conversation flows easily, laughter coming more often than not, and you realize how much you’ve missed this — missed feeling alive, missed the simple pleasure of being in the moment.

But as the afternoon wears on, the sky begins to darken. You glance up, noticing the heavy clouds gathering overhead, and before you can say anything, the first raindrop falls.

Charles looks up at the sky, a grin spreading across his face. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of rain.”

You laugh, holding out your hand as the raindrops begin to fall faster, harder. “A bit? This looks like a full-on storm.”

The rain comes quickly, turning from a light drizzle to a steady downpour in a matter of moments. The tourists around you scatter, seeking shelter under awnings and in shops, but Charles doesn’t move. Instead, he looks at you, his expression playful, his eyes daring.

“Come on,” he says, taking your hand again, this time with more urgency. “Let’s do something crazy.”

You’re about to ask what he means, but then you see the look in his eyes, and you know. You know exactly what he’s thinking.

Without another word, he pulls you into the open, right into the middle of the empty street. The rain is cold against your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything in this moment except the feeling of the rain on your face, the sound of Charles’ laughter, the way he spins you around like you’re in the middle of some grand ballroom instead of a rain-soaked street.

You let go. You let go of all the sadness, all the pain, all the fear. You let go and dance, not caring if you look silly, not caring if anyone is watching. It’s just you and Charles and the rain.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then, without even thinking, you lean in, and Charles is there, meeting you halfway. His lips are warm and soft against yours, a stark contrast to the cold rain, and you can feel the gentle pressure of his hands on your waist, holding you close, grounding you in this moment.

The kiss is slow, tender, as if Charles is trying to convey everything he’s feeling without saying a word. There’s a sense of rightness in it, like this is where you’re supposed to be, like this is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, the rain still pouring down around you, but neither of you seems to care. You look up at Charles, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his face, and you can’t help but smile.

“I’ve never danced in the rain before,” you say, your voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.

Charles grins, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Neither have I. But I’m glad my first time was with you.”

You laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

He chuckles, his arms tightening around you. “Maybe a little. But sometimes the best things in life are a little crazy.”

You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time since you lost James, you feel like you’re truly living again. And it’s because of Charles.

The rain shows no signs of stopping, but you don’t care. You could stand here forever, in this moment, with Charles’s arms around you and the rain falling like a blessing from the sky.

But eventually, the cold starts to seep into your bones, and Charles pulls back, his hands still on your waist, his eyes searching yours.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he says softly. “We don’t want to catch a cold.”

You nod, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace, and together you make your way back towards the apartment, the rain still falling around you, but your heart feeling lighter than it has in months.

As you walk, Charles slips his hand into yours again, and you glance over at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. You’re not sure what’s happening between you and Charles, but for the first time, you’re not afraid of it. You’re not afraid to see where this might go.

When you reach the apartment, you’re both soaked to the bone, your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but you’re laughing, unable to stop the joy bubbling up inside you.

Charles unlocks the door and ushers you inside, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think we might need to dry off a bit.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement as you look around the familiar space. Leo is waiting by the door, his tail wagging furiously as he barks excitedly, clearly not pleased that you both got caught in the rain without him.

Charles crouches down, rubbing Leo behind the ears. “Hey, baby. We didn’t mean to leave you out of the fun.”

Leo licks Charles’s face enthusiastically before trotting over to you, looking up with big, expectant eyes. You can’t help but smile as you reach down to pet him, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the rain.

Charles stands, his eyes soft as he watches you with Leo. “Let’s get you some dry clothes,” he says gently, leading you down the hall.

You follow him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. There’s something about being here, with Charles, that feels right. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And as Charles hands you a towel and one of his oversized shirts, you realize that maybe you’re finally ready to start letting go of the past and embracing whatever the future holds. With Charles by your side, it feels like anything is possible.

As you dry off and change into the warm, comfortable clothes Charles gave you, you can’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe this isn’t just about ticking off items on a bucket list. Maybe it’s about finding yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about finding something more.

***

You fall asleep that night, still feeling the warmth of Charles’ arms wrapped around you as he whispered a soft goodnight. His gentle kiss, tentative yet filled with an unspoken promise, lingers on your lips even as you drift into slumber.

But in your dreams, the world shifts.

You find yourself standing in a place both familiar and strange — a field of golden wheat, the sun setting in the distance, casting a warm, orange glow across the horizon. The sky is endless, blending into shades of pink and purple, as if the heavens themselves were painted with the softest brushstrokes.

And there he is. James.

He’s standing a few feet away, his back to you, hands in his pockets, the way he always used to stand when he was deep in thought. The wind rustles the wheat around him, and for a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching with the longing that never really goes away.

“James ...” Your voice is soft, trembling, almost afraid that speaking his name will shatter the dream.

He turns slowly, his familiar smile, that same one that used to make you feel like everything would be okay, spreads across his face. He’s exactly as you remember him — tousled brown hair, slightly crooked nose from that time he tried to impress you by skiing down a slope far too steep, and those eyes, those deep, warm eyes that always seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself.

“Hey, you,” he says, his voice carrying the same teasing lilt that always made you laugh, no matter how bad your day had been.

You move towards him, your feet sinking into the soft earth, but it feels as though the distance between you never changes. The closer you try to get, the farther he seems. “I miss you,” you say, and your voice cracks under the weight of the words. “I miss you so much, Jamie.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice is soft, understanding. “I miss you too, but I’m here now.”

You finally reach him, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel his warmth, but there’s a hesitance within you, a fear that touching him will break the fragile illusion. “I’m scared,” you confess, the tears that have been gathering in your eyes finally spilling over. “I’m scared of moving on, of letting go … of forgetting you.”

James takes a step closer, and suddenly, he’s right in front of you. You can feel his warmth now, the comforting presence that had always been your anchor. He lifts a hand, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, just like he used to.

“You won’t forget me,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart. “You carry me with you, always. I’m a part of you, just like you’re a part of me.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, memorizing the feel of him, the sound of his voice. “But it feels like I’m betraying you … with Charles.”

James chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through you, filling you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in so long. “Charles Leclerc, huh?” He steps back slightly, enough to meet your gaze fully. “Never knew you had a thing for fast cars and dangerous men.”

You can’t help but smile through your tears. “He’s … different. He’s kind, and patient, and he makes me feel … alive again.”

“That’s good, Y/N,” James says, his tone earnest, as if he’s trying to make you understand something crucial. “That’s what I want for you. I don’t want you to be stuck in the past, living with a ghost. I want you to live, to be happy, to love again.”

“But you-”

“I’ll always be with you,” he interrupts gently. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here,” he says, pressing a hand over your heart. “But you need to let yourself be happy. You need to let yourself find love, even if it’s not with me.”

A sob escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the sound, but James pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s okay to love someone else. I want you to. You deserve that.”

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent that’s so uniquely him — earthy and warm, like freshly cut grass on a summer’s day. “I don’t know if I can,” you whisper. “It feels like losing you all over again.”

“You’re not losing me,” he reassures, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re gaining something beautiful. And if you’re worried about my approval ...” He grins, that mischievous glint in his eye that you always loved. “I mean, he’s no Max Verstappen, but Charles Leclerc? I guess he’s almost good enough for you.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as tears continue to fall. It’s absurd, really, this moment, this conversation, but it’s exactly what you needed.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” you murmur, shaking your head with a small smile.

James shrugs, a carefree gesture that was so him. “What can I say? I always had a soft spot for Max. But Charles … he’s got potential. Just … give him a chance, okay? For me?”

You nod, even though the idea terrifies you. “I’ll try,” you whisper. “For you.”

James smiles, a sad, but proud smile, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, the same way he used to when he wanted to comfort you without words. “That’s all I ask. And Y/N ... don’t wait too long, okay? Life is too short for that.”

“I won’t,” you promise, even though your heart is heavy with the thought of truly moving on.

James takes a step back, his form beginning to fade into the golden light of the sunset. “I love you, Y/N. I always will. But it’s time for you to live again.”

“Goodbye, Jamie,” you say, your voice trembling as he becomes more and more ethereal, like a shadow dissolving in the light. “I love you.”

He smiles one last time, his figure almost completely faded now. “And I love you. Always.”

The dream fades, and you’re left standing in that field of golden wheat alone, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting the world into twilight. But there’s a peace in your heart that you haven’t felt in a long time, a quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to start letting go.

When you wake, your cheeks are damp with tears, but there’s a soft smile on your lips. You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the dream in your mind, feeling the weight of James’ words settle in your heart.

You know what he said is true. You know it’s what he would want. And you know, deep down, that it’s time to start allowing yourself to heal, to open up, and to let someone else in.

And as you think of Charles, of his patience, his kindness, his quiet understanding, you can’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest — a hope that maybe, just maybe, you can find love again.

***

The morning light filtered through the curtains of Charles’ dining room, casting a soft, golden hue over the room. You sit at the table, trying to focus on the breakfast in front of you — a selection of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee that Charles had lovingly laid out. Yet, the thoughts swirling in your mind make it hard to concentrate. Charles sits across from you, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours, a small, contented smile playing on his lips.

The memories of the past few days are almost surreal: the unexpected road trip, the rain-soaked dance that ended with your first kiss, and the way Charles held you afterward, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. It’s been a whirlwind, but a beautiful one. And yet, as you take a sip of coffee, reality nudges its way back into your thoughts.

“I ... I should probably head back home soon,” you say, your voice hesitant, as if saying the words might make them less real. “I need to get back to work.”

The air in the room shifts. Charles’ smile fades just a little, replaced by a look of understanding, tinged with something you can’t quite place. Sadness? Disappointment? He sets down his coffee cup, his fingers playing with the handle as if it could offer him some guidance on what to say next.

“Of course,” he replies, his tone gentle, though you can hear the effort it takes to keep it light. “You have responsibilities, a life back home ...”

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches a moment into something heavier, more significant. The silence is thick, filled with the unspoken truth that neither of you wants to confront: this bubble of time you’ve been living in, where only the two of you exist, is about to burst.

“I like you,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. They hang in the air, raw and vulnerable.

Charles looks up, his eyes locking onto yours. “I like you too,” he says, his voice low, steady, and filled with something that makes your heart skip a beat.

You both sit there for a moment, staring at each other, the weight of your mutual confession settling between you like a third presence at the table. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“I want to see where this goes,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly as you try to gather your thoughts. “But I don’t know how ... I mean, you’re always traveling for the races, and I-”

“Come with me,” Charles interrupts, his voice firm, almost urgent. “To the next race. And the one after that. I don’t want this to be just a beautiful memory. I want you there with me, every step of the way.”

His words hit you like a wave, washing over the fears and doubts that had been quietly gnawing at the back of your mind. The idea of uprooting your life, of stepping into his world, is daunting — but the thought of not being with him is even more unbearable.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Are you sure?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to get in the way, or make things complicated.”

Charles leans forward, his hand reaching out to cover yours. His touch is warm, grounding. “You wouldn’t be in the way. I want this. I want you. And if it gets complicated, then we’ll figure it out together.”

The sincerity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. You’ve spent so long guarding your heart, protecting yourself from the pain of losing someone again, that the idea of opening up to love, to Charles, feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Two and a half weeks,” he continues, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s when the next race is. Come with me. We’ll have more time to figure this out, whatever this is.”

You nod slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice firming up with the decision. “I’ll come with you.”

A bright, relieved smile breaks across Charles’ face, and in that moment, you know you’ve made the right choice. Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. The thought is both comforting and thrilling.

Charles stands up, pulling you gently to your feet. “I think we should seal this decision properly,” he says, his tone light, teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood from becoming too serious. “And how do you propose we do that?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he steps closer, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leans in, capturing your lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s different from the kiss you shared in the rain — this one is slower, more deliberate, filled with the promise of everything that could be. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you kiss him back, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented smile on his lips. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion.

“So am I,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with a mixture of hope and anticipation.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And as you stand there in Charles’ arms, the future doesn’t seem so scary anymore. In fact, it looks pretty damn wonderful.

***

18 Months Later

The cemetery is quiet, a solemn stillness that wraps around you and Charles as you walk down the winding path lined with weathered tombstones and ancient trees. The sky above is a muted gray, the kind that seems to reflect the heavy emotions you’ve been carrying with you.

Your hand is tightly clasped in Charles’, his grip firm and reassuring, but you can feel the slight tremor in his fingers. He’s nervous, though he tries to hide it behind a small, gentle smile.

You haven’t been here since the funeral, since that awful day when you laid James to rest. The thought of returning to this place has always felt too overwhelming, like reopening a wound that never fully healed. But now, over a year and a half later, you’re here again, and this time, you’re not alone.

You lead Charles to the spot where James is buried. It’s a modest grave, marked by a simple headstone that bears his name, his dates, and a short inscription that never fails to bring tears to your eyes: Beloved husband, healer of hearts, taken too soon.

Charles lets go of your hand as you kneel in front of the grave, gently brushing away the few leaves that have settled on the stone. You trace James’ name with your fingers, the cold granite grounding you in a way that words never could. Charles stands a few steps behind you, giving you space, but his presence is a comforting anchor in this sea of grief.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, silent and lost in memories, before you finally speak. “Hi, James,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I-I brought someone with me. I think you’d like him.” You swallow the lump in your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks. “His name is Charles. He’s ... he’s very special to me. You’d probably think he’s not good enough for me, but you were always a little biased.”

A small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you glance back at Charles, who’s watching you with a mixture of love and concern. “Would you ... would you mind giving us a moment?” Charles asks softly, stepping forward. “I — I’d like to talk to James, if that’s okay.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the request, but the earnestness in his eyes makes you nod. “Of course,” you murmur, rising to your feet. You lean in to kiss Charles on the cheek, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping away, giving him the privacy he’s asked for.

Charles waits until you’ve moved a respectful distance away, then turns his attention to the grave. He takes a deep breath, crouching down so he’s at eye level with the headstone. He feels awkward, talking to a man he’s never met, a man who was such a huge part of your life. But he knows this is important, that he needs to do this — for you, for James, and for himself.

“Hi, James,” Charles starts, his voice low and unsure. “I-I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this. I’ve heard so much about you, and I know how much you mean to her.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for loving her the way you did, for making her so happy. She deserves that, you know? She deserves all the happiness in the world.”

Charles’ throat tightens, and he has to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard, hadn’t expected to feel this intense connection to a man he never knew. “I’m ... I’m going to propose to her,” he finally says, his voice shaking. “And I wanted to ask for your permission, if that’s okay. I know I can’t replace you, and I wouldn’t want to. You’ll always be a part of her, and I’ll never try to take that away.”

He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “But I love her, James. I love her so much, and I promise I’ll take care of her. I’ll do everything I can to make her happy, to make sure she feels loved every single day. I know she still loves you, and I’m okay with that. There’s more than enough room in her heart for both of us.”

Charles reaches out, placing a hand on the cool stone of the headstone, as if trying to make a connection with the man resting beneath it. “We’ve been talking about her moving to Monaco with me soon,” he continues, his voice steadying. “And I promise you, she’ll have free reign of my private jet to visit you whenever she wants. I’ll make sure she never feels like she has to choose between us.”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I hope that’s okay with you, James. I hope ... I hope you’re at peace, wherever you are. And I hope you know that I’m going to love her with everything I have. I’ll do my best to make her as happy as you did. Thank you for that.”

Charles stays there for a moment longer, his hand still resting on the gravestone, before he finally stands. He wipes at his eyes, surprised to find them wet with tears, and glances over at you. You’re watching him, a mix of curiosity and love in your gaze, and he gives you a small, reassuring smile.

You walk back over to him, slipping your hand into his, and he squeezes it gently. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I ... I don’t know what you said, but thank you.”

Charles just nods, pulling you into a hug, holding you close as you both stand there in the quiet cemetery, the weight of your shared love and loss settling around you. It’s not an easy moment, but it’s one that feels right, like a necessary step forward in the journey you’ve been on together.

As you stand there in Charles’ arms, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You know that James would have approved, that he would have wanted you to find happiness again, to find love again. And now, with Charles by your side, you finally feel like you can do that.

Eventually, you both turn to leave, hand in hand, walking back down the path toward the cemetery gates. As you reach the car, you glance back one last time at James’ grave, a soft smile on your lips. “Goodbye, Jamie,” you whisper. “Thank you for everything. I love you.”

Charles opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you feel a sense of closure, of new beginnings. It’s not about moving on, you realize, but about moving forward — carrying the love you’ve known with you into whatever comes next.

And as Charles drives away from the cemetery, his hand resting on your thigh, you know that whatever comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

***

The reception hall is filled with soft, warm light, the kind that makes everyone look beautiful and the world seem perfect for just a moment. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter create a background hum that feels almost comforting in its familiarity.

You stand at the edge of the room, looking out at the faces of friends and family, people who have watched you navigate the hardest years of your life and who are now here to celebrate this new chapter.

Charles is beside you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back, a touch so natural that it feels like it's always been there. When he smiles at you, there's a quiet understanding in his eyes, a love that has grown deep and steady, rooted in the soil of shared grief and the careful, tentative steps toward healing.

You know he can feel your nervousness — he’s always been able to read you so well — but there’s no rush, no pressure. Just his presence, anchoring you as you take a deep breath and step forward to the microphone.

The room gradually quiets as people realize you’re about to speak. The lump in your throat feels almost too big to swallow, and for a moment, you think you might not be able to get the words out. But then you feel Charles’ hand squeeze yours, a silent encouragement that you can do this, and suddenly, it’s easier to find your voice.

“Thank you,” you begin, and your voice wavers a little, but it’s steady enough. “Thank you all for being here today. I know that every bride says this, but it really does mean the world to us that you’re here to share this day with us.”

You glance at Charles, who is watching you with that same soft look he had when you first met Leo. His eyes are full of pride and love, and it gives you the strength to continue.

“Most of you know that today isn’t just about celebrating the love that Charles and I share, but it’s also about honoring the past that brought us here,” you say, and you can see some people nodding, their smiles tinged with understanding. “A few years ago, I lost my husband, James. He was an incredible man — kind, compassionate, and so full of life. And when he passed, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, let alone find love again.”

Your voice catches, and you have to pause to take another breath. The room is silent now, everyone hanging on your words.

“James left me a letter,” you say, and there’s a faint murmur as people who don’t know the story lean in, intrigued. “In that letter, he left me a bucket list of things he wanted me to experience, things he wished we could have done together but that he wanted me to do in his memory.”

You reach into your pocket and pull out the now well-worn piece of paper, carefully unfolding it as you speak. “The last item on that list was to find love again.”

A few people gasp quietly, and you can see some wiping their eyes, moved by the weight of those words. You feel your own tears threatening to fall, but you blink them back, determined to finish what you’ve started.

“For a long time, I didn’t think I could,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think it was possible to let someone else into my heart after losing James. But then, I met Charles.”

You turn to look at him, and he smiles at you, a smile that is both gentle and reassuring. “Charles showed me that it’s okay to love again, that my heart is big enough to hold all the memories I have of James while still making room for new ones with him. He’s been patient, understanding, and so, so kind. And I know that James would have loved him just as much as I do.”

Charles’ eyes glisten with unshed tears, and when he squeezes your hand again, it’s not just to comfort you — it’s a shared moment of recognition, of understanding that this journey has been just as profound for him as it has been for you.

“I know that some people say you can only have one great love in a lifetime,” you continue, your voice growing steadier with each word. “But I think I’ve been incredibly lucky, because I’ve had two.”

The room is filled with the sound of sniffles and soft murmurs of agreement. You can see your family, who has been there through it all, nodding and smiling through their tears.

“So today, as we celebrate this new beginning, I want to take a moment to honor the man who brought us here. James, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go, for knowing that I needed to find happiness again. I know you’re here with us, in spirit, and I hope you’re proud.”

You pause, your heart heavy but full. “And to Charles, my Charlie … thank you for being brave enough to love me, even when it wasn’t easy. Thank you for showing me that it’s okay to hold on to the past while embracing the future. I promise to love you with all of my heart, forever and always.”

The room is silent for a long moment after you finish speaking, and then the applause begins — soft at first, then growing louder as people rise to their feet, clapping not just for you and Charles, but for the love that has brought you both here, and for the man who made it all possible.

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to your temple as the applause swells around you. “I love you,” he whispers, and you can hear the emotion in his voice. “Thank you for sharing that with everyone. It was perfect.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice thick with tears. “And thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, dancing, and celebration. But the memory of your speech, of standing up in front of everyone and sharing your heart so openly, will stay with you forever. And as you and Charles step onto the dance floor for your first dance as husband and wife, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that James is watching over you both, smiling as you take this next step forward together.

The music begins to play, a soft, romantic melody that wraps around you like a warm embrace. Charles pulls you closer, his arms around your waist as you sway together, and for the first time in a long time, you feel complete. It’s not that the pain of losing James has disappeared — it never will — but it has softened, and in its place, there is a new kind of love, one that is just as strong, just as true.

As you dance, you rest your head against Charles’ chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The guests fade into the background, and it’s just the two of you, moving together in perfect harmony. You know that this moment, this dance, is the beginning of a new chapter, one that you never imagined you would have, but one that you are so grateful for.

When the song ends, Charles lifts your chin with his finger, his eyes searching yours. “You okay?” He asks softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Instead, you press your lips to his in a tender kiss, one that says everything you can’t put into words. Charles holds you close, and as you pull back, you see the tears in his eyes, a mirror of your own.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and Charles smiles, his thumb brushing away the tear that slips down your cheek.

“No, thank you,” he says, his voice full of love and admiration. “For letting me be a part of this, for trusting me with your heart. I promise, I’ll take care of it.”

And as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that you’ve found what James wanted for you all along — someone who will love you just as deeply, just as fiercely, as he did. Someone who will walk with you through the good times and the bad, who will hold your hand and guide you through the darkest days, and who will celebrate the bright ones with joy and laughter.

You’ve found love again, just like James wanted, and it feels like coming home.

***

You park the car under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step out, Charles following behind, holding Jacques in his arms.

The baby is cooing, tiny hands grabbing at Charles’ shirt as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. You pause for a moment, breathing in the cool air, trying to gather the courage to walk towards the familiar grave that you’ve avoided for so long.

Charles adjusts Jacques in his arms, the baby’s chubby legs kicking slightly as he looks around, taking in the new surroundings with wide eyes. You glance at Charles, and he gives you a small, encouraging nod. But this time, there’s no pressure. He’s letting you take the lead, letting you go at your own pace.

The last time you were here, you and Charles had just gotten engaged. The memory of Charles standing by James’ grave, asking for his blessing, is still vivid in your mind. And now, two years later, everything has changed. You’re married to Charles, and you have a beautiful baby boy. But standing here, in front of the man you once loved with all your heart, the weight of everything comes crashing down.

You take a deep breath and start walking towards the grave. The headstone is simple, elegant, just the way James would have wanted it. Fresh flowers have been placed there recently — probably by James’ parents, who visit regularly. A pang of guilt twists in your chest. You should have come sooner.

When you reach the grave, you kneel down, brushing your fingers lightly over the engraved letters of his name. The silence is thick, filled with everything you want to say but can’t find the words for. Charles stays a few steps back, giving you space, though you can feel his presence like a warm anchor, grounding you.

“Hi, Jamie,” you finally whisper, your voice trembling. “It’s ... it’s been a while, I know. I’m sorry for not visiting sooner.”

The words catch in your throat, and you have to pause, blinking back tears. You thought you were prepared for this, but being here, with so much time having passed, it’s harder than you imagined.

“I wanted to come sooner, but ... everything just got so overwhelming,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I’ve missed you so much. And I know you’re watching over us, but I needed to feel like I could do this ... like I could come back here and tell you everything.”

You glance back at Charles, who is now sitting on the grass with Jacques in his lap. The baby is looking up at the sky, oblivious to the somber mood, a tiny smile playing on his lips. When you turn back to the grave, the tears you've been holding back finally spill over.

“I want you to meet someone,” you say softly. You reach back, signaling Charles to bring Jacques over. Charles carefully lifts Jacques, walking over to you, and gently hands him to you. The baby gurgles, his small hand wrapping around your finger instinctively. You hold Jacques close, your tears falling onto his soft hair.

“This is Jacques,” you whisper, looking down at your son. “He’s named after you and Jules. Charles and I wanted to honor you both in some way.”

The name had been something you and Charles had discussed at length. When you found out you were pregnant, there was no hesitation in your minds who you wanted to name your son after. It felt like the right thing to do, like a way to keep a part of James alive in your new life.

“He’s ... he’s so beautiful, James,” you continue, your voice trembling with emotion. “I wish you were here to see him grow up. To be a part of his life. But I promise, I’ll tell him all about you. About how amazing you were, and how much you loved helping others. He’ll know his name carries a legacy.”

Jacques wiggles in your arms, and you press a soft kiss to his forehead. The tears continue to fall, but now they’re mixed with a sense of bittersweet acceptance. You look up at the sky, the clouds shifting lazily, and you wonder if James is watching, if he’s smiling down at you.

You glance at Charles, who is watching you with those soft eyes that seem to hold all the love in the world. He’s been so patient, so understanding, and in this moment, you realize how incredibly lucky you are to have found love again. It’s not something you ever thought would be possible, but here you are, standing between the past and the future, with a heart big enough to hold them both.

“Charles has been amazing,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d like him, James. He’s so kind, and he understands ... he understands everything I’ve been through. He’s been so good to me, and to Jacques. I think you’d be happy to know that we found each other.”

Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. The warmth of his body against yours is comforting, a reminder that you’re not alone in this. Jacques babbles, his tiny fingers reaching up to touch Charles’ face, and Charles chuckles softly, nuzzling his nose against Jacques' cheek.

You close your eyes, leaning back into Charles, letting yourself feel the full weight of the moment. The grief, the love, the hope — all of it swirling inside you like a storm that’s finally starting to calm.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I always will. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to move forward. To let myself be happy again. And I think ... I think you’d want that for me.”

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves in the trees, and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel James’ presence — like a gentle touch on your shoulder, a whisper in your ear, telling you that it’s okay. That he’s at peace, and he wants you to be too.

You turn slightly, pressing a kiss to Charles’ cheek, then look back at the grave, feeling a sense of closure that you didn’t think was possible.

“We’ll be back to visit,” you promise, your voice steadying. “I won’t wait so long next time. And Jacques will grow up knowing who you were, what you meant to us. He’ll know his name is special.”

Charles squeezes your hand, and you nod, letting him know you’re ready to go. You stand, brushing off your pants, and take one last look at James’ grave. The flowers sway gently in the breeze, and you feel a strange sense of peace settle over you. It’s not goodbye — it’s more of a “see you later.”

As you walk back to the car, Charles keeps his arm around your waist, holding you close. Jacques is still babbling happily, completely unaware of the emotional weight of the visit. But that’s okay — he’ll understand when he’s older. For now, you’re just grateful to have this moment, to feel like you’re honoring both the past and the future.

When you reach the car, you carefully buckle Jacques into his car seat, making sure he’s secure before you get in. Charles closes the door behind you, and as he starts the engine, you glance back at the grave, giving a small nod as if to say, “Thank you.”

As the car pulls away, you lean your head against the window, watching the trees blur past. Charles reaches over, taking your hand in his, and you smile softly, squeezing his hand in return.

It’s a long drive back home, but you don’t mind. You have everything you need right here with you. And as you close your eyes, letting the gentle motion of the car lull you into a peaceful state, you realize that this is what James wanted for you — to find love again, to be happy, to live your life to the fullest.

And you will. For him, for Jacques, for Charles, and for yourself.

[luveline]

hi jade!! feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write it but you're still taking remus requests i'd love to see something where he's the flustered one for a change. because of feminism. or something. ❤️

Remus isn’t sure how you manage it, but you’re making eating crisps look very cute. James brought out the big bags to share and you said, “Yes!” so nicely as you grabbed one that everyone has left you alone with it. 

“You sharing?” he asks, just to see your nose wrinkle. 

“Not with you.” 

“Not with me, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Go on, then.” You shake the bag at him enticingly. “But I’m only sharing with you.” 

He offers his hand. You pour out more than he can keep in his palm, forcing him to cup them in both hands instead. 

“That’ll keep you happy,” you say. 

“Thank you.” 

“Aren’t you welcome, handsome?” you croon, leaning back against Sirius’ leg with an air of disdain. 

Still, there’s something there that marks it as a playful act, the hint of a smile on your mouth, your knees pulled up and swaying a little to the side. Self-satisfaction. 

Sirius pets your shoulder. You don’t seem to notice. 

“Teasing lovely Remus?” he asks you. 

“Only a bit.” You nod to the coffee table in front of you, your drink, and give Sirius an imploring smile. 

He mumbles something about little pests under his breath, the rest lost to some fond, undignified French, pretending to scuff Remus by the back of the neck as he goes. Remus doesn’t know much French, but he hears something about a girlfriend, your girlfriend to be exact, and imagines he now owes Sirius a favour. 

Remus tips his hand back to eat as many crisps in one go as he can. 

“Boys,” you say, scoffing. 

He eats the rest. When he’s done, he wipes his hands in a nearby crumpled napkin and decides he’s done with the games for now, taking your calf and pulling it into his lap. “Boys,” he echoes. 

“You want more?” 

“No, I’ve had enough.” 

His hand trails down your calf, not caring about your company, James and Lily too distracted anyhow by the shit telly and the rest of the crew working in the kitchen to cook the frozen party foods. 

“Want something else?” 

He’s not expecting you to let your knees drift apart. It’s just an inch of space between them, but the insinuation is clear. Your thighs look supple and soft under the stretch of your tights, the insides especially soft, too dark in here  to see further but easy to envision some slip of your underwear. He knows you have that little lacy blue pair on because you already told him so, the line of your bra peeking out over your camisole. Matching set. 

“Can you stop?” he asks.

“Stop what?” 

He rubs the place between his eyes. When he stammers, he can’t be blamed. “You– you– dove, please. Not here.” 

You squeeze your thighs together. Remus isn’t sure if he goes white or pink. “Sorry. Later?” 

“Later?” he asks. 

“Or… whenever you want.” 

“Stop taking the piss.” 

You throw your head back into the sofa and laugh, stretching your legs out across his lap, that bag of chips rattling tauntingly in your grip. 

“I’m only half-teasing,” you say decidedly. 

Remus decides that’s a half too much, even if he fancies you. “Leave me alone until you’ve made up your mind.” 

[kitten4sannie]

blinding faith (1)

fall in line now, bow your head

pairings: cult leader! yunho x disciple! reader (fem) x elder! mingi feat. husband! seonghwa

genre: twisted religious romance (if you can even call it that), smut, late 1970s setting

summary: when it’s revealed that you and Seonghwa are having trouble conceiving, the founder graciously offers his own divine solution.

bend your knee, Child of God

w.c: 4k

warnings: aged up dom! yunho, switch! mingi, subby innocent (?) reader, corruption kink, pet names (for mingi too <3), light pain kink, perversion, major sacrilegious vibes and behavior, heavy mxm, mingi sucks cock, breath play (m receiving), light spit/sweat kink, oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, an attempt at impregnation

a/n: this is dedicated to my loveliest lily <333 tho this is just part oneee i hope this helps you see the light if ykwim~ happy birthday babi 💕 so yeah this is pure filth,, like idk something must’ve happened to me when i wrote this but it’s prob bc i’m a yunwhore what can i say 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 oh and thank you all so very much for getting me to 4.6k followers ;; it means the absolute world to me >< anygaysss happy readinggg and please do lemme know if you’re excited for the second part 🖤

song recs: sunshine of your love by cream - starboy by the weeknd - judas by lady gaga (i’m just a Holy Fool, oh baby, it’s so cruel, but i’m still in love with Judas, baby~~)

As a broke, faithless runaway, especially during such a turbulent decade, you didn’t have many options, to say the least. There was no phone that you could use for miles, not a single soul in sight that you could ask for directions or for a dime they could spare, no map to look at to familiarize yourself with your surroundings — not that it mattered. Why would God provide you with what you needed when your existence itself was an accident? Your own flesh and blood didn’t want you, instead dropping you off at some rundown orphanage while you were still coated in your mother’s vernix caseosa, and crying incessantly for her, for someone, to feed you. 

When you were old enough to make rash decisions, you decided that anywhere else was better than that hellish place, tired of waiting for a new pair of faceless parents to force you into their life like a misshapen puzzle piece, instead taking your fate into your own trembling hands. 

That was what led you to come across the small, seemingly abandoned town that was located within the forest that you had been wandering inside for so long. All of the quaint, hand-built houses and buildings surrounded a tall, white picturesque church — one you had recognized from the various postcards that you and some of the other orphans had been handed by someone in a long white robe outside of the orphanage, listening intently to their promises of the love and acceptance you would feel if you joined their cause. 

And that was when you met him, the man that would alter your life forever, taking away what could’ve been, and instead molding it into what He wanted, what God wanted.

He was hammering in the very last nail into the very last board of wood that kept the church together when he heard the sound of your dirty feet shift through the forest foliage behind him. As if he had been waiting for your arrival, he hummed softly and headed into your direction, not giving you the opportunity to escape when his sweaty, calloused hands enveloped yours, inviting you in with his friendly honey brown eyes, his cracked lips twisting upwards into a smile that sent a wave of instinctual fear into your heart, before his soft, warm words lured you in, forever holding you captive. 

“You’ve finally arrived, my child. Welcome home.” 

-

Over the years, you were taught by Yunho, your beloved leader, your savior, your everything, that God allowed those he loved the most, those that remained tied to their earthly bonds, to endure deep suffering and endless tribulations — because within that pain, within that humiliation, laid pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure that sat just below the surface. Yunho took great satisfaction in reaching into the darkness, into the depths, and ripping it out with his silver trimmed talons, always willing to graciously bestow it upon his followers. 

There was no greater joy than to witness the moment his dear flock began to walk in the truth. He savored the sweet sounds of ecstasy that tore out of their sweat-ridden throats, longed for the moment their rosy faces ceased their contortions, their lips, wet with saliva, their unfocused eyes, wet with tears, knowing that another one of his beloved disciples had seen the light. And they would always look up at him with delicious desperation, begging for another chance to catch a glimpse of heaven once more. And, only because of his unending benevolence and boundless love, he brought them back, expecting nothing in return, except for their undying loyalty. 

Yet, none of them were ever as loyal as you, even after you met a lovely man within the congregation to wed. You were still his angel from above. If only he had clipped your wings sooner.  

There you were, sitting inside the garden with the other couples, the prettiest flower of them all, just waiting to be plucked, with your husband’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his hands resting gently against your stomach, your hands over his, your head hung downwards, a small, sullen frown gracing your lovely face. Why was his sweetest lily wilting the way she was, instead of holding herself high, closer to the sun, to his everlasting love?

As soon as Yunho made his presence known within the bountiful garden that he had planted with his own two hands so many years ago, his followers grew quiet and offered him their full attention. He basked in it as he made his way in your direction, offering his touch to many of the people nearby, allowing them the privilege of bringing his jewelry-adorned hands up to their cheeks, which he caressed, or their trembling lips, which he brushed gently with his thumbs. 

The warmth and light of the sun on your face suddenly disappeared, causing you to look up, your reddened eyes growing wide upon the sight of your savior standing before you. You watched with bated breath as he reached his hand out from behind his back and brought it up to your face, placing a small flower behind your ear. “Savior…”

“Savior, what have we done to be blessed with your presence?” Seonghwa asked, nuzzling his cheek into Yunho’s rough palm once he offered it to him. 

“I wanted to check on the progress of your union.” Yunho smiled kindly down at Seonghwa, before returning his attention to you, who continued to gaze up longingly in his direction. “Are you with child, my dearest Y/N?” 

You bit down into your bottom lip, your eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Savior….We’ve been trying our hardest to contribute to your beautiful congregation, yet I remain barren.” You shook your head out of frustration, a stream of tears spilling down your cheeks. “We don’t understand why God has not graced us.” 

“Oh, my sweet child. Do not ever allow yourself to cry for sorrow, or pain, but out of joy, of pleasure,” Yunho taught, angling his head down further to gaze at your deliciously distraught expression, unable to keep himself from running his tongue across his bottom set of teeth, pressing one talon underneath your chin, so that you obediently angled it upwards without him having to tell you.

“Yes, Savior…” you whispered, gasping softly at the feeling of the cult leader’s sharpened fingers carefully wiping your remaining tears away, your admiration and love for him sprouting more and more within your beating heart. 

Humming, Yunho lowered himself to his knees in front of the both of you, pressing his hands into your stomach through your thin garments. His benevolent smile deepened, his eyes displaying a darkness neither of you could see, not with the allusive veil he had placed over your own. “I will assist you in bearing offspring, my dear. Please come to my bedchambers after supper, and I will show you the true meaning of faith.” 

“We offer you a thousand thanks for your grace, Savior…” Seonghwa bowed his head to Yunho, just before he pressed his lips lovingly against your cheek, which you reciprocated without hesitation. Your dear husband sighed with great relief, resting his temple on yours, his long, curled locks tickling your face, his hands returning to your stomach, placing them over Yunho’s this time around. 

Despite the tranquility you felt, the sun still shining, a gentle breeze cooling your warm skin, the comforting smell of earth and flowers keeping you grounded, the sound of birds chirping in the trees above your head — there was still something else that you couldn’t quite shake off, something that sat just below the surface of your distorted mind. If you truly wanted to see what it was, you would have to get your hands dirty and dig it up yourself. But, for now, you would live in bliss, in heaven, feeding off of the love and mercy your savior offered you.

Yunho tilted his head to the side, reaching up to adjust the flower that began to fall from your ear, pushing a few strands of hair behind it. He studied your suddenly unreadable gaze from underneath his wispy lashes, his tongue just barely slipping past his curled lips to lick at them. “Is there something on your mind, my lily?”

You simply smiled back at him, your eyelids lowering, batting your own lashes at him. “I’m just admiring my savior and the safe haven he created for us. Makes me want to cry those tears of joy.” You briefly mirrored the perversion he had let slip out only a moment ago. “Of pleasure.” 

It was then that Yunho began to grow stiff from beneath his heavy garments, biting at his lip as an attempt to keep himself grounded. This was why you were his favorite. You were his flower to water, to grow, and to tear away from your roots as he pleased. Everything in the garden was his, after all. God told him so. 

-

“My love, my heart, my dearest angel, why do you look at me this way?  With those tears in your eyes? With such devotion?” Yunho sighed out against your flushed cheek, his body flush against yours, the cold metal of his rosary splayed across your hot skin. You simply couldn’t speak, not with the way he was spilling inside you yet again. 

The corners of his lips quirked up into a sadistic smile, his warm, uneven puffs of breath hitting the bottom of your jaw, as he clutched your slick, trembling thighs, holding them farther apart to ensure that he could continue accessing the heaven you kept in between them, the hot, wet haven you allowed your savior to access. “Is it because I’m filling you with my own devotion? Does knowing that my seed will soon grant new life inside of you bring you to tears, Y/N?”

You gazed up at your savior past your wet lashes, reaching down to press your hands into your stomach, feeling the outline of his pulsing cock that twitched inside of you and dribbled a few more beads of cum into your womb, a lust-struck expression carved into your flushed features. “It would be an honor to carry your young, Savior. I’d do anything to carry on your legacy of love.” 

“Anything, my dear?” Yunho whispered carefully near your ear, as though he were testing you, before running his tongue along your jaw to get a taste of your essence, slowly making his way down your body, unable to keep himself from tasting your salty skin along the way. “Even though Seonghwa is your beloved husband?” 

“Anything. I might be his wife, but you’re my savior, Yunho,” you sighed lovingly as a delightful shiver shot down your spine, not a single doubt present within your meticulously molded mind. Your ideas of the world, your life, its purpose — your saving grace had always been Yunho. How could he not be? Considering he built you himself, with great precision and care. You were the intricate tapestry he painstakingly sewed together year by year, each painful jab of his silver needle acting as a reminder of his divine love for you. 

“Say my name again,” Yunho exhaled, his lips ghosting along your abdomen to your navel, unable to keep himself from tonguing it for his own pleasure, his talons leaving red streaks along your skin. 

“Yunho,” you repeated, watching as the older man settled in between your thighs, his lips and tongue already exploring your slick entrance, gasping at the sensation of him lapping up his own release once it dribbled out of you.

“Again,” he commanded, his sharp eyes boring into yours from below, pinching your clit in between his teeth, his talons digging into your thighs. 

“Yunho..!” You looked down at him with such sincerity, it had the potential to touch Yunho’s corrupted heart, your fingers sifting through his sweat-soaked raven locks, tugging on it once he filled you with his long tongue. You were growing feverish, losing sight of why you were there in the first place. “Don’t stop, Savior…Need more...”

Yunho dragged his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, blowing on it just to make you shudder. “Is that what you tell your husband when you want his cock? What else do you tell him?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling your cunt pulse. “Am I selfish for wanting more of your love? Am I a sinner for wanting you to fill me? I’ll go to hell a thousand times if it means I can have my savior’s love inside me once more...”

The seasoned cult leader’s long-lasting poison was far stronger, far more potent than your sincerities, especially when he administered it to his favorite prey in the most pleasurable, most effective way — with his sweet, saccharine lies that poured out like honey past his shiny, pointed teeth and rough, curled tongue that continued its ministrations on your puffy, used cunt.  “Oh, please don’t say things like that, angel. You’ll ruin me for everyone else.” 

In reality, you were the one he was ruining, corrupting, defiling — and all in the name of God. It made the cult leader so stiff, he could hardly keep his composure. 

You whined softly, shuddering underneath his touch, your hand forming a fist, gripping Yunho’s hair tighter and tighter, the longer he licked at your slit and sucked on your clit like a starved man. “Yunho, please…I won’t last much longer….” 

“Would that be such a sin, angel? If you released onto my tongue?” Yunho asked in between lingering licks, his tongue hot and heavy against your leaking cunt, using two fingers to keep your fluttering hole on display for his viewing pleasure, his silver talons gently pressing into your soft flesh. He wondered if he should continue admiring the mess of cum he painted your walls with, or use his saliva-streaked tongue and lips to slurp it out of you, his free hand attempting to milk his slick, throbbing cock. Decisions, decisions. 

Yunho wouldn’t have the time to make one, because just then, the cult leader’s most trusted confidant, Song Mingi, knocked on the door and entered without being granted permission, very aware of the privileges he had as a respected elder. The white-haired man saw the nude, disheveled state you were in, your white ceremonial garments laying in a pile on the floor, the love-struck look in your teary, doe eyes, your trembling, marked-up legs still obediently spread open wide for your savior, knowing you’d let Yunho fill and abuse your poor cunt until he saw fit. 

“Elder Song, are you going to continue standing there drooling like a dog or are you going to come here?” Yunho asked gruffly, rubbing the pad of his thumb relentlessly into your clit, all while he glowered at the younger man over his shoulder. 

Mingi quickly strided over to his leader’s side, sinking to his knees, looking up at him with his apologetic, round eyes. “I…have news, sir. It is of great importance.” 

Yunho shook his head slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “The news can wait, Mingi,” the cult leader began softly, reaching over to caress the other man’s cheek, making sure the younger man’s gaze was fixed solely on him. “Can I ask you for something?” 

Mingi nodded intently, his lips parted, taking short breaths, as if he was waiting with great anticipation. “Anything, Savior. What do you need from me?” 

It was then that Yunho brought the tip of his reddened cock to Mingi’s mouth, drops of pre-cum getting onto his plump, parted lips, his once softened gaze contorting into one of pure perversion. “Can you be a good boy and open up? Hm, princess?” 

Mingi closed his eyes, as an attempt to hide the way they rolled underneath his eyelids and the influx of arousal that had spread throughout his body like a virus, his sudden heavy breathing and flushed cheeks betraying him. “Yes, savior,” he moaned out, just as Yunho’s stiff cock filled up his drooling mouth, trying his best not to choke as he repeatedly took it down his tight throat. 

Yunho tossed his head back, a few drops of sweat sliding along his straining jaw and staining the bed below, gripping the back of Mingi’s head to make sure he didn’t stop worshiping his cock. “That’s it, princess. You’re taking it so well.” 

Mingi groaned wantonly, beginning to grind his own leaking cock against the side of the bed, not even caring that his knees began to ache from being pressed into the hardwood floor below. He found himself gazing down at you, his body on fire from being watched by his savior’s favorite angel, beginning to gag around Yunho’s thick length once he began ramming it down his throat with abandon. 

When you let out a small whine from witnessing such a visceral display of power and submission taking place right in front of you, Yunho reminded you with shaky words, “Don’t worry, my angel, this is all for you. Mingi here is going to transfer my love to you once I…Oh, God–”

Mingi’s gaze returned to his savior above, a few tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, his jaw aching from the way Yunho bottomed out completely inside his bulging throat, only to find his oxygen supply suddenly being cut off when the older man pinched his nose. 

“You trust me, don’t you, princess?” Yunho asked in an eerily calm tone, not bothering to hide his sadistic tendencies in that moment, throbbing inside the young man’s throat upon seeing his small nods and hearing the tiny, breathless squeaks he made. It was then that he held Mingi completely still until his face began to grow red. 

Just when he thought he might pass out, his vision sporting a fuzziness around the edges that reminded him of the television set Yunho had put inside the community room, his throat had finally become unblocked. As he gasped for air, he watched Yunho’s eyes roll into his skull, hot, white ropes of cum splattering onto Mingi’s lolled-out tongue. Before he could swallow, Yunho grabbed his chin and guided him in between your legs. 

“Impregnate her, princess. For me,” Yunho whispered into Mingi’s ear, his digits forming a V against your pulsing cunt, spreading you open for Elder Song. 

Not letting a drop go to waste, Mingi pursed his lips and sent a wad of cum directly into you, before shoving his tongue in as deep as it would go. He fucked the warm milkiness into you, with sloppy desperation, like the demon dog he was. He looked up to you for approval, which you gave, through your cries of pleasure and your fingers suddenly tugging at his snow white hair. He didn’t even realize he had lost his own composure, until he was whining and whimpering against your slick cunt, soiling his once pristine garments with his sticky load.   

Once Yunho watched Mingi pull his tongue out, a few strands of milky saliva connecting his plump lips to your cunt, the cult leader tapped your puffy pussy. “Good boy. Can you fill her up with those thick fingers of yours now?” 

Mingi huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath, his pupils blown wide when he looked to Yunho for guidance. “Two? Three? How many, sir?” 

“As many as you need to make sure my seed reaches her womb,” Yunho reassured in a gravelly voice, watching as Mingi hovered over you, drops of saliva falling from his open mouth and onto your pleasured face, easily slipping in three fingers up to his knuckles. 

Yunho leisurely flicked, squeezed, and rolled your puffy clit, admiring Mingi’s relentless pursuit in finger-fucking you into a state of pure ecstasy, throbbing at the sight of his precious loads dripping down along the other man’s straining wrist and along his veined forearm. “Very good, princess. She’ll be nice and round soon, thanks to your support. Your hard work won’t go unnoticed.” 

Mingi bit down into his bottom lip, a few groans slipping out, despite his effort to conceal just how much his leader’s praise affected him. “Thank you, Savior. Now, I’ll make your angel cry out to the Lord,” he began breathily, locking eyes with Yunho for a moment, their digits working in tandem to send you over the edge, their focus returning to you. “Let it be done.” 

“Amen,” Yunho sighed, bringing his precious rosary up to his mouth to kiss, the metal cold against his warm lips. 

When you began to writhe around, your focus shifting to the various crosses that were nailed to the wall, your forceful release causing your bruised body to seize up, the cult leader suddenly grabbed your chin with his talons, the tips of them stabbing into your skin, drawing blood, making you whimper. His crazed eyes bored into your barely open ones, looking as if he was about to come undone himself, despite not touching himself. “You see it, don’t you, Y/N? Heaven? Isn’t it beautiful?” 

It was all too much. The pain. The pleasure. Elder Song watching closely as your squirt soaked his tan skin and the mattress underneath your jolting body, a demonic smile painting his sharp, seraphic face. Your savior clutching you so tight that you bled, his seed blossoming within your womb. It was then that you fell unconscious, your body falling limp against the feather-filled quilt. 

Yunho ran his jewelry-adorned fingers along your jaw, letting them graze your neck, down to the cross necklace that laid against your chest. “What did you need to tell me, Mingi?” 

Mingi pushed his sweaty bangs back, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to find his composure. “We have two new visitors. They mentioned Y/N by name, and claimed that they grew up in the same orphanage as her. They were hoping to find her here, so that they could…” 

Yunho turned his head to glare at Mingi, his gaze alone making Mingi cower. “They want to take her away from me, don’t they? From us? From God?” 

Mingi began to scratch at his neck, leaving red streaks behind. “They believe that they can provide her with a better life.” 

“And what life could be better than one of enlightenment? Of purity? What could those heathens possibly offer my Y/N that I can’t?” Yunho suddenly erupted, his anger being directed towards Mingi, who lowered his head down, staring at the cross that hung past his chest. 

Yunho’s face twitched slightly, his once rage-filled expression dissipating as soon as it had surfaced, as if it had never been there in the first place. It was a simple trick of the light. He placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, until the unusually timid man found the courage to meet his gaze. “Mingi.” 

“Sir?” 

Yunho hummed to himself, catching onto the way your breath hitched, as if you had suddenly held it, his honey brown eyes gleaming with pride, and something else, something indistinguishable. “Offer them a room and dinner, oh, and invite our guests to the annual communion on Sunday.” 

“Right away, sir,” Mingi replied, getting up from the bed and exiting the room. He pressed his back into the mahogany door and shut his eyes, carefully sliding his fingers into his drooling mouth to savor the taste of his savior’s seed and his angel’s release. 

Once he was alone with you, Yunho reached down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes, smiling knowingly at the sight of them opening. “How much did you hear, sweet girl?”

“Enough,” you whispered carefully, as if you were testing him. You might have been the flower inside his clutches, but you still had thorns. 

Yunho began to chuckle softly, before it grew louder and louder, his pleased laughter ringing out through the halls. 

One of your threads was beginning to come undone. Nothing a little stitching couldn’t fix. 

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[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.1

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily, I have planned more parts for this story so I hope you enjoy it :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The first time Alex Albon met his new physio, he nearly did a double take.

The Williams garage wasn’t exactly the most colorful place—navy blues, whites, and the occasional streak of sponsor red dominated the scene. But she stood out like a soft splash of pink against it all. It wasn’t just her outfit, though her pastel compression top and perfectly coordinated sneakers were a stark contrast to the usual sports gear around. It was the way she carried herself—bubbly, warm, and utterly radiant.

"Alex!" she beamed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as he approached. "I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you—well, not like that, obviously, but you know what I mean!"

Alex chuckled, a little taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her. "I think so?"

She grinned, unfazed. "Don’t worry, you’ll love our sessions. I promise I’ll take the best care of you!"

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but as soon as they started, he realized she wasn’t just all sunshine and chatter—she was good. Her hands were gentle yet firm, her instructions clear but never harsh. And more than anything, there was something about her presence that made it easy to relax.

For the first time in a while, physio sessions didn’t feel like just another part of the job. They felt… comfortable.

It didn’t take long for Alex to start looking forward to their sessions. She had this way of making even the most mundane exercises fun—humming pop songs under her breath, sticking tiny smiley face stickers on his water bottle when she thought he wasn’t hydrating enough, or dramatically gasping when she found a particularly tight knot in his shoulders.

"You’re so tense, Alex!" she scolded one day, hands pressing firmly into his back. "It’s like you’re storing all the stress of the paddock in here."

"Maybe I am," he joked, eyes fluttering shut as her thumbs worked out a particularly stubborn knot. "You’re a miracle worker, though."

She preened at the compliment. "I am pretty great, huh?"

Even Carlos, ever the skeptic, eventually gave in.

"You’re actually magic," he muttered one day, rolling his shoulder after a session. "I don’t know what you did, but I feel like I just slept for a week."

She beamed. "Told you I’d take care of you!"

For Alex, though, it wasn’t just the skill—it was her. She was the kind of person who lit up every room she walked into, and as the season dragged on, with its relentless travel and stress, she became a safe space.

One particularly rough weekend, after a frustrating qualifying session, Alex found himself in the physio room earlier than usual. She glanced up from where she was organizing massage oils, instantly noticing the tension in his posture.

"Tough one?" she asked gently.

Alex exhaled. "Yeah."

She didn’t push him to talk about it, didn’t try to force positivity onto him. Instead, she simply patted the massage table. "C’mon, lie down. Let’s get some of that stress out of your system."

As her hands worked through the knots in his shoulders, he felt himself slowly relax.

"You know," she mused, voice light but comforting, "you’re allowed to have bad days, Alex."

He hummed, eyes closed. "I know."

"Good," she said simply. And somehow, it was exactly what he needed to hear.

It wasn’t until a few races into the season that Alex finally introduced her to Lily.

"You have to meet my girlfriend," he told her one afternoon, stretching out on the massage table as she worked on his legs. "I swear, you two would get along so well."

She blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Lily," he clarified, sitting up from the massage table. "You two would get along so well."

Her lips curled into a smile. "That’s a bold claim."

"I’m serious!" Alex insisted. "You’re both, like… nice. And you make people feel comfortable. And you have this whole cute aesthetic thing going on."

She giggled. "Are you calling me cute, Albon?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just meet her, okay?"

The opportunity came during the Monaco race weekend. After a long, exhausting day in the paddock, Alex invited her to dinner with him and Lily.

She arrived in a soft pink sundress, her hair tied up with a matching ribbon. And the moment she stepped into the restaurant, she was met with a bright, familiar grin.

"Oh my God, you’re adorable!"

The greeting came from none other than Lily. He, stood up from his seat to introduce you to each other but before he could even respond, you had already reached out to hug her.

"You’re so pretty!" you gushed.

"You’re so pretty!" she shot back, already feeling like they had known each other for years.

Alex, watching them with an amused smile, shook his head. "I knew this would happen."

It was instant. Over dinner, they fell into an easy rhythm—talking about everything from skincare to travel to their shared love for making fun of Alex.

"So, how’s he as a physio client?" Lily asked, smirking slightly.

"Oh, such a baby when it comes to deep tissue massages," she teased, making Alex groan.

Lily laughed. "That checks out."

By the end of the night, they had already exchanged numbers, planning a shopping trip for the next free weekend.

And just like that, she wasn’t just Alex’s physio anymore—she was part of their little circle.

A ray of sunshine that fit right in.

Part 2

[burnorgetburned]

EVEN MORE CLARA DOLL DETAILS:

So you know how the Dolls have their own distinctive clothes?

Guess who else has their own distinctive clothes!

That’s right. The multiple Homuras are actually Clara Dolls.

And that’s why ‘Homura’ is smiling.

Here they are! The one with the striped hat is Nekura (Gloominess or Pessimism) and the one with the flower is Mie (Vanity).

Here’s their descriptions from the art book.

[The second one to come was Gloominess. Walking out with a tapping sound, she sneered at Good-for-Nothing. “This is Good-for-Nothing! How very unbecoming.” These dolls are only disciples of Freedom, and are devoted to their lust for it.]

[The tenth to come running is Vanity. She exaggeratedly avoids Good-for-Nothing's head and says a few words. “I wouldn't be able to bear dirtying my cape with that sticky blood!” These dolls make fun of the witch's self-mutilation.]

Good-for-Nothing is Homura, by the way, but the Clara Dolls seem to consider Good-for-Nothing to be good for something after all after she splits Madoka. She turns into the Devil, and the Clara Dolls are stated to be “okay” with the Devil. If the young voices in the trailer belong to the Clara Dolls, then they also call her “Akuma-sama” now. Something like Mistress Devil, implying a sense of respect.

[… if they are not summoned, they will simmer. There are orders they will comply with, and also orders they will disobey. What they are and the witch herself's own magic are not well understood.]

At the end of Rebellion, Homura gave Madoka her ribbon back. She declared that they might become enemies in the end. Honestly, I thought that Homura would try her best to avoid Madoka entirely. The trailer suggested that Homura was meeting Madoka, though. Here’s the answer: it wasn’t Homura herself, but Gloominess, who wants freedom.

Now, I’m not sure how this situation works out. Do Clara Dolls have free will? Are they obeying Homura’s orders? Acting out Homura’s true emotions? Is Homura perhaps directly puppeteering them in order to fulfill her goals, or do they act on their own?

I find it likely that it’s a mix of both: some of them obey her, and some of them will try and fulfill her (probably very conflicting) desires, as familiars usually do. Gloominess is likely part of Homura who wants the freedom to talk to Madoka, for example, but Vanity seems to me like a Clara Doll who is obeying Homura. After all, she still needs magical girls to fight wraiths, at least until she finds a way to wipe them out.

[I'm Vanity (Mie). I'm pushing myself to the limit for someone.] And she is, of course. All of the theatrics, the calls, the organization of magical girls. These are things that Vanity is shown to engage in. All of this is for Madoka.

We see with Gloominess, at least, that she seems to be fulfilling a specific desire: in the background are white spider lilies. Instead of the red spider lilies that mean death, final goodbyes, and lost love, white spider lilies mean a hope for the future and a fresh start. Maybe this really is the first meeting for these two in a while, and she wants to be friends again?

Or maybe, being Gloominess, she wants to warn her about something.

[I'm Gloominess (Nekura). Forcing smiles tires me out.]

Then there’s this Homura.

Nothing about her clothes is very different. She is wearing ribbons as Homura in the wraith universe does, but look closely: the ribbons are different. They have some wavy stripes on them, while Madoka’s ribbons are plain. She does not correspond to any known Clara Doll.

However, there’s mentioned to be a fifteenth Clara Doll that is not yet born: Ai, representing love. This could be her. Is it love for others? Or love for herself? I’m hoping it’s the latter, but very likely it’s love for Madoka and her friends. This would explain why she’s trying to fight Homucifer in the poster, as Homura believes that she’s a danger to everyone else.

How can this be? Well, here’s a few options:

- The Clara Dolls are grown-up familiars. They ate souls, and they became a copy of their witch. This is a process that was explained to us in the original series, where some magical girls are stated to farm familiars by letting them eat people so that they would grow souls/grief seeds.

- The Clara Dolls are not familiars, or wraiths, but instead a secret third thing. “What they are and the witch’s own magic are not well understood”, as said in the Rebellion art book. They could be magical constructs of a different kind, but I do think that this would get into overcomplicated explanations quickly, so I favor the familiar explanation.

- The Clara Dolls could be familiars, but instead of eating souls they’re simply powerful enough to change their shape. Their strength is equal to the strength of a magical girl…. when Homura was a witch, before Homura became something more. It could also be energy from the contracts making them stronger. Maybe it’s me being sentimental, but I don’t like the idea of Homura letting anyone’s soul be nommed on.

Now, before there’s a panic about how they’ll juggle fifteen extra characters, here’s a few thoughts:

- Just because they seem different doesn’t mean they’re actually different. It might be that the Clara Dolls are a way for Homura to present herself. As Vanity, she might show off more, or have dramatic flourishes like her throne and her dress. As Gloominess, it might be that she doesn’t believe that her plans will work, so she tries to do what makes her happy. It’s likely that the Clara Dolls are just extra ways to explore Homura’s character. They’re parts of her soul, after all, and right now she is extremely powerful. She might simply want to keep her true self away from humans.

- They could work like projections. Homura wants more bodies to work with, but she has to filter herself through the Dolls’ personalities. This could result in a lot of juicy character interactions, as the things she tries to keep hidden are closer to the surface.

- Will ‘Ai/Mystery Homura’ fight against Devil Homura? Very likely! How can this be when they’re the same person? Well, who hates Homura more than Homura? That’s right. Nobody. Anyone can fight and argue with their self, it’s just usually not on the level that a reality-warper like Homura can manage.

If this is true, there’s plenty of interesting directions they can take it.

- Because the Clara Dolls have a degree of separation from Homura, they can show other characters things that Homura herself has ignored or locked away. Bad memories, affection for her friends, the resentment she must feel - everything from concern to a cry for help can be plausibly shown through them as the actors.

- Manuke (Stupidity) is specifically more naive/sincere than the others. Maybe interacting with this Doll would show the Quintet that there’s something more going on than a Devil who wants to hurt other people.

- If Ai represents a love for other people, Ai can have a strange character arc where she learns to value Homura/herself, and become self-love.

- On the other hand, Ai can represent self-love from the start, and because Homura looks very fucking unhealthy in the trailer, she only wants to stop her because she’s hurting herself. This option plays into the themes of self-sacrifice and happiness, which I believe to be some of the major themes that they’re going for.

- The poster could be misleading and Ai ends up fighting everyone but Homura. I find this the funniest option.

- Homura can hug herself. It’s possible. In fact, every character can hug Homura 15 different times.

Smiles are a Clara Doll’s default expression. We have yet to see Homura smile for real.

Is this going to get very ambiguous and confusing? Probably. But rewatching for details was the fun part in Rebellion, so I’m looking forward to it!

[godhandler]

Tokyo Day 

| s. geto x reader, mentions of n. zenin x reader, infidelity, angst, fluff ending, geto is an unstable maniac in love as he was created to be, porn with serious plot, 2k words, part 4 | FIN.

previous series masterlist

“A younger you would’ve spat in your face if she saw you now.”

The plates stacked neatly outside your suite door, you and Suguru sit in the tub, him scrubbing your back. Warm lavender-scented water lap at your natural nakedness. The designer of this Modern Japanese suite must have been anything but Japanese, you muse. Why else would they set the ¥ 142,500 bathroom walls to mimic cheap public baths? 

These two things are polar apart. They could never be the same. One holds dignity, pride, excellence, and the other is like you. 

You wonder what Suguru means by his words. No question, you were beaten down by life. White ashes, leftovers of the blazing hurricane you were a decade ago. Was that the crime your former self would detest you for? It wasn’t like you planned to lose yourself, it just happened because that’s how life played out. 

You imagine a freckle-faced 15 year old questioning you– Why don’t you get a sorcerer job and become independent? 

Naobito would never let you see your son again then. 

Then why did you even have a kid?

It wasn’t your choice. Naobito wanted a kid. 

Why did you marry that jackass? 

Mom needed money and you couldn’t get a job. 

She’d just be confused, you think. You used to get so mad when adults told you things like – ‘oh you’re too young, you won’t get it’, but now you think they were right. To some degree. You’d understand, sure. But you hadn’t suffered enough to empathise. 

Why don’t you kill yourself?

My son. 

“Earth to the lady.” He massages your soapy neck, thumbs pressing into the right parts that hurt the most. Foam catches onto your locket. 

“A younger Suguru would’ve set his dragon on you if he saw you now,” you reply. No venom in your words. Just stating factual truths.

“Because we were stupid kids.” He smiles. “We were stupid kids who thought we knew everything. I thought I could have everything.” He leans down to kiss your neck from behind you. “I thought I could have you.”

Lost glory, tears turn your eyes cloudy. “Have me.” 

The spot where his lips touched your skin burns even after he washes all the soap off. 

You sit on the edge of the tub, Suguru towelling your feet dry on the heated floor. “My body’s not like it used to be,” you tell him, an apology in your tone that he frowns at. “After the pregnancy, I mean. I envy men. You look just as good as you did back then, even better, if anything.”  

“You look perfect, darling. I have scars too.” 

“And abs.” 

“Pardon me for having abs,” he grins, pressing kisses to your foot. “How could I ever make up for the crime of having abs?” 

You kick him lightly in jest, but he simply grabs your heel and kisses your calf instead. “You look like a mother should. Why is that bad? We’re not kids anymore. I’m happy that you lived a life and your body shows it. I just-” he kisses your knee. “- wish that you lived it with me.” 

“I wish he was yours,” you confess, sighing as Suguru parts your knees and buries his face in there. “My son. You should’ve been the father. Should’ve been my husband, my groom at the altar.” 

“Tell me more.” He briefly comes up for air before resuming his work. Master of your body, he draws his skill from both an archive of memories he hasn’t used in a decade and natural instinct that just knows. Soul-mate. 

You keen from divine pleasure, Suguru feasting on the taste of you to his heart’s content. You can feel his rock hard cock pressing against your leg. “We could do our hair similarly. I always thought lilies would go so well in your hair bun. We’ll wear cream white and ivory with just a hint of gold.” 

“How about a spring wedding? We’ll get a venue filled with cherry blossom trees.” 

“Yes! Ah-” Soft bathroom lighting catches on the edge of his jaw as he sucks on your clitoris, two fingers curled deep inside you. Searching around for that sweet spot… here or here or here– found it. “-Oh, Suguru!” 

“Keep talking,” he orders. “Darling.”

You gasp in between each word, trying to think of anything other than the burning pleasure flooding through you. “All- ah- our friends would be in attendance. Too much, oh, Suguru! Sigh- Nanako and Mimiko could be the ring bearers, Naosuke the flower boy.” 

His grasp on your waist is so tight, his nails mark your skin into little crescents. “I want another in your belly by that time.” He promises, “Have you pregnant under your pretty pretty wedding dress. Mark you mine.” 

Suguru cannot stop smiling like a fool when you grab the back of his head and hump your orgasm out on his face. 

“Wanna be mine so bad, darling?” His taunting words so unlike his gentle kisses as he carries you to the bedroom, his tongue still warm from the depths of your sweet cunt. You can’t help but moan. “Want to have my kids? Be with me forever?”

He places you into the bed soft as the most precious crystal in the world that he’s finally got his hand on after with much cost and yearning. His. You’re his. 

“I’ve been faithful, Suguru.” The diamond between your collarbones could almost trick him into thinking it’s true. Naobito Zenin’s wedding ring, chucked out of sight under furniture, still exists in the same reality as you two. Not that either of you were thinking about it. “Always been yours.”

Suguru kisses you over and over again, buried in your arms as he smooths your hair away from your face with his large hand. Sunk in you, surrounded by pillow fluff and warm blankets. The bedsheet is soft uncrinkled silk, made to be enjoyed sex on. It feels like he’s been out travelling the world for a decade and is just one step away from entering home. 

He thinks that you mouth ‘I love you’ before your face scrunches up through the sting of penetration. So pretty, so perfect, all his now. 

“I love you more,” a whisper that drowns under your cry as he pushes fully inside you. Snug fit, flesh made for each other. 

He can’t not bring up your husband, no matter how much it’ll hurt you. “Does he feel like me?” He thrusts harder, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. “Tell me, darling, does he?”

“He’s busy with his whores, thank fuck.” You reply, lightly pulling his hair to punish his unfounded jealousy. “At my luckiest, I see him once a month.” 

“I’ll kill him, I swear on your life.” 

“I would’ve done that myself if not for Naosuke. Besides, I’ve kept you with me.” 

It must be some telepathic connection because he immediately understands what you mean. It was a gag gift from Satoru 13 years ago when you had first started dating. A clone-your-penis kit, where you poured black silicone into a mould of Suguru’s dick and created your own homemade dildo. You used to hit Suguru on the head with it back then. 

“The scandal,” Suguru grins, “The Head Lady Zenin fucking herself on a silicone cock of her former lover. Did you enjoy that, darling? Cucking that old man? If you missed me that much, you should’ve just come to me.” He kisses you again, his rhythm messing up as he gets closer to finishing. “I keep waiting for you to come.” 

“Don’t pull out.” You tell him. 

“Of course not.” He replies. He doesn’t. 

Wrapped up in his arms, his full weight pressing you down, you pray that it takes. You pray so hard. You don’t know if you’ll see him again. The very thought of having to go back to your real life now, to put on the ring and hide the locket under your blouse, to serve dinner to the husband waiting back home and lay under him at night– the very thought makes you want to drown yourself in the bathtub. 

Again came the question you could not answer: what was your original sin? That at the critical juncture, what was the wrong choice– to run to the arms of a genocidal maniac or to meekly submit to the socially correct match?

Why, when you picked the right option 10 years ago, are you this miserable?

“Will you come?” He laughs stupidly at his own pun, all strength sapped out for the time being. “Seriously, will you?”

“Will you come, Suguru? Could you leave it all behind? Just run away with me, love and honour me?” You ask, “Marry me?”

Kitten-like, Suguru softly squeezed a breast, thinking. How could he love and honour you if he didn’t even love and honour himself? And how could he love and honour himself if he willingly chose to not be himself? Close his eyes and turn his back to the duty he was put on Earth to do? Accept defeat? Be weak?

No. you both knew that. No. At the end, it came out a no. 

But– “I could marry you.” He decided. The kind of decision that only the strong are allowed to take. “Who could stop me? I want you. I want to have you.”

“My son, he–”

“I would raise him as my own. I’d give him my name– Geto. Both of you will be mine. Our son, our daughters. How does that sound?” Rhetorical question, because Suguru has already decided that it sounds exactly like what he wants. 

“His birthday is soon, right, darling? We’ll have his renaming ceremony together as well. Wonder what technique he’ll have? Ha- the Zenins would only waste him, better off that I train him myself.” 

“Suguru, it’s too fast, I think.”

“I don’t.” 

He waits for you to debate him. You weren’t blind to his wrongdoings. You couldn’t even read the report from his last mission without vomiting from the pictures of the devastation he caused. Rotting bones, half-charred people, a whole village burnt off the map. And yet–

“Was I wrong? Darling, look me in the eye and tell me that I was wrong, that my logic or actions do not make sense, and I swear on your life that I will give it all up.” 

“... Your morals are wrong.”

“But am I wrong?” 

Is he? Is this the wrong decision? You’ve already made one in the past, but that was actually the right one which turned out to be wrong. Hell, is there even anything like a right or wrong decision? 

“No.” 

Suguru cleans you both up. After a quick cuddled-up nap and a light sashimi filler, you had to part. He was travelling back with his daughters and you could not stay the night without your son, who would cry and cry till he saw you. 

He walks you back to your Volvo, a spring in his step. He’s accomplished a lot before dinner today. “In case the cuck bothers you,” he nods to the detestful ring back on your finger, “kill this little bug-curse I’ve planted in your locket. I’ll know, and I’ll be right there before you blink an eye. Though I don’t doubt you can handle yourself.” 

Suguru opens the car door for you, kissing you a long goodbye right in front of the Zenin servants. Not that they dare flicker a glance at your direction, what with the leech-curse still wrapped around the car till Suguru called it back. “Remember our promise, guys?” He reminds them cheerfully. 

“Get home safe, darling. Bye-bye!” 

He’s still waving to your car disappearing into the distance when his own car reaches. “Woahhh– Mimiko, look, Geto-sama’s face is all red and happy!”

“Thanks for getting us the canvases, Geto-sama. Nanako, isn’t it obvious, he’s having hot flushes. Because he’s old.” 

“Thanks, Mimiko.” He replies, good mood unbroken by teenage girls. “How was the school trip? How did you like Tokyo?”

“It was okay. We just went to see shrines, like we don’t have more than enough of them in Kyoto,” Nanako replied. Mimiko was pulling out the cute plushies she bought to show him. “You lived here back when you were young, right? What about you, Geto-sama, did you have a good day?” 

“Oh,” he smiles, hugging his daughters to him. “Just the best.”

As they set off for home, Manami driving again and the girls asleep after their long day, Geto Suguru, victor of the day, taps on his iPhone: 

text when you reach 

see you tmr 

I love you 

previous series masterlist

[loving-daisy]

You Had Me At Hello | Severus Snape x Reader

Young Severus Snape never knew what love was. That was until he met her, his Valentine.

YHMAH Masterlist • loving-daisy masterlist

—————————————

Chapter 5: Stay

Word count: 2,873

Severus Snape’s Sunday morning began when he finally became conscious of himself and felt like his whole body was aching. It was as if someone was knocking bells on his head as his ears were ringing. It felt like all the weight of the world was laying on his shoulders, his stomach burning together with the legs that he couldn’t even feel right now. 

Severus forced himself to open his eyes, the white ceiling of the infirmary being the first thing he sees. The soft orbs of Y/N Valentine piercing through his own being the next. 

“Hi.” Y/N whispered out, blinking multiple times before sending him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re finally awake.” She declared, moving away from where the boy laid as she called the attention of the head nurse.

“What happened?” The boy managed to croak out, his voice hoarse. 

Severus tried to sit up, groaning when he couldn’t. So the girl immediately went to his side, assisting him. When Severus was deemed comfortable in his current position, Y/N eyed him from head to toe beforing shaking her head in response. 

“I don’t know. One minute I was reading in front of the fireplace and then the next, Professor Slughorn called me, telling me that you were unconscious at the hospital wing.” She revealed, slumping her shoulders afterwards. “Where have you been, anyways?” She questioned.

“I don’t...I was..”

Valentine waved her hand in front of him, dismissing him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me.” She drawled. “Just be careful next time, okay?” 

Severus shook his head, swatting her hand away. “No. I was at Hogsmeade, and I was on my way back to the castle but James...James and his lot suddenly came and the last thing I remembered was his wand aimed at me.” He exclaimed, pausing to look back at his memories. 

If it was possible, the girl despised the boy from Gryffindor even more. The next thing she wanted to do right now was to hex the jerk. Maybe give him boils? Grow his head since it was big? Or maybe tie him to a tree. Tying James Potter to a tree was the one that appealed to the girl the most. 

Shaking her thoughts away, her attention was back to Severus. “Figures. Well, get some rest now, will you? I’ll deal with them. I’ll tell Professor Slughorn-”

“No, please stay.” The boy said almost immediately. 

“Severus-”

“Please.” He pleaded, grabbing a hold of her hand and giving it a little squeeze. 

Valentine’s heart began to race. But she dismissed it and assumed it to be anger. Afterall, she didn’t really explore the thought of developing feelings for the boy ever since she discovered her jealousy towards Lily Evans. 

The girl sent a nod towards the boy, mumbling an “Okay.” before proceeding back to the uncomfortable seat she was sitting on since last night. 

Conveniently for Y/N Valentine, the school’s matron made her way towards the bed where Snape was laid down. Checking all his statistics and all that medical things she wasn’t really aware of. When the nurse left, silence enveloped their bubble, making it a little uncomfortable since there was an elephant in the room that they still had to talk about. 

Despite it all, Valentine decided to break the silence when a thought crossed her mind. “What were you doing at Hogsmeade anyways? I thought you didn’t like going there?” 

Severus didn’t utter a word. Instead, he turned to look at the side table beside where the girl was seated. A paper bag was placed on top of it. 

Y/N followed his line of sight, the logo printed on the bag together with a scribbled “Y/N Valentine”, catching her attention. 

“You...you got me the limited edition chocolate frogs?!” She exclaimed, standing up from her seat to collect the bag and check its contents. 

“Yes.” Severus mumbled.

“Why? I mean, thank you Sev- Severus. I really appreciate it but you really didn’t have to-” Severus attempted to delay her rambling.

“I had to-”

“No, but these are really hard to get! I can’t even imagine you swimming through a mob of people who wanted to get their hands on these. Not to mention the dark chocolate!” She blurted, her eyes not leaving the inside of the bag. 

Severus sighed, shaking his head in amusement to the girl’s antics. For a moment, he thought that he shouldn’t explain anymore, seeing that it seemed like his plan worked. But he decided against it. 

“I treated you so badly when all you ever did to me was be nice.” He began. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never meant what I said. I don’t want you to stay away from me. In fact, I want you to stay by my side.” He declared, his eyes finally landing on the girl’s orbs after the last statement. 

Valentine had a look of contentment written all over her face. This made Severus feel relieved. “So, can you please accept these as my form of peace offering?” He quipped, hopeful. 

The girl sent him a wide grin, nodding. “Of course, Severus. You are my friend after all.” 

I guess it can be assumed that things got a little better for Severus Snape ever since that day. I mean, fine, he lost his childhood friend, his childhood love, even earned a lot more hatred from James Potter and his lot, but at least he finally had something or someone constant by his side. Sure, Lily and him were friends but the ginger never stuck around by his side. 

Y/N Valentine on the other hand, stayed with him throughout it all. It hasn’t been long since they met, since they became friends, but the boy was hopeful that what the two have would last. Truthfully, the thought of the girl leaving him for pushing her away crossed his mind a thousand times ever since that day but he already lost Lily. He couldn’t afford to lose Y/N too. 

That’s why he decided to head to that sweet shop the girl loved. He didn’t have a lot of savings but he wouldn’t mind if he used it all up. It was for Y/N Valentine afterall. 

Severus doubted himself a lot of times. As he got out of the dungeons, he was contemplating whether to proceed. He didn’t know if the girl would even accept his apology. Nevertheless, he tried his best to grab all the chocolate frogs in dark chocolate. He learned that it was the girl’s favorite among the others. 

On his way back, he doubted himself again. He even thought of selling the chocolate frogs to other students to get his money back! But the soft orbs and the pink curled lips of Y/N Valentine crossed his mind. Severus thought that it would be such a good feeling to be the cause of those beaming features. So he hurried back, only to fall on his back and see the dark. 

After regaining his consciousness, the first thing he felt other than the burning sensation all over his body, was disappointment. He thought he failed to salvage the friendship he formed with the Slytherin sweetheart. But the thought was quickly washed away when the girl’s concerned orbs were staring down at him. 

Severus finally felt joy when the girl accepted his apology. The smile and the response Y/N gave him meant a lot to him. That was when he figured that his life would be a little less miserable than before. He had a constant. 

Severus Snape and Y/N Valentine’s story didn’t end there. In fact, their story progressed like day, bloomed like a flower, and developed like technology. Valentine became Severus’ moon. She was the moon in his dark and cold life, leading and guiding him to the light to become a better person. 

It was the girl’s idea for Severus to approach the ginger Gryffindor and ask for her forgiveness. Truthfully, Valentine wasn’t really fond of the Evans girl but her judgment tells her that Severus was the wrong one in this one. He did call her that insulting word after all. 

Fueled with guilt, sadness, and regret, Severus asked for Lily’s forgiveness. But no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t receive it. Again, if it weren’t for Y/N Valentine, Severus Snape would have been swallowed by his own black hole, maybe getting influenced by Avery and Mulciber, other Slytherins in their year that were children of what they call death eaters. 

It seems like Severus forever lost his childhood friend but that doesn’t mean his life only got worse. Like what has been said before, it just made his life a little less miserable. I mean, sure it’s sad that you lost someone truly dear to you and losing Lily didn’t mean that Severus lost his feelings for the ginger either, but hey, on the bright side, that event only opened new doors for Severus. 

Valentine introduced Snape to her friends. Yes, the same friends that had the same prejudice against Snape. At first they were reluctant. They didn’t know what the girl was thinking. Merlin, they even thought that the girl was under the imperius curse! Did she really think that she could include Severus Snape into their circle of friends? 

The prejudice that they were holding against the pale boy quickly dissolved, thankfully. They let their pride down and looked beneath the exteriors of Severus. They actually turned out to like him after noticing the way the boy could absorb information like a sponge, the way he knew better than to follow what was written in the Advance Potions textbook, and most importantly, the way he took care of their Slytherin sweetheart in his own little way. 

Severus even taught them some spells that they don’t teach you at Hogwarts. But of course, he didn’t reveal his own ones. He felt a little greedy on that part. 

_______________

With O.W.L.s coming up, Y/N and her friends wanted to form a study group with Severus. There were people assigned to each subject. For example, the twins who had blonde hair will be the one that’ll help them with transfiguration. For defense against the dark arts, it would be Severus and the boy who had curly hair. For charms, it would be the one who plays quidditch and Y/N. And for potions, it would be Y/N and Severus. 

Today was the day they would study potions. Valentine proposed the idea of learning it the practical and hands-on way instead of a boring old lecture. Their textbook had a lot of errors anyways, according to Severus. And so, they all agreed to meet in the room of requirement after school. 

Despite having different classes for today, Valentine and Snape went out of their way to meet each other so that they could proceed to the room of requirement together. 

When the entrance to the room appeared before them, Snape took the liberty to enter the room first in case some unknown creature threatened them. 

“Why is it so dark?” He murmured, grabbing his wand. Just before he chanted the incantation Lumos, the room was dark no more as the chandeliers and candles illuminated the space. 

“Surprise!” Valentine exclaimed together with their friends, making her way towards the blonde Slytherin twins to grab the cake that they were holding then moving back to the front of the boy. 

At first, the boy was confused as to why the room wasn’t arranged to its usual arrangement that is similar to the potions classroom. The room was bright with green and silver balloons floating around the atmosphere, a table filled with delicious food in the center, and the people he became friends with wearing party hats and smiles. 

It was only when Severus took a glance at the cake laid out in front of him did he realize what day it was today. 

‘Happy Birthday Severus’

It was his birthday. 

The smile on Y/N Valentine’s face faltered for a second when she figuratively saw the light bulb turn on above Severus’ head. It was as if the boy just realized that today was the day he was born. In that case, it was just then that he realized it. 

Before Severus could turn his attention toward the girl standing in front of him, Y/N put the smile back on her face, breaking the silence between them. “Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday?” 

Snape’s black orbs pierced through Valentine’s. The girl noticed how it wasn’t blank like it usually was. It was filled with emotions, happiness and sadness at the same time. It even seemed as if the boy was about to burst into tears. “How did you know?” 

Before Valentine could utter another word, the group of people behind her started to sing Happy Birthday Severus, interrupting their conversation. 

After expressing his gratitude and insisting for them to go ahead and start the feast to fill in their hungry stomachs, the two Slytherin’s were able to continue on what was left of their conversation. 

“It was Valentine’s idea.” The boy in the quidditch team informed him. “Happy Birthday Severus!” 

Severus stared at the girl who was mesmerized by the balloon. Who knew muggles could invent such magical things? Severus read her mind, causing her to divert her attention to him, raising a brow. 

“What did I tell you about reading my mind, Sev?” She scolded, crossing her arms to feign annoyance.

The boy gave her a smirk. “You should’ve not let your guard down then.” He responded. “You still didn’t answer my question though.” 

Valentine raised a brow, surprised. “What? You really did forget?”

Embarrassed, Severus' attention was diverted to his shoes. “Well, yeah.” He mumbled. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday.” He informed her. 

Remembering what he wanted to know, the boy shook his head. “But that’s not what I was pertaining to. How did you know that it was my birthday?” He quizzed, earning a shrug from Valentine. 

“May or may not have asked Slughorn.” She quipped, moving away from the boy and towards where his cake was situated. Severus, still curious, followed her. 

“How does he know my birthday?” He asked, earning another shrug from the girl. “He's the head of the house, Sev. Of course he keeps the files.” 

With a flick of Valentine’s wand, a small plate, together with a fork was conjured. 

“But how did you convince him? Aren’t those...private?” Severus pondered. 

“Well, yeah but…”

“But?”

“It’s embarrassing!” Valentine exclaimed. “Why are we even having this conversation?” 

The boy gave her a grunt of annoyance. 

The girl sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. I told him I was going to surprise you.” She disclosed, levitating the piece of cake towards the plate she was holding. 

“That’s it?” Severus challenged, earning a nod and a piece of cake from Valentine in return. 

“Yeah.” 

It was not just it. The only reason why Professor Slughorn gave the information to Y/N Valentine is because he thought that the girl was going to surprise her boyfriend. The girl couldn’t deny the professor’s assumption, in case he might decline her favor. Horace Slughorn was a romantic afterall. But of course, Severus didn’t need to know that part.

The party went on for hours. Thank Merlin that it was a Friday. The students involved wouldn’t have to worry about missing their morning class the next day. The blonde Slytherin twins even accio-ed the bottle of firewhisky that they hid under their bed. For emergencies, they claimed. 

It was 2:45 in the morning when only Valentine and Snape were the only one’s left in the room of requirement. Cleaning duty was assigned to the girl. It was the rest who designed and assembled the set-up anyways. Additionally, she and Severus were the only ones sober. 

The boy approached Valentine when she was again, staring at the balloons. She really didn’t want to use the vanishing spell due to her amusement with the muggle object. 

“Hey.” Severus called, breaking her train of thought. 

“Hello.” the girl responded, finally flicking her wand to dispose of the decorations. 

The boy couldn’t form the right sentences to tell the girl how happy he was tonight. He couldn’t express how he enjoyed the surprise, how he thought that the cake Y/N baked for him was delicious, and most importantly, how delighted he was that Y/N Valentine became his constant friend. “Thank you.” 

Two words. That was the only thing that came out of his mouth despite wanting to say so much more. 

Valentine sneaked a brief glance at him, shaking her head. “It’s nothing, Sev. You’re my best friend.” 

Now it was Severus’ turn to shake his head. “No, really. I mean it.” He remarked. “I never celebrated my birthday before. Well, not until today.” 

The girl stopped in her actions, facing the boy. “Well, guess what?” Y/N began. 

“What?” 

“You won’t have to spend another year not celebrating your birthday.” She announced.  “Starting now, you’re gonna celebrate it with me.”  

Severus grinned at the statement. 

End of Chapter 5

[rylem33]

Rushing into It

Lily stood tall in front of the mirror, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. She admired the reflection staring back at her—a body she had designed down to the last detail. Her platinum blonde hair, perfect tan, and fit, toned physique were all thanks to her invention. “It worked,” she whispered to herself. “I can’t believe how well it worked.” She ran her hands over her flat stomach and curvier hips, marveling at how easily she had transformed.

Behind her, Maddie was equally thrilled. She turned from side to side, admiring her own reflection. Her sleek brown hair framed her face perfectly, and the fitted white blazer hugged her curves in ways her old body never could. “This is incredible,” Maddie said, her eyes lighting up as she adjusted the blazer over her chest. “Lily, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Lily gave a confident smile, adjusting her skirt. “I told you it’d work. I mean, this is some next-level stuff. Temporary physical transformation, perfect for us to blend in at the sorority rush tonight. We’ll look like we belong—just long enough to see what it’s like.”

She turned to Maddie, her eyes gleaming with pride. “You have no idea how long this took me to build. I’ve been working on it for months. Late nights, constant revisions, tweaking every little detail. It’s the most advanced thing I’ve ever made. It altered our physical appearance completely.”

“Just for one night,” Maddie added, grinning. “We’ll fit right in, get the experience, and by the end of the night, poof—we’re back to normal.”

Lily nodded, smoothing her new blonde hair and glancing at the clock. “Exactly. One night of not being laughed at and scorned for being smart.  One night of being pretty instead of plain.”

The two girls exchanged excited looks, adrenaline rushing through them. “We’re going to kill it tonight,” Maddie said, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I mean, look at us.”

Lily laughed. “Oh, for sure. No one will even know we’re us.”

But as she turned to the mirror one last time, something nagged at the back of her mind. Her smile wavered slightly. “You feel okay, right?” she asked, casually at first.

Maddie glanced over at her, still smiling. “Yeah, I feel amazing. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I just… maybe it’s nothing, but I feel a little… off.” She tried to shake the feeling. “Like… I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

Maddie shrugged, not giving it much thought. “You’re just overthinking it. We’re fine.”

Lily nodded, but something still felt wrong. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just… I’ve been so focused on how we look, but what if—”

Maddie smirked, adjusting her top and examining her new curves with satisfaction. “Yeah, well, we definitely look the part for rush now.” She glanced at the clock, watching the seconds tick closer to the event. “And we’ll blend right in, no problem.”

Lily twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, then suddenly frowned. “Wait, what’s rush again?” she asked, blinking in confusion.

Maddie froze mid-pose, her eyes narrowing. “Lily, don’t be stupid. We’re rushing the sorority tonight. You know, the whole reason we used the device?”

“Ohhh, yeah! Rush!” Lily nodded enthusiastically, her confusion disappearing as quickly as it had come. “Right! So… what do we do there again?”

Maddie’s lips thinned into a straight line. “Are you serious right now?” Her voice was sharp, but Lily just blinked innocently.

Lily let out a small laugh, bouncing on her toes. “It’s fine! I mean, how hard can it be? We just go in, talk to some girls, have fun, right?” Her smile was so genuine, it was almost painful. “Do you think they’ll have, like, snacks? Oh! Maybe cupcakes!”

A cold chill settled in Maddie’s stomach. She looked at the device on the desk. “Lily, the transformation… it’s not just physical, is it?”

Lily blinked again, her smile faltering for a second before returning. “Huh? Oh, no, no, it’s totally fine! I’m just, like, maybe a little tired or something?” She twirled another strand of her hair around her finger, her eyes glassy.

Maddie grabbed her by the shoulders. “Lily, focus. You made the device. You know how it works. How do we change back?”

Lily’s smile wavered as her brows knitted in confusion. “Oh, um… the device… right.” She paused, her blue eyes clouding over as she tried to focus. “It’s… temporary? Yeah, like… um…

Maddie rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “I should’ve known you’d end up like this.”

Lily blinked. “Huh? What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Maddie snapped, suddenly feeling a sharp pang of irritation. She was concerned, this could be bad.  Really bad.

But then Lily opened her mouth again. “Do you think I should, like, curl my hair more or just leave it straight? Oh! Maybe I should’ve gone with a pink top! Pink is so cute, don’t you think? I mean, blonde and pink—”

“Lily!” Maddie barked, glaring at her. “Shut up for five minutes, okay?”

Lily’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes widening. She looked like a scolded puppy, her lip trembling slightly before a nervous giggle bubbled up. “Oh, okay! I can be quiet! Totally quiet!” she said quickly. Then, not a second later: “So, what are we gonna say when we meet the girls?”

Maddie groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I can’t believe this is happening… you’re a complete airhead.”

Lily cocked her head, looking puzzled. “Airhead? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re being stupid, Lily,” Maddie snapped, unable to stop the venom from dripping into her voice. “You can’t even remember why we’re here, and you keep asking me the dumbest questions!”

Lily’s eyes welled up, and her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I’m not stupid, Maddie! I’m just… I’m just excited, okay?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Besides, I, like, totally remembered what rush is. I just—”

“Shut. Up.” Maddie’s patience had worn thin. “If you ask me one more thing, I swear, I’ll—”

Lily blinked, tilting her head in that confused way that Maddie was beginning to despise. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Because you’re annoying me,” Maddie snapped, her voice louder now, more forceful. “And I don’t have time to babysit a ditzy blonde right now, okay?”

Lily’s face fell, but instead of standing up for herself, she just looked away, playing with a strand of her hair, her mind drifting to something else entirely. “I’m not a ditz,” she muttered quietly, but it was as if she didn’t even believe it.

Maddie sighed, rubbing her temples. “We need to focus, Lily. We need to get through tonight without embarrassing ourselves. Can you do that? Or are you going to ask me if cupcakes will be served again?”

Lily gave a small, nervous giggle. “Cupcakes would be nice, though.”

Maddie rolled her eyes, muttering to herself. “This is a nightmare.”

Maddie stood there, trying to maintain control. Lily’s mindless questions were grating on her.  Her patience was shot.  Her concern, replaced by something else.  

She glanced over at Lily, who was now humming to herself, completely oblivious. “God, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you,” Maddie muttered under her breath. “How did I ever think you were the smart one?”

Lily turned, her face bright and cheerful. “What’s that, Maddie?”

“Nothing,” Maddie snapped, her irritation building. “Just… forget it. You probably wouldn’t understand anyway.”

Lily blinked a few times, then smiled. “Okay!” She went back to adjusting her top, clearly unfazed.

Maddie stared at her, her jaw clenched. She could feel her frustration bubbling over, and with every second, she found herself wanting to lash out. Why was Lily so dumb? Why did she have to be stuck with someone so… so beneath her?

Maddie’s eye twitched. She was done. “I am going to be the best damn sorority girl they’ve ever seen. And you—just keep your mouth shut and look pretty.”

Lily’s face brightened. “Yay! I can totally do that!”

“Of course you can,” Maddie muttered under her breath, already regretting the idea of not testing the device’s mental effects first. But there was no going back. Not when they both looked so… perfect.

[wartsandwarlocks]

The party was… boring. Everyone was pissed, but in the annoying way, and Lily could not wait until they’d all leave to clean up the common room and finally sleep. She had been drinking the same gin tonic for at least an hour, and the couch had already sunk where she was seated. Her eyes had started to close on their own, allowing her to slowly float away into a dream. Maybe sleeping in the common room wasn’t so bad.

“Why don’t you like me?” James blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Lily said blinking rapidly. She hadn’t even noticed him.

“I try sooo hard for you to notice me and like me but I can never get to you, so please Evans I’m desperate I’ll do anything to get you to like me.”

“I do notice you.” Lily said smirking “you’re incredibly annoying.”

“So you want me to stop annoying you? is that it? Consider it a done deal.”

She considered it, imagined peacefully walking down the halls and eating lunch and classes without James making faces at her, the amount of time she could put into her studies without him talking over her every time. She thought about the quiet dinners, early bed times, casual breakfasts and smooth classes. The thought of it alone made her want to kill herself. “Nah, it’s ok.”

“Is it my face? I can change it!” James said pointing his wand at his face “Who can I turn into?”

The sudden fear that James’s face could turn into anything different forced her to turn around and stop him. Which was great because she could see how his brown eyes were surrounded by some deep shade of red instead of his usual white sclera. “Oh fuck, James are you high?”

He sat up suddenly and looked down, and with a really high pitched voice he said “who? Me? You’re crazy Evans.”

“You’re high as shit!” Lily laughed.

James looked at her uncertainly. “Not as shit, it’s going down I swear.”

“God you’re so stupid.” She cackled.

“Are you disappointed? Did I offend you? I’m sorry.” James fidgeted with his hands.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Lily smiled. “Where are your little followers.”

“If you mean my friends, I only know Sirius and Remus are upstairs so I have to wait down here some time.”

“Why would you have to wait here?”

“You know why.” James said wiggling his eyebrows.

Lily looked at him attentively. He knew something. Suddenly this night became interesting. “I do not. Tell me.”

James started fidgeting and looked askance.

“James.” Lily grabbed his face. “Tell me. Now.”

“Look, if you don’t know I can’t tell you.”

“Tell ya what,” she said ignoring her voice of reason. If she were a cat, she would most certainly be dead by now. “Trade you one secret for another.”

James whole demeanor changed, his mouth spread into a huge smile and Lily could see his imaginary-dog-tail wagging behind him. “How about a kiss for a secret?”

“Bummer, I had such a good secret to tell you. What a shame.” She dramatically threw her head back and put the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Fine! But it’s top secret, so i’ll have to whisper it.”

“Ugh, fine.” Lily sighed leaning over and placing her ear at James’s level. He obviously took the opportunity and kissed her cheek smiling. “James!”

“Sorry! Couldn’t help it you’re so beautiful Evans.”

“Tell me!” She punched his arm.

“Remus and Sirius are upstairs… well… i dont really know how to put it…”

“James, if you dont tell me this instant I’ll go get Mcgonagall and tell her how high you are and get you kicked out of… Of everything! Every club, every merit you have won,” she snapped her fingers. “Gone!”

His eyes widened in fear. He hesitated for a moment but then slowly approached her ear and whispered. “They are together. Like, together together.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“You know, they are together, alone in our room, I can’t go there… Get it?!”

“Huh?!”

“They are fucking, Evans.”

Lily froze. No they weren’t. She would have known. Remus would have said something. They are best friends, of course she’d know. “Come on James, a real secret.”

“I mean it.”

“No James, I would know.”

“No you wouldn’t. No one does. I swear.”

“Then why do you-“

“I caught them showering together.”

Lily looked at him incredulous and burst out laughing. “No way.”

“You can go check for your self for all I care, just know they are messy, it’s not a very pretty image.”

She thought about it, let it sink in and suddenly, things made sense. Remus was happy, he was always sneaking off somewhere with a lousy explanation and she had caught him more often than not smiling at nothing or being strangely flustered during lessons. Remus and Sirius were fucking. Holy shit.

“Oh my god.” She became aware of her labored breathing. “ Oh my GOD! HOW?! WHAT?! HOW?! OH THAT CUNT!”

“Inner voice!” James fretted.

“Right sorry.” She said slumping back down. “How? Why wouldn’t he tell me?! God I’ll kill that bastard, how could he! I’m his best friend.”

“I know I was pretty freaked out myself.” James laughed.

“This is so unfair why do you know and I don’t?”

“Oi! I am best friends to both of them, mind you. Also trust me I did not want to know, wrong place wrong time.”

“Fuck.” Lily breathed out “Fuck!”

“Come on Evans, it’s not that ba-“

“It’s so unfair! Why doesn’t Remus trust me? I’ve never said anything- No wait I have said multiple things about hating Sirius.” She said chugging the left overs from her cup. “Besides you’re such a terrible secret keeper! I’d trust Pete way more than you.”

“He knows.”

“OH MY GOODNESS?! Does everyone but me know?!”

“Just us, promise.”

“What am I supposed to do now? Play dumb?”

“Ideally. please.” James asked, his eyes glistening.

“This is fucked. I hate him.” She said crossing her arms. “I can’t play dumb, James, I just can’t! I’m so mad!”

James smiled as he shifted closer to her. “Need me to kiss it better?”

“Fuck off.” Lily fought a smile.

They sat in silence for a moment, Lily kept staring at the wall in front of her as rage and some bitter resentment pooled in her blood, she breathed hard and considered just walking up there and beating Remus into a pulp, or at least try to. Meanwhile James sat with his arm over the back rest, holding his head and looking at Lily with a smile.

“What?” She burst.

“You are so beautiful.” James smiled as an idea slowly formed into his brain. “You owe me.”

Lily grew angrier remembering their deal, she had no secret, or maybe she had too many, but they were too big to tell now. “I peed my pants once in fourth year after acing a test I thought I was going to fail.”

James burst into laughter. “Hilarious. But I told you a huge secret, so I’ll need something better.”

“I don’t have big secrets.” She lied.

“Come on! It’s so unfair!” He whined.

“If you help me bust them, i’ll tell you my biggest secret.”

“No! Leave them be, they need this trust me.” His eyes grew as he sentence finished.

“Fine!” She thought of something better. She needed to win this. “If you let me tell Remus you told me I’ll tell you two.”

“Deal!”

“I’m not wasted enough for this…” She mumbled. “I actually really like you.”

“I knew that!”

“No James, I really do like you. Like, like like you.”

He was frozen, the weirdest smile she’d ever seen hanging off his face, rising and falling each second. Then he just… laughed?

“Oh come on! I’m really not in the mood Potter!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry Evans, I just-“ he huffed. “When?”

“I have for some time now. Quite some time. Since last year actually.”

“Wow.”

“Ok then, goodnight!” She said standing up so quickly she saw stars. Maybe she was drunk enough.

“Wait! Can I kiss you?” James said with stars in his eyes and his hand stretched out.

“No!” She hurried before he could actually convince her.

“Alright then, I’ll see you for my daily love declaration tomorrow morning then.”

“Right. Cheers Potter.”

“Cheers indeed.”

[yourlocalchronicdaydreamer]

this was supposed to be a microfic for @maraudersgirlsprompts but it kind of turned into a one-shot sorry • platonic lilypad • 1129 words

“This is stupid,” Lily muttered to herself.

Groaning in frustration, she dipped her quill in her ink bottle and made to cross out her fourth attempt, only she used too much ink and blotted the parchment. God, she missed pens. Stupid quills and stupid ink and stupid star charts for stupid Astronomy. Why did wizards have to be so … archaic? What did they have against joining the twentieth-century and teaching students something actually useful to them instead of rote learning constellations?

“All right there, Red?” asked a voice behind her. 

Lily swivelled away from the night sky towards the figure in the doorway, only to narrow her eyes in suspicion. “What are you doing here, Black? Are you and Potter planning on blowing up the Astronomy Tower or something?” She paused. “You know what, if you did that, then I wouldn’t have to take this stupid class anymore, so go ahead.”

Sirius chuckled as he sat down next to her, glancing at the half-drawn star charts with words furiously crossed-out that littered the floor. “That doesn’t sound like you, Red,” he smirked. “Shouldn’t you be all for ‘following the rules and maintaining perfect grades’ or whatever?”

She glared at him. “I don’t sound like that. And for your information, I study because we’re at a magic school where I get to learn magic to become a good witch. Why on earth wouldn’t I want to try my best to learn that? Unlike you fancy pure-bloods, I haven’t been around this my whole life, you know.”

He nodded, as if humouring her. “So what’s Astronomy done to offend you, then?”

“It’s pointless!” she half-yelled. “Everything else we learn here is teaching us all about either magic skills or the magical world, all things that are helpful for lots of careers and also just being a part of wizarding society. I do well at those classes because I’m motivated to study for them, because there’s a point to them. But there’s no point to this, and unlike you, I can’t do it all effortlessly, so now I’m stuck working on this stupidly hard assignment instead of sleeping because for some reason they’re making us do a subject that can only be done at midnight even though there’s no point to it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, leaning back. “You’re really passionate about this, huh? You don’t have any subjects in the muggle world that don’t serve much of a purpose?”

She shook her head. “I mean, in most subjects you’ll never use the content again after school, but they actually teach you important skills, like critical thinking. This is nothing but looking at the sky and memorising the names of a bunch of identical white dots. Why are we learning it?”

“Pure-blood nonsense,” he shrugged. “Traditionally, wizards have always put a lot of stock in the stars, have prided themselves on the fact that they know more about astronomy than muggles-”

“Is that even true?” Lily interrupted. “Muggles have been to the moon.”

“Who knows?” he said. “The point is, this is the kind of pretentious, esoteric knowledge that pure-bloods want their kids to have. Especially the Black family. Most of them are named after things in space. My name is -”

“The brightest star in the sky,” she finished wryly. “A fact that you’re always very fond of reminding everyone.”

He grinned. “I am very bright. But if you look out there,” he said, gesturing out the window towards the sky, “you can see my dear old dad, and my uncle Alphard, and cousin Bella. Andy’s got a whole galaxy to herself. And there, right at the heart of the lion, is my brother.”

“Regulus?” Lily asked. Sirius didn’t talk about his brother much; if she hadn’t heard his name called at the sorting ceremony at the beginning of the year, she probably wouldn’t even know that.

Sirius nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it, that he was named after a lion but I’m the one in Gryffindor.” He visibly hesitated, then spoke again. “Before I started Hogwarts, we were really close. But then we were separated for a year - because I left him all alone - and even now we’re in the same building, he barely looks at me. Sometimes I come up here just to feel like I’m with him because …”

“Because it hurts,” Lily said softly. “I get it.”

“I know,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m telling you.”

There was a pause again, and then he sat up, clearing his throat as if to shift the emotion out of the air. “Anyway, where were we? Yes - the Black family’s penchant for useless knowledge about the stars. It’s a huge part of our private tutelage, you know, memorising this stuff. I knew this entire star chart like the back of my hand by the time I was seven.”

Lily looked at him in shock. “Wait, is that why you’re so good at this stuff? Because you’ve been learning it your whole life instead of stuff like English and Maths?”

Sirius frowned, bemused. “Muggles spend that long learning that stuff? What is there to know besides reading, writing, and handling money?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “God, I would destroy all of you smug pure-bloods in a maths test or a spelling bee.”

“What’s a spelling … never mind. Smug? Is that really all you think of me? I’m wounded, Red, wounded.”

“Not you specifically. Just … pure-bloods. It all seems to come so naturally to so many people, and there’s already lots who don’t think I belong in this world, and here I am having to work twice as hard to maintain the perfect grades so …”

“So you feel you don’t deserve to be here,” he finished. She nodded, ducking her head away from him out of embarrassment. “You know that’s rubbish, Red; you’re a brilliant witch. We’re only in second-year, and Slughorn probably already wants to set you up to be a famous potioneer just so he can claim to know you. All those Slytherins just have stupid, old-fashioned prejudices. You don’t need to prove yourself to them.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That was … uncharacteristically nice of you.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a very nice person, Red,” he said as he took the star chart from her. “Now, let’s get this finished so we can both go to bed, and in return, tomorrow you can use your potions genius to help me with that annoying essay Slughorn wants done by Monday.”

They stayed up there for another half-hour, bickering light-heartedly and looking at the stars as they filled up her parchment, and as they walked back to the Common Room, Lily was pleasantly surprised to find that she’d made a friend out of Sirius Black.

[respectthepetty]

Interesting to have you thoughts on WHY we love the pain and angst in the Unknown series? and we are not getting the ick instead?

I’m trying to explain it to people without just saying “because they do it so well” you know?

Anon, I can't tell you why YOU like Unknown or why anyone else likes it, but I can tell you why I like it since therapy has shown me the beauty of introspection.

I'm a kinky queer who trusts Taiwan.

And just like kink, this show isn't ONLY about the pain and the angst.

Note that I'm not writing about this in a sexual way nor am I writing that this show is kinky. No. I'm writing that I like it because it resonates with me, a queer kinkster.

And by "ick," I think you mean the brothers-not-brothers plot since that ties into the pain and angst aspect.

Not to get too psychological or philosophical, but the pain of the show gives me pleasure. Especially because I know the pain won't last. There is an end point; therefore, there is a release. And once the show is over, I won't be left with this horrible scar of unhappiness but I might be left with some bruises that remind me the pain was worth it for the happy ending.

Also, much like being queer and kinky, this plot is a taboo subject.

And I like that!

The show is treating the subject with respect. The show has established that Yuan and Qian ARE brothers. They call each other "brother," they have their little sister, and the world sees them as brothers.

Yet they aren't blood-related, which is a point that San Pang mentioned when he told Lili not to get too close to Yuan, and people were upset that he said it, but it is the same argument people use to excuse Yuan's feelings for his brother.

And just like kink, the show makes me think about that grey area of life between consenting adults because nothing is ever black and white. Yuan asked San Pang what was wrong with him loving Qian, and we will see the fallout from San Pang dating Lili when he has openly considered Qian family. People have questioned what is different between the two relationships, and the show will question it as well.

This show is asking the audience to reflect, so I feel safe with this show punishing me with so much pain which is a big aspect of kink. I wouldn't tolerate pain from a show I don't feel safe with (Game of Thrones, I'm looking at your ass!). I trust the show to deal with this taboo subject with respect because Taiwanese BLs have consistently dealt with this subject with respect. As much as people hated HIStory 4: Close to You, it didn't shy away from the brothers plot or the sexual assault. Both were treated seriously within the show.

And it did the same with Kiseki: Dear to Me.

And the other Taiwanese BLs it's been used in.

So I've never had the ick factor that others have regarding this particular subject or been bothered by the level of pain it brings, but perhaps Addicted toughened me up because the way China dishes out sad "bromances" due to censorship, I suspect there is a connection there between the "brothers" to lovers plot that transfers into Taiwanese dramas.

Because if you have to hide love behind a wall of being "bros," it makes sense that it would 1) be painful, and 2) be queer-coded since a happy ending wouldn't be realistic.

And yet Taiwan continues to deliver a happy ending with this type of plot.

So yeah, I like the pleasure that will come with all this pain. I like that it leans into historical and cultural queer coding while being explicitly queer. And I like that it's Taiwanese handling it.

That's why I like it.

But, once again, I have no idea why others do.

[katzkinder]

Kitty mentioned that Hokaze’s name was not only strange for a woman, but also that it was hard to find a connection with her name and the theme the rest of the Alicein have. Now I’m no expert at Japanese names (much less Japanese itself) but I had fun digging to see what I could find, and I found quite a lot! So let’s get to it :D

Interpreted to the best of my ability, Misono’s mom has a name which roughly means “one who is quick to overcome ups and downs”

Which is why she was drawn holding Jane Eyre when she and Lily met

She’s an inversion of Jane’s story, just like the Alicein brothers are an inversion of Cain and Abel

For anyone who’s never read Jane Eyre, a quick and dirty plot summary of the relevant parts is that Jane, an orphan girl, eventually ends up in the employ of a rich man who she falls in love with, however he is married and because of that, she refuses to continue their relationship. The man of the house reveals that the reason he didn’t tell her this is because his wife was insane, and she screams and barks and growls and runs around like an animal. Eventually the woman in her insanity burns down the manor, but her husband escapes and, now a widow, it would no longer weigh on Jane’s conscience to marry him. The books ends with Jane writing about how they’re expecting their first child together. The book’s themes of morality and class differences are echoed, to the result of tragedy, in the story of the Alicein

Hokaze doesn’t manage to overcome her status of being born a penniless orphan by marrying a rich man and joining the upper classes. Instead she is murdered by his wife who has been driven mad with jealousy. Her story is one of an idealistic dream, executed in a self serving manner, confronted with reality that cost her her life

Also, the 歩 part of hokaze’s name can also be read as “fu,” a pawn in shogi :))

Mikado is the emperor, kiriko is the princess, and Mikuni the kingdom they made together

Hokaze wanted to be queen but was merely a pawn, and ultimately playing a very different “game” than the royalty around her

It’s also notable that the one who put her down that path is Lily, who shares a name with the white pawn Alice takes the place of during the chess game in Through The Looking Glass.

Her scheme also gives the name she gave Misono a very different light.

She gave him a character from Mikado’s name, “proof” of his infidelity, and the one for garden, because he is the “fruit” of her labors, the beautiful rose of the future queen of Wonderland

The extreme irony here is that Mikuni is much more like Hokaze in his actions, while Misono closely resembles Kiriko’s loyalty and ability to forgive others (at the cost of himself)

Also, Mikuni is going to hate this, but

His desire to protect misono from the harsh truths of the world, even going so far as to burn down part of his own home, is… Very, very Mikado. It’s fine if he cheats, manipulates, and even hurts Misono, so long as the result is Misono continues to be able to live with such a simple and idealistic view of love and life

They look like their mothers, inherited behavior patterns from each other’s, and also share quite a lot with their father

It’s a very beautiful way of weaving them together as a family, and also Strike’s use of word play to set Hokaze apart from the Alicein cast while also giving her name something to tie her to the theme is extremely clever. Boy is it mean though xD

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you guys think :)

[quibbs126]

So instead of more stylized Cookies, I drew that cacaolily redo yesterday (I just forgot about posting)

Anyways, so this is Night Rider. She’s replacing my old cacaolily kid, Snowdrop, because I thought I could do better (and frankly, Snowdrop didn’t have a personality outside of being a White Lily clone). So Snowdrop doesn’t exist anymore, and Night Rider replaces her

In any case, let’s get on to Night Rider herself

So basically, Night Rider here goes around Earthbread, seeking out and learning secret, ancient or forbidden knowledge/magic. She ultimately has good intentions in her research, she probably started by trying to look for a way to ultimately stop the Licorice Sea, or maybe to revive Pure Vanilla, but she can get carried away with her research and not think about the consequences of it (which I sort of tried to imply with the sketch, she’s trying to bring the Soul Jam to its fullest potential, but in the process awakening the Beasts). She’s been doing this for several decades and she really only visits her home sparingly; she’s gained a really poor sense of time and always thinks it’s been less time than it actually has

Outside of that, she’s a very cranky and antisocial person. Her decades of mostly isolated research have led her to view other Cookies as either not being able to appreciate the knowledge she yearns for, or that they ask dumb questions about her research. She respects and tolerates her father and the other Ancients (her mother disappeared when she was young, so she doesn’t really have a connection to her or opinions about her), even if she thinks they can fall into those categories. She can actually like people, and she can act like a decent person around them (or if she has to), but it’s pretty rare. She probably wasn’t always like this, it’s just something she built up over the years

Her research means she’s probably way ahead of all the other characters on the plot, like she’s known about the Beasts and faeries for years, but due to her general isolation and always looking for new knowledge, she’s woefully unknowing (that’s not the right word) of what’s going on in Earthbread right now. Like she doesn’t know Pure Vanilla’s back, her mother’s connection to Dark Enchantress, or even that her brother was banished in the first place

She likes her father well enough, she was mostly raised by him and she respects him, even if they value different things. She doesn’t see him as much due to her research, but she doesn’t see it as meaning she has any less connection to him. As said prior, since White Lily disappeared when she would have been young, she doesn’t really know her mother and isn’t sure what to think of her (though if she’s been to Faeriewood, she would have chosen to avoid White Lily’s coffin). Due to her nature of spending so much time away from home, she and Dark Choco barely know each other, but she thinks he’s fine enough. She thinks he’s just following in their father’s footsteps and being a good swordsman and prince back home, nothing out of the ordinary to note. She probably would have a reaction to knowing this isn’t the case

I’m also thinking she uses some sort of shadow magic, in part because of her research (and also because of her name)

I do kind of want to draw a younger version of Night Rider as well, before she started on her endless search for knowledge, since back then she was probably more normal

Can you tell I’ve thought way too much about her? Because I have

Anyways, let’s get on to other stuff

The name Night Rider comes from the night rider lily, since it’s a black flower

Night rider:

So if you can tell, she doesn’t look too much like her concept sketch. That’s because originally when I was making that, she was supposed to be a guy who was a knight that lived out in nature, or something like that. The original Night Rider concept was completely different. But then when I was listening to Unleash the Magic yesterday, it got me inspired to make this new version of Night Rider. If I ever bring that concept back, it’d probably be like her twin brother or something

Anyways, so I made her hair have gradients instead of streaks because I thought it worked better with her colors of red and black. Also Dark Choco sort of has that. Speaking of the red, it’s supposed to be because of the flower, even if the red doesn’t necessarily fit in with the rest of the family’s color scheme

Speaking of colors, my roommate told me she might have too many colors, which is honestly fair. She’s got black, red, purple and green in her design. It was originally going to be black red and purple, but then I wanted a pop of another color for her bag, so I added in the green. Maybe I’ll go back and tweak her colors more. If this becomes no longer applicable to her design, know that I changed it

I realize that her outfit may look a bit odd, as like some sort of bodysuit or whatever, but it was kind of just what came to my head. Maybe it’s some sort of special suit she got during her travels

Her design is probably simplistic, but it’s not necessarily bad. But I may want to tweak it a bit later on, we’ll see

But yeah, that’s Night Rider, hope you like her

[ghostgirl-22]

That’s the Kinda Love

This is SFW. Happy Thanksgiving for those who celebrate! Happy Thursday for everyone else <3

Pair: team throuple! But probably more heavy on Artashi.

POV: Tashi

Summary: ATP bring Lily to see them blow up the floats the night before the Macys Thanksgiving parade. Magic ensues.

—-

It’s not something Tashi’s ever gotten to do before. Growing up in the Bay Area it was remarkable to even see a flurry let alone all of this snow fall. The ground is powder white but thankfully they’re not predicting enough snow to cancel the parade. She’s watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade on tv with her grandmother every year since she was a little girl. And now she’s standing here the night before watching as they blow up the floats. It’s all so surreal.

“US Open winners stand up there. So that will be Art and Mikayla. And of course the families.” Their float coordinator, Lisa, is explaining to them.

“I’m family? Didja hear that?” Patrick says in her ear, grinning.

“You’re definitely something,” Art murmurs, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away from her. Probably because they’re in public.

”And you love it,” Patrick says, getting in Art’s personal space instead.

Art rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of Patrick’s arm right away.

All this sexual tension between the three of them that rarely if ever breaks is part of the reason they’re just playing into the throuple rumor. Since deny, deny, deny and lie, lie, lie wasn’t working. They were photographed a little too often in public all together and in different permutations. Sometimes more touchy than what could fairly be denied (though they tried).

She doesn’t know about the boys (or rather she doesn’t know about Art, she knows Patrick doesn’t really give a fuck) but she’s trying to control herself. She does lose herself sometimes but usually it’s mostly Patrick’s fault. And it’s such a scam that everyone has a camera. There are times when she could swear they were being discreet that ended up discussed for days on the internet. The attention is all over them and it’s just growing since Arts career making win against Yelnev at the US Open.

“Where’s my daughter?” Tashi asks. Last time she’d seen Lily she was on Patrick’s shoulders and he was showing her the baby from Family Guy.

Art gestures and Tashi follows his elbow.

Lily is pulling Tashi’s mom over to the Hello Kitty balloon. Tashi relaxes, smiling. “So where is Mikayla and her husband?” Tashi asks Lisa. Lisa is watching the three of them interact curiously. It’s clear she wants to ask but she’s too much of a professional and Tashi respects that.

“Well she uh— she knows the ropes. She did this 4 years ago. After Anna got hurt in the final and she won. I didn’t want to bring it up. What with Anna being a close friend and all.” Lisa explains.

Patrick snorts, “Anna Mueller? Isn’t she—“

”Positively lovely? Yes, Patrick,” Tashi says, doing everything to maintain professional composure. She knows he’s just calling bullshit but it’s been a while since he’s been in the public eye and Tashi knows better than anyone how seemingly nothing rumors become fodder for the general public’s collective boredom. Take that nothing challenger in the middle of nowhere for example. She never in her life expected to end up at the center of a media conspiracy or to have her own portmanteau. Let alone 2 of them. She still thinks her name should be first in at least one of them. Maybe it doesn’t work for Patrick though she doesn’t all together hate her cousin's idea… Tashtrick… but Tart is totally doable and kind of cute. Though maybe not enough of her.

“Right we love Anna,” Patrick says, gazing at her. “Shame about her career.”He adds but it doesn’t sound sincere. She wants to say shut up but then she’d look mean… so she shuts up for now.

“Yeah,” Lisa continues, “she says she and Tashi have always been close. I was so inspired by you guys I read her book. I love that she took up the mantle when you got hurt Tashi and the part where she introduced you to your husband—“

”Okay lets come back to Mikayla,” Tashi says, before she blows it and ends up saying exactly what she stopped Patrick from saying.

“Well that book was greatly exaggerated,” Art says. “And if picked up the mantle means 2 slams followed by nearly 10 years as a wannabe Hollywood insider I’m not sure she had any interest in living up to Tashi’s potential at all.”

It’s so much more bitchy than what she or even Patrick might’ve been able to manage and yet said with Art’s matter of fact casual tone it doesn’t come across that way at all. Not to mention he’s actually the golden boy who can do no wrong. Sometimes she resents him for it but right now as Lisa giggles and nods along with an “It did seem to be laying it on thick.” Tashi can’t help but be impressed.

She glances at Patrick and he looks back at her, amused. Tashi slots her arm in with Arts where he has his hand in his coat pocket as Lisa is called away by one of the workers.

“What?” Art asks. “I know I shouldn’t have but how much more fucked could we get for publicity right now anyway? Besides you’ve never liked Anna.”

“That’s not true. I loved her on the court.” Tashi smirks, “But you know what love means.”

“It means maybe you shoulda fucked her. To break the tension,” Patrick says. “Right Art?”

“Your mind,” Tashi says, with dry amusement.

“I know right,” Patrick smirks. “One of a kind.”

“Someone should study it.” She says, looping her other arm with Patrick’s.

“In a lab,” Art adds.

“Uncle Patrick!” Lily is running towards him. She’s actually really bonded with him for some reason. Reasons that are probably related to the fact that he’s an overgrown child himself. “Come look! Come look! they're doing Spider man!,” she exclaims. Tashi fights the urge to tell her not to run. The snow is slippery but she genuinely loves that Lily loves this too.

“No fuckin way!” Patrick says, matching her excitement as he walks over to meet her. He realizes what he said when Tashi’s mom is glaring and Lily starts giggling.

“I meant freaking by the way,” he says as Lily grabs his hand. “Kathy don’t kill me.” He adds, talking to Tashis mom.

“I think Uncle Patrick should pay you a dollar whenever he says a bad word, Lily,” her mom says. “Just like daddy does.”

”Yeah!” Lily says giggling. Tashi laughs as she and her mom exchange meaningful looks. If that’s the case Tashi’s now the only one exempt from the swear jar.

“Oh come on, daddy really pays you every time? That’s extortion you know. Your college tuition must be set..,” Patrick says, he spares one more smirk at Tashi and Art before Lily pulls him to the other side of the barricades where their filling up the spider-man balloon. But not before Tashi hears her say loudly. “What’s estortion?”

“Are we doing the right thing?” Art asks. Tashi takes another glance at the coordinator. She’s directing her staff where to put the banner on the float. “We do this every year Jason!” She sounds exasperated, Tashi understands the frustration just a little bit.

She turns to Art. “To the victor goes the spoils. You finally have a career slam and I’ve been dreaming of being on that float since I was a little girl. We’re absolutely doing the right thing.”

“Oh,” Art says. He starts guiding them over to the Spider-Man float.

“Oh what?” Tashi demands.

“I was talking about doing the whole throuple thing but I didn’t know that about you,” he says and he smiles. “Your childhood dream?”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay well… it’s also practical. I mean if I’m really going to coach Patrick and you really want to retire. There’s brand deals and publicity and all kinds of reasons to… And as for the throuple the whole world already thinks we’re all fucking each other anyway.”

“We are,” he smirks.

“Well they don’t know that. Like Kelly and Lauryn said, what’s the harm in playing it up a bit?” Tashi says, hoping it’s not a mistake to trust their publicists this time.

”Yeah true,” Art nods. “But let’s go back to little girl Tashi wanting to be in the parade, I can’t think of anything more adorable,” He says refusing to let her get away with changing the subject.

“Yeah well… my grandma loved that stuff,” she says trying to minimize how much she also loved it too, she gently bumps into him as they approach Spider-Man but Lily, her mom and Patrick are already on their way to SpongeBob which has just been lifted out.

”What’s your favorite float?” Art asks.

She bites her lip glaring at him but he’s so earnest she shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “Snoopy.”

If it was Patrick he’d tease a little more but Art just secures her arm and guides her away.

“Art they went that way,” Tashi says.

“I know,” Art says.

“It’s not like I’m gonna break down and cry if I see his float being put together,” she says. “I’m an adult.”

“I know,” Art says again.

She laughs and then lets herself be led down the block. The sky is opening up again, little flurries falling all around. They’re actually heading away from the crowds towards the entrance. “Art we can’t leave without them.”

“Tashi, I know,” Art says.

“So where are we—“

”Oh my God! Hi Donaldsons! I love you guys!” Some guy calls from the other side of the street.

“Congrats on the Open Art!” Someone says.

“Thanks man,” Art says.

“Team throuple!” One of his friends shouts. And someone whoops.

Arts all flushed from the cold and if it wasn’t cold it’d be because of the attention but he’s smiling.

”My life makes no sense,” Tashi says as other people walking in double take to get a look at who they are under their winter coats and hats. She notices several phones being taken out. Some attempts to be sneaky, some blatant.

Art stops them in front of a street vendor and the woman sitting there all bundled up has all kinds of stuffed animals with the characters in the parade.

“Hi,” Art says.

”Hello!” The woman exclaims. She’s older with a thick accent and Tashi is almost certain she has no idea who they are. Which… thank God for small mercies.

“Can I have that one?” Art asks. He points to a little snoopy plush holding, of all things, a tennis racket. Tashi can’t help but smile a bit.

“Oh yes sir, that’s 18.”

“You know that’s overpriced,” she says in his ear, “And I’ve outgrown stuffed animals.”

He grins at her and pulls out his wallet. “I want the little one too for our daughter.”

Tashi swallows a lump as the owner takes out a little Woodstock with a sweatband on his head. Okay it’s really cute.

Art pays entirely too much money for the little plushies but Tashi kind of adores him. Even if she’s not gonna gush all over him.

Lily isn’t anywhere near as restrained, she gets really excited for the gift and gives them hugs and kisses. She clings to the little snoopy while Tashi holds her and points out the big one as they blow it up.

“And mommy used to watch it as a little girl,” Tashi explains. “He’s my favorite.”

“He’s gonna be my puppy,” Lily hugs the plush.

Tashi kisses her cheek. Watching her as she stares with wide eyes, snow flurries landing in her hair, all the magic of it making her feel like a kid again too. It makes her heart ache in ways that it doesn’t all the time. Something Tashi realizes now was probably what Art actually wanted when he decided to share the plushies of her favorite characters with Lily.

“Lils look at his tail,” Patrick points out as the balloon fills out and Lily squeals excitedly.

“Wait, is he better than Spider-Man?” Tashi asks.

“No mommy,” Lily says and Tashi smiles. “But he can be Spider Gwens puppy.”

“Oh okay good,” Tashi laughs. “You’re still my baby girl.”

”’m a big girl mama,” Lily says.

“I know,” Tashi says, and when Art catches her eye and smiles she can’t help but fall in love with him all over again. She’s not gonna gush but something tells her he already knows.

—-

The next day on the float Mikayla and her husband have her husbands niece with them. She’s older than Lily and much more cynical but even she’s waving excitedly at the onlookers. Tashi is excited for where Mikayla’s career is going. She’s a phenomenol tennis player and her husband is a sweetheart. It feels so much more bearable than if she’d had to share a float with Anna Mueller when she won 7 years ago.

More snow flurries are falling and like magic it doesn’t even feel cold. Patrick is sitting next to Tashi chatting with Mikayla’s husband on the other side of him. They both look around occasionally remembering to wave.

Art is in back with Mikayla, her niece, and Lily. Lily clings to Snoopy the whole time they’re on the float while her dad is holding her, she copies him as he waves to the crowd. They’re getting a bit more attention than normal for a tennis float but of course it’s all planned that way because of the so-called throuple publicity Patrick brings.

Tashi knows its dorky and if Patrick knew she had it he hasn’t said anything yet but she keeps plushy Woodstock in her coat pocket the whole time too. She rests her arm on Patrick’s shoulder and he smirks at her. “They’re going to take another picture, Patashi rumors will be all over twitter,” Patrick points out.

“I don’t go on Twitter,” Tashi shrugs. What she doesn’t say is that she kinda wants them to take her picture. Not for any rumors but just because she feels really happy.

Even if all her dreams didn’t go the way she planned and it still stings like the therapist said it likely always would. But every once in a while this mess that she calls life actually feels just… perfect.

A/N:Pretty much wrote this for me lol. Forgive me it’s been a really difficult November. For the some obvious reasons (I’m an American minority) and some not so obvious. Hope it was fun if you like this kinda thing. Even if a bit random lol.

[zoropookie]

Imagine Venti dipping to another universe to do his silly little job and comes back to see how ScaraYn is doing on HHAB, gets jumpscared instead by their wedding scene or smt-/j

/srs 👉😎👉

You sat there, staring intently at the vanity mirror before you. Both in shock and half horror that you were actually getting married to the same person that you swore to destroy at the beginning of your career.

The reflection staring back at you was unrecognizable to you, but so familiar— your eyes squinting in disbelief, and your lips parted as if trying to gauge how realistic this was for you right now.

“Oh! You look pretty~” A soft female voice sang from the doorway as they came in. You had a feeling it was Ayaka from how unimposing she was, but your head was too scrambled to navigate that.

The room around you was a soft blur of white and pastel, a pointed scent of roses and lilies lingering in the room that started smelling staler and staler. The sunlight streaming through the huge windows casts a warm glow on the objects it touched, including your pristine wedding outfit.

It was all perfect, and yet even with the idyllic setting, you shook your head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Ayaka stopped tweaking your outfit to look at you, also frozen in place. “What?”

“I don’t know, I— I can’t.”

Ayaka gasped promptly, her eyes widenening as she left go of the fabric, leaning towards you to whisper to you just in case the walls were thin. “Really? Cold feet right now?!”

“Well, not exactly, but oh my fucking god. Every time stuff like this happens, I get major heart palpitations. I mean, who even agreed to it being this fast anyway? Why did it happen so quickly?” You rambled. “It had to be today?!”

“You set everything up! He let you do all of the scheduling because he knew that you’d get scared easily if it were any earlier!” Ayaka’s voice was hushed, in the same amount of panic as you. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”

As you were about to answer, the door busted open with a very violent force, Hu Tao who was adorned in the same violet dress that Ayaka was fitted in (it looked horrible on Hu Tao), stopped herself from skidding against the marble floor with her heel.

She came in with explosive pants and breath she didn’t even know if she was able to catch. You and Ayaka both looked at each other in confusion before turning your attentions back to her.

“Guys. Keep it cool when I say this, too.” Hu Tao took a final breath before panic struck again. “Venti’s here.”

“VENTI?!” You screamed. “He’s missing!”

“Yeah, no fucking idea. I was going to steal a cupcake from the snack bar because Lumine said she made too many and I see motherfucking VENTI just asleep…chilling behind the table. He’s out, like,” Hu Tao put her hands together and made a sleeping gesture. “When I poked him, he literally opened his eyes and said hey, and went back to sleep.”

Your jaw dropped. “What, he just goes missing for six years and then decides to just show up picking his ass? How did he even find out?”

“No way this is happening…okay, let’s just— (Y/N), you cannot go out there.” Ayaka stopped you from moving forward. “What if Kuni’s out there too?”

“Oh, shocker. He hasn’t seen me wear lingerie either, you think I’m scared? I’m sure there’s more surprises coming.” You said, and with that, you lurched out the door in search for the offending man.