#but when I started to look into some more of the
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nezuscribe · 2 days ago
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there’s been a couple nights where you and arranged!gojo have had to host little dinners at the estate to show face and let people know you two are still alive.
it’s before the big confession, when the two of you were becoming closer, so it was just pretend niceness hiding the tension for a couple hours.
you tried to talk to the people around the large dining room table, sitting near gojo as you listened in on the conversation, but it was better to just be a part of it rather than the center of the spotlight. gojo had become increasingly aware of the long looks people gave your way, the hushed talks behind the women’s hands. you didn’t notice, maybe you’d been jaded to it, but he did, and he was becoming more tense under their stares.
he noticed how you’d try to jump in and say something, but was instantly cut off by somebody else. gojo had told you before the dinner started that the two of you should hold hands, but you hadn’t let go of his, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of you either. he’d give you an encouraging squeeze, one which you gave him a little smile to, but still clammed up, sitting back in your seat.
"want me to tell them to shut up?" he whispered to you, dropping his head near your ear so that nobody else could hear.
"no it's okay," you say with a laugh, waving it off, "i was just going to ask what cashmere is," you say, in relation to a previous story one of the girls was telling about cashmere moth, and how her entire closet was chewed to bits because of the creatures.
"it's a type of fabric," he explains gently, his eyes searching yours, "very soft," he adds with a little smile and yours grows wider.
"i'd like to see it," you comment, leaning a little bit closer to him.
"i'll have your closets full of cashemere by the morning if you'd like," he says, but you know deep down it could be a promise if you simply said yes.
but you giggle, shaking your head.
"no," you're looking up at him in that way that makes his tongue feel heavy, "the moths, they must be huge," you murmur and he snorts, squeezing your hand a little bit tighter in retaliation.
to be honest, gojo hated these dinners. these people he grew up with were dull and annoying, their conversations full of lame gossip and cheap jokes, and he’d much prefer your lively stories with just you, but they were a necessary evil.
when the servants had cleared the meal away and had begun setting up for dessert, he could feel the stare of one of the girls, anya, and the way her eyes squinted when he caught her looking. he saw the way she sneakily tipped her head back, chin pointing to the opening near some of the stone columns, and excused herself a couple seconds later, looking over her shoulder at him before she disappeared.
gojo knew anya. he’d fooled around with her a couple of times long before the two of you got married, but he found her a bit shallow and dim, nothing he found interesting. he looked over at you to see if you had seen her, but you were looking at your plate, moving some grains of uneaten rice around with your fork.
curiosity got the better of him, wondering what it was she wanted, and so he stood up, his chair scraping behind him as you let go of his hand, you, along with everybody else, looking at him as he excused himself to the washroom.
he walked briskly past the table, leaving through one of the openings of the stone columns, looking around until he say anya at the end of the hall, waiting for him.
“what?” he bit out, hushed, looking behind him to make sure that nobody had followed him out.
anya smiled, her teeth glimmering as he neared her, standing a safe distance away as she pouted slightly.
gojo winced. he forgot how her smile up close was unnerving, the way it wasn’t as soft or full of emotion like yours. her eyes, a deep hazel, glimmered as she took a step closer, her fingers reaching for his collar.
“i missed you,” she whispered, lips glossy as she peered up at him, her lashes batting against her cheeks as he felt his mother dry up, feeling a sudden air of nausea overtake him as he swatted her hand away.
he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“is that all you wanted to tell me?” he hissed out, knowing how stupid he sounded seeing how he had followed her out, surely expecting this.
“what?” anya tilts her head, “thought you’d like to hear it.”
gojo rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.
“i thought you had something important to say,” he shrugs, looking away, focusing on a crack, getting ready to leave until she laughs, shaking her head.
nobody said he was the brightest soldier in all the land. he’s not above some actually good gossip, but he had a feeling this ain’t about to be that.
“you’ve always loved gossip,” her eyes glimmer as she takes another tentative step closer, “is that why you married the center of it?”
his eyes narrow slightly, but she just sees him listening to her.
“come on,” anya snorts, her hand coming up to his face until she stops at his cold gaze, pulling her hand away, “we all know it’s not rank or looks that made you marry her.”
gojo feels his arms tighten, a vein bulging in his neck as he swallows thickly. he doesn’t say anything, wants to see how she continues, wants to see what everybody else thinks without saying it.
"i mean, your mother keeps saying it was reciprocal," she rolls her eyes, laughing mirthlessly, "but i know that's a lie. you look miserable whenever you're around her."
gojo feels his eyes twitch, his ring shining in the slivers of moonlight through the large, overarching windows.
"did you call me here to talk ill of my wife?" gojo bites out, but she can't sense his tone, giggling as she shoves him, his body not moving.
"drop the theatrics 'toru," he feels bile in his mouth at her sweetened words, "it's just me," she says, biting her lips as indiscreetly as she can, eyes raking over his toned body as she looks back up to his face, "but regardless, no, i had something else i wanted to tell you."
she sighs, her voice a little higher as if he wouldn't notice.
"i'm staying at the hostelry in the town near here for a couple of nights," she bats her eyes again, and suddenly gojo wonders if he had been insanely ill when he had slept with her those months ago because now he feels sick just looking at her, "if you wanted...i'm there for you."
he raises his white brow slightly.
"gods anya," he breaths deeply through his nose, his eyes darkened, "you have audacity if nothing else."
she smiles brightly, taking it as a compliment.
"i know," she winks, "i looked around the area, and nobody of import comes near there. i know you need it as bad as i do," her voice drops a little, eyes falling slightly to the ground, "people are talking. i know how lonely you must feel."
his nose wrinkles slightly in confusion.
"what are you talking about?"
anya looks at him briefly before looking away, shrugging.
"everybody knows you two don't share a room," she explains, "and how she's not even showing signs of pregnancy. is she frigid in bed? you know, some people are saying she's infertile."
gojo straightens up, a new look taking over his face that makes her voice die down.
"what? who's saying that? who's talking?" he presses, and she feels her mouth dry up, suddenly picking up on the fact that he doesn't seem to be at all interested in the deal she's trying to make.
he feels a sudden wave of mixed emotions washing over him.
are the maids taking? gods, that makes him feel even worse. it surely couldn't be yours, they care for you too much. but it must've been somebody who knows your situation, somebody who sees the way you live on different sides of the estate. gojo feels a sinking pit in his stomach. these rumors that are growing because of his own selfish actions, rumors at your own expense, ones you have no control over, by people you've been trying to befriend for ages.
he knows people look at you whenever you enter a room, hears their awfully concealed whispers. and despite the fact that you try to hide the hurt on your face, he sees the way you avade their glances, hide into yourself to act like it doesn't bother you.
are these whispers now because of him?
"i don't know," she mutters, annoyed, "everyone. you barely look at her. did your parents pay you to marry her? she must've been-"
"stop it." gojo warns, and she shuts her mouth, eyes shimmering with shock.
she looks like she's about to say something but stops, looking over his looming body at something.
"gojo? is that you?" another voice calls out, and he turns around, all the anger melting off of his face when he sees it's you, standing near the pillars as you try to find him.
you smile when you see him, still not seeing anya who's hidden behind him, and wave for him to come back.
"they're about to serve dessert," you say, trying to be as quiet as you can, "oh, are you with someone? sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt..." you trail off, your smile falling when anya shuffles around, making sure you see her behind him, your eyes widening.
gojo feels his world slipping beneath him as your shoulder drops, looking at him and then at anya, a somber look taking over your features. you look for another second, not knowing what to do. gojo feels like a fish, gaping silently at you, never looking back at anya, but you excuse yourself, going back to the dining hall without saying another word.
gojo stares aimlessly at the wall in front of him, not sparing his energy to look at the girl peering up at his face.
"get out," he murmurs, his voice low with timber.
"w-what?" she stammers, brows furrowing in confusion.
"get out before i call the guards," he snaps, looking at her from the side of his eyes, "fucking now anya, leave."
she looks up at him, swallowing thickly, but gets the memo that he's being serious. she scammers away, sniffling dramatically as she disappears through another hallway.
he drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples.
his eyes fall to his ring, the one that seems to be growing cold on his finger.
he feels his heart burn in his chest, every step feeling like he had stones tied to his feet as he makes his way back to the hall, hearing the edited clammer of the people welcoming him back, but there was only one person he cared about.
and you weren't looking at him.
in fact, you didn't speak to him that entire night. nor that following week.
gojo has almost bled to death before and has had arrows pierce his back and excite through his chest, but he'd rather experience that ten times again than feel the agonizing silence of the woman he's starting to love.
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pucksandpower · 3 days ago
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Be My Sanctuary
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: Charles never expected to play Prince Charming to a stranger after a race, but when he comes across you being beaten by your boyfriend, he can’t just stand around and do nothing … it turns out to be exactly what you both needed
Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, and serious injury
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The sun dips low on the horizon as Charles Leclerc and Fred Vasseur make their way back to the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with post-race energy, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
“That was some driving out there,” Fred says, clapping the Monégasque on the back. “P2 is nothing to sneeze at.”
Charles grins, his eyes bright despite the fatigue etched on his face. “Merci beaucoup. It felt good to be back on the podium. I think we’re really starting to find our rhythm with the car.”
“Agreed. If we can keep this momentum going-”
A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a cry of pain that makes both men freeze in their tracks.
Charles’ head whips around. “Did you hear that?”
Fred nods, his expression grim. “It came from over there.” He points towards a secluded area behind one of the hospitality units.
Without hesitation, they break into a run, rounding the corner just in time to see a man’s hand connect with a woman’s face. The sound of the impact turns Charles’ stomach.
“You stupid bitch!” The man screams, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea how much money I lost because of you? I told you not to come to the race! You’re bad luck!”
You stumble backward, your hand pressed to your cheek. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Shut up!” The man lunges forward, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you violently. “You cost me everything!”
Charles feels a surge of anger course through him. Without thinking, he sprints towards the pair, Fred close on his heels.
“Hey!” Charles shouts. “Let her go!”
The man’s head snaps up, his eyes wild. For a split second, he looks startled, but then his face twists into a snarl. Before Charles can reach them, the man slams your head against the brick wall with a sickening thud.
You crumple to the ground, unmoving.
Charles tackles the man, driving him away from the fallen woman. They hit the ground hard, and Charles feels the air rush out of his lungs. But adrenaline keeps him moving, and he manages to pin the larger man down.
“Fred!” He calls out. “Check on her!”
As Charles struggles to keep the man subdued, he hears Fred’s sharp intake of breath.
“Charles, she’s not responding. There’s ... there’s a lot of blood.”
The words send a chill down Charles’ spine. He glances over his shoulder and sees you lying motionless on the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath your head.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Charles shouts, hoping someone nearby will hear. He turns back to the man beneath him, who’s still thrashing and cursing. “Stop moving!” Charles hisses, pressing his forearm against the man’s chest.
“Get off me!” The man spits. “This is none of your business!”
Charles feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him. “None of my business? You just assaulted someone!”
Fred’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’ve called for help. They’re on their way.” He’s kneeling beside you now, his jacket pressed against your head. “But it doesn’t look good. She needs immediate medical attention.”
The sound of running footsteps approaches, and suddenly there are more people around them. Charles recognizes some of the faces — other drivers, team personnel. Someone pulls him off the attacker, who’s quickly restrained by security.
Charles stumbles to his feet, his heart pounding. He makes his way over to where you lie, dropping to his knees beside Fred.
“Is she ...” He can’t bring himself to finish the question.
Fred shakes his head. “She’s alive, but barely. We need to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive.”
Charles nods, placing his hands over Fred’s on the makeshift compress. He looks down at your face, so pale and still. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Just hold on.”
The wait for the ambulance feels interminable. Charles keeps his eyes fixed on your chest, watching for the slight rise and fall that tells him you’re still breathing. He’s vaguely aware of the commotion around them — people asking questions, security trying to keep everyone back.
“What happened?” It’s Lewis’ voice, tinged with concern.
Fred answers, his voice low and tight. “Domestic violence. The boyfriend ...” He trails off, but the implication is clear.
“Jesus,” Lewis mutters. “Is there anything we can do?”
Charles looks up, meeting Lewis’ worried gaze. “Just ... pray, I guess.”
The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder by the second. Charles feels a small measure of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by fear as he looks back down at you.
“Stay with us,” he murmurs. “Help is coming. Just stay with us.”
The paramedics arrive in a flurry of activity, gently but firmly moving Charles and Fred aside. Charles watches, feeling helpless, as they work on you with practiced efficiency.
“Severe head trauma,” one of them says. “We need to move her now.”
As they lift you onto a stretcher, Charles catches a glimpse of your face. There’s a bruise blooming on your cheek, stark against your pale skin. Something twists in his chest, a mixture of anger and an emotion he can’t quite name.
“I’m going with her,” he says suddenly, surprising himself.
Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles, I don’t think-”
“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Charles insists. He looks at Fred, pleading. “Someone needs to be there for her.”
After a moment, Fred nods. “Alright. I’ll handle things here and meet you at the hospital.”
Charles climbs into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving your still form. As the doors close and the vehicle lurches into motion, he reaches out and gently takes your hand.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says softly, “but you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”
As the ambulance speeds through the streets, sirens wailing, Charles finds himself holding onto your hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.
The paramedic working on you glances at Charles. “You know her?”
Charles shakes his head. “No, I ... we just found her. Her boyfriend was ...” He swallows hard. “We stopped him, but not soon enough.”
The paramedic’s face softens with understanding. “You did the right thing. You probably saved her life by intervening when you did.”
Charles nods, but the words bring little comfort. He can’t shake the image of your head hitting the wall, the sound it made. He squeezes your hand gently.
“Fight,” he whispers. “Please fight.”
The rest of the ride passes in a blur of medical jargon and the steady beep of monitors. When they finally arrive at the hospital, Charles is ushered into a waiting room while you’re rushed into emergency surgery.
He paces the small room, unable to sit still. His mind races with questions. Who are you? Why would someone do this to you? Will you be okay?
Time seems to stretch endlessly. Charles checks his phone, sees messages from Fred and other concerned friends, but he can’t bring himself to respond yet. Not until he knows something.
Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor approaches him. Charles stands, his heart in his throat.
“Are you here for the young woman brought in with head trauma?” The doctor asks.
Charles nods. “Yes. Is she ...”
“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “We’ve managed to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the next 24 hours will be critical. Are you family?”
Charles hesitates. “No, I ... I was there when it happened. I rode here with her in the ambulance.”
The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “I see. Well, I can tell you that she’s stable for now, but still unconscious. We’ll be monitoring her closely.”
“Can I see her?” The words are out of Charles’ mouth before he can think better of it.
The doctor considers for a moment. “Normally we only allow family, but ... given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception. Just for a few minutes.”
Charles follows the doctor down a series of hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach your room, he pauses at the doorway, suddenly unsure.
“Go on,” the doctor says gently. “Talk to her. Sometimes patients can hear even when they’re unconscious.”
Taking a deep breath, Charles steps into the room. The sight of you lying there, surrounded by machines, makes his chest tighten. He moves to your bedside, carefully taking your hand once more.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s Charles. The guy from before. I don’t know if you remember, but ... I’m here. You’re safe now.”
He stands there for a long moment, just holding your hand and watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel so connected to someone he’s never even spoken to.
“I don’t know your story,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know that you didn’t deserve this. No one does. And when you wake up — because you will wake up — you won’t be alone. I promise.”
A nurse appears in the doorway, signaling that his time is up. Charles gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go.
As he leaves the room, he turns back for one last look. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Stay strong.”
Walking back to the waiting room, Charles feels a mix of emotions he can’t quite sort out. But one thing is clear — something has changed. And whatever happens next, he knows he’ll be there to see it through.
***
Days blend into one another as Charles maintains his vigil at your bedside. The rest of the Formula 1 circus has long since departed, but Charles can’t bring himself to leave. He’s made arrangements with the team, grateful for their understanding, and settled into a routine of sorts.
Each morning, he arrives at the hospital with fresh flowers and a determination that today might be the day you wake up. He talks to you, reads to you, and sometimes just sits in companionable silence, the steady beep of monitors a constant backdrop.
On the fifth day, as Charles is midway through reading an article about the benefits of having a dachshund, he notices a slight change. Your fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly. He leans forward, heart racing.
“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand. “Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand.”
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, so faintly he almost misses it, he feels a gentle pressure against his palm. His breath catches in his throat.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Can you open your eyes for me?”
Slowly, painfully slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze is unfocused at first, confusion evident in your expression as you try to make sense of your surroundings.
“It’s okay,” Charles says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now.”
You blink a few times, your gaze finally settling on Charles. Your brow furrows slightly, and you open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.
“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Charles advises. “Your throat might be sore from the tube. Here.” He reaches for a cup of water with a straw, holding it to your lips. “Small sips, okay?”
You take a tentative sip, wincing slightly. After a moment, you try again to speak. Your voice is raspy, barely above a whisper. “Who ...”
“I’m Charles,” he says. “I was there when ... when you got hurt. Do you remember anything?”
You close your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. “Jake,” you murmur. “He was angry ...”
Charles feels a flare of anger at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, but he keeps his voice calm. “That’s right. He hurt you pretty badly. But you’re safe now. He can’t get to you here.”
You shake your head slightly, wincing at the movement. “It wasn’t his fault,” you say. “He just ... he gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t have gone to the race. I knew it would make him angry.”
Charles frowns, recognizing the pattern of self-blame common in abuse victims. He takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Listen,” he says gently. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter how angry someone gets, they don’t have the right to hurt you. Ever.”
You look away, tears welling up in your eyes. “You don’t understand. Jake ... he loves me. He just has a temper sometimes.”
“Love shouldn’t hurt,” Charles says firmly. “Love doesn’t leave you in the hospital with a skull fracture.”
Your eyes widen slightly at this information. “Is that ... is that what happened to me?”
Charles nods solemnly. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. The doctors ... they weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all.”
A tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do now.”
“You press charges,” Charles says without hesitation. “What he did to you was a crime. He needs to face the consequences of his actions.”
You shake your head frantically, wincing again at the movement. “No, I can’t. He’d be so angry. He ...”
“He would what?” Charles presses gently. “Hurt you again? That’s exactly why you need to do this. To protect yourself and maybe even others.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, tears falling silently. “I’m scared,” you finally whisper.
Charles squeezes your hand. “I know. And that’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. But you’re stronger than you know. You survived this. You can survive what comes next, too.”
“But where would I go?” You ask, your voice small. “Jake ... he made me drop out of school. I had to quit my job. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any money, or ...”
Your words trail off as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. Charles feels a surge of protectiveness, coupled with a deep anger at the man who has left you in this situation.
“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his gaze. “I know we’ve only just met, and this might sound crazy, but ... what if you came to stay with me for a while?”
You blink in surprise. “What?”
“I live in Monaco,” Charles explains. “I know it’s far from here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It would give you some distance, some time to figure things out without having to worry about ... about him finding you.”
“But ... but I couldn’t,” you stammer. “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay rent or-”
Charles shakes his head. “I’m not asking for rent. I’m offering you a safe place to stay while you get back on your feet. No strings attached.”
You look at him skeptically. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”
Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Because when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just walk away. And I can’t walk away now, knowing you need help. Maybe it’s not my place, maybe it’s crossing some line, but ... I want to help. If you’ll let me.”
You’re silent for a long moment, and Charles can almost see the wheels turning in your mind as you weigh your options.
“What about your job?” You finally ask. “Don’t you have races to go to?”
Charles nods. “I do. But I have a big apartment, and there’s plenty of room. You’d have your own space. And when I’m away for races, I have friends who could check in on you, make sure you have everything you need.”
You bite your lip, looking torn. “I don’t know ... it’s a lot to take in.”
“Of course,” Charles says quickly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time to think about it. But know that the offer is there if you want it.”
Just then, a nurse enters the room. Her face lights up when she sees you’re awake. “Well, look who’s back with us,” she says warmly. “I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to check you over.”
As the nurse leaves, you turn back to Charles. “You should go,” you say. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to stay.”
Charles stands, but he doesn’t move towards the door. “I’ll step out while the doctor examines you,” he says. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back after. We can talk more about ... everything.”
You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” you say softly. “And ... thank you. For being here. For caring.”
Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
As he steps into the hallway, Charles takes a deep breath. He knows he’s getting involved in a complicated situation, one that could have far-reaching consequences. But looking back at you through the doorway, he knows he’s made the right choice. Whatever comes next, he’ll be there to help you through it.
The doctor arrives, and Charles settles into a chair in the hallway. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s neglected over the past few days. There’s one from Fred, asking for an update. Charles types out a quick reply.
She’s awake. It’s complicated, but I think she’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later with details.
As he hits send, Charles leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, for either of you. But for the first time in days, he feels a spark of hope. It’s a start, he thinks. And sometimes, that’s all you need.
***
The sunlight glints off the sleek exterior of the private jet as Charles helps you up the stairs. He can feel the slight tremor in your hand as he guides you inside, noting the way your eyes dart nervously around the cabin.
“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a warm smile, hoping to put you at ease. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us.”
You nod, your lips pressed into a thin line as you sink into one of the plush leather seats. Charles settles in across from you, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.
“Here, let me help,” he offers, leaning forward to assist. As he clicks the belt into place, he notices your knuckles turning white as you grip the armrests. “First time flying?” He asks gently.
You let out a shaky laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
Charles shakes his head, his expression kind. “Not at all. But I fly a lot, so I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting nervous passengers.”
The engines roar to life, and you jump slightly in your seat. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”
“Hey, no need to apologize,” Charles assures you. “It’s a completely normal fear. Did you know that even some drivers get nervous on planes?”
Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? But you guys race at insane speeds for a living.”
Charles chuckles. “I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I think it’s about control. In a car, we’re in charge. On a plane, we have to trust someone else.”
You nod, seeming to relax slightly at his words. But as the plane begins to taxi, your grip on the armrests tightens again.
“So,” Charles says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about what you were studying before ... well, before everything happened.”
You look at him, confusion briefly replacing the fear in your eyes. “What?”
“You mentioned you had to drop out of school,” Charles explains. “What were you studying?”
A small laugh escapes you, tinged with irony. “You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but ... I was studying law.”
Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Law? That’s impressive. Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”
You shrug, a hint of sadness creeping into your expression. “Just seems a bit ironic now, doesn’t it? Studying law and then ending up in a situation like ... like mine.”
The plane begins to accelerate down the runway, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath coming in short gasps.
“Hey,” Charles says softly, reaching across to place his hand over yours. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. Charles can see the fear there, but also a flicker of determination.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now, tell me more about your law studies. What made you choose that field?”
You take a deep breath, clearly making an effort to focus on the conversation rather than the plane’s ascent. “I’ve always been interested in justice, I guess. Helping people who can’t help themselves. I wanted to make a difference.”
Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s admirable. And you know what? I don’t think it’s ironic at all that you were studying law. If anything, I think it shows how strong you are.”
The plane levels off, and some of the tension leaves your body. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Charles says, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hand on yours, “you chose a field dedicated to justice and helping others. That takes courage and compassion. The fact that you ended up in a difficult situation doesn’t change who you are at your core.”
You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “I never thought about it like that,” you admit.
“Have you thought about going back to school?” Charles asks. “Finishing your degree?”
You shake your head, a flash of pain crossing your face. “I can’t. I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I can’t go back to my old university. Jake ... he knows where it is. He’d find me.”
Charles nods, understanding. “What if you didn’t have to go back to your old university? What if you could start fresh somewhere new?”
You look at him skeptically. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Charles says, his mind racing with possibilities, “there are online programs you could look into. Or, if you prefer in-person classes, there’s the International University of Monaco. It’s a great school, and it would be close to where you’ll be staying.”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Monaco has a university?”
Charles nods, a grin spreading across his face. “It does indeed. And they have a law program. I could help you look into it if you’re interested.”
You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I was in school. And the cost ...”
“Don’t worry about the cost,” Charles says quickly. “Consider it an investment in your future. And as for being out of practice, well, that’s what studying is for, right?”
A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”
Charles shrugs. “Maybe it is. Sometimes we overcomplicate things in our heads. But the truth is, if it’s something you want to do, there’s usually a way to make it happen.”
The plane encounters a patch of turbulence, causing it to shake slightly. Your grip on Charles’ hand tightens, but you don’t close your eyes this time.
“Sorry,” you mutter, loosening your grip slightly.
“No need to apologize,” Charles says. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold. Or a distraction. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me about your favorite class from when you were in school?”
As you launch into a story about a particularly engaging Constitutional Law seminar, Charles can’t help but notice how your eyes light up. It’s the most animated he’s seen you since you woke up in the hospital, and it fills him with a sense of hope.
The rest of the flight passes in a blur of conversation. You tell Charles about your favorite professors, the most interesting cases you studied, and your obsession with Legally Blonde while growing up. In turn, Charles shares stories from his racing career, the challenges he’s faced, and the lessons he’s learned along the way.
Before either of you realize it, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing your descent into Nice.
“Oh,” you say, surprise evident in your voice. “We’re here already?”
Charles grins. “See? Not so bad, was it?”
You shake your head, a small laugh escaping you. “I guess not. Thank you, Charles. For ... well, for everything.”
As the plane touches down on the runway, Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “And hey, this is just the beginning, right?”
You nod, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your eyes. “Right. The beginning.”
The plane comes to a stop, and Charles stands, offering you his hand. “Ready to see your new home?”
You take a deep breath, then place your hand in his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
As you make their way down the steps of the plane, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but looking at you now, seeing the spark of determination in your eyes, he’s filled with hope for what the future might hold.
The Mediterranean sun greets them as they step onto the tarmac, warm and welcoming. Charles watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, gazing at the azure sea in the distance.
Charles smiles, feeling a surge of pride for his home. “Wait until you see the rest of it. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”
As you walk towards the waiting Ferrari, Charles finds himself stealing glances at you. There’s still fear and uncertainty in your eyes, but there’s something else too — a resilience that he admires. He makes a silent promise to himself, right there on the sun-drenched tarmac of the Côte d’Azur, to do whatever he can to help you rebuild your life.
“So,” he says as you slide into the passenger seat, “shall we swing by the university on our way home? Just to have a look?”
You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah,” you say, a small smile playing at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
***
The quiet of the night is shattered by a piercing scream. Charles bolts upright in his bed, heart racing, momentarily disoriented. Then realization hits him like a wave — it’s you.
Without hesitation, he leaps out of bed and races down the hallway to your room. He bursts through the door to find you thrashing in your sheets, eyes squeezed shut, still caught in the grip of your nightmare.
“No, Jake, please!” You cry out, your voice raw with fear. “Don’t hurt me!”
Charles is at your side in an instant, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”
Your eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, you recoil from his touch, still trapped between nightmare and reality.
“It’s me,” Charles says, keeping his voice calm. “It’s Charles. You’re in Monaco, remember? You’re safe here.”
Slowly, recognition dawns in your eyes. “Charles?” You whisper, your voice trembling.
He nods, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s right. I’m here. You’re okay.”
The tension leaves your body all at once, and you collapse against him, tears streaming down your face. Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” Charles soothes, running a hand gently up and down your back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.”
You pull back slightly, wiping at your tears with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I feel so stupid.”
Charles shakes his head firmly. “You’re not stupid. Nightmares are normal after what you’ve been through. And I’m glad I woke up. I want to be here for you.”
You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. “It felt so real,” you whisper. “I could feel his hands on me, hear his voice ...”
“But it wasn’t real,” Charles reminds you gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”
You nod, but Charles can see the lingering fear in your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.
You shake your head. “No, I ... I just want to forget.”
“Okay,” Charles says, understanding. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you some water or tea?”
You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “Could you ... would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep?” The words come out in a rush, as if you’re afraid to ask.
Charles feels a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
Relief washes over your face. “Thank you,” you whisper.
Charles helps you settle back against the pillows, then hesitates for a moment. “Is it okay if I ...” He gestures to the other side of the bed.
You nod, shifting over slightly to make room. Charles slips under the sheets, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But you surprise him by moving closer, seeking comfort in his presence.
“Is this okay?” You ask, your voice small.
“Of course,” Charles assures you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without pressure. “Whatever you need.”
You hesitate for just a moment before curling into his side, your head resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around you, feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his side.
“Try to relax,” he murmurs. “Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”
You nod against his chest, making a conscious effort to steady your breathing. Charles can feel some of the tension leaving your body as the minutes tick by.
“Charles?” You say after a while, your voice soft in the darkness.
“Hmm?”
“How do you do it?” You ask. “How do you stay so calm and ... and kind, even when I’m such a mess?”
Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “You’re not a mess,” he says finally. “You’re healing. And that takes time. As for staying calm ... well, I’ve had my own struggles. I know what it’s like to need someone in your corner.”
You lift your head slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”
Charles takes a deep breath. He’s never been one to open up easily, but something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes him want to share.
“Seven years ago now, I lost my father,” he says softly. “It was ... it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There were nights when I thought the pain would swallow me whole. But I had people who stood by me, who helped me through it. They taught me the importance of being there for others in their darkest moments.”
You’re silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. “I’m so sorry about your father,” you say finally. “That must have been awful.”
Charles nods, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. “It was. But it also taught me something important. Pain doesn’t last forever. It changes you, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You can come out the other side stronger.”
“Do you really believe that?” You ask, a hint of doubt in your voice.
“I do,” Charles says firmly. “I’ve seen it in myself, and I see it in you too. You’re stronger than you know.”
You’re quiet again, and Charles can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. “I want to believe that,” you say eventually. “But sometimes it feels like ... like I’ll never be whole again.”
Charles tightens his embrace slightly. “Healing isn’t about going back to who you were before,” he says. “It’s about becoming someone new. Someone who carries the lessons of the past but isn’t defined by them.”
You nod slowly, considering his words. “That makes sense,” you admit. “It’s just ... it’s hard to see that future sometimes.”
“I know,” Charles says softly. “But that’s why you’re not alone in this. I’m here to remind you of that future when you can’t see it yourself.”
You lift your head again, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”
Charles is struck by the vulnerability in your eyes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.
“Because when I saw you that day, something inside me just ... knew I had to help,” he says. “I can’t explain it rationally. But I believe that sometimes, people come into our lives for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to help you heal. Or maybe you’re meant to teach me something. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”
You study his face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, you lay your head back on his chest.
“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”
Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on healing. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”
You nod against his chest, and Charles can feel your body relaxing further. Your breathing becomes slower, more even, and he knows you’re drifting off to sleep.
As the night deepens around you, Charles finds himself wide awake, acutely aware of your warm presence against him. He’s never been in a situation quite like this before, and he’s surprised by how natural it feels.
He thinks about the past few days, about the small victories you’ve already achieved. The way your eyes lit up when you toured the university campus. The quiet determination in your voice when you asked about application procedures. The shy smile that appeared when he showed you around Monaco.
Charles knows the road ahead won’t be easy. There will likely be more nights like this, more nightmares to soothe. But looking down at your peaceful face, finally relaxed in sleep, he feels a surge of hope.
Whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there to face them with you. And somehow, he knows that together, you’ll both come out stronger on the other side.
As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the windows, Charles finally feels his own eyes growing heavy. He allows himself to drift off, still holding you close, a silent promise of protection in his embrace.
In the quiet of the early morning, as the world outside begins to stir, there’s a sense of peace in the room. It’s fragile, perhaps, but it’s there. And for now, in this moment, it’s enough.
***
The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Charles stirs, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He feels a weight against his chest and looks down to see you still nestled in his arms, your breathing deep and even.
For a moment, he simply watches you sleep, struck by how peaceful you look compared to the night before. He’s careful not to move, not wanting to disturb your rest. But as the room grows brighter, he sees your eyelids begin to flutter.
You blink awake, confusion briefly clouding your features before recognition sets in. “Charles?” You murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.
“Good morning,” he says softly, offering a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”
You shift slightly, seeming to become aware of your position. A blush creeps across your cheeks as you pull back a bit. “I’m ... I’m okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t have to stay.”
Charles shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to stay. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”
You nod, running a hand through your tousled hair. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if ...”
Your voice trails off, but Charles understands. “Hey,” he says, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to think about that. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re right. I just ... I’m not used to someone being so kind without expecting anything in return.”
Charles feels a pang in his chest at your words. “Well, get used to it,” he says, injecting a lightness into his tone. “Because that’s just how things work in the Leclerc household.”
You laugh softly, the sound warming Charles from the inside out. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” Charles grins. “It’s in the contract. Kindness, comfort, and an abundance of croissants. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.”
You nod, sitting up slowly. “Breakfast sounds great. But you don’t have to cook. I can manage.”
Charles waves off your protest as he sits up as well. “Nonsense. I insist. Besides, I make a mean omelette. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my secret recipe.”
Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Secret recipe, huh? Do I get to know what’s in it?”
Charles taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? You’ll just have to trust me.”
As he moves to get out of bed, a thought strikes him. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back to you. “Actually, before we head to the kitchen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
You look at him curiously, a hint of apprehension in your eyes. “Oh?”
Charles takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was wondering if ... well, if you might want to come to my next race with me?”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your next race?”
Charles nods, watching your reaction carefully. “Yeah. It’s in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe a change of scenery might be good for you. Plus, you’d get to see what I do up close. But if it’s too soon, or if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I completely understand.”
You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip as you consider his offer. “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just ... the last time I was at a race ...”
Understanding dawns on Charles’s face. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. We don’t have to go if it brings up bad memories.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s just ... I’m worried about being recognized. What if Jake sees me on TV or something?”
Charles leans forward, his expression serious. “Hey, look at me. If you come to the race, you’ll be under the full protection of the team. No one gets near the garage without proper clearance. And as for TV, well, we can make sure you’re not caught on camera if that’s what you want.”
You still look uncertain. “But won’t people wonder who I am? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your team.”
Charles can’t help but smile at your concern. “Trust me, the team has dealt with far more complicated situations than this. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say you’re a family friend. No one needs to know the details.”
He watches as you mull over his words, hope building in his chest. Finally, you look up at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “You really want me to come?”
Charles nods emphatically. “I really do. I think it could be good for you. A chance to create some new, positive memories associated with racing. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “I’d love for you to see me in action. I promise I’ll try to put on a good show.”
You laugh, the sound lightening the mood in the room. “Oh, is that so? Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”
You shake your head in amusement, but Charles can see you’re still hesitating. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. The offer stands whenever you’re ready.”
You nod, looking grateful for the lack of pressure. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll think about it, I promise.”
“That’s all I ask,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Now, how about that breakfast? I believe I promised you a life-changing omelette.”
As you make your way to the kitchen, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows he’s taking a risk by inviting you to the race so soon, but something tells him it’s the right move. He’s seen glimpses of your strength over the past few days, and he believes that this could be a crucial step in your healing process.
In the kitchen, Charles busies himself with preparing breakfast, stealing glances at you as you settle at the counter. You still look a bit hesitant, but there’s a spark in your eyes that wasn’t there before.
“So,” he says as he cracks eggs into a bowl, “while you’re thinking about the race, why don’t you tell me more about your law studies? Any particular area you’re most interested in?”
You perk up at the question, and Charles listens intently as you launch into an enthusiastic explanation of your passion for human rights law. As he watches you speak, animated and engaged, he feels a warmth spread through his chest.
This, he thinks, is what healing looks like. Small steps, day by day, reclaiming pieces of yourself. And if he can play even a small part in that process, well, that’s a victory more satisfying than any podium finish.
As he serves up the omelettes, Charles makes a silent promise to himself. Whatever you decide about the race, whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there. Supporting you, cheering you on, just as fiercely as any fan in the grandstands.
Because in this moment, watching you take your first bite and exclaim over his “secret recipe,” Charles realizes something important. In helping you find your strength, he’s discovering new depths of his own.
***
The energy in the paddock is electric as Charles makes his way to the Ferrari garage. He can feel the excitement buzzing through the air, the anticipation of the race to come. But today, there’s an extra flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with pre-race jitters.
He spots you standing near the back of the garage, looking a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around you. Your eyes light up when you see him, and he can’t help but smile.
“Hey,” he says, approaching you. “How are you holding up?”
You give him a small smile. “It’s ... a lot. But exciting. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”
Charles nods, understanding. “I know it can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. And I have a little surprise for you.”
Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “A surprise? Charles, you didn’t have to-”
He cuts you off with a grin. “I wanted to. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Charles leads you to a quieter corner of the garage where his race gear is laid out. He picks up his helmet, turning it so you can see the design.
Your eyes widen as you spot the purple ribbon painted prominently on the side. “Is that ...”
Charles nods, his expression softening. “A domestic violence awareness ribbon. I had it added for this race.”
You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers hovering over the ribbon without quite touching it. When you look up at Charles, your eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Why?” You ask softly.
Charles takes a deep breath. “Because I want to use my platform to raise awareness. And because ...” he pauses, meeting your gaze, “because I want you to know that you’re not alone. That there are people out there who care and want to help.”
You blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Charles, I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s incredible.”
He reaches out, gently squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when I’m out there on the track today, I’m racing for you and for everyone who’s been in your position.”
You nod, unable to speak. Charles understands the emotions you’re feeling — he’s feeling them too.
A voice calls out from across the garage. “Charles! Five minutes!”
Charles turns back to you. “I’ve got to go get ready. Will you be okay?”
You take a deep breath, composing yourself. “I’ll be fine. Go. And Charles?” You meet his eyes, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything.”
He nods, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading off to finish his pre-race preparations.
The race itself is a blur of adrenaline and focus. Charles pushes himself to the limit, hyper-aware of the special helmet he’s wearing and what it represents. When he crosses the finish line in second place, his heart is pounding with more than just exertion.
As he pulls into parc fermé, Charles can see the crowd of reporters already gathering. He takes a deep breath, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot in the media pen, he’s surrounded by microphones and cameras.
“Charles! Congratulations on P2!” One reporter calls out. “But everyone’s talking about your helmet today. Can you tell us about the ribbon?”
Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “The ribbon on my helmet today is a symbol of awareness for domestic violence. It’s an issue that affects millions of people around the world, and I wanted to use this platform to bring attention to it.”
Another reporter jumps in. “Was there a specific reason you chose this race to highlight this cause?”
Charles pauses, carefully considering his words. “I believe that as public figures, we have a responsibility to use our voices for good. Domestic violence is a problem that often stays hidden, and I want to help bring it into the light.”
“Will the helmet be part of any specific initiative?” A third reporter asks.
Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yes, actually. I’m going to be auctioning off this helmet, with all proceeds going to charities that combat domestic violence and support survivors.”
There’s a murmur of approval from the gathered press. “That’s a wonderful gesture,” one reporter says. “Can you tell us more about why this cause is so important to you?”
Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He spots you standing at the back, partially hidden behind a barrier. Your eyes meet, and he draws strength from your presence.
“It’s important because it’s a problem that affects so many people, yet it’s often overlooked or ignored,” Charles says, his voice steady and clear. “I ... I have seen firsthand the devastating impact it can have on someone’s life. And I want to do whatever I can to help break the cycle of violence and provide support for those who need it.”
There’s a moment of silence as the reporters absorb his words. Then the questions start flying again.
“Have you partnered with any specific organizations for this initiative?”
“Do you plan to continue raising awareness for this cause in future races?”
“How do you balance your focus on racing with your desire to address social issues?”
Charles answers each question thoughtfully, his passion for the cause evident in every word. As the press conference winds down, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Not just for his performance on the track, but for using his platform to make a difference.
As he makes his way back to the Ferrari garage, Charles spots you waiting for him. Your eyes are bright with emotion, and he can see the pride and gratitude written all over your face.
“That was amazing,” you say as he approaches. “I can’t believe you did all that.”
Charles shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It was the least I could do. I hope it helps, even if it’s just a little bit.”
You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “A little bit? Charles, do you have any idea how much impact something like this can have? You just brought attention to this issue in front of millions of people.”
He nods, the weight of what he’s done starting to sink in. “I just hope it makes a difference. That it helps someone out there feel less alone.”
You reach out, squeezing his hand. “It already has,” you say softly.
Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a voice calls out from behind him.
“Charles! A word?”
Charles turns to see a familiar face — Federica, a respected journalist he’s known for years. She approaches with a warm smile, notepad in hand.
“Federica,” Charles greets her. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you,” she replies. “That was quite a statement you made out there today. I was hoping we could talk a bit more about it. Off the record, if you prefer.”
Charles glances at you, silently asking if you’re okay with this. You nod encouragingly.
“Sure,” Charles says. “What would you like to know?”
Federica’s expression turns serious. “I’ve known you for a while now. This isn’t just a random cause you’ve picked up. There’s a personal connection here, isn’t there?”
Charles takes a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. He feels you shift closer to him, offering silent support.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “It is personal. I can’t go into details, but ... I’ve seen up close how devastating domestic violence can be. And I realized that I had an opportunity to do something about it.”
Federica nods, her eyes softening with understanding. “That’s very brave of you, Charles. Both to take this stand and to admit the personal connection. Can I ask what made you decide to do it now?”
Charles glances at you again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired by someone very brave. Someone who showed me that it’s possible to turn pain into purpose.”
Federica follows his gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly as she notices you for the first time. “I see,” she says, a knowing look in her eye. “Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. And I would be happy to help spread the word about the helmet auction, if you’d like.”
Charles nods gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
As Federica walks away, Charles turns back to you. “I hope that was okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to say too much, but ...”
You shake your head, cutting him off. “It was perfect. Really. I ... I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”
Charles reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Seeing you here, seeing how far you’ve come ... that’s all the thanks I need.”
For a moment, you just look at each other, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between you. Then, impulsively, you step forward and wrap your arms around Charles in a tight hug.
He returns the embrace without hesitation, holding you close. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the paddock, Charles feels a sense of peace wash over him.
This, he thinks, is what really matters. Not the podiums or the points, but the ability to make a difference. To help someone heal and find their strength again.
As you pull back from the hug, Charles sees something new in your eyes. A spark of determination, of hope for the future. And he knows, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.
***
The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of Charles’ Monaco apartment, warming the living room. Charles is sprawled on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone, when he hears a sudden gasp from the kitchen.
“Oh my god,” your voice carries through the apartment, a mix of shock and something else Charles can’t quite place.
He sits up, instantly alert. “Everything okay?” He calls out, already moving towards the kitchen.
You appear in the doorway, your face flushed and your eyes wide. You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, and there’s an energy radiating from you that Charles has never seen before.
“I ... I got in,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Charles furrows his brow, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “The university? You heard back?”
You nod, a smile breaking across your face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “I got in, Charles. They accepted me!”
The joy in your voice is infectious, and Charles feels his own face split into a grin. “That’s amazing!” He exclaims, stepping towards you. “I knew you could do it!”
What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. You close the distance between you in two quick steps, and before Charles can process what’s happening, your lips are on his.
The kiss is brief, a burst of spontaneous happiness, but it sends a jolt through Charles’ entire body. For a split second, he’s frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of your lips against his.
But as quickly as it began, it’s over. You pull back abruptly, your eyes wide with shock at your own actions. “Oh god,” you stammer, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I was just excited and I ...”
Charles can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear that you’ve crossed a line. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that it’s okay, more than okay, but you’re already backing away, words tumbling out in a rush.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t be mad, I-”
“Hey,” Charles cuts in gently, reaching out to catch your hand before you can retreat further. “Stop apologizing.”
You freeze, uncertainty written all over your face. “But I-”
Charles shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact ...” he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “You ... you have?”
Charles nods, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I have. But I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to give you time to heal, to find yourself again.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re not ... upset?”
Charles can’t help but chuckle. “Upset? No, definitely not upset. More like ... thrilled. And maybe a little disappointed in myself for not making the first move.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Really?”
“Really,” Charles confirms. He takes a step closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “In fact, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you again. Properly this time.”
You nod, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your eyes. “I’d like that,” you whisper.
Charles leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips connecting in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.
This time, Charles is fully present in the moment. He savors the feeling of your lips against his, the warmth of your body as you step closer. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.
When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.
“Wow,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “Wow indeed.”
For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Charles remembers what started all this.
“So,” he says, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You got into law school. We should celebrate!”
You laugh, the sound light and carefree in a way Charles has never heard before. “I almost forgot about that for a second there.”
Charles grins. “Well, we can’t have that. It’s not every day you get accepted to study law at the International University of Monaco. This calls for champagne!”
He starts to move towards the kitchen, but you tug on his hand, pulling him back. “Wait,” you say softly. “Before we celebrate ... can we talk about this?” You gesture between the two of you.
Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
You bite your lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “I just ... where do we go from here? I mean, I like you, Charles. A lot. But I’m still ... I’m still healing. And I don’t want to complicate things or ruin our friendship if-”
Charles cuts you off gently, taking both of your hands in his. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. When you meet his gaze, he continues. “I like you too. A lot. And I understand that you’re still healing. I don’t want to rush anything or pressure you in any way.”
You nod, relief evident in your eyes. “So what do we do?”
Charles smiles. “We take it slow. We keep being friends, but we also explore these new feelings. And most importantly, we communicate. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or want to slow things down, you tell me. Okay?”
“Okay,” you agree, a small smile playing at your lips. “And what if ... what if I want to speed things up sometimes?”
Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Then we can do that too. As long as we’re both comfortable and on the same page.”
You nod, looking more relaxed now. “I think I can handle that.”
“Good,” Charles says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, about that champagne ...”
As Charles moves to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, he can’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. This thing between you is new and fragile, but it’s also full of potential. And he’s determined to nurture it, to give it the time and care it needs to grow into something beautiful.
He returns with two glasses and the champagne, finding you settled on the couch. As he pours, he can’t help but steal glances at you. There’s a glow about you that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun — it’s the light of new beginnings, of hope for the future.
“A toast,” Charles says, handing you a glass. “To new adventures in education and ... other areas.”
You laugh, clinking your glass against his. “To new adventures,” you agree.
As you sip the champagne, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles finds himself marveling at how far you’ve come in the past few months. From the scared, broken woman he first met to this confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life.
“What are you thinking about?” You ask, noticing his contemplative expression.
Charles smiles. “Just ... how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far, and now you’re starting this new journey. It’s inspiring.”
You blush slightly at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. Your support has meant everything.”
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Charles insists. “But I’m glad I could help. And I’ll be here to support you through your studies too. Although,” he adds with a grin, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with law textbooks.”
You laugh, leaning into him slightly. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to be helpful. Moral support is important too, you know.”
Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I’m your man. Moral support is my specialty.”
As the afternoon fades into evening, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing. You discuss your hopes for university, your fears, your dreams for the future. Charles shares stories from his racing career, anecdotes he’s never told anyone else.
And through it all, there’s a new undercurrent of electricity between you. A spark ignited by that spontaneous kiss, fueled by the promise of something more.
As the sky outside turns a deep indigo, Charles finds himself marveling at the unexpected turns life can take. A few months ago, he was just a driver focused on his next win. Now, he’s sitting here with you, on the cusp of something that feels bigger and more important than any championship.
“What are you smiling about?” You ask, noticing his expression.
Charles pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Just thinking about how sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never see coming.”
You snuggle into his side, a contented sigh escaping you. “I couldn’t agree more.”
***
Five Years Later
The sun shines brightly on the streets of Monaco as Charles stands before a modest but elegant building, his heart swelling with pride. He glances at you, standing beside him in a crisp power suit, your eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. It’s a look he’s come to know well over the past five years, but today it seems to shine even brighter.
“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.
You turn to him, a radiant smile spreading across your face. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life,” you reply, your voice steady and sure.
Charles feels a surge of love and admiration wash over him. He remembers the scared, broken woman he met all those years ago, and marvels at the strong, confident woman you’ve become. His wife. His partner in every sense of the word.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice calls out, drawing their attention to the small crowd gathered before them. “We are here today to celebrate the grand opening of the Leclerc Center for Domestic Violence Support and Legal Aid.”
A round of applause breaks out, and Charles feels you squeeze his hand tighter. He knows how much this moment means to you, how hard you’ve worked to make it a reality.
The speaker, a distinguished-looking woman in her fifties, continues. “This center represents a beacon of hope for those who have suffered in silence, a promise that they are not alone, and that help is available. And we have two very special people to thank for making this dream a reality.”
She gestures towards Charles and you. “Charles and Y/N, would you like to say a few words before we cut the ribbon?”
Charles looks at you, silently asking if you want to speak first. You nod, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who has found their true calling.
“Thank you all for being here today,” you begin, your voice clear and strong. “This center is more than just a building. It’s a promise. A promise to every person out there who’s suffering in an abusive relationship that there is hope, there is help, and there is a way out.”
Charles watches you speak, feeling a swell of pride. He remembers the countless late nights you spent poring over law books, the tears of frustration and determination as you fought your way through law school. And now here you are, a fully qualified attorney, using your hard-earned skills to help others who were once in your position.
“I stand here today not just as a lawyer, not just as the co-founder of this center, but as someone who has been where many of our future clients are right now,” you continue, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I know the fear, the doubt, the feeling of being trapped. But I also know the incredible strength that lies within each survivor. And it is my deepest hope that this center will help them find that strength, just as I did.”
As you step back, wiping a tear from your eye, Charles pulls you into a quick, supportive hug before stepping forward himself.
“When I met my wife five years ago,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion, “I was just a driver who thought he had it all figured out. But she opened my eyes to a world I knew little about, and showed me that sometimes the most important battles are the ones fought off the track.”
He pauses, looking out at the crowd. He sees familiar faces — fellow drivers who’ve supported this project, team members who’ve become like family, and new faces too — survivors, advocates, people who believe in the mission of this center.
“This center is a dream that we’ve shared for years,” Charles continues. “A dream of creating a safe space where survivors can find legal support, counseling, and most importantly, hope. And while I may not be the one providing legal advice,” he adds with a chuckle, earning a laugh from the crowd, “I promise to support this center and its mission in every way I can.”
He turns to you, his eyes shining with love and admiration. “And to my incredible wife, who has been the driving force behind all of this — thank you. For your strength, your determination, and for showing me what true courage looks like every single day.”
As Charles steps back, the crowd erupts in applause. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as the official hands you a large pair of scissors.
“Are you ready to do the honors?” The official asks.
You and Charles share a look, years of unspoken understanding passing between you in that moment. Together, you step forward, positioning the scissors at the purple ribbon stretched across the entrance.
“On the count of three,” the official announces. “One ... two ... three!”
With a satisfying snip, the ribbon falls away. The crowd cheers, and cameras flash as you and Charles stand before the open doors of the center, your shared dream finally a reality.
As the crowd begins to file inside for the reception, you turn to Charles, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it,” you whisper. “We really did it.”
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, not caring about the cameras still flashing around them. “You did it,” he murmurs into your hair. “I just followed your lead.”
You pull back, shaking your head with a fond smile. “We’re a team, remember?”
Charles laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “How could I forget?”
As you make your way inside, greeting guests and answering questions, Charles finds himself reflecting on the journey that brought you both to this moment. The ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, all leading to this day.
A familiar face approaches — Federica, the journalist who had interviewed Charles after that fateful race five years ago. “Charles, Y/N,” she greets you warmly. “Congratulations on this amazing achievement. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
You nod, your professional demeanor sliding into place. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
“This center is quite different from the usual celebrity charity projects,” Federica begins. “Can you tell me what inspired you to take such a hands-on approach?”
You and Charles share a look, silently deciding who should answer. Charles gives a small nod, encouraging you to take the lead.
“For us, this isn’t about charity in the traditional sense,” you explain. “It’s about using our resources and platform to create real, tangible change. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how crucial legal support can be in escaping an abusive situation. But I also know how intimidating and overwhelming the legal system can seem.”
Charles watches as you speak, marveling at your eloquence and passion. He remembers the early days of your relationship, when you would sometimes struggle to find your voice. Now, you command the room with ease.
“Our goal with this center,” you continue, “is to provide comprehensive support — legal aid, counseling, practical assistance — all under one roof. We want to remove as many barriers as possible for those seeking help.”
Federica nods, scribbling in her notepad. “And Charles,” she turns to him, “how do you see your role in all of this?”
Charles straightens, his expression serious. “My role is to support this center and its mission in every way I can. Whether that’s using my platform to raise awareness, helping to secure funding, or simply being here to show that everyone can and should be allies in this fight against domestic violence.”
You reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Charles feels a surge of gratitude for your unwavering support, both in this project and in his career.
“And how do you balance this work with racing?” Federica asks.
Charles smiles. “It’s all about priorities. Racing is my passion, but this center, and the work we do here, that’s my purpose. I’m fortunate to have a team and sponsors who understand and support that.”
As Federica thanks the two of you and moves on to speak with other guests, Charles turns to you. “You were amazing,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”
You lean into him slightly, a soft smile playing at your lips. “We were amazing,” you correct him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
Before Charles can respond, another guest approaches, asking for a tour of the facilities. As you lead the way, explaining the various services the center will offer, Charles hangs back slightly, simply observing.
He watches as you point out the private consultation rooms, the children’s play area designed to make the center welcoming for families, the state-of-the-art security systems put in place to ensure client safety. Your eyes light up as you describe the pro bono legal services, the partnerships with local shelters and support groups, the education and prevention programs you hope to implement.
In this moment, seeing you in your element, Charles is struck anew by how far you’ve both come. From that terrifying night in the paddock to this day of hope and new beginnings, it’s been a journey neither of you could have anticipated.
As the day winds down and the last of the guests depart, Charles finds you standing in the main reception area, looking around with a mix of awe and determination.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.
You lean into him, letting out a contented sigh. “I was just thinking about all the lives we’re going to change here. All the people we’re going to help.”
Charles presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already changed so many lives, you know. Including mine.”
You turn to face him, your eyes shining with love and gratitude. “We’ve changed each other’s lives. And now we get to pay it forward.”
As Charles looks at you, his partner in every sense of the word, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Just as you always have.
“Ready to go home?” He asks softly.
You nod, taking one last look around the center. “Yes,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “But we’ll be back bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got work to do.”
Charles smiles, taking your hand as you walk towards the exit. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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johanna-swann · 3 days ago
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I actually have sooo many issues with 911 lately that haven't even got much to do with any ships.
Like. They wrote out almost all of the side characters. Chris is gone, Linda and Sue are gone, Athena's kids are gone (even though Harry just moved in with her and Bobby again? Seriously, where is Harry?), Ravi is gone, Carla is gone. I know the GA maybe don't care that much, casual viewers might not even have noticed that this many characters have just vanished from the show, but in my opinion this is one of the things that give a show running as long as 911 life. Having a big cast is a good thing. Otherwise things are going to get very monotonous very soon.
Actually, that's my second point. They keep repeating storylines! Every season Hen and Karen have to fight a custody battle over one of their kids.
Every season Eddie ends up realising he has a lot of repressed trauma and issues which keep him from leading a healthy happy and free life.
Every season Bathena realise that they have communication issues and they fight about it, but then something traumatic happens and they forgive each other without ever really talking things out.
Every season we are reminded that Maddie's most prominent character trait is "traumatised", the writers just alternatingly bring up Doug again and sometimes the ppd arc.
Every season we see Buck being somewhat restless, looking and searching for something that will bring him true happiness and cycling through love interests that never stick around and each time when you think "oh, there it is, he's getting somewhere now" the writers go "BEEEP! WRONG!" and we start all over again. [This is not just about recent events aka Tommy, the break-up and Buck potentially going back to his 1.0 ways, this also happened in season 6 when he had his "it doesn't matter what other people see in me, I'm enough" revelation only to suddenly be like "omg, Natalia just sees me".]
And Chimney- he had his moment last season with the wedding episode, Kenneth Choi really ate that episode up, but his most prominent character trait is "Maddie's supportive husband". There's really not that much going on with him otherwise.
Another point I briefly touched upon above is consistency. Like Harry moving back in with Athena and Bobby and then just vanishing. Or Gerrard being more like a slightly unfriendly grandpa than an actual antagonist in season 8 when he was still spouting slurs in season 7.
And the timeline! We talked about this before ("last March", Mara's fostering to adoption timeline, Tommy tranferring to harbour "5 years ago"), but the newest "Tommy was actually Abby's Tommy" twist just adds to that. Tommy was with Abby for over 2 years. They were engaged. This was at a time when he was still at the 118. Tommy dated Abby presumably because he was in denial or maybe because he was hiding. In either case, wouldn't his team at least have heard about his fiancée, Abby the dispatcher? Wouldn't that have rung a bell when Buck eventually brought her around only a year or two later? Tommy did talk about his private life at least a little at work, even under Gerrard. It just doesn't make sense. (Not to mention this seems wildly out of character for Tommy who around the same time also said about himself "being single is easier".)
Then there's the pacing. This was a huge issue in season 7. They jumped from one personal soap opera drama to the next without taking any breathers, had almost no procedural in their drama the whole season, still somehow decided to spend one third of the entire season just on the opening disaster and also squeezed in a "Bobby begins for the third time now" episode. But okay, it was a shortened season, there were strikes, they switched networks, they were under a lot of pressure - I'll cut them some slack. At least they set up a bunch of interesting stuff for the following season.
But we're in season 8 now. The renewal was announced very early, they had a lot of time to plan this time. Also they have almost double the episodes they had last season, there's really no need to rush any of the major plots. I am done cutting them slack.
They wanna do a 3 part opening disaster again? Okay fine, you have the time now. I feel like they could've easily done it in 2 episodes (especially 8x02 felt a little "eh"), but okay. Better than the breakneck speed you were going at befo- Oh, what's that? 8x04 flying in with a steel chair. You resolved 70% percent of the plots you set up last season in one single episode with no build up, no emotional pay off and no lasting consequences? And you also squeezed in multiple unrelated calls at the same time? Damn, okay then. Good-bye potentially interesting storylines. Fuck me for being invested I guess. I thought there would at least maybe be some follow up in 8x05, but no.
Now that Halloween episode wasn't bad, it was actually the best episode of this season imo, but instead of following up on previously established conflicts and developments they just hit us with new Wilson family trauma and conflict that was also immediately fixed again. And now 8x06 has speedrun and dumped another storyline that had potential to go to deeper and interesting places. Not gonna talk too much about that though because this post is about the show as a whole, not ships.
And I am not yet convinced that there will be much more to come on the only thing that's left from last season: Eddie's deep dive into his trauma and repression. It's totally possible at this point that being told "you deserve nice things" by a random stranger actually solved all of his problems, it would be very in tone with 911's new style.
What are they even gonna do with the rest of this season? Revisiting the Hotshots set sounds fun, but ultimately inconsequential. You know what's great about a regular old procedural drama with ~20 episodes per season that comes on weekly? You have time. You can let the viewers sit with their emotions and thoughts for a week and keep them engaged by stretching things out a little.
But why should I bother getting emotionally invested in problems the characters are gonna solve within the same episode anyway? Or rather, even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to care if you don't give me the time to develop any feelings about anything that's happening? "Henren lost in court and are now completely forbidden from seeing Mara at all!" Damn, that must be so har- "JUST KIDDING! Ortiz is exposed and everything is perfect again now." Oh. Okay then, I guess.
Bottom line: The characters are all stuck in their own hamster wheels, they keep cutting side characters that could bring a breeze of fresh air (I'm honestly surprised they even kept Josh until now), they rush through all the storylines a such a ridiculous speed that I don't even have time to feel any sort of way about it, they don't even try to keep a consistency or sensible timeline going and they seem to strongly prioritise random funny bits that'll entertain the very casual viewers right now in this moment (tiger call, Billy Boils, Bee-nado, the 'Stache tm, "wait, it's the same Abby?", Gerrard being a fangirl at heart) instead of playing the long game and catering to people who actually pay a little attention to the show.
[On that last remark: I'm not talking about hardcore fans who analyse every single frame here, I mean casual fans who've watched the show on and off again for a while and who may not be involved in fandom but genuinely care about the show.]
I mean. What am I even still doing here? The show is treading water and I end up disappointed more often than not. I'm still holding out a little hope that they actually will do something interesting with Eddie and his sea-monkeys, but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.
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starryjake · 2 days ago
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late nights | hyung line
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in which your boyfriend gets horny in the middle of the night. *assume that the characters have given consent to sleep play in previous conversations.*
pairing: hyung line x fem!reader
includes: consensual sleep play, f receiving oral sex, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, handjob, thigh riding, dry humping (lmk if i missed anything).
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heeseung ೃ࿐
his heart basically broke when he trudged into your shared bedroom in the middle of the night, finding you fast asleep in bed. he’d said he was almost done on his computer 3 hours ago. you wanted to wait up for him so you could go to bed together, but the time just kept passing and you were eventually too tired to even try.
heeseung sighed and pulled his shirt over his head before softly crawling into bed next to you, immediately pressing himself against your backside.
the minute he pressed himself against your warm, slack body, he got hard. he hadn’t realized how pent up he was, how badly he needed to fuck you until really feeling your body against his own.
he took a deep, shaky breath, wrapping his arm around your waist and sliding his hand under your shirt to feel your warm, smooth skin. feeling you bare made heeseung only that much harder, twitching against the fabric of his pajama pants.
he slid his hand down lower into your pajama bottoms, biting back a moan as he immediately started rubbing your clit, feeling the heat of your pussy around his fingers.
he needed you to get just as worked up as he was. he needed you to wake up and take care of his problem.
as he was rubbing your clit, he started pushing his hips into your ass, needing some kind of friction to help ease the ache just a little bit.
by that point, with heeseung practically dry humping you and fingering you at the same time, it was impossible to stay asleep.
“hee?” you mumbled out, turning your neck back to look at him.
“can i put it in, baby?” he asked you, placing his hand on your neck and kissing the corner of your lips. “be a good girl and let me fuck you back to sleep.”
you blinked up at him with wide, confused eyes that only made him want to fuck you even more.
“okay,” you agreed sleepily, turning your head back the other way comfortably on your pillow.
heeseung didn’t waste a second, hurriedly tugging your pants down, followed by his. he didn’t even bother taking them all the way off, just enough to expose your hole and for his cock to come out.
he spread his pre-cum around his shaft, jerking himself off for a minute before lining himself up with your hole, which had gotten wet while you were sleeping.
he pushed in and groaned in relief at the sensation of your tight, warm walls wrapped around his needy cock. you closed your eyes, you head still hazy from sleep, but heeseung’s constant sharp thrusts were slowly beginning to wake you up fully.
“i tried to wait for you,” you sighed out, intertwining your fingers with his in front of your stomach. “i wanted you to fuck me before sleep, not during.”
“i know, angel,” he grunted, his hips moving rapidly in and out of you. “i’m so sorry, my baby. i’m here now.”
you moaned softly, tilting your head back against his chest. the sound of his pelvis hitting your lower back constantly filled the room, mixed with the sounds of both your heavy breathing.
both of your sensations were heightened from the late hours of the night so it took no time at all for you to be cumming at the same time. <3
jay ೃ༄
you were just too tired.
you were so excited to have a chill night in with your boyfriend. you guys had a nice dinner together and were gonna end the night cuddled on the couch watching a movie. but, about 10 minutes into the movie, you fell asleep.
in your defense, you had a busy day. you had an early morning lecture followed by a 7 hour shift. of course you were tired. jay knew this, and that was why he was not surprised in the slightest to have suddenly felt your body relax and go slack in his arms, signifying that you’d fallen asleep.
you were laying between his legs, your back and head resting against his chest. he was playing with your hair, but stopped once you’d fallen asleep.
“baby?” he spoke, but no answer came.
he sighed, pondering what to do.
and then he realized, feeling your warm body asleep on him, he’d sprung an erection. he felt guilty immediately for getting turned on when you were so tired, so stressed from school and work.
he wanted to help you, to take away your stress.
he snuck his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your pelvis. his mind was still racing, debating whether or not he should do what he really wanted to do with you right now.
fuck it, he thought.
he slid his hand down into your sweatpants, rubbing your pussy over your panties. he could feel your little clit and he could feel as your panties got damp the more he rubbed it.
“my poor thing,” he gushed, moving your panties to the side so he could rub you bare. “you just need to feel good.”
you were completely asleep still, having no idea that jay was gathering your slick from your hole and spreading it between your folds and up to your clit. as sound asleep as you were, jay was surprised that you were so wet, practically leaking fluid and dripping down your legs.
he rubbed your clit in circles for a few minutes before he decided he wanted you awake to feel it. so, he slid his middle finger into your eager hole, knowing that it would wake you, and it did.
your eyes opened, and you looked down at jay’s hand in your pants, his single finger massaging your walls.
“mmm,” you moaned, leaning your head back on his hard chest. “fuck, jay.”
“i know, baby,” he cooed. “put your legs on my thighs.”
you did as you were told, spreading your legs and putting your feet on either one of his thighs. he helped you get your pants and underwear off, leaving your lower half bare in his lap, and he kept fingering you.
your pussy made a wet squelching sound every time he thrusted his fingers in and out, but you were too tired to be embarrassed. plus, it felt too good, so good that your stomach was warm and you could tell you already going to cum.
“jay,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tightly. “im gonna—”
you cut yourself as you began to cum, a little gush of fluid spurting around his fingers and splattering on his sweatpants. he fingered you through it, his cock harder than ever from how hard you’d cum.
“that’s it, baby,” he cooed. “keep squirting around my fingers.”
jake ੈ✩‧₊˚
jake cursed himself for still having the most vivid, dirty sex dreams at his grown age. he woke up in a cold sweat, finding that his room was pitch black dark and you were sleeping soundly beside him, which only made his problem worse.
you looked so pretty when you slept. your face was peaceful, your cheeks slightly pink, your shirt having risen up on its own, exposing a sliver of your stomach. that sliver was turning jake on a hell of a lot more than it should’ve been.
he tossed and turned for a few minutes, genuinely trying to fall back asleep while ignoring how hard he was, ignoring how tight his pants were and how a droplet of precum was trickling down the length of his cock.
he gave it five minutes before giving up and attaching himself to your body. he kissed your neck, hoping that alone would wake you up, but you truly were out like a light.
he laid on his stomach, softly gripping your calves to pull your legs apart. he tugged on the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulled them carefully down your legs, then spread your legs once more, revealing your pussy.
jake felt his cock pulsate just from looking at it, needing it in his mouth immediately or he might’ve just lost his mind.
he didn’t tease, didn’t take his time. he went straight in for it, firmly licking a stripe up from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit.
he moaned at the taste, desperately going back in for a second lick. you shifted a little, slowly beginning to wake up from the feeling of jake eagerly licking your pussy.
“jake,” you muttered, sitting up slightly to see what he was doing.
he barely could even comprehend that you’d woken up, now so entranced in eating your pussy and grinding his cock into the mattress.
you could’ve stopped him. you could’ve told him he could fuck you if that was what he needed, but it was too hot to watch. you were enjoying the sight of him between your legs, humping his cock into the bed, too much.
so you laid back down, shut your eyes, and enjoyed your boyfriend eating you out until you were cumming on his face and he was cumming in his pants.
sunghoon ༊*·˚
how? how were you fast asleep right now when the ac in your apartment was broken and your bedroom was a million degrees?
sunghoon stared at your sleeping form in dismay. he was sweating and unbelievably uncomfortable, stripped down to nothing but a pair of boxers, but even then he was still too hot.
you also weren’t wearing much to sleep: a pair of panties and a thin tank top. sunghoon couldn’t help but stare because looking at you and how sexy you looked in your minimal clothing was a distraction from how hot he was.
and as he stared at where your cunt was beneath your panties and your breast that was on the verge of slipping out of your tank top, he got hard. really hard.
an idea came to his head: that if he just jerked off really quick, he’d get tired enough to be able to fall asleep.
so, he pulled his cock out from his boxers and started to stroke himself while staring at you. you’d probably be startled if you were to wake up and see him watching you, but he didn’t care. he wished you were awake to suffer through the heat with him.
a few minutes of jerking his cock off and it wasn’t doing the trick. he needed you, it was as simple as that.
“baby,” he muttered, rubbing your arm. “wake up.”
you shifted slightly and he grabbed your wrist, positioning your hand over his cock.
“please,” he begged, twitching in your limp hand. you couldn’t even wrap your fingers around him, still half asleep. “wake up, y/n. i need you.”
you opened your eyes, frowning when you were met with your own hand wrapped around sunghoon’s cock.
“what are you—”
“please make me cum,” he urged, fucking his hips up into your hand. “i’m gonna go crazy, y/n, please.”
you started to glide your hand up and down his cock, to which sunghoon sighed out in pleasure and relief. it was already feeling 10 times better than when he’d done it.
“fuck,” he moaned. “come here.”
he patted his bare thigh, urging you to sit on it. you moved slowly, still sluggish from sleep, but you straddled his thigh and started humping your pussy against him as your hand worked his cock.
“oh my god,” he groaned, putting his arms behind his head and watching you. “you’re so perfect, baby. so fuckin’ hot.”
you whimpered slightly, your clit rubbing against his thigh just right.
you took a second to let a string of spit trickle out of your mouth and land on the pink tip of his cock, using it as lubrication to easily glide your hand up and down.
squeezing his cock and pushing your cunt against his leg, you were both set up to cum quickly.
sunghoon’s load was big and splattered in ropes all over his warm stomach, while you shook and clenched around his thigh, pussy coming undone on him.
-
ok so im twitching! 💗
thanks for reading :3
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archangeldyke-all · 3 days ago
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I JUST WATCHED ACT ONE AND HOLY SHIT
Do you think sevika likes biting? Like when other people do it? Because when I saw caitlyn doing it to her I could’ve sworn there was a smirk on sevikas face.
Anyway could you do like headcanons on this? If that’s okay. I love you❤️
oh i KNOW she likes biting AHAHHAAHAH
men and minors dni
really, nobody's been able to make you cum like sevika can. not even your trusty vibrator.
so, it's not surprising to you that you're always scratching up her back and leaving bite marks on her shoulders, but it is concerning.
you confront her about it early on in your relationship. both of you are naked and catching your breath in bed, sevika lazily smoking a cigarette and rubbing your back as you lay on top of her, your finger tracing the indent of your teeth on her breast.
"sevika... am i too rough with you?" you ask.
sevika chokes on her smokes, then sputters a laugh. "what're you talking about?!" she cackles.
"i'm always tearing your back up with my nails-- you've got, like scars on your shoulders now babe. and i worry that i'll draw blood one day, with my teeth or nails--"
"--okay, shut up." sevika cuts you off. you huff a bit and pinch her nipple, and sevika shivers and giggles. "baby. if you recall, i'm not exactly gentle with you, either. just fucked you like a bitch in heat, love, 'n 'm gonna have to lotion your ass from how much i was smacking it."
you suddenly feel bashful, sevika's casual discussion of the mindblowing sex you just had giving you butterflies. you bite her again, much more gently, now, right on the collarbone. "shush." you demand.
"what, you're shy now?" sevika teases. she takes a long drag off her cigarette before stubbing it out out and wrapping you up in her arms. "babe. i like it when you bite me. feels good to know i'm making you feel that good but... i also just like it. the feeling, and the bruises, 'n the way i get to show everyone you're fuckin' me... in fact, i'd like it if you did it even harder. 'n more. could probably cum in my pants from your teeth on my throat..." sevika admits, her voice trailing off and her eyes darting away from yours.
you chuckle and kiss her cheek. "who's shy now?"
sevika just smacks your ass.
so... you start biting her harder. in your time with sevika you've learned how to treat all kinds of wounds, so you aren't as hesitant as you might be to make her bleed. plus, sevika really fucking does love it.
she gets this excited little smirk going on her face when you start gnawing at her flesh, and when you finally really sink your teeth in (usually on her thighs, just a few inches away from her dripping cunt) she just melts. she whimpers and collapses against the bed and sometimes, if you're lucky, you can see her clit twitch in pleasure, despite the fact that you haven't touched her yet.
the first time she cums from it, it's an accident on your part.
you're at the last drop with her, drunk and grinding and making out sloppily in your little corner of the bar, and some woman across the room keeps eyeing her.
eventually, you pull away from her with a huff, smacking her shoulder a bit.
"w-what?" sevika asks, a little out of breath. you have to bite your lip to concentrate enough to get your words out, to resist the temptation of just kissing her again.
"d'you know her?" you ask, gesturing to the woman.
sevika quickly looks over her shoulder, a frown on her face. "w-who?"
"the bitch that's eyeing you like she's gonna be the one going home with you tonight." you growl.
a smile ticks up at the side of sevika's lips, and you scowl. "jealous, baby?"
"no. jealousy would be if you weren't mine. but you are. i'm possessive."
sevika's smile only grows, and she turns her back on her admirer to wrap her arms back around your waist. "i dunno her, love. even if i did, she'd be the last fuckin' thing on my mind tonight. first thing is your ass. second is your tongue. third and forth right here." sevika says as she squeezes your tits. you can't keep your giggles in.
"what about my teeth?" you tease.
sevika shudders, and before you know it, you're being pinned to a wall.
you groan in her mouth, wrapping one of your legs around her hips as she grinds against you. she shoves a hand under your shirt, groping your stomach and tits as you kiss.
you grab her lower lip between your teeth, and sevika freezes, hot little puffs of air hitting your face as she waits in anticipation for your next move.
you give her lip a soft nip before letting it go and ducking down to lick at her throat.
"ba-baby. please." sevika whines, her hips bucking against you in uncoordinated, sloppy little thrusts.
fuck. fuck. you don't have any real reason to worry, not when sevika's begging for your teeth in her throat. it's so hot it makes you dizzy, and you lose yourself for just a second as you clamp your teeth down into her flesh, hard.
sevika stiffens, squeaks, and then starts to shiver, her body collapsing against you and pinning you to the wall. you wrap your arms around her waist, groaning into her skin as she shivers against you.
"f-fuck!" sevika shouts. you pull away from her throat, blood and spit connecting your lips to her skin as you nuzzle her cheek. "fuck. fuck, i love you." sevika sighs.
you giggle, kissing her scars. "i love you, too, baby. can't believe you just came in your fuckin' pants for me."
sevika chuckles. "'s hot watching you get jealous, or possessive, or whatever." she says with a shrug. "'n i really fuckin' like your teeth."
you gently nip her cheek, then press your bloody lips to hers.
sevika moans at the taste.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner
@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther
@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai
@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette
@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp
@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen
@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke
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cutielando · 1 day ago
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my baby | l.n.
synopsis: in which you bring your son to his daddy’s first ever race
a/n: based on this request!! i changed things up a little and only made it fluffy, hope you like it!!
my masterlist
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Ever since your son was born, you and Lando had had multiple talks regarding exposing him to the world and bringing him to the paddock.
He was still so little, being only a few months old, so there was a lot of discussion between the two of you about when would be a good time to finally introduce your son to that part of Lando’s life.
You debated a lot about firstly which race would be the best one for him to attend, finally settling on Silverstone. It was a very special race for the both of you, it was Lando’s favorite race weekend, his whole family would be coming and would be able to eagerly help, should any situations arise during the weekend, you were close to your UK home.
It was honestly the best decision in that aspect.
McLaren had been so kind as to send you some little T-shirts with Lando’s name and number on the back, some headphones so you could protect Noah’s ears. He was all ready to go, all clad in his papaya shirt and little cap.
However, as much as Lando had been looking forward to finally having the both of you in the paddock since Noah’s birth, he was suddenly feeling more anxious as you’re about to leave the house and go to the track.
You noticed the frown he had on his face and how deep in thought he seemed to be, walking over to him with Noah right on your hip, sucking on his pacifier in silence.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” you asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it affectionately.
“You agree this is a good idea, right? We’re not rushing him into this, it’s completely okay and safe to bring him with us” he asked, looking at you with worried eyes.
Looking at him so desperate for reassurance, you remember your first days as a new mom, worrying about every single thing that Noah would do, what you should do with him and what you shouldn’t, calling your mother and Lando’s mother every half an hour with another question.
It’s normal for new parents to be anxious, and Lando was now feeling the protectiveness that came with having a baby of your own and bringing him out into the world.
“Baby, we’ve talked about this. We have it all figured out. Your family is going to be there if anything does happen, we have your whole team there who are more than eager to help with anything. We’ll be fine, this little guy will have the time of his life” you said, smiling at the quiet boy in your arms and bouncing him in your arms, chuckling alongside Noah as he started to giggle and wave his arms in the air.
Lando smiled, looking at Noah like he was the center of his universe, like nothing could ever measure up to how much love he had for his son.
He was ready, so there was no reason why Lando shouldn’t be ready. After all, he had you by his side.
He didn’t need anything else if he had you.
“Alright, let’s get going then” he declared, sitting up and taking Noah’s bag from you, determined to carry everything to the car by himself.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you adjusted little Noah on your hip.
“Let’s go and bring daddy some good luck, shall we?” you cooed at Noah, admiring his little smile and clap when he heard the word “daddy” in a sentence.
Such a daddy’s boy.
♡♡♡♡♡
“Do you want me to turn the car around and just take you guys home? I’m sure nobody would mind” Lando said as soon as he parked the car in his designated spot.
You looked at him confused.
“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, keeping an eye on Noah who was currently too busy playing with his feet to pay attention to the two of you.
Lando sighed, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes.
“I just think we’re rushing into it. He’s still young and I’m worried that something could happen to him while I’m in the car” he confessed, and you let out a knowing sigh.
“I know you’re stressed out and worried, but you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to be with him the entire time and your entire family is going to be with me. He literally can’t be more taken care of” you said, joking a little at the end to help him breathe a little.
Lando smiled, chuckling a little before twisting around to look at you in the backseat.
His eyes naturally gravitated towards Noah, who was happily playing with his McLaren teddy bear the team had gifted Lando when Noah was born.
“Sometimes I wish we could keep him away from all of this for the rest of his life” he said, his eyes focused on his son.
"I know, but right now, you don't have to worry about him. You know I won't let him out of my sight" you said, making Lando smile at the thought of you going all mama bear on your son.
"Alright then, off we go" Lando unbuckled his seatbelt, exiting the car and opening your door for you.
He made quick work to grab the diaper bag and all of his essentials while you lifted Noah up from his car seat and settled him on your hip, cooing at the smiley little boy.
"Ready?" Lando asked as he came to stand next to you, putting his arm on the small of your back and leaning down to press a kiss on Noah's head.
"Are you ready to see dada race?" you cooed at Noah, tickling his tummy lightly, which prompted him to burst into giggles.
“My lucky charms” Lando whispered, looking at the two of you with so much love.
He truly couldn’t have asked for anything better in his life. The trophies, the wins, the losses, they didn’t compare to this. To you, to your son, nothing could ever compete with how much Lando cared for his family.
As you started walking towards the paddock entrance, your passes clutched in Lando’s hand, you kept Noah close to you, trying to shield his face from the cameras as best as you could.
You softly maneuvered his head so his face was buried into the crook of your neck, which Noah immediately complied with because he loved it when you held him close.
“I’ll do my best to hold them off” Lando whispered as he scanned your passes and already noticed the hoard of paparazzis that were waiting for him to arrive.
You nodded, smiling politely at the cameramen as Lando quickly walked with you towards the McLaren hospitality.
Clicks and flashes could be heard all around you, every single one trying to get a glimpse of your baby boy, but Lando was having none of it.
“Lando! Over here!”
“Is that your son?”
“Can we see him? Just a picture”
Every single word fell on deaf ears as Lando continued to lead the three of you away from them, thankful when the shouts ceased and there was nobody around you anymore.
“They sure know how to try and get what they want” you said, letting out a big breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding in.
“It’s an invasion of privacy, they should have some respect, especially when they can see I’m with my family” he grumbled, his jaw muscles clenched.
You slowed down your walk until you came to a halt, resting your hand against his cheek.
“Hey, we’re okay. Calm down, we’re both fine, okay?” you said, waiting for an answer as Noah started squirming in your arms.
“Yeah, I’m good” Lando replied after finally feeling himself calm down a tad, resuming your walk towards the hospitality.
When you arrived and entered the building, the first thing that you saw was Lando’s family eagerly chatting amongst themselves, clearly waiting for the 3 of you to finally arrive.
You didn’t even get to think about anything before Noah was taken from your arms by Lando’s sister, Flo, cooing at him and beaming at the smiley boy.
There was nothing more pure and warming than seeing the bond between Lando’s family and your son. He was also the first grandchild on your side of the family, so that little boy was as spoiled as one could be.
“How are you doing, dear?” Cisca snapped you out of your thoughts as she came to stand next to you, Lando having gone to his driver’s room to unpack his things.
“I’m okay, a little tired from the jet-lag, but doing alright. A little nervous to have Noah here with me, but you all being here puts mine and Lando’s mind more at ease” you said, giving your mother-in-law a side hug.
“Was he terrible when you were talking about coming with Noah?” she asked, smiling knowingly.
You laughed, shaking your head affectionately at how well she knew Lando.
“He freaked out about 4 times before we even got out of the car” you said, making the woman laugh.
Lando emerged into the room again, immediately frowning once he saw that Noah was still not back in your arms.
Both you and Cisca watched as his eyes searched the entire room for him, finally settling on the boy happily babbling to his auntie Flo, Lando immediately going over to them.
And as you all sat there with each other, both you and Lando realized what a great support system you had and what a perfect family you have built together.
His win, of course, only solidifying his saying that you were both “his lucky charms”.
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cherrygirlfriend · 21 hours ago
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passenger princess pairing: sunshine!reader x grumpy!rafe synopsis: no one touches your side of the car warnings: fluff! wc: 700 this was such a cute little idea, i loved it!!! this is for the baddies that refuse to get a license ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ thank you for requesting!
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whenever you'd come up with some new, ridiculous way to 'tune up' what you had deemed your side of his car, rafe would act like it was such a bother; like he really didn't get why you felt the need to be doing all that.
rafe's side of the car was, well, normal. sure, he had a few documents he kept in the driver's seat sun visor, but everything else was sleek, normal, but your side was like a kindergartner's dream come true. it got so ridiculous that you had a fluffy blanket you'd stuffed into the glove compartment, conveniently ignoring the gun he kept there. sure, that came in use for car quickies, but most of the time it was just there for when you felt like... napping.
the dashboard had a bunch of stickers as well as some of those weird furry toys (calico crits or some shit) along with those weird little babies with fruits on their heads; you'd put blu-tack on their feet to make sure they stayed in their rightful places. even the cup holder was taken over by a little plushie, and he'd basically had to argue for you to not get a pink cover for the steering wheel; that ended up with you giving him the silent treatment for a week until he showed up behind your door with more ridiculous trinkets for your side of the car.
secretly, he liked the fact that there was your side of the car, that even when you weren't there, he could still see traces of you everywhere.
rafe let out a small sigh, tapping his long digits against the steering wheel, glancing down at his watch the longer it took barry to get there; finally, he saw the man getting out of his trailer, letting out a low "fucking finally..." while barry opened the door to rafe's car, his eyes immediately landing on the crap on your side of the car. "don't ask."
"wasn't gonna." barry huffed in amusement, getting into the decorated side of the car, and rafe wished he wasn't in such a hurry, the sight being so ridiculous. "you're whipped, huh?"
"what are you talking about?" rafe scoffed, the car lurching forward as he started it, barry adjusting the cute seat cover you'd recently bought, letting out a small tut. "i wouldn't do that." but before rafe could stop barry from further meddling with your settings, he'd already started adjusting the seat, making him groan internally.
"are you gonna get shit for it?"
"obviously." rafe scoffed, "and you will too. it took her, like, a month to adjust it to be comfortable. so stop touching her shit."
still, barry continued looking at the little trinkets you kept on your side of the car, taking one of those weird fruit babies and toying with it, letting out a small snort, but when they pulled up in front of an unfamiliar house instead of the house party rafe had told him they'd be going, barry looked at the blonde with furrowed brows, who simply scratched the back of his neck.
"don't tell-"
before he could finish his sentence, barry was startled by the sound of a knock on the passenger seat window, and when he turned around, you were standing there, mouthing something.
"she's saying you're in her seat." rafe muttered under his breath, barry laughing at this; it was getting more and more ridiculous by the minute.
"whipped. w-h-i-p-p-e-d." barry slapped rafe's shoulder, making the blonde roll his eyes as barry got out of the passenger's seat.
"hi." you said with an excited smile as you climbed onto your side of the car, pressing a soft kiss on rafe's stubbled cheek, all the while barry climbed into the backseat, feeling like he was a damn kid getting a ride to school from his parents.
however, as you tried to settle onto your usual seat, you looked between the two men with narrowed eyes, your glossed lips pursing into a pout, rafe feeling like he might burn under your gaze.
"did he mess with my seat?"
"i told him not to!"
"barry!" you exclaimed, your keen eyes landing on the dashboard, noticing that something was missing; you turned around to face him, a sheepish grin on barry's face.
"barry, give me the angel back!"
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lufyuu · 3 days ago
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,, Bloodstained Crown ''
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Yandere emperor x vengeful ex-crown prince reader
Tw/s: obsessive love, kidnapping, heavy yandere themes, rough + shameless + clingy yandere, dubcon, voyeurism, cockwarming, sex in public, power imbalance, one sided enemies to lovers, mentions of killing/death, slight gore.
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They never seem to stop, those clouds. Crying all day as if mourning something important. Their tears seem to wash away the thick red liquid on the dirty floor. It wouldn't have been possible if not for the roof of the manor being in shambles. "T-t-those damned Luminayres—", he coughs, and coughs, and coughs, almost reaching his limit and taking his last breath. The heavy rain drowns out the sobs of a young teen, clinging onto what little hope he had left. He was in utter shock, not even able to say a single thing. Nothing came out his mouth. Not even a single whimper looking at the dead bodies. Dead bodies of his parents, servants, everyone who had ever lived in that palace. Dead. In a pool of their own blood. No amount of apologies will stop this former royal from avenging them all.
Even after so many years. Perhaps even a decade has passed. You're determined to finish what they started. They made a huge mistake. They didn't check if you were already dead or not. The bullet that had been lodged into your arm is not replaced with a scar which is a reminder that no matter how much they tried to cover it up, you'll always be out for their throats. When the sun sets and the streets are empty, you look around for ways to get into the protected palace. Revenge really isnt an easy feat.
"[Fake Name]! Did I hire you to doze off or work?", a deep voice yells out from the otherside of the sunlit room. You wipe a bit of sweat off your forehead, "coming boss", you jog over with a semi clean cloth to where your higher up is. "This is very dirty, how do you expect our customers to like it?", he points at one of the many displayed weapons. You notice a few specks of noticeable dust, "my apologies boss, I'll clean it all up right away", you slowly and carefully brush off the dust off of everything to make sure they look good enough for customers to stop by and look at, perhaps even buy. Your salary here isn't worth the work you're doing but as long as you can keep a roof over your head and food on the table, you'll be fine. It's way better than being on the streets afterall. This is almost your way of moving on. Even if it's not affective in the slightest.
After dusting off most of the armour, the doorbell chimes. A man walks in wearing armour. Someone who works for the royal family that's for sure. The boss is almost taken aback but keeps his composure, "W-welcome honorable soldier!", he instantly lightens up, a huge smile on his face while you freeze in place, not daring to face the man who has just entered the shop. The soldier doesn't say anything, only looking around, searching for something. "Do you have a blade with a handle made out of gems? Specifically diamonds", the boss is even more taken aback, as if the shop has anything that valuable. "My deepest apologies honorable soldier, I fear we do not have anything that fits that description", he frowns, "do you take custom orders?", "y-yes but I'm afraid we don't have the gem—", the man is quickly sileneced by the soldier putting a huge sack on the ground, from a small opening, the diamond shines just enough for everyone to see, including you. "His Royal Highness, the prince will be needing this next week for his engagement, he will be personally coming to pick it up", with that, the soldier turns his heels and walks out the door, the bell chiming once more as he does.
Something about this ignited the flame in you once more. This may be your last time.
"This means more work for us", well, more of work for you. With your mind elsewhere, you almost dont hear his voice. When you realize he did say something, you give a quick nod and head towards the jewelry shop to look at some gems. Your boss didn't need to ask you too anymore, you already knew. You already know this street like the back of your hand. It was an easy task reaching to your destination.
"Mr Albert, can you help make a handle out of diamonds?", you ask as you step into the shop. Even if you didn't intend it, the two of you had became pretty close but you know that won't last long. "Of course [Fake Name]! What kind are they?", you hand him the heavy bag of diamonds, shocking him as the diamond shines brightly. "Whose are these?", "the prince's, it's regarding his engagement to the princess Elena", Albert is even more taken aback as he grabs one of the glistening diamonds with one hand while the other holds a magnifying glass to it. "This is really high quality..!", you nod, "so, how long will it take?", "perhaps 5 days if I rush it."
5 days.
5 days is all you have to prepare. This might be your only chance. Even if it's half a percent, you're willing to take that risk. This is an opportunity you've been waiting for. You don't even know if the prince will be there or not, it's just something you'll have to count on.
The rest of your work day passes by as usual, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unique, nothing to really make you feel content with life. Though, how could you? Even after all these years, you haven't given up on what you've been seeking ever since you were just a young teen. Whatever it is, it's still near impossible to achieve in these circumstances.
You take a seat looking out to the ocean, the sun setting as you do. The view reminds you a lot of the past. The very distant and unforgivable past. The little boy who had accompanied you all those years ago. The perpetrator.
Enough of the past. You're here to enjoy the sunset and ocean breeze. You sit in silence, relaxing your body and closing your eyes for a bit. Unfortunately though, even when the atmosphere is relaxing, something about it does annoy you a bit, the sound of people murmuring as they walk behind you, on the road. You can smell something sweet and know it's from the bakery not too far from your seat. This area used to be quiet, nice, full of trees and grass up until people decided they needed more land to use for shops. Everything changes overtime, nothing you can do about it.
After just a few minutes, the sun has dissapeared from sight, the moon taking its place. It's an everyday thing, nobody finds it unusual. Once the sun is gone, the moon takes over.
You look around, some shops are closing down while others stay open for the night. That's when you decide it's time for you to get some rest. No use staying here and dwelling on the past. It can't be changed anyways. As you're getting up, a carriage drives right by you, you catch a small glimpse of who the carriage is carrying. A mere glance from their midnight almost black eyes makes you shiver. It reminds you of the ocean at night and something more. Though, you can't quite place your finger on what it reminds you of.
Those 5 days pass by painstakingly slow. Too slow for you who wanted to have the prince's severed head on your shelf right this moment. When the day finally came, you waited in the shop. Acting as if it was any other day. Well, it sort of was. The only difference being the soon to be murder weapon concealed under your clothes. Your foot tapped impatiently, wanting to hear the sound of the townspeople murmuring or giggling, causing a ruckus. It would more than likely indicate the prince's arrival. "[Fake Name] why are you tapping your foot?", your boss asks with an annoyed expression. He hates the tapping sound, it drives him crazy. Though, when you turn around, wanting to answer or apologize for the action, the door opens. "Pardon me, I'm here to pick up a custom order?", a sweet and grace-laced voice calls out from just a mere meters from you. "O-oh yes of course your highness!", the old boss scrambles to the back, searching for where he had placed such an important order. Meanwhile, you stared bullets into the royal. This was it. Your chance. Maybe even your last.
As the prince takes a couple steps to admire the shop owner's handiwork, you took this as an opportunity to get closer. "Hm? I'm alright you don't need to show me around", you glance at the entrance, a few guards stationed to keep the prince safe but you wonder, why aren't any of them by his side? That's a stupid thing to do. Leaving their one and only heir all vulnerable to any and all attacks. With a swift move, you grab your weapon and direct it to the prince's throat, pinning him to the shelf. "Oh?", is all he lets out. An interested and excited 'oh' . The blade stops just a fraction from his skin, leaving him unharmed. Even as you try to press the blade closer, aiming to slice his soft skin, your strength is no match for his.
"Your highness! Here is your—", the old man nearly has a heart attack on the spot, nobody would blame him if he did. "[FAKE NAME]!? WHAT IN HEAVEN'S SAKE ARE YOU DOING!?", his screams are loud enough to reach the ears of the guards outside, prompting them to turn around and look at whatever was the matter. With no hesitation, they burst into the shop, almost breaking the glass door. "Drop your weapon immediately!", one of them says while the others surround you. "Step away and nobody gets hurt", their tone intimidating, unfortunately or fortunately, not quite intimidating enough for you. "Agh, fuckers", you turn to the guards, letting the prince out of your sights for just a splint second. A terrible mistake.
With a swift move, your blade is removed from your hands. "No need to worry, I'm afraid our attacker here is quite inexperienced", you look back at the prince who now has an even wider smirk. Little do you know, he's also scanning your features, taking it all in. "Huh, your face is familiar, that attitude, not so much", you glare at the man nad try to punch him using your non-dominant hand which is also stopped by him. "Y-y-your highness! I am incredibly sorry for the trouble he has caused!", the old man is clearly referring to you, "rest assured he's never allowed to work or come near here ever again!", he's almost crying, trembling with fear as to what the royal family might do to him. The prince seems to be thinking as he pauses for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. With a firm grip, the royal heir clasps both your hands in one of his, making sure you can't make any sudden attacks on him. With the now free hand, he stretches it to the boss, "where's my dagger?", and just like that, the boss is scrambling to hand it over. Once the prince had it in his hands, he looked over at your puzzled and angry face. "Is it pretty?", he holds up the dagger to your face. You think he's about to stab you with it so you remain silent. "I'm Prince Vaelius if you haven't already known", he scans you, "and you are..[Fake Name]?", he seems unsure of it himself, wanting confirmation from you but you don't give it. "Fuck you and fuck your royal family bullshit", you spat out with venom. Most would be incredibly angry by now but not him. He finds it amusing how you have a vendetta against him and he doesn't even know you!
Vaelius takes a step, then another, and another towards the exit. The guards open the door for him, wondering what his next move would be. As the carriage door opens, you're thrown into it, followed by the prince who climbs in immediately after you. You try to kick the man but all that does is amuse the royal sicko. "Let me..off this dammed carriage!", you scream and try to kick once more, only for your ankle to be grabbed by Vaelius who pulls you closer. Your leg now sitting on his shoulder as the carriage moves slowly. "Your life's in my hands now, [Name]."
"[Name], meet Prince Vaelius", your mother, the Queen of Aldoria introduces you to the little boy infront of you. He looks about 10. Now why would you befriend such a young boy when you can play with others your age? "Go on, talk to his highness", she gives you a gentle push which makes you a bit annoyed. The little boy looks up at you, his midnight eyes almost glowing as he looks into yours. It's as if he's mesmerized by you. "H-hi!", his voice is still high pitched unlike yours. You're in your early teens so it's been a while since you've heard an annoying high pitched voice. Nonetheless, you have to be nice. "Hello, I'm [Name] [Last Name]", you reach out to shake his hand but you mom quickly puts your hand down, "it's impolite, give a little bow", she whispers in your ear to which you oblige. You give the smaller boy a bow, to which he smiles sweetly at. "Mn! I'm Vaelius!", he excitedly replies.
Arriving at the place you never thought you'd ever step foot in ever again, you feel a sense of dread wash over. However, this feeling was soon followed by anger and frustration.
The prince steps out first and holds out his hand, anticipating yours to grab his. Instead, you ignore the outstretched hand and get out yourself. Dusting your clothes as your feet touch the ground. "Are you repulsed by me?—", as he asks that, your hand grabs his collar, glaring at him, "I won't cause a ruckus as long as you keep your hands off of me", "but you're the one touching me, are you not?", he looks down at the hand on his collar which you quickly pull back, turning your attention back to the magnificent castle infront of you.
With guards surrounding the both of you, you are brought into the castle, the prince never leaving your side. As the palace doors open, there are already maids taking the prince's coat off, making him feel at home while you look at him in dissapointment. Does he not even know how to take off his coat? Anywho, you look around, taking it all in. It's been years since you've last been here. "Do you like your new home?", "home?", you instantly turn around and ask, the maids retreating to their positions. Vaelius waltz towards you, a cunning look on his face that makes you want to punch it off him, "yes, you're marrying into this family, [Name]", he takes your hand, "didn't I say not to touch me!—", Vaelius places a peck on the back of your hand, "you wouldn't want to dissapoint the entire empire, now would you?", his eyes show a glint of obsession, though it passes faster than it appeared. For some reason, you can't pry your eyes from the lovestruck prince. "What are you saying...", you're suspicious of Vaelius, just what in heaven's sake is he talking about.
Vaelius gestures for one of his servants to come over. She's holding a blade with both hands which Vaelius grabs, handing it to you, "this is for you, my dear fiancé", his voice alluring and almost commanding you to take the blade in his hands. Despite his warm smile, the air felt heavy with an unspoken tension. Neither one of you wanted to lose this unspoken battle. "Or shall I remind you of how you tried to hurt the one and only heir?", his eyes open to look at you with a fierce look in them, you feel sick to your stomach. You hate him, you hate his family but this might be your only chance in surviving and carrying out your revenge. Lose the battle but win the war as they say.
You grab the blade part, bleeding a bit as it slices into your hand, "then, I'll gladly accept, my prince", you look at him with glaring eyes as he stares back with a smile, "aren't you sweet? Come up with more nicknames before our wedding, won't you?", he gestures again to the maids and in a few seconds, those same maids are guiding you to your new room. Temporary of course. You'd be sharing the same bed as the prince soon, patience.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
"At least the room's nice", you mumble to yourself after seeing where you'll be sleeping for the next few days or weeks. The maids all exit the room, with one letting you know that if you ever need something, to just ring the bell near your bed. You try to take it all in. What you did, what you will do and what he will do. The prince is unpredictable, making you all the more uneasy and wary of him, but for now, you should just enjoy a lavish lifestyle. Just like all those years ago.
"The prince is a beauty isn't he?", your mother catches you off guard. The two of you are sitting on a bench in the garden while ththe prince is with the emperor, discussing a few things with your father. "What do you mean, mother?", you ask in return and she giggles, "don't think I haven't noticed your eyes constantly following his figure now", your eyes widen, face visibly flushed. You can't say anything or rebuttal her words as you know it's true. She notices this and turns to you, a sweet smile on her face, "you might as well ask him out now before he gets snatched up by a girl or perhaps another guy", she jokes but sees that your expression is uneasy, "sweetie, I don't care who you like, you're allowed to love whoever, I mean, you're a teen now! I'm practically a soon to be grandma", she laughs and you do too. The small blonde prince turns to look at you with a huge innocent grin on his face. Little did you know, the emperor had noticed this and glared bullets into you.
"[Name]~?", Vaelius calls out, leaning a bit too close to you for comfort. You throw him off of you immediately, knocking him onto the carpeted ground, "ouch!", he rubs the back of his head which had collided with the ground, something in you compells you to lend him a hand. So, you extend one for him to take and he does so. "Why did you sneak up to me like that!?", you ask, furious. He stands up, almost towering over you, you don't remember him being this tall.."I wasn't, you were just spacing out", he sighs, looking like a hurt puppy who got scolded at by its owner, "don't pull that face and why are you here anyways?", he perks up at the question, "well, you are my soon to be husband, it's only natural I'd introduce you to my father", "I've already met hi-", "no time to lose!", he drags you out the room and into the hallways.
"Father! Meet my fiancé!", Vaelius pushes open the giant door to the emperor's office where Emperor Adrien sat. "What do you mean, son?—", his words are almost cut off as you enter the room, looking like you've been forced to be here, "who is that.", the emperor rises from his seat, looking down at you but not his son, "my fiancé", Vaelius happily says, holding your hand up. "Vaelius Luminayre. What in the world are you thinking", his tone is calm but you can tell he's beyond furious with his one and only son. "I'm perfectly capable of choosing my spouse, am I not, father?", Vaelius is passive aggressive with his words, daring the emperor to oppose his marriage with [Name]. "And what about Princess Elena", he is glaring at you, as if decades of hatred is surfacing once more. You can only look on in silence as the argument between father-son is going on. "Oh, her? You can tell her family we won't be needing them anymore", Vaelius says as if it's the most obvious and easiest thing in the world, ignoring the fact that they had been engaged for half a year. The families had hoped for Vaelius to take her as his empress but now..things have taken a turn for the worse.
"Vaelius. You two will not have my blessing", the emperor thought his son would listen after his little threat but that was far from true. "I didn't come to ask for your blessing, father", Vaelius slyly says, you can almost see an irk mark forming on his cheek. Emperor Adrien is shocked by this response, "Do you understand that you WILL NEVER become emperor if you marry that wretched man!? Has he corrupted your mind!?", the emperor yells and throws a vase your way, only for it to be blocked by Vaelius, what have you even gotten yourself into!? "Keep telling yourself that, old man", the prince turns around, taking you with him and exiting the room as yet another vase flies across the room, hitting the closed door.
This was only the start of your new life.
After that incident, your life became...easier? Well, it was all thanks to Vaelius anyways. Somehow, a few days after Vaelius met with his father to discuss about the marriage further, the emperor suddenly approved of your marriage. With the condition that the marriage would have to be postponed until 3 months later. This was also an opportunity for you to get rid of the royal family and not be tied to them in any way. You just had to figure out when was the perfect time for your plan to be executed.
And that moment came sooner than you expected. It was midnight, you knew everyone in the palace, other than the royal guards, were fast asleep by this point. The palace eerily quiet, the atmosphere almost horror-like as you roam the hallways to look for the emperor's chambers. To your utter shock and surprise, two guards lay dead on the ground of their own blood infront of the cracked open door. "Holy shit..", you cover your mouth. Even though you had seen this countless times...this time was different, it reminded you so much of that night
You also wondered, who could have beaten you to it? With your curiosity growing with each passing moment, you decide to take a peek. Avoiding the blood and corpse, you look through the small crack of the door. Your stomach drops at the sight. The moonlight shines on the perpetrator's blonde hair, in his left hand, the head of the now dead emperor, a blade on his right. The floor and walls covered in blood, the perpetrator himself is also covered in thick red liquid. Your eyes widen as the man notices someone staring at him. He turns to smirk at you, revealing himself as Vaelius Luminayre.
"Come in, why don't you?", he beckons you in, your legs move towards him, obeying his command. Once you reached him, your legs give out, falling into his arms as the bloodied head drops onto the ground with a loud thud. "Well aren't you so sweet? Falling for me like this", your head rests on Vaelius' shoulder as he holds you by your waist. You're almost frozen in place seeing what the prince, no, your fiancé, has done to the emperor. "V-Vae...", "sshh", he hushes you, "I did this for us, [Name], you've wanted this from the beginning, haven't you?", he chuckles in a low voice, a terrifying laugh. "Now we can get married the second the sun rises, isn't that amazing?", he holds your hand and makes you face him, lifting your chin to stare into his eyes as his bore into yours. "I'll be yours and you'll be mine, how's that?", with nothing left to say, you nod in agreement, did you want this from the start..?
"[Name] I'm gonna marry you one day!", the young boy says while pouting. Another lady had been flirting with you prior before this and unfortunately the young prince had witnessed it all. He was not happy. "W-what!?", you're taken aback by his suddenness, "you can't marry me..!", you yell to which he pouts even more, "why? Is it because I'm not a pretty lady!?", Vaelius seems like he's on the verge of crying so you give in, "o-okay then, I'll marry you", his mood takes a turn for the better and he smiles, "no take backs!"
The Prince always gets what he wants. Whether that's the title of Emperor or your hand in marriage. Today marks the day he gains it all. Not only is he the emperor by law, you are also now the Imperial Husband. A title that will be bestowed to you in a couple hours time.
The wedding ceremony was nothing short of grand. Everyone was invited to witness their new emperor's marriage to the former Prince of the [Last Name] house. Most cheered for the couple while some were dissapointed. Oh the look in Princess Elena and her family's eyes, priceless in the eyes of the now Emperor Vaelius. The wedding itself was held in the Royal Palace. Usually it'd be held at a church but Vaelius wanted it to be even more grand so he chose his palace. You even had a custom made outfit fit for the occasion, a pristine white dominated suit with the colors of your house. This was Vaelius' way in honoring the late King and Queen of your kingdom. You hated him and still do probably but you can't deny that what the both of you had in the past, still remains in the present.
Even though you didnt know whether he had been involved or not, something in you wanted him to be involved in your family's massacre, at least then..you can avenge them still, with the former emperor dead and all. You can't fail them but, is it worth murdering an innocent man for? The man whom you had fallen for all those years ago no less. In this marriage, you can't tell if it's either unrequited or requited love.
"Your Imperial Highness..!", a commoner girl says as you and your now husband pass by the crowds of civilians. They're all begging to get your attention, screaming, calling out and even crying, all so that you'd notice them. Maybe theyre trying to gain your favor or maybe they simply find you captivating, Vaelius sure understands where they're coming from. He finds you absolutely irresistible and it would be natural for the public to be captivated by your beauty too. So long as they know their place in his empire. You turn to face the girl who called out for you, her face full of joy despite her shabby clothing and dirty appearance. Why was she so happy just to get a glimpse of you? You'll have to get used to this life now.
What you probably can't get used to is your new life with the Emperor Vaelius. The moment the two of you stepped into your new shared chambers, Vaelius wasted no time in pushing you onto the bed, "Vaelius! What are you doing!?", "we're married now, aren't we? Let's spend the first night like husband and wife", he licks his lips at the sight of you sprawled on the bed. He's been waiting all this time for your return and his want for you can no longer be suppressed.
Without a second thought, Vaelius attacks your neck, littering it with kisses and hickeys. The pain was bearable, but the way he licked you really did send shivers down your spine, this sensation is very new to you. Instead of pushing him off, your hands pull him closer, something compells you to. It's as if the you from all those years ago came back, wanting to hold the now Emperor Vaelius. You close your eyes in pleasure, containing the moans threatening to escape your mouth. "You like this, huh", he speaks against your sensitive skin, making you all the more turned on. "M..mhm", you manage to get out. Vaelius then pulls back, looking at your mesmeric expression. "My...beloved [Name]...", your name rolls off his tongue over and over again as if he's afraid of the possibility of not being able to utter that name anymore. "Never leave me again", it sounds more like a demand rather than a plea. Before you could respond, he took both your hands with his left, his lips pressed against yours while his right hand is wandering down to your pants. Stopping to unzip them. If this was any other piece of clothing, he would have ripped it open. But since it's your wedding outfit, he'd like to keep it intact.
With his hand rubbing your cock, you reach out for said hand, wanting it to stop as you already feel to much pleasure. Never in your life would you have even thought that your first love would be touching you like this, as your husband no less. "Hm? Do you not like it?", Vaelius knows you like it, he just wants to hear those words come out your mouth. "Or would you like it more back there?", his hand wanders towards your hole, a finger pressing on the entrance as you moan just by his touch. His finger stays firmly pressed against your needy hole for a few seconds, enough for you to whine, "Vaelius..just put it in already!", a command he obeys as he immediately inserts a finger into your hole, you close your eyes due to the unfamiliar feeling, it feels weirdly pleasureful. Something in you wants more, something bigger, but you dont voice that out. Though, you neednt say anything for him to know what you want. He pushes in a second finger in, making you cling onto him.
"..ah...NGH...!?", you almost let out a loud moan as you feel your protaste being stimulated, closing your eyes in the process. Vaelius smirks, enjoying the way you're turning into putty under him. He didn't say anything as you moan out. Though, it was clear just by looking at his face, that he was thoroughly enjoying the lewd noises coming from you. Without wasting anymore time, he removed his fingers from your hole.
You felt empty, until something else pressed against your wet hole. Fuck! He's huge..! was your first thought as you took a good look at his lubed cock. You didn't even dare to estimate the size of it, "it won't fit..", a reaction which makes the emperor chuckle, "your body was made for me, of course it will fit", before you could respond or let out a snarky comment, Vaelius thrusts himself into you, gripping your waist as he does. You arch your back, eyes widen at the sudden intrusion, "f-fUcK!", you yell out, "you're so tight..", Vaelius was clearly enjoying the way your hole clenched around him. You, on the other hand, wasn't used to this. Tears form in your eyes but they dont fall. When you look back at the blonde, his face is red, seemingly lost in thought himself as he stares at his cock halfway in your hole. You felt his grip tighten and without warning, he slams his cock as deep as possible inside your ass. You let out a loud scream-like moan. The pleasure and pain hitting you all at once, "my dick feels...so good", he leans down to kiss you. You moan into the kiss, him exploring your mouth with his tongue, making you a mess as drool trickles down your chin.
You were getting used to his size due to him staying still but then Vaelius suddenly pulls out, leaving only the tip inside before thrusting it all in. "Ack..! Ah!", you moan as he thrusts in and out, leaving almost no room for you to breathe as he part his lips from yours, focusing on pounding your ass and filling it up with cum. You on the other hand, felt your eyes rolling back, your whole face flushed as you had a firm grip on the bed sheets. Your moans became louder than before, turning your now husband even more. His pupils were practically heart shaped as he looked at your messy form being fucked so hard and rough you look as if you're losing yourself.
You could see and feel the way Vaelius thrusted his cock in and out of you, your lower belly bulging whenever he went all the way inside. This sight made Vaelius all the more horny. Soon enough, he felt as if he was at his limit, "I'm gonna cum...!", as he said that, you grew more aware of your own orgasm. The more he pounded your hole, the more you felt close to your climax. "Cum with me, darling..!", he said inbetween grunts and gasps. Your body convulsed as you let out your first load in a while. Not only that, but the feeling of Vaelius' thick and warm seed filling up your hole made it all the more pleasureful for you. Unplugging his cock from your hole, his cum drips down onto the bed but the both of you couldn't care less in this moment. Lost in each other.
After a moment of silence and rest, Vaelius was the first to speak, "how was it?", "...well it was my first time so—"You're a virgin??", "...", you gave no further comment, regretting ever letting those words out your mouth. This makes Vaelius laugh and blush, knowing he was your first love and the one who took your virginity, "then...I'll make sure your body gets so used to my cock that nobody else's can satisfy your needs, I've got to make a good first impression for you", he throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms from behind you as you face the other way, "just a warning though, I have many needs and wont stop once I start"
And oh boy was that true.
Not even a month later, and he's already bending you over the table. The official meeting table. With nobles around the both of you as he took the farthest and tallest seat. Well, at this very moment, he's standing as he has his cock all the way inside of you. Your face buried in your arms, not wanting to face the tense nobles. Some are even turned on by the sight of you getting dominated infront of them. But, if any of them stared at you for too long, two blades would come flying towards their eyeballs. Afterall, the only one who should stare at you is Vaelius. "Regarding these problems, whose idea was it?", despite his cock being warmed by you, his personality was far from it. He was cold by nature, only warm towards you. You breathe heavily, embarrassed to be seen like this. The once crown prince, heir to the Aldoria Kingdom is now being bent over by the Emperor Vaelius, full of cock as the man towering over you holds important papers, dicussing as if he's not all the way inside you right now. "I-it was mine, your majesty", Vaelius lets out a dissapointed sigh, even you knew what this meant.
In an instant, he sits down on his seat, bringing you with him. This makes his dick sink even deeper into your hole, grazing your prostate ever so slightly that it makes your hole clench, making him grunt. He was clearly unhappy with the decisions the nobles made under his father's reign. With a hand on your hips, he moves you nack and forth, grinding on his cock. Vaelius somehow doesn't let out a sound that would make him seem weak infront of these powerful men but you do. You moan into your own arm and writhe in his touch, his cock so deep inside and hitting your prostate so good. "What made you come up with such a stupid and revolting idea", even if you aren't able to see it, just by his voice, you could tell he had a sinister look on his face, looking down on the noblemen. "I-I apologize your majesty", you watch as thr powerful men infront of you scared out of their wits when face to face with Vaelius. Though, you didn't pay their reactions any attention as you were too busy focusing on Vaelius' big cock inside.
With his strong hand, he lifts you up until they can see his cock halfway in before pushing you back down on it, he repeats this over and over again. Some of the noblemen got hard but dared not to touch themselves, but especially to you. Less they had a torture wish. "...and you call yourselves powerful? Smart? Hah!", Vaelius lets out a sarcastic laugh, it was loud enough to make them all tremble. "Your majesty..we—", "Silence.", a single word and they all felt their bodies shivering. "Get out of my face. I'll give you all a week.", they knew what he meant by this, he was goving them mercy. All of them got up, synchronized, bowing and thanking the emperor for his mercy before scurrying out the door.
This leaves you alone with the angry emperor. You wondered what would happen to you. Of course, you should have expected to be fucked dumb. Vaelius knew how to hit your prostate just right to get you screaming and slobbering over his cock. He drops the papers on the ground as of they're useless to him and holds your hips instead. You're turned around to face him and your arms wrap around his neck, "your expression...so cute", you weren't given a chance to respond, as if you could in your condition. He lifted you up and down on his cock extra rough. Those noblemen pissed him off and you're the only person who can calm him down. Using your hole. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the entire room. Even as it's air conditioned, the two of you sweat due to the intensity of it. Your prostate was basically being abused at this point, you couldn't think of anything but his cock, your brain all mushy now because of it.
Even as you came, he still continued his rough thrusts. Making you feel even more stimulated due to how sensitive you are after coming. "Take all of my cum inside, [Name], take it all..!", he says before coming inside you. Your head resting on his chest as he hold your waist. After a few minutes, he pulls out and helps you stand before bending you over the desk once more. "I love you [Name], please take all of me", in his eyes, the look of love and lust combined. The young boy, of whom you had once found annoying, has now become the man you despise. The one you wanted to rid the world of. Yet as fate foresaw it, he now stands as the dangerous emperor who has forcibly stolen your heart. But will you let him have it?
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Took two months but here it is yall (Im so sorry😞)
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i90o3 · 1 day ago
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haii ><,, i read your pampering fic w mr crawling and i js. UGH. IM SO IN LOVEEEE 😭😭 do u do nsfw drabbles/fics 🤔 i read in ur rules you DO allow nsfw so,, could i request something nsfw abt a first time with him ><??
First Time.
context: First time with your pookie wookie bookie puppy bear.
Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov…(?). NSFW | tw: ectoplasm c*m
Nsfw isn’t my strong suit but I have fun challenging myself, I do hope you enjoy this!
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first time? ..confusing. And complicated. And clumsy. But oh.. does it feel so good.
It’s definitely a lot of build up over a couple months, like first soft pecks, then making out, slow and clumsy touches.
You have to guide his hands yourself until he gets the hang of it, but I think he’s a pretty quick learner. He’s def good with his hands (I actually think he says that in the game at some point) and his tongue.. (😜)
I’d say your on your bed making out, straddling his lap, your tongues in a heated battle with each other while his hand roams your body and his other hand is gently cupping your face. You’re starting to subtly grind against him, and he makes a chirping noise.
You can feel his erection against your thigh, and when you pull back to look at him, he’s smiling widely at you. He grabs you by the shoulders and switches your positions, pushing you down against the mattress while he hovers over you. He’s whining and chirping, rutting against your leg and wrapping his big arms around you, burying his face in to your chest. He’s so whiny and desperate for you, clawing at your clothes to try and get them off.
I saw someone say he’d be on the smaller side, but yall see how fucking tall that man is?? I def think he’s atleast 6 or 7 inches ..skinny, veiny, with a slight curve.
He’s chirping and making all sorts of noises when he finally sinks in to your wet heat, rutting so sloppily and clumsily. You jolt from how cold it is compared to your hot gummy walls, making you shiver. He has no idea really what he’s doing, but it just feels so good he can’t stop, can’t help himself. How you clench around him, how good it feels, its driving him insane. Burying his face in to your neck and wrapping his arms around you so tightly.
You can tell he’s getting close because he’s getting more vocal and his thrusts are getting even more sloppier (somehow), and you’re clawing at his back, whimpering and mewling. Your walls clench around him, milking his purple-tipped cock, cumming with a sharp cry. His hips stutter as you ride out your high, and he slips out of you, shooting his load on your tummy, rubbing his grey ectoplasm cum all over your soft skin, giggling maniacally.
After you clean yourselves up, you snuggle up to him, pulling the covers up around you both as he pats your head and you drift off to sleep on his arms.
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11/11/2024. 9:38 am. @i90o3
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danidrabbles · 3 days ago
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Cardinal
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Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.
It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.
During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.
Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here. 
You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.
The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–
“Hey, stop!”
A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.
“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 
You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.
“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
“You know–” he begins.
“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”
“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”
Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–
“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”
“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.
“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.
The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”
“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”
He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”
There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”
To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.
You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.
“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”
“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”
– – – – –
Logan.
That’s his name. 
It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.
Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.
Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”
Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
“Quit pitying me, Logan.”
“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”
Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 
He hums.
“And how does that work?”
“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–
“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”
“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”
“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.
“I should head home,” you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”
“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”
“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”
“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”
He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.
THE CRAVING
New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.
You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 
It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.
The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 
“First time’s on the house.”
You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.
A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.
“She isn’t interested, pal.” 
It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–
“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 
Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.
“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”
“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“And then what, huh?”
“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”
“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”
“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”
It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.
“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.
“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”
He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–
“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.
Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”
– – – – –
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 
“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”
“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.
“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”
“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.
Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.
You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.
“What–”
“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”
“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”
You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 
There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.
“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”
The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.
“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 
He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.
THE PUZZLE
It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 
Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 
So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 
Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.
“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.
“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 
Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 
“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”
He nods in acknowledgement.
“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”
Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.
“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”
“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
– – – – –
You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.
“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”
“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 
“You’re a quick study.”
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”
“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”
You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”
Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”
“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…
There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 
There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.
“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.
“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”
“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”
“You can pay next time.” 
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
– – – – –
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.
“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.
“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.
It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 
There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.
Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.
“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.
“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”
There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.
An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–
You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.
Fuck.
Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”
Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 
Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”
You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.
“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”
“It caught you off guard, it happens–”
“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”
Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.
It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”
“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”
“What if it wasn’t enough?”
“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”
Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 
“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”
– – – – –
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 
“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 
You respond in kind. 
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.
A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.
THE MEETING
April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.
You’d answered without saying a word.
“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”
You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 
“Sounds to me like now might be good.”
“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 
“Logan?”
“Still here.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.
The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 
Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 
“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”
You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...
But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 
That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 
Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 
The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 
“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.
The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.
“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.
“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 
“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
– – – – –
“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.
The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply. 
“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”
You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.
It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 
“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”
Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”
“Maybe next time.”
During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.
“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”
“You went there on your side?”
He hums.
“By yourself?”
He hums again.
“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 
“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”
It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”
His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 
“Can you do it?”
“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”
It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”
“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”
“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”
“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”
“Definitely,” you reply.
“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”
You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”
“I like it when I drink it with you.”
It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”
“See you.” 
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.
THE SUMMER
Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.
You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.
It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.
It’s way better than champagne.
– – – – –
You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 
The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”
“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”
Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 
“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”
Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”
“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.
Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”
“Wade,” Logan warns.
Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”
“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”
It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.
– – – – –
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.
It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.
“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”
– – – – –
“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 
Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”
You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 
Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 
“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”
– – – – –
“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.
“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”
You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”
“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”
THE PARTY
“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”
You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”
“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”
“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”
When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”
“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”
“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.
“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” you smile.
“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”
The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.
“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.
Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 
“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”
“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”
– – – – –
The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 
While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–
“Do you dance?”
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 
“Logan,” you breathe. 
It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–
“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”
“Bye, Logan.”
THE TABLE
Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.
Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…
…broad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.
But he might.
Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.
But it would change everyth– 
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 
friends. 
You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.
“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.
It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.
The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 
“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”
“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.
“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”
“Then what the fuck was that all about?”
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.
“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”
The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”
His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 
Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 
Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”
“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”
“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”
“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.
Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.
“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”
The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 
His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.
Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 
“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 
“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 
The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 
Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.
The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…
“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 
It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 
He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.
“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.
Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 
With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.
“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”
“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 
If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.
He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.
“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”
The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.
“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.
You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.
“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.
“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  
“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–
With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 
“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.
With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.
The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 
You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 
Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 
“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”
He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 
The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.
It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 
Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...
It’ll be a long night.
THE PEARL
It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 
Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.
“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”
The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.
“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.
“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”
She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”
“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.
It takes a lot of string indeed.
Sometimes even interdimensional string.
– – – – –
(THE END)
If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.
And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂
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buckyalpine · 1 day ago
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I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.
He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.
"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.
"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.
"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.
"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...
"I-
"For the stain"
"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.
"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...
"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.
"Good God"
"Jesus"
"You look fuckin' good terminator"
"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.
"Body shots!"
"What?"
"Yes"
Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.
"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"
He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.
"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.
"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-
"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.
"How much has he had to drink"
"Who cares, me next"
"I think you've licked enough of my husband"
"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"
"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"
"Blink twice if you need help"
"Bro looks like an angel"
"Why aren't you blinking"
"Crafted by the heavens"
"You like this, don't you"
Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.
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coldfanbou · 2 days ago
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In Plain Sight
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Here we go with Chaeryeong. She just can't help herself. Also, guest Yuna makes a small appearance at the end and is just as big a perv as Chaeryeong.
Length: 2k
Chaeryeong X Mreader
A little past noon, you took the girls out shopping, except for Chaeryeong, who had chosen to stay home instead. The shopping trip was for Yuna more than it was for Ryujin and Lia; while both women could do some shopping, Yuna was the one who loved it. She dragged you along to every store, looked through every rack of clothing, and tried on everything she liked. It was a tiring experience for you, but, at the very least, it was something you had to do only every few months, or Yuna would start to complain. 
Once you were done with shopping, the drive home, and the girls chatting in the van's back seats over Yuna’s mountain of bags, it was all going smoothly until you hit a traffic jam. Yuna was the first to complain, stomping her feet against the floor. “Why aren’t we moving?!” 
“We’re in traffic, Yuna!” You’d yell back at her, earning you a pout from the maknae,
“There was no need to yell,” she says quietly, making the others laugh. 
At the dorms, Chaeryeong glances at the clock and lets out an exaggerated sigh. You and the others had been absent for what felt like an eternity. She whips out her phone and dials your number: “Manager! When are you getting back?” She playfully whines, her impatience laced with humor. 
You laughed at her, “We hit some traffic, Chaeryeong.” You stare out the window, a line of cars piled ahead. “It’ll probably be another hour or so. We’re piled up behind a lot of cars, and we’re barely moving.” You hear Chaeryeong huff and hold back another laugh.
“Alright, but don't take forever, " she says before ending the call. Chaeryeong rises from her bed and heads to the living room. “Another hour to myself,” she groans, settling on the sofa. She scrolls through her phone, wondering what to do, when she thinks, “They won’t be back for an hour… maybe I should…” A naughty thought worms its way into Chaeryeong’s mind. She purses her lips and heads back to her room, searching the back of her bottom drawer and pulling out a ruby-red dildo. She pauses for a moment and places the dildo on the counter, stripping herself down before grabbing it again. Chaeryeong smirks as she hurries back to the living room. 
Chaeryeong lays on the couch, searching for porn with one hand as she holds the dildo with the other, her tongue swirling around the head as she prepares. Once she finds a video she likes, Chaeryeong settles in and brings the dildo between her lips. She coos and shuts her eyes for a moment, letting the pleasure flow through her body before focusing intently on the video. The young woman runs the dildo between her legs, coating it in her nectar, and once she sees the woman in the video getting fucked she follows along, pushing the dildo deep into her cunt and filling the room with her moans. Chaeryeong makes the toy disappear inside her, ensuring every inch is in her before pulling out and ramming it back into herself. She follows the pace of the video, moving slowly when the actor does and fucking herself senseless when she sees him going wild. As time went on, Chaeryeong stopped focusing on the video, dropping her phone and focusing her energy on fucking herself.
Chaeryeong grabs at her breasts, pulling on her nipple as she moves the dildo in and out of her cunt. She feels her climax approaching and arches her back, moaning loudly. She speeds up, her face becoming flush and skin sweaty as she pushes closer to her orgasm. “Just a little more,” she moans, feeling a tightness in her core. “C’mon,” Chaeryeong whines as she pushes the dildo deeper inside. Her hand practically slapping against her pussy as she continues to fuck herself.
Just then, she hears the sound of the doorknob jiggling and grabs the throw blanket on the couch, covering her naked form. Chaeryeong scrambles to grab her phone, changing the screen from the porn she was watching to Instagram. “We’re back!” Yuna yells as she barrels through the door, heading to her room. You walk closely behind her, carrying a mountain of bags. Chaeryeong gulps as everyone moves through the dorm, barely paying her any attention. 
Yuna swings back to the living room after you’ve placed her bags in her room and throws herself on top of Chaeryeong. Her weight forces Chaeryeong down and pushes the dildo deeper inside the young woman; Chaeryeong feels it rub against her cervix and bites her lip to keep from moaning. “Did you miss us, Chaerry?” Yuna asks, bouncing on Chaeryeong lap. 
Chaeryeong nods, “Mhm,” she hums, responding the only way she could. Her body was tingling, and Yuna kept bouncing on her lap, making the dildo move inside her. 
“I found so many pretty clothes today; you should have come with us.” Yuna cheers, grabbing Chaeryeong’s hands. The older of the two presses her elbows against her sides, keeping the blanket in place as Yuna chatters about what she bought. “You would’ve loved one of the dresses we saw. Wait here, I’m going to change into a few outfits and show you how I look.” Yuna said, getting off Chaeryeong’s lap and heading to her room. Overhearing the conversation, Ryujin and Lia quickly made their way into their rooms and shut the doors, refusing to be spectators for another one of Yuna’s fashion shows. In their rooms, they blasted music and locked their doors, refusing to become involved in any way.
You walk into the living room and notice Chaeryeong sitting on the couch, squirming under the blanket. You know Chaeryeong, you know what she likes. You approach the young woman and place your hand on her forehead. “You’re pretty hot, Chaeryeong. Are you sick?” 
She shakes her head, “I’m fine, it’s…just a little stuffy in here.”
You chuckle and press down on her lap, forcing the dildo to move inside her. Chaeryeong squirms under your touch. You get by her ear and whisper, “You were masturbating again, weren’t you?” You watch a crimson blush appear on her face. You lean down and kiss her neck, “Go on already, Chaeryeong.”
“Manager, please fuck me,” The young woman whispers, desperate for your touch now that you are offering.
You pull off the blanket covering Chaeryeong’s body and glance at her, noting the red dildo in her pussy. You slide your hand down her slick body until you reach her cunt; you grab the base of the dildo and fuck her with it. Chaeryeong bites her lip, trying to keep her voice down as you attack her body.
Nipping at her neck and teasing her with a slow fucking, Chaeryeong begins to whimper, wanting more from you. She reaches down to your pants, rubbing your growing bulge and begging for you. You figure that Chaeryeong had probably been denied the chance to cum and speed up your thrusts, moving the dildo in and out of her wet cunt like a machine. 
Chaeryeong’s eyes shoot open, and she opens her mouth, gasping as the tension she’s feeling gets broken down, and she cums on the couch. You continue to pump in and out of the young woman, her voice eventually breaking through, “Oh God,” She groans, feeling her muscles tighten as her orgasm rocks her. You drive the dildo inside her one final time before slowly pulling it out and tossing it onto the couch. 
You move Chaeryeong into a sitting position and take a seat beside her, pulling out your cock. Chaeryeong weakly reaches over, grabbing your shaft and sliding her hand along it. “There’s a better way to do this, Chaeryeong,” you whisper into her ear before grabbing her waist and placing her on your lap, your cock between her legs. You press her legs together and move Chaeryeong along your cock, as if she was a toy.  The tired woman groans as she feels your warm cock between her lips. 
“I want it inside, put it inside,” she whines.
You line yourself up with Chaeryeong’s entrance and hold her in place. She tries to lower herself, but you keep her from moving. “Not yet, Chaeryeong.”
“Manager, please,” she whines, “Please fuck me; I want your cock inside me,” she begs. You feel a sense of satisfaction hearing Chaeryeong beg. You drop her onto your cock and thrust up, burying yourself inside the young woman’s tight cunt. 
She thanks you repeatedly as you thrust into her. Chaeryeong bounces on your cock after you let go of her waist, riding you with enjoyment as your cock fills her up. You move your hands up to her breasts, squeezing the modest mounds and pinching her nipples, knowing that she loves it. Chaeryeong moans getting louder only prove your thoughts. You let Chaeryeong ride you for a couple of minutes, enjoying the sight of the young woman fucking herself on your cock. 
Soon enough, though, you wanted to ravage her. You make her kneel on the couch and take her from behind, spanking her ass as you drive your cock deep into her. Chaeryeong hummed, loving every hit. Her moans slowly grow louder, and your bodies continue to clap against each other. 
As you’re fucking Chaeryeong, Yuna comes back into the living room, her initial shock replaced by arousal. Her eyes are glued to the action as she watches Chaeryeong moan and enjoy being fucked. She slips her hand down under her shorts, touching herself while you pound away at Chaeryeong’s body.
Chaeryeong’s walls begin to tighten around you. “I’m cumming,” she groans. Chaeryeong collapses onto the couch, her back arched and allowing you to go deeper into her cunt. You wrap Chaeryeong’s hair around your hand and pull her head back as you thrust. Chaeryeong stares right at Yuna, gasping. Being watched by Yuna makes her cum instantly; her body shakes as she cums on your cock. You pull Chaeryeong’s body against yours, letting Yuna take in the sight of her member’s naked body. You force Chaeryeong to look at Yuna and watch the maknae finger herself.
You move your other hand to her clit and toy with it as you continue to ravage her. The pleasure is overwhelming, and Chaeryeong’s body shudders against yours. Her walls clamp down around your cock as she cums a third time. Her juices squirt out onto the couch and floor, and you both watch as Yuna’s knees grow weak and her shorts become darker as she cums herself. You smile and turn Chaeryeong’s head, kissing her before picking her up and taking her to her room. 
Yuna kneels in the living room, recovering from her orgasm, as she spots Chaeryeong’s dildo. She crawls over to it, taking it in her hands and stroking it. Yuna hears the muffled sounds of Chaeryeong’s moans coming from her room and walks over to the door, pressing her ear against the door and listening. The temptation is too great for the young woman, and she drops her shorts and panties to her knees, pushing Chaeryeong’s dildo inside her and fucking herself as she listens to your session with the older woman. Yuna initially imagines herself in Chaeryeong’s position, but then her mind wanders to watching the action instead. The idea turns her on more than being fucked herself, and Yuna cums as she imagines the sight of Chaeryeong’s naked form cumming in front of her. Yuna presses herself against the door for support as she drives the dildo deeper into her, her thoughts filled with Chaeryeong’s body being taken by you. Yuna drives herself to an explosive orgasm, cumming just as Chaeryeong cries out from her climax.
You knew Yuna was outside and considered inviting her in, deciding against it. You wanted to see Yuna act on her desires and come in herself. So, for now, you enjoyed your time with Chaeryeong, fucking the young woman as you liked and taking her in any position you desired.
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iid-smile · 3 days ago
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★ silly stickers — itoshi rin
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꠴ itoshi rin x fem!reader
content: established relationship, mentions of bruises and fights, stickerzz!!
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"you're silly."
rin doesn't respond, as he has the last two times you've said that. aside from your occasional repeated comment, the only sound filling your small kitchen was the clattering of rin's chopsticks against the bowl in front of him, and the sticker sheets that fill the rest of the table.
with a bored pout on your face, you peel off a particularly glittery sticker, not hesitating to boop it right over his bandaged nose. "silly."
his eyes lift from his food to glare at you, which is also what he's done for the past three— now four times you've called him that. the two of you stare at each other silently before you break the eye contact, peeling off a heart sticker and smacking it right on his forehead. after all, it's kind of difficult to find him intimidating when his cheeks are stuffed with food.
right when you were going to pull your hand back, he grabs onto your wrist, stopping you midair. "stop it." his voice sounds slightly muffled to your ears as he's shoved whatever was in his mouth into one cheek.
"why?" you shimmy your arm out of his grasp, picking up another fresh sheet. "you didn't stop when i told you not to get into another fight."
silence. that one got him.
three seconds pass. rin's eyes narrow at you, then averting his gaze as he continues chewing. the air didn't feel as tense as you thought it would be, as if rin's managed to find a way to telepathically communicate that he's sorry in some way.
he really is silly, getting hit in the face like that. is he not worried about injuries? is he not worried that his poor attempts at hiding the bandage would cause his own girlfriend to be so pissed at him? seriously... you don't even want to imagine what that bruise looks like right now.
and here you are, using stickers to take out your frustration. "silly, silly, silly." your insults are starting to sound more sweet, lips curling from how cute he looks being all grumpy.
your canvas knows no bounds as his face runs out of space, expanding to his neck and hands. he can only sit there and endure your "punishment", because he'd rather have stickers all over him than have you genuinely upset with him.
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a/n: plot? whats that? we dont need that...
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ellecdc · 3 days ago
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this may be a bit left field from what you were asking but i had this idea in my head for awhile of remus being told he couldn't have children because of the whole werewolf thing and reader gets pregnant and he instantly thinks he's been cheated on and it couldn't be his because of what he was told from a young age (his self esteem and insecurity that he isn't good enough etc. flaring up!! not that he truly believes she would but he's spiralling and it's the only explanation right????) and it takes lily and the marauders to knock some sense into him and realise he's been given a little miracle and a chance at having a family like he's always wanted!!! (i imagine being told he couldn't have children put the whole werewolf thing into perspective and meant he secretly yearned for it as it was another thing it had taken from him)
sorry this was long, if it's rubbish please ignore, it's why i've anonned!!!
poor angsty moony hahahaha. thanks for your request!
Remus Lupin x Black!reader who tells him she's pregnant, and he doesn't respond well [1.7k words]
CW: pregnancy, implied belief of cheating/adultery with a happy ending, background jilypad because I wanted to
“Wait, wait, wait.” James interrupted, holding his hands up from the table as Lily folded her lips over her teeth like she was working over time trying not to laugh. “Hang on. Are you telling me-”
“This is not funny, James.” Sirius hissed, glaring daggers at Remus though his hold on Harry in his arms was as soft as ever.
A giggle escaped Lily’s lips, though she was quick to slap a hand over her mouth when Sirius turned his burning gaze to her. 
“You’re telling me” James continued “that your girlfriend-”
“My sister.” Sirius interrupted.
“- that you love-”
“More than life itself, right.” Remus continued.
“- told you she was pregnant, and you…” James trailed off, clearly waiting for someone else to jump in here. 
“Came here?” Lily tried.
“Ran off like a sod?” Sirius muttered. 
“Told her you…didn’t believe her?” James offered.
“It’s impossible!” Remus argued.
“Do you not fuck your girlfriend, Moons?” James drawled then, causing Sirius to moan very dramatically as he held his son against his face as if he couldn’t even look at Remus right now; Harry, for his part, found that hilarious and started pulling at his papa’s long hair. 
“Sod off, James.” Remus groaned miserably as he ran his hands over his face. “It’s impossible, werewolves cannot procreate.”
It was Lily who asked “Says who?” 
“Just… everyone.”
“Everyone?” James asked, his eyebrows rising over the frames of his glasses.
“Yes, James, everyone.” Remus hissed. “The…healers-”
“Would have told your parents they had ‘no idea what your future holds’.” Lily explained simply. “What lycanthrope have they studied to know if that’s true or not?”
“There has never been any cases of a werewolf successfully procreating, Lily.” Remus explained simply.
“So just because it’s never been bloody written down, you think it could never happen?” Sirius spat then, looking around Harry’s little body who still had a fistfull of his hair to level Remus with a look. “So, what? She’s lying? She’s making it up? She’s cheating on you?”
The room fell quiet as everyone, even Harry, turned to look at Remus as they waited for a response.
“Remus.” Lily breathed out in disbelief when he didn’t provide one.
“You didn’t…” James sighed.
“Remus fucking Lupin, I swear to Merlin if you-”
“What was I supposed to say!?” Remus exploded then. “I- it’s supposed to be impossible. Werewolves cannot or do not procreate, they cannot be parents, they-”
But his excuses sounded feeble, even to his own ears. Lily was right; no studies as such have ever been conducted on lycanthropes. Sirius was right; there was no evidence because it had just never been written down. James was right; Remus does fuck his girlfriend. 
Remus had always assumed this was just one more thing that his lifelong curse had stolen from him; the ability to ever have a family of his own. 
Although, there were a lot of things Remus’ lycanthropy was supposed to have taken from him, yet….
Yet, he had two parents who loved him unconditionally and did everything they could for him, even though there were no rule books or how-to guides on raising a werewolf child. Yet, he had been accepted to attend Hogwarts at age 11, even though he never expected to be able to attend school with his affliction. Yet, he met four boys on the train who turned out to be his roommates, who turned out to be his friends, who turned out to be his pack, even though they didn’t have to be. Yet, he found himself a precious love who loved him in return, even though you were raised to lift your nose at anyone who wasn’t a pureblood, even though you were raised to harbour disdain for creatures and beasts alike, even though you were a Black and he was a Lupin, even though you were a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor, even though….even though. 
Remus wasn’t supposed to have any of this, yet here he was. And he wasn’t supposed to ever have children of his own, yet…
“Oh Godric.” Remus breathed out as he sat back in his chair; both hands over his mouth in a silent gasp as he stared unseeingly past his three friends. 
“You know Sunny loves you to the stars and back, Remus.” Sirius started earnestly. “And the fact that you think she could have ever betrayed you like that-”
“I didn’t.” Remus hissed. “I don’t.”
“I know, Rem.” Lily offered, even though Sirius didn’t seem all that convinced. “It’s just what you thought made the most sense at the time.” 
But it really didn’t make sense at all. The thought would have absolutely never crossed his mind in a million years if he hadn’t been told his entire life that this was just impossible for him. 
“Have you wanted kids, Rem?” James asked quietly then, and Remus’ eyes came back into focus as he looked at Harry.
Harry, who was the spitting image of James, who had Lily’s eyes, who had Sirius’ mischief. Who was loved beyond measure and loved his parents exactly as they were.
Did he want kids? He certainly liked kids. He loved Harry. He thinks he’d be a good dad… that is, if it weren’t for the lyca-
“I can see where your mind is going, Remus.” Lily interrupted his spiralling then. “We didn’t ask if you should be a dad - which is not even a question, by the way - we asked if you wanted to be.”
“Yes.” Remus whispered; the answer came so easily. 
“Alright then.” Sirius declared, sitting Harry up as if they both meant business. “So let’s pretend - even for a sodding second - that Y/N did end up pregnant by some random imaginary bloke that doesn’t exist. This would mean that she apparently had many options, yet she came running to tell you. She’s pregnant, and she wants to do this with you.” 
And if Remus didn’t feel like an arse before, he certainly felt like one now. He knows you would never do that to him, of course he does. But even if you had the choice of 100 other men to father your child - all of whom would be able to provide for you better, who wouldn’t risk the safety of your child every month, who wouldn’t risk passing that curse down to your child, who wouldn’t make their life harder by simply being the offspring of a werewolf - you wanted it to be him. You wanted Remus. 
The good, the bad, and The Wolf - you wanted him all. 
“I think you need to go talk to your girlfriend, Moons.” James offered with a hopeful smile, and Remus couldn’t agree more. 
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The flat was quiet when Remus stepped through the floo; the entire space seemed spotless, evidence of your anxious tidying taking over after Remus took off.
Remus tried to tamp down the guilt and shame working its way up his throat as he took off his shoes and jacket, placing them in their designated spots lest he disrupt the perfect kept house you’ve worked on all afternoon (and well into the evening, now that Remus could see that the sun was long gone from the sky). 
He found you in the living room at the desk bent over a book and some papers, and Remus found himself smiling without his consent when he was brought back to late nights in the Hogwarts library; his grades profiting greatly simply because he wanted to find any excuse to be in your company. He’d find out later that you were doing the same. 
You looked over at him expectantly, and Remus felt his heart splinter at the cautious, uncertain expression on your face. It was as though you were afraid of him, like you weren’t sure what he was about to do or say. 
“Dove?” He ventured. “Can we talk?” 
“That’s what I’d been trying to do, Remus.” You merely whispered, and Remus can’t remember the last time he’d ever heard you sound so small.
He made for you immediately, crouching down beside your chair so that he could look up at you. “I’m so sorry, baby, I-”
“And you accused me of whoring around and ran out on me.” You added, and the final fracture split Remus’ heart in two when he saw your eyes well with tears. “Remus, I would never-”
“I know dove, I know.” Remus insisted, reaching up to take your face in both of his, quickly wiping at the tears falling from your lower lashes. “I know you wouldn’t. I know that, I just- I didn’t think it was possible for me, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to have kids.”
You sucked in a shuddering breath and closed your eyes, clearly trying to will away the onslaught of emotions. Remus felt like scum of the earth. 
“I never imagined I’d ever get a chance like this.” He whispered. 
“Well,” you offered primly, and Remus could tell you were working hard to imbue a certain levity to your words, “I’m not sure that you should, now. Taking off on me like that.” 
Remus knew you were joking, but he sighed at you as he pouted his lips. “M’so sorry, dove.”
“You should be.” You agreed, though you leaned forward to press your forehead against his. 
The two of you sat in silence for some time; you evening out your breathing, and Remus drawing circles with his thumbs where they rested on your arms as his legs started to cramp. 
“Are you really going to have my baby?” He whispered then; the weight of the words finally settling somewhere deep within his soul, though not unpleasantly. 
“Well, yes, but I’m not going to do it on my own.” You responded, sitting up to look at Remus imploringly. “So what do you say, Lupin? Are you in or out?”
In, of course. All the way in; for as long as he lived, for as long as you wanted him, he was in. He was all in.
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moonstruckme · 3 days ago
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Hi!! I had surgery a few weeks ago and I’m definitely hitting a wall mentally. I’ve been so sad with recovery and I’m so exhausted and cranky (unfortunately). I was wondering if you could write an emt!marauders or poly!marauders w reader going through that?? Thank you! Your writing has been a huge comfort for me during this time 🩷
Hi lovely! I realize it's been a while since you sent this so I hope you're feeling much much better now! Thanks for requesting <3
cw: post-op recovery, shoulder injury
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 727 words
James enters the bedroom to witness three stages of wakefulness. There’s Remus where he left him, fluffy haired and squinty eyed scrolling through his phone. One of Remus’ hands is toying idly with the ends of Sirius’ hair, who’s still dead asleep next to him, on his stomach with his face pushing into the pillow (James has never been able to figure out how he can breathe like that). Then there’s you, just sitting up with a groan and a sour look on your face. His angel. 
“Here, love.” James sets the coffee he’d brought for Remus on the nightstand, making sure the handle is facing him. Remus’ thanks is croaky with drowsiness, his smile gentle. James says to you, “Morning. How’d you sleep?” 
“Hard,” you mumble. You shrug your one shoulder experimentally, and grimace. “Too hard.” 
Remus makes a sympathetic sound, looking at you over the rim of his mug. “Did you sleep on it wrong?” 
“No.” You sound a tad defensive. “I was on my back all night.” 
Remus hums. “This is what happens when you don’t do your stretches at night, dovey.” 
You scowl. James ruffles Remus’ hair. “Be nice,” he chides. “You could do some stretching now, angel.” 
Sirius makes a disgruntled sleepy sound, rolling onto his side to wrap his arms around your waist. He settles his head contentedly on the plushness of your thigh. “Everyone shut up,” he grumbles. “And stop getting up.” 
“We’re not getting up,” James placates him. “She’s only doing her stretches.” 
“But it hurts,” you whine. 
“That’s why you do your stretches, sweetheart.” Remus gives you a look. 
James can feel you getting irritated. You’ve been recovering from your surgery for weeks now, and you’re growing exhausted not only with all the things you can’t do with your shoulder but also all the things you have to do to build back its strength and mobility. He goes to the dresser as you slump forward into your own lap, hapless. 
“Come on,” he laughs, tossing you your towel. “You can start with the towel one first. That one’s fit.” 
You look up at James. “It is not.” 
“Y’always look good, babe,” Sirius mumbles into your thigh. 
“See? And extra good when you stretch your arms like that.”
“He’s dead to the world.” You roll your eyes, though you’re petting Sirius’ hair fondly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 
Still, you sigh and pick up the towel when Remus nudges it towards you pointedly, rolling your neck in preparation. James feels a bit of warmth come to his face (he was only partly joking about how attractive you are when you stretch). 
It’s a bit difficult for you at first, clearly, the result of growing a bit lax about your stretches over the past few days. James can see Remus’ lips press together like he’s physically restraining himself from commenting on it. A low whine builds in your throat. 
“There you go,” says Sirius in a salacious tone. James is beginning to suspect he’s more awake than he’s letting on. “Tell us how you really feel, sweetheart.” 
“This is so pointless,” you grumble. “It’s too lame to do anything.” 
“Don’t say that,” James chides you. It’s not his intention to make you feel like you can’t vent to them, but James is firmly of the belief that ceasing negative talk will eventually lead to an abatement of negative thoughts. “It’s working, you just need to give it time. You’re tons better than you were a couple of weeks ago, right?” 
“If you mean I can pick up an empty soda can,” you say drily, “then yes.” 
“That is what I mean. Empty soda cans are a big step.” 
“It’s a process,” Remus tells you in a more placating tone. “You can’t expect to be all the way better overnight. Especially not if you’re not doing your stretches.” 
You don’t miss the judgment threaded through that last bit, your expression turning sour again. Sirius appears to sense this without opening his eyes. He hugs you around the middle, smearing a kiss over your thigh. 
“You’ll get there, lovie,” says James. “And hey, if it’ll help, I can sit with you while you do your stretches every day. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” 
Remus snorts, and Sirius mumbles something into your skin that sounds like “I’ll bet you wouldn’t.”
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starless-nightz · 2 days ago
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Omgggg i have a request. What about Jinx x fem reader looking after Isha (SHES ADORABLE)? I just really want some fluff 😭😭
Jinx and her fem! S/O looking after Isha HCs
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note -> I wasn't planning on posting today but I needes to write some Jinx HCs I JUST HAD TO!! I LOVE ISHA SO MUCH SHES MY DAUGHTER GUYS!!!
warnings -> none.
content includes -> fluff, Jins is jealous of you giving attention to Isha, found family, mentions of Sevika, Isha sees reader as a mother figure.
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You were quite suprised to find your girlfriend being followed around by a small child, a cute girl with short brown hair and big yellow eye's. You immediately fell in love with her, taking you under yours and Jinx's wing.
Jinx disliked the fact that you were paying more attention to the little girl, but she never said anything, she wouldn't admit it but she grew fond of Isha, and Isha idolized you two.
Sevika and Jinx were both shocked when you started acting like a motherly figure to Isha. Jinx didn't really mind it, since she acts more reckless with Isha it's good for both Isha and her to have someone to ground them.
You often scold Jinx for giving Isha her gun to test it out, the two would often go behind your back to do something stupid which always leads to you scolding them, sometimes Sevika
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