#he always makes room for his charles
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this came to me in my evening haze and i scrambled to put it together
#its based off a haikaveh picture that i cannot find the source of whatsoever#cl16#mv33#lestappen#charles leclerc#max verstappen#but yeah. i was thinking about how in max waited very patiently last race to overtake charles#even when max was so bitchy and whiny#he always makes room for his charles#i will go insane today has fueled me for weeks
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misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1
summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before
word count: 8.2k + social media posts
folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day đ„č this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
Max Verstappen was bored.
It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.
He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.
After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.
A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."
Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a readerâhe had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loudâ but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.
The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"
Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny â and really prettyâ. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.
"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."
Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.
"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."
Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.
"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"
Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.
"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."
Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.
"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."
Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.
"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."
Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.
With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.
When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.
"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."
Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.
"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."
Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.
"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."
Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.
As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.
After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.
As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others
f1gossip âI went to bed early last night. Just listened to the teamâs orders, you know?â
Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am đ
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username1 HES SOOOOO
username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBERâS channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS đ
username3 he looks so pretty tho
username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU
username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers
username6 HES SO RANDOM
username7 maxâs search history: lestappen as fictional couples
liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others
ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?
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username1 YES QUEEN
username2 that max comment was so random but so real
username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card
username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you
username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES
username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun
username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion
maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks
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f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !
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username1 BABYYYY
username2 max ??? bookshop ????
username3 WHAT SHIFTED
username4 he thought it was jimmyz
username5 HEELPP what is he doing there
username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books
âł username1 FOR REAL???
âł username2 max said book girl summer
âł username3 this is so random
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.
As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.
Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.
As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.
Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.
He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.
Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.
"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"
Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."
"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.
Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.
"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"
"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"
"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"
Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"
Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."
"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."
Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.
"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."
They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadnât realized how much heâd missed his friends.
As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.
"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"
"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"
Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."
"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.
Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"
He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.
Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.
"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."
"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"
Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."
"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.
"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.
"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"
"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."
"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."
"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.
Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.
"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."
"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."
"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."
"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."
Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"
Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?
"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.
Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.
"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.
After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.
As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.
Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?
He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.
Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.
Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others
ynreadsbooks this weekâs video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons âșïž
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username1 GIRL
username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOUâRE GOING
username3 f1 x books this is literally me
username4 hot girls support max verstappen
username5 ahh if sheâs going to the gp iâll be so happy bc sheâs a huge fan
username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan đ
redbullracing We canât wait đ
âł username1 REDBULL???
âł username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.
The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.
But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.
The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.
As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.
Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.
Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.
As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"
Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.
"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"
Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"
"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"
"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."
"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."
"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.
"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"
Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."
With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.
Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.
After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.
As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.
She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.
He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.
Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"
She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"
They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.
"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."
He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.
They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.
As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.
"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."
Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.
"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."
"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."
"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."
"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"
Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"
"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"
As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.
"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."
YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."
They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.
"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."
"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."
They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.
"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."
"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."
They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.
"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans⊠I was right about you, Max Verstappen."
Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.
"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."
"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."
"Everything happens for a reason, right?"
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 301,257 others
ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU đ„șđ
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username1 OMFGGGG
username2 no one deserved this more than her for real
username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED
redbullracing Come back soon! đ
username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport
username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG
username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill
âł ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion
âł username1 WTF
âł username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video
danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! đ
âł username3 how do i sign up for this
username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED
maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special âșïž
âł username1 OMG MAX
âł username2 i'd be screaming if i was her
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maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company đ§Ą
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username1 KIIING
username2 how can a man be so babygirl
username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2
danielricciardo đŠđŠ
landonorris Simply lovely
âł username1 menace
username4 bro who got you smiling like that
ynreadsbooks â€ïž
âł username2 biggest max girlie
âł username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.
Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.
He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.
As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.
Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.
Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.
"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.
"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"
"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."
YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"
"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."
"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"
"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."
"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."
They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.
"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."
"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.
Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"
"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"
Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.
"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"
The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?
YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."
Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."
YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But⊠are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."
Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.
"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."
He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.
"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just⊠I really want to see you again."
As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.
YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."
Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.
"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."
"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.
"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."
"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."
"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."
As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.
He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?
The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.
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The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.
In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.
The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.
As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.
Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.
"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.
"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."
Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."
"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."
"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."
Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"
Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.
"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."
"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.
"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"
"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."
"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."
Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.
As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.
Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.
YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.
Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.
"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.
"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"
Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.
"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."
As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."
"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.
As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."
YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."
Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place â it has a great view of the harbor."
As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.
Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."
She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."
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username1 AWEEE
username2 those are cute kittens
username3 those look like max verstappen's cats
username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??
âł username1 how CRAZY would it be
danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble
âł username2 HOLD ON??
âł ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry đ
âł username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??
âł maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...
âł username1 OMFGGG
âł username4 THIS PLOT TWIST
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Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.
True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.
The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.
They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.
Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.
What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.
As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.
When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.
The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.
Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.
YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"
Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"
YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.
Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.
Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."
YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"
"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."
A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.
As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.
In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.
He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.
"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."
She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."
As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.
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username1 GIRL
username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY
username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this
username4 girl we can tell that's max dw đđ
username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO
username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?
username7 she just had a book and a dream fr
landonorris Has he bored you yet?
âł username1 IM DYING
âł username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle
âł ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies đ
âł maxverstappen1 Good to know that â€ïž
âł landonorris I'm disgusted
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As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.
For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.
Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.
As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.
Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.
"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."
Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been⊠I don't even have words for it."
"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up onâŠ"
Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."
YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"
"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just⊠competitive."
"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"
"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.
"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."
Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."
As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.
YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.
With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.
The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.
When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."
Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"
"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."
"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."
With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.
When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.
"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you⊠it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."
YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."
Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but⊠I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."
"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."
"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."
YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."
Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.
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The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.
"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.
Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."
When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.
In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.
Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.
Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.
"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."
Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.
"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up⊠there's nothing like it."
They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.
YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"
"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.
She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."
"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."
Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"
Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.
"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"
"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."
"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."
Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"
Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.
"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite⊠impressive."
Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.
As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.
He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans⊠it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.
Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.
"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"
Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."
He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.
Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.
"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.
Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I⊠yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, butâŠ"
YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud⊠it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."
Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."
Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."
The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.
When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.
"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."
YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.
"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"
YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."
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She Wolf
A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!
Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.
Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!
Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)
divider credit here
âAre you ever gonna tell him?â
You looked up from your desk towards Ororoâs voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.
âGod, I donât know, âro. I donât think I should. Itâs just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.â
Youâd had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. Youâd probably be considered best friends by now with how much time youâd spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic âtough guyâ, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You werenât exactly a seemingly âsoftâ type either.
Youâd spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. Youâd been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldnât live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought youâd find some âhelpâ. Youâd been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. Youâd never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You werenât an animal. You just had teeth like one.
Knowing you couldnât lurk in town much longer, youâd hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that youâd met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now.Â
âI think you're underestimating how he feels about you,â Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week.Â
âI think youâre overestimating how he feels about me,â you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.
Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again.Â
âAre you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?â
You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scottâs voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.
âOkay, Logan, youâre gonna be the dog,â Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand.Â
He was definitely not as amused, âwhy do I have to be a damn dog?â
Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, âyouâre the thimble.â
She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play.Â
It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie.Â
âI think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,â Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.
âAnd what we have, obviously,â Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.
âGross,â Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer heâd hidden in the back of the fridge.
âI think someone is jealous,â Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.
âOf having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,â he scoffed.
As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasnât a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.
Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.
âYou donât seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think youâd be cute together,â she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.
âNah, definitely not my type of girl.â
It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like youâd been punched in the gut. You couldnât take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyoneâs gaze.Â
Definitely not my type of girl.Â
âI think I should head to bed, itâs getting late,â you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs.Â
âWhat the hell was that?â Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.
âThat was so mean,â Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.
âI didnât mean to be,â Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, ââŠdo you think sheâs mad at me?â
âProbably more hurt than mad,â Jean said honestly.Â
âShit,â he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, âwhat do I say?â
âNot that,â Marie replied, âwhy did you even say that anyway? You couldâve just said no.â
âI think you like her and youâre being mean so that she wont like you back because youâre afraid,â Ororo said after a moment of silence.Â
Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.
âAm I that easy to read?â His voice was muffled through his hands.
The rest of them couldnât help exchanging knowing smiles.
âSo you finally admit it,huh? Youâve got a crush,â Scott teased.
Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, âyou shut your fucking mouth or Iâll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesnât shine.â
âI think thatâs a yes,â Jean whispered to her boyfriend.
âTalk to her when you see her tomorrow. Weâre not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you canât accept your own,â Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.
âDo you think sheâs even gonna talk to me?â
âOnly one way to find out.â
ââââââââĄâââââââââââââââĄâââââââ
Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.
It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers.Â
Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.
âHave you guys seen her? Iâve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.â
âCanât really blame her,â Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed.Â
âSheâs in her room,â Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, âshe went up before dinner, said she wasnât hungry.â
He groaned, running a hand through his hair, âsheâs skipping dinner now too, great.â
âGo talk to her!â She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.
He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing.Â
âYou canât avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.â
Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.
Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot youâd leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like youâd gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.
âSheâs in her room, she went up before dinner,â Ororo answered.
âNo, sheâs not. And her purse is gone.â
Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.
ââââââââĄâââââââââââââââĄâââââââ
Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybodyâs phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.
âWhatâs so funny?â Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.
âIâm afraid you all have your work cut out for you,â he replied, finally opening his eyes.
âSo, where is she?â Ororo asked, worry in her voice.Â
âThere is a club called The Nightcrawler - â Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently.Â
âClub? What, like a book club?â He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable.Â
âMaybe we should just let her have fun,â Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.
Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. Youâd spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasnât sweatpants and a hoodie. Youâd settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that youâd bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you werenât Loganâs âtype of girlâ, you sure as hell were somebodyâs. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more.Â
âI feel ridiculous,â you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. Thatâs how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.
âHey, you wanna dance?â
He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didnât look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne.Â
âSure, why not?â
As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.
âI love this song!â You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.
S.O.S., she's in disguise
S.O.S., she's in disguise
There's a she wolf in disguise
Coming out, coming out, coming out
âIronic,â you muttered under the music.
ââââââââĄâââââââââââââââĄâââââââ
Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.
âLogan, slow down!â Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.
âWhat if she didnât even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?â
âOh,â Jean laughed, â I see. Youâre jealous.âÂ
âNo.â
âYup.â
âNope.â
âSo youâd be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?âÂ
Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, âsure, whatever,â feigned disdain in his voice.
The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people.Â
âThis is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,â Scott shouted.
âNot necessarily,â Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.
âWhat?â Logan furrowed his eyebrows.
She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.
There's a she wolf in the closet
Open up and set it freeÂ
There's a she wolf in your closet
Let it out so it can breathe
You didnât even look like you. Heâd never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter.Â
And you were with a guy.
Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey
It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way
âSo, what did we tell you?â Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.
âJust some kid,â he replied dismissively, turning to her, âdoesnât mean anything anyway.â
âYou sure?â Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.
That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way.Â
Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys
I just want to enjoyÂ
By having a very good time
And behave very bad in the arms of a boy
You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.
The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.
S.O.S., she's in disguise
S.O.S., she's in disguise
âTouch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.â
You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you werenât bluffing.Â
There's a she wolf in disguise
Coming out, coming out, coming out
Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.
âGod damn it,â Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him.Â
âLogan!â Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip.Â
There's a she wolf in the closet
Let it out so it can breathe
âShit, Iâm kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?â He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.
âCome on,â Logan snapped, âweâre leaving.â
âWhat the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?â You yelled back. You didnât want to stay anywhere near that guy but you werenât ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.
âHey, she doesnât really look like she wants to leave with you, man,â the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants.Â
âYeah? She doesnât want to stay with you either, jackass,â Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, âsheâs not interested.â
What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs.Â
âNo oneâs gonna fucking ask what I want, right?â You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you.Â
âYour little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?â The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Loganâs hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time.Â
âAlright - enough, enough, weâre leaving!â Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.
âWhat are you guys doing here?â You asked, turning to Logan, âand what the fuck was that?â
âWhat was that? Youâre welcome - âÂ
âI didnât ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?â
âOh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,â he scoffed, âhe had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.â
He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, âDonât - Donât touch me!â
None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and youâd definitely never snapped at Logan like that before.Â
You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete.Â
âIâm sorry,â you apologized to the rest of them,â but why are you guys here?â
âYou left without saying anything, we couldnât find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,â Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, âweâre so glad youâre okay.âÂ
You hugged her back.
âI just - I wanted to disappear for a while,â you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scottâs gaze.Â
âDo you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?â Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.
âShut it! Enough from you! Youâve done enough damage control!â
The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.
âHoney, I donât mean this in a bad way, but,â she paused, thinking over her words, âwhat were you gonna do to that guy if we hadnât stopped you?â
You understood what she meant immediately.Â
âWhat, you think I was going to kill him?â you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, âI wasnât. I donât do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.â
âI knowâŠso, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?â she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, âhe seemed kinda shady.â
Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.
You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.
âLiked the attention, I guess,â you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, âitâs been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.â
âHe only wanted one thing from you anyway,â he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.
âAnd I canât want it either?â
That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said âyou asked, you got the answerâ.
You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom.Â
âWhatâs going on with you?â
âLeave me be.â
You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out.Â
âLogan.â
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.
âMove.â
âIâm not leaving you alone until you tell me whatâs going on with you. You donât disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - â
âThereâs nothing to talk about. Goodnight,â you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.
âI care about you, you know, I was worried,â he began to explain.
You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasnât in the room.
âYeah? Why?,â you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, âIâm not your type of girl. Whatâs there to worry about?â
Loganâs face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him.Â
âIs that what this is about? Thatâs why you went out?â
âWhy do you care?âÂ
You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.
âStop.âÂ
You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.
You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.
âI didnât mean that.â
âYou donât have to lie to spare my feelings -â
âIâm not.â
He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.
âI only said that - listen, I only said that because - â Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.
âPlease, donât treat me like Iâm stupid, Logan.â
You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.
âFuck,â he sighed, âI only said that because I didnât want you to like me.â
You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.
âIt worked, are you happy?â
âNo, Iâm not - â
âWell, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.â
You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldnât quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldnât really help it once it started.Â
âOh, god, please, donât cry,â he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldnât.
âWhy would you do that?â You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldnât look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.
âIâm so sorry, princess, I am. Iâm really fucking stupid,â he huffed.Â
You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. Heâd called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name.Â
âAnd what happened there, at the club? âSheâs not interestedâ, what was that about?â You continued.
He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasnât much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.
âI like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldnât like me back and it would save you the trouble.â
Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.
âSave me the trouble of what?â
You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.
âI donât knowâŠhaving to deal with me, I guess. I - Iâve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.â
You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you.Â
âAnd earlier, when we picked you up,â he continued, âI acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Canât stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I donât know.â
Youâd never heard him sound so nervous in all the time youâd known him.
âYou are my type of girl,â he finally choked out, âonly type of girl Iâd ever want.â
All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind.Â
âItâs alright if you hate me, I canât say I really blame you. Fuck, Iâm sorry.â
He began to walk out, convinced heâd fucked up beyond repair.
âLogan.â
Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you.Â
No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top.Â
âYouâre not something to deal with, you know,â you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.
You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.
âIâve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldnât wallow in self pity because you didnât want me.â
âYou were trying to get over me,â he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, âI deserved that.â
After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.
âDid it work?â
His voice was low and soft, a tone youâd rarely heard him speak with.
You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath.Â
âNo. I donât think it was ever going to, either,â you laughed a little, âwhen that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didnât look anything like you.â
Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.
Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.
âCan I kiss you?â
You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.
You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him.Â
When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.
âWe shouldâve done that much sooner,â you giggled.
âAgreed.â
His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.
He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasnât long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.
âWanted you for so long,â he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, âI was so stupid.â
âWe both were,â you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.
âL-Logan,â you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.
He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, âCan I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.â
His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.
âMmm, uh-huh,â you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck.Â
âYou have to use your words, pretty girl,â he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if youâd disappear if he let go.Â
Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.
âY-yes, yeah - please,â you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.
âPlease what, baby?â
âYou - you can make it up to me,â you groaned into his neck.Â
He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back.Â
âCan I take this off you, baby?â
You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.
âEager, huh?â, he chuckled, âlet me, sweetheart.â
He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.
You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking.Â
âAh - Logan,â you whined, making him smile against your skin.
âI like it when you say my name, pretty girl,â he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs.Â
Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.
He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.
âI thought about you a lot, you know - like this,â he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.
You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.
âI thought about you like this, too,â you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.
âYeah?â
His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.
âThis what you think about when you fuck yourself?â He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.
You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.
âY - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.â
He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.
He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name.Â
A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.
âHey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?â
It was Scott.
 You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face.Â
âY-yeah, Iâm alright, just - just tired,â you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.
âYou sure?â
You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing.Â
âYup, th-thank you, mâ jusâ gonna go to bed.â
Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.
Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.
âLogan, Iâm - â
âCâmon, pretty girl, câmon.â
His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.
âUh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,â he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.
âFuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,â you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.
He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers.Â
âI could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,â he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.
Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.
âFuck,â he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.
âYouâre into pain, huh?âÂ
You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.
âYouâre gonna pay for that, pretty girl,â he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing.Â
When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy youâd ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.
âWhat, are you nervous? Itâs alright sweetheart, Iâm not gonna hurt you.â
His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him.Â
You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking.Â
â âm not nervous, I want you, please,â you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist.Â
âYou sure?â he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust.Â
You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back.Â
Logan couldnât help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.
âSo tight,â he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.
âYou - fuck - youâre so fucking big,â you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out.Â
âFeels good?â
It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size.Â
âMm - uh-uh,â you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.
âUse your words, sweetheart,â he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him.Â
âY-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,â you whimpered.
That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress.Â
He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.
âS-someoneâs gonna - someoneâs gonna hear us,â you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again.Â
âDonât care, let âem,â he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you.Â
He really didnât have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure youâd never looked more beautiful.Â
âSo fucking pretty,â he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one heâd considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.
âBite me.â
You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, âare you sure?â
âPlease.â
You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.
He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip.Â
âPlease.â
His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didnât enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again.Â
You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds.Â
Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm.Â
â âs good, huh, princess? Come on me, câmon,â he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.
âWant me to stay?â
âMhm - please.â
The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep.Â
âHey, pretty girl,â he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, âyou know I love you?â
The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried youâd misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.
âReally?â
âOf course. You think I wouldâve done that with you if I wasnât in love?â
You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasnât that he hadnât had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since heâd bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasnât the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didnât have to be.Â
âI love you too,â you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.
âI shouldâve told you much sooner,â he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.
Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.
âYou can make it up to me some more.â
ââââââââĄâââââââââââââââĄâââââââ
A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett fic#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine x reader#wolverine fic#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine smut#wolverine
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All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]
Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.
Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby
----
You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmateâsomeone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something youâve always dreamed of.Â
But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.
Everyone, except for you.
Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.
And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.
Logan Howlett.
You canât remember a time where you didnât feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.
You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people whoâve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasnât yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.
Jean Grey.
She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you werenât. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be togetherâthe stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart.Â
You remember the day it happened so vividly, itâs almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew youâd lost him.
It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldnât deny they seemed perfect for each otherâjust as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.
Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it.Â
The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory.Â
Logan was never the same after that.
 â
You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. Itâs been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.
As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallwayâa low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you arenât needed. Itâs all so routine now.
Lost in your reverie, you donât notice the figure walking toward you until itâs too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.
âOh, sorryââ you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.
Itâs Logan.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him inâthe man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like heâs been through hell and back.Â
You hadnât seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a missionâanything to stay distracted.Â
But now, looking at him, thereâs something different off. Something you canât quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe itâs the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe itâsâoh.
Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below youâno longer a mural of greyâradiates colors you canât name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-
You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but heâs already turned, walking away from you.
âGive me a fuckinâ break.â
----
Brown. Loganâs hair is brown.
After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.
You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Loganâs hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.
Brown.
You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.
Why him? Why me? Why now?
You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You canât stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.
The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. Itâs like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.
Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. Youâre in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansionâs grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.
It doesnât make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You donât want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you canât just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life.Â
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.
Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasnât noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didnât want to talk to you then, and he probably doesnât want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward.Â
The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours.Â
âWhy are you here?â he asks accusingly.
You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that heâs in front of you, you are at a loss of words.
Loganâs eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. âYou shouldnât be here.â
âI needed air,â you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. âI just needed to clear my head.â
âWell, find somewhere else to do it,â he snaps, âI donât want company.â
âLogan, Iââ
âDonât,â he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. âDonât start. I know what youâre gonna say, and I donât want to hear it.â
You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. âWhat are you talking about?â
He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. âYou think I donât know whatâs going on? God, I⊠this is all so fucking stupid.â
Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. âI wasnâtââ
âEnough!â he barks, his voice echoing in the night. âIâm not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, itâs not real. Itâs just some stupid trick of the universe, and Iâm not playing along.â
His words hit you like a physical blow - like youâve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. âI donât understand. I didnât mean for any of thisââ
âYeah, well, neither did I,â he snaps at you, âAnd Iâm not gonna sit here and pretend like thereâs something here,â he gestures between you two, âwhen there isnât. Youâre not mine, and Iâm sure as hell not yours.â
The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, heâs not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over.Â
After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, âOkay,â you whisper. âI understand.â
Loganâs expression doesnât soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.
âGood. Then stay away from me.â
You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much heâs hurt you.
âIâm sorry,â you murmur, barely audible. âI didnât mean to make things worse for you.â
He doesnât respond, doesnât even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.
You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.
â
When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word heâd thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. Itâs causes pain unlike anything youâve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.
If he doesnât want you in his life, youâll accept that. You have to - itâs not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street. Â
You canât force him to feel something he doesnât, canât make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, donât you? You canât even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another?Â
Youâll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you werenâtânoâyouâre still not sure heâll ever be whole again.Â
And youâwhere do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?
â
Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadnât. You knew you werenât on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.
His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when youâre in his vicinity. Heâs leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. Itâs as if youâve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. Thereâs only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: donât tell anyone.Â
Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction.Â
It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you donât care.
But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everythingâdespite the rejection, the coldness, the angerâyou still love him.Â
And thatâs the cruelest twist of all.
So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as youâve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and youâll be able to move on.
â
The only person you tell is Charles.
âWhatâs on your mind, my child?â he asks one day, while youâre sweeping the dust in his office.Â
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know heâs just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldnât even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you donât yield to his probing.
âNothing, really,â you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesnât reach your eyes. âJust⊠tired, I guess.â
Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade youâre trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does.Â
âIâm here to help, whatever the burden.â
You want to groan. Itâs not like heâs doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like heâs trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered.Â
âI know, Professor. But⊠itâs nothing you need to worry about.â
âYou forget, I worry about all of you,â he replies gently. âItâs in my nature.â
The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. âItâs just⊠complicated.â
âComplicated doesnât mean you have to face it alone.â
You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering youâre in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?
âItâs just⊠I donât know how to make sense of it, Professor,â you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âEverythingâs so⊠wrong.â
He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. âWrong how?â
Knowing that youâre teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts.Â
âLogan⊠he⊠we⊠Itâs not supposed to be like this, is it?â you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know heâd get the gist.Â
Understanding dawns in Charlesâs eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth youâre struggling to voice. âThe bond you share⊠itâs more than you expected, isnât it?â
You nod, feeling the tears well up again. âBut he doesnât want it. He doesnât want me.â
The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like youâre a lost puppy. âLogan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and itâs not surprising that he would resist this new connection.â
âSo why me?â you ask. âWhy bind me to someone who will never love me?â
Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, âI wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether itâs meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important⊠that remains to be seen.â
âIt feels like a punishment,â you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it. âEvery day, it hurts more. And he wonât even look at me. I donât know how to make it stop.â
âThe heartache youâre feeling is profound, but you must understand that itâs not your fault. Loganâs reaction isnât a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.â
He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.
âTo love, even when itâs not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.â
So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourselfâto try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.
The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. Itâs like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.
Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purposeâthey all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.
The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights.Â
You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. Itâs not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.
Youâre healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your lifeâof your emotions.Â
But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.
One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.
However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights.Â
His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.
âSorry,â you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Logan doesnât say anything, barely noddingâif you could even it thatâ before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react.Â
Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. Itâs been so long since youâve been this close to himâso long since youâve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this.Â
Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care?Â
Because you are the only one who does care.
You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but itâs a challenge. Your hands are trembling.
â
It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. Youâre supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambitâs anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didnât take no for an answer.Â
Thatâs how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan.Â
Heâs across from you. Just your luck.
He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while itâs been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you canât help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown.Â
Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, thatâs when you slip up.Â
âI love how you blended the red with the blue!â You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. Youâre too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.
Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. âDarling, I thought you couldnât see colour?â
In any other situation, youâre sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Loganâs eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare youâve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest
âIâŠâ you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.
Rogueâs confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression thatâs impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak.Â
Loganâs gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.Â
You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But itâs no use. The emotions youâve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall.Â
âI think I need a moment,â you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.
Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You canât even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.
Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Youâre heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man whoâs mourning the loss of a soulmate?Â
Itâs not fair.
You donât know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.
âMind if I join you?â he asks gently.
You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench.Â
âIâm sorry,â you croak, âI didnât mean to ruin the night.â
Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. âYou didnât ruin anything. Itâs clear youâve been carrying this burden for a long time. Itâs no wonder it slipped out tonight.â
âSo everyone knows now?â you ask. He nods.
âIt wasnât hard to put two and two together,â he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.
âI just⊠I didnât want anyone to know. I didnât want to be pitied.â
âPity isnât what anyone feels right now,â Scott says softly. âWeâre worried about you. Youâve been hurting, and we didnât see it. Thatâs on us.â
âItâs not your fault,â you bring your hands down from your face. âIâve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but⊠clearly I was wrongâ
With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. âI know what youâre going through, more than you might realize.â
You glance at him, surprised by his words. âYou do?â
He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âI was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates⊠it tore me apart. I didnât think Iâd ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldnât.â
The mention of Jeanâs name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but thereâs also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. âHow did you⊠how did you get through it?â
He sighs, âIt wasnât easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.â
You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. âIâve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.â
He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. âIf thatâs what you need to do, I understand,â he says, âsometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.â
Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. âI donât know if heâll even listen to me. Heâs made it pretty clear how he feels.â
âHeâs hurting too,â He decides, âHeâs not handling it well, but that doesnât mean he doesnât care. You both need closure, and running away wonât give you that.â
âWhat if it just makes things worse?â
âIt might.â Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. âBut it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.â
You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. âIâll⊠Iâll think about it.â
âTake the time you need,â he says. âWeâre all here for you.â
âThanks, Scott. That means a lot.â You offer him a small, grateful smile.
With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, thereâs also the thought of confronting Loganâof finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.
You really donât want to do it, and youâre pretty sure itâs just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scottâs words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.
Goddamn it.
You huff as you stand up from where youâre seated. You canât keep running from this, canât keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.
Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly youâre sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. Thereâs no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock.Â
Thereâs a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like heâs done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.
The moment he realizes itâs you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, youâre not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.
âCâmon, Logan,â you press. âYou know we need to talk.â
He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesnât look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesnât push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.
Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. Itâs a reluctant invitation, but itâs all you need.
âFine,â he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. âTalk.â
You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if heâs ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. Itâs suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when heâs standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance heâs placed between is right in your face.
âWhy did you come?â Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
âBecause we canât keep pretending this isnât happening,â you reply, âWe need to talk about whatâs going on between us.â
His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. âThereâs nothing to say,â he says bitterly. âI told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.â
âItâs not enough!â you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. âYou think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesnât exist, and thatâs supposed to solve everything? It doesnât work like that, Logan.â
He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. âWell what do you want me to say?â he demands, his voice rising. âThat Iâm sorry? That I didnât mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didnât. But that doesnât change the fact that I canât be what you want me to be.â
His words hurt.Â
âI know you told me how you feel,â you start, âbut youâve never let me tell you how I feel. Youâve never given me the chance to say that itâs been tearing me apart.â
A flash of guilt. âI didnât think⊠I didnât think you needed to say it. I already knew.â
âThat isnât fair,â you argue.
âYou donât understand,â he counters, âI lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now⊠now Iâm supposed to just⊠move on? With you? Itâs not that simple.â
âI never asked you to love me, Logan,â you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. âI never pushed for anything more than friendshipâitâs not like you gave me the chance! Youâve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like Iâm nothing more than a burden, like I donât even matter!â
You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesnât apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. âIâm trying to protect you,â he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him
âProtect me?â you echo incredulously. âAll youâre doing is make me feel like shit. Like Iâm worthless. I canât even be your friend, to help you through this.â
You pause. âYou expect us all to know how youâre feeling, but you canât even communicate it.â
Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment youâve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
âI canât be what you want me to be,â he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. âI donât know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like⊠I canât let anyone in.â
Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but thereâs also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection.Â
âYou havenât even tried,â you say softly with a quiet resignation, âYou havenât even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.â
What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But thereâs no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that heâs not going to take that step, too broken to try.
Thatâs when it really hits you.Â
Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start.Â
You give up.
This time, it is you who turns your back on him.Â
âGoodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.â
You donât wait for a response. You donât glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.
âÂ
You decide to go on the mission.
Itâs nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief.Â
The lack of immediate danger doesnât make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.
Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They donât ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, youâre grateful.
âI still think youâre crazy for going solo,â Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. âBut if anyone can handle it, itâs you.â
You manage a small smile in return. âThanks, Rogue. I just need some timeâŠâ
Kitty, whoâs been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze. âWe get it. Just promise youâll keep in touch, okay? And donât hesitate to call if you need backup.â
âI promise,â you assure.
She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small deviceâthe X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out.Â
âHere,â she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. âThis is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you donât need anything, just⊠let us know youâre okay, alright?â
You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kittyâs gaze.Â
âAlright, Iâll check in regularly. I wonât leave you guys in the dark.â
Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. âYouâve got this,â she says, âAnd weâve got your back, even from a distance.â You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express.Â
It almost feels like a walk of shameâleaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you wonât let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport.Â
â
When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athensâthey all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.
The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.
You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know youâre safe and on track. You donât share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.
Then, in a small cafĂ© in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. Heâs a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. Heâs warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.
He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You donât tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, youâre just another traveler, searching for somethingâthough he doesnât pry into what that something is.
As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and itâs nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesnât know about your past, about the things youâre running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You donât talk about the mission, and you certainly donât talk about Logan.
One evening, as youâre both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. âSo, where are you off to next?â
You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. âIâm heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.â
His eyes light up. âFlorence? Iâve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?â
A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance youâve carefully maintained, but another partâthe part thatâs been lonely for so longânods in agreement. âSure, why not?â
â
Back at the mansion, things havenât been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but thereâs a noticeable shiftâa missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if thatâs possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.
His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. Heâs always been rough around the edges, but now, itâs like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, heâs reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if heâs trying to outrun somethingâor someone.Â
In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansionâs gym, trying to work off the restless energy thatâs been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he canât seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.
This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesnât need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other manâs presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesnât slow his punches, doesnât acknowledge Scottâs presence, but he knows why heâs here. Theyâve had this conversation beforeâor something like itâbut nothingâs changed. Nothingâs gotten better.
Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Heâs been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but heâs kept his distance, knowing that heâd only be pushed away. But this canât go onâLogan canât keep doing this, canât keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.
âShe wouldnât want this,â he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Loganâs fists against the bag.
Loganâs movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. âWho?â he growls, not bothering to turn around. âHer or Jean?â
Scott doesnât flinch at the harshness in the other manâs tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, âBoth.â
Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scottâs words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesnât want to hear this, doesnât want to be reminded of what heâs lostâof who heâs lost.Â
Taking a step closer, Scottâs voice is firm. âLook, Iâm not a spiritual person. But I also donât think the universe messed up with this.â
Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesnât want to acknowledge it. Doesnât want to think about what could have been, what heâs been too scared to even consider.
âI know you know how I felt about Jean,â Scott says quietly, knowing heâs breaching a sensitive subject. âLosing her⊠it killed me too. And if I had been given a chanceâa real chance to be with her, to make things rightâI would have taken it. No hesitation.â
Loganâs breath hitches at that. The truth is, heâs been runningârunning from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real.Â
âIâm not saying you should chase after her,â he continues. âBut I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesnât just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.â
The weight of Scottâs words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is rightâdeep down, heâs always known. But that doesnât make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jeanâitâs all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back.Â
Thereâs something else too, something heâs been trying to ignore but canât any longer: the way he feels about you, the way heâs always felt, even if he couldnât admit it to himself. One of the first thoughtâs that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.
Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. âJust think about it,â he says softly. âThink about what you really want. And donât wait until itâs too late to figure it out.â
Logan doesnât respond, but Scott doesnât need him to. Heâs said what he needed to say, and now itâs up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.
The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he canât keep doing thisâcanât keep tearing himself apart over something he canât change, something heâs too afraid to confront.
But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldnât want him to throw away.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesnât have all the answersâhell, he barely knows where to startâbut he knows one thing for sure: he's canât run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.
â
Youâve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. Youâve grown to trust him. Heâs never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants.Â
But thereâs always been a small, nagging doubt that youâve pushed asideâa feeling that something isnât quite right. Youâve ignored it, convincing yourself that youâre just being paranoid after everything youâve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.
It isnât until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. Youâre walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.
âI found this place the last time I was here,â Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. âItâs a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. Youâll love it.â
You hesitate, something in his toneâor maybe itâs the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightlyâsets off alarm bells in your mind. Youâve come to trust him though, havenât you? Youâve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldnât lead you into danger.
Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and thatâs when you see itâthe change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.
Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.
Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. âDid you really think I didnât know?â he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. âYouâre a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?â
The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. âWhat⊠why?â you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.
âWhy?â He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. âBecause mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for⊠research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.â
You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. Youâre weak.Â
âYou wonât get away with this,â you say.
âOh, but I already have,â he replies with cruel satisfaction. âNo one knows where you are. And even if they did, itâll be too late by the time they find you.â
With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.
You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold.Â
Location: Florence.Â
Message: Help.
Just as you hit send, Marco notices what youâre doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. âYou littleâ!â he snarls, but itâs too late. The message has already been sent.
His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. âYou think youâre so clever, donât you? But it doesnât matter. Theyâll never get here in time.â
Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. âYou wonât win,â you whisper with the last of your energy.
Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. âWeâll see about that,â he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you.Â
You can only hope theyâthat Loganâwill reach you in time.
â
The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room, and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kittyâs pocket. Itâs the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device.Â
Loganâs head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. Heâs on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. âWhat the hell was that?â he demands, his voice tense with urgency.
Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message thatâs flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. âItâs from her⊠Florence⊠Help.â
Thereâs a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement.Â
Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. âIâm going,â he growls, already heading for the door.
âLogan, wait!â Scott steps forward, blocking Loganâs path with a firm hand on his chest.Â
âGet out of my way, Summers,â He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. âIâm not waiting around while sheâs in danger.â
âWe canât just rush in without a plan,â Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. âWe need to know what weâre dealing with.â
Logan shoves the other mutantâs hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. âShe sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and weâre wasting time standing here talking about it!â
The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Loganâs been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situationâof youâ has pushed him to the brink.Â
âLogan,â Ororo interjects, âWe understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trapââ
âI donât give a damn if itâs a trap!â He snaps, his voice rising. âSheâs part of our team! We canât just leave her there!â
âThatâs not what weâre saying,â Scott tries to reason, but Logan isnât having it.
âThen what the hell are you sayinâ?â He demands, his frustration boiling over. âWhy are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?â
Thereâs a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then itâs Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. âLogan⊠what if⊠what if she doesnât want to see you?â
He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â he growls.
Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. âShe left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two⊠they werenât good. Maybe sheâmaybe she doesnât want you to be the one to save her.â
Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. âFuck that!â he roars with a fierce, protective rage. âSheâs part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I donât care whatâs happened between us, Iâm not leavinâ her there!â
The room falls silent, the weight of Loganâs words settling over everyone. They know Logan is rightâsheâs part of the team, and they canât leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.
Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. âWeâre not saying we shouldnât go after her, Logan. Weâre saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.â
âI donât care,â he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. âIâm going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, Iâm not lettinâ her go through this alone.â
Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. âAlright. But we do this together, as a team.â
Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. âFine. Letâs go.â
â
Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. Youâre in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like itâs filled with cotton, and thereâs a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that youâre restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they donât budge.
And then you see himâMarco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that youâve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game heâs been playing.
âAh, youâre awake,â he says, voice dripping with mock concern. âI was starting to wonder if Iâd given you too much of the sedative. But it seems youâre tougher than I thought.â
You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.
He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. âOh, donât bother trying to speak. We wouldnât want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, Iâm impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.â
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. âYou know, Iâve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but thereâs something special about you. Something⊠unique.â He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. âToo bad your powers wonât do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.â
Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.
âSuch fire in your eyes,â Marco murmurs, almost to himself. âItâs a shame youâll never see the light of day again. But donât worryâIâll make sure your abilities are put to good use.â
He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. âNow, letâs see what we can do to make you a little more⊠compliant.â
Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.
The X-Men have arrived.
Marcoâs eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. âStop them! Donât let them get near her!â
The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but theyâre no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your earsâRogueâs powerful punches, Scottâs optic blasts, and Stormâs lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but itâs no use.Â
Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. Heâs fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. Heâs coming for you.
But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You canât hear what heâs thinking, but you can see the conflict on his faceâthe way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize heâs unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you donât want him to.
In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesnât waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. âWeâve got you, sugah,â she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. âYouâre safe now.â
You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. Youâre shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but youâre free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.
Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving.Â
And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze.Â
â
Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchangedâstill the safe haven youâve always known.
But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. Youâve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.
Except, thereâs one person you havenât seen. Logan.
His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Youâve felt his presence in the mansionâheard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboardsâbut heâs kept his distance. He hasnât sought you out, hasnât tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.
Youâve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. Youâve reminded yourself over and over that you donât need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you canât help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.
More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.
Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts youâve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Loganâs hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didnât come for you.
Youâre so lost in your thoughts that you donât notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.
âIâm glad youâre alright.â
The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if heâs not sure how youâll react to his presence. Thereâs a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well.Â
For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. Heâs as rugged and intimidating as ever, but thereâs something different in his eyesâsomething a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question thatâs been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you canât keep it inside any longer.
âWhat happened?â you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. âIn Florence?â
His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesnât answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words.Â
You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but thereâs a part of you thatâs already bracing for disappointment. Youâve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And youâre tired of it. Youâre tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.
Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. âI⊠I hesitated,â he admits huskily, almost in a growl. âI wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then⊠I didnât know if you wanted me to.â
His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotionsâsurprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadnât expected this, hadnât realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.
âWhy wouldnât I want you to?â you ask softly, searching his face for answers.
Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. âBecause of everything thatâs happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought⊠maybe youâd be better off if it wasnât me.â
You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. âLogan, this canât keep being about what you think is best,â you begin. âAnd itâs not about who saves who. Itâs about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.â
He doesnât have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. Itâs like heâs carrying the weight of everything heâs done, everything heâs failed to do, and itâs crushing him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he finally manages to get out. âFor everything.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.
âI know Iâve messed up,â he continues. âI know I havenât been there for you like I shouldâve. But Iâm here now. And if youâll let me⊠I want to try to make things right.â
You know you should be happyâthis is everything youâve wanted to hear from him for so long. But itâs also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it canât just disappear with a snap of your fingers.
âI donât know if Iâm ready for that,â you admit.Â
Thereâs pain on his face. âI get it,â he says, his voice rough but steady. âI know Iâve got a lot to make up for. And I know itâs not going to happen overnight. But Iâm willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.â
âI need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.â
He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. âTake all the time you need,â he says quietly. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âI appreciate that,â With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. âI need time,â you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.
âAnd youâve got it,â Logan replies. âAs much as you need.â
â
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know itâs necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. Itâs nice.
But Logan⊠Logan doesnât give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesnât push, doesnât pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasnât forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isnât going anywhere.
It starts with the small thingsâthings so subtle that you almost donât notice at first. You probably wouldnât have suspected anything if you hadnât known the kind of person he is. Heâs nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realizeâthe rift he created after Jeanâs death muddling with your memoryâand he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.
In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where youâd be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know itâs him. Itâs in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of itâjust a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, Iâm thinking of you.
Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, youâre tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesnât approach you, doesnât speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just⊠exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.
Itâs in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Loganâone thatâs patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. Heâs just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.
And then there are the little surprises in your roomâsmall, thoughtful gestures that you canât help but notice. A favorite book youâd mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Loganâs hand. Even your plants, the ones youâd worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.
He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what heâs doing. Itâs all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if heâs afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?
At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures donât change anything, that theyâre just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that heâs just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. Youâve built walls around your heart for a reason, and youâre not ready to let them down just because heâs being nice.
But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isnât just going through the motionsâheâs really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isnât just about the snacks or the books or the plantsâitâs about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.
After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. Thereâs no note, no explanationâthere never isâbut you know who left them.
You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. Itâs such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. Youâd forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowersâyouâd mentioned it once, years ago. The way theyâre resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldnât. Itâs as if heâs telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.
And itâs then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isnât just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.
He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jeanâs death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.
So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. Itâs just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.
But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you donât want him to.
He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesnât say anything at first, doesnât ask why youâre here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. Itâs something youâve come to appreciate about him in recent monthsâhis newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than youâre ready to give.
"Iâve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.
"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if heâs afraid of saying the wrong thing.
You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Youâve been⊠different. Doing all these little things⊠I see them, you know."
Loganâs eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That Iâm sorry," he says, with so much emotion. âYou were never a burden to me.â
You swallow hard. "Itâs hard for me, Logan," you admit, "Iâve been hurt before, and Iâm scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, youâll just⊠break me."
He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "Iâd never hurt you again," he says, "Iâd rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."
Thatâs enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That heâs willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.
And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, youâre ready to let him.
You donât say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he canât believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.
The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isnât just a kissâitâs a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "Iâm still scared," you whisper.
"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But Iâm here, and Iâm not going anywhere. Weâll take this slow, darlinâ. Whatever you need."
You nod. "Okay."
Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasnât in years. Itâs a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of loveâa smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much youâre giving him by letting him back into your heart.
â
The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his wordâhe is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadnât expected. The small gestures continueâcoffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.
You can feel the doubts youâve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. Itâs in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. Itâs in the way he looks at youânot with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.
With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because thatâs what he thought he had to do.
With you, he has a choice. He doesnât need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and heâll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.
One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansionâs porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush.Â
âYouâve been quiet today,â he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.
âIâve just been thinking,â you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. Itâs a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far youâve come in trusting him again.
ââBout what?â he asks, his voice gentle.
âAbout us,â you say, your voice steady. âAbout how things have changed. How⊠how good theyâve been.â
Loganâs hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you echo, squeezing his hand. âIâm not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.â
He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. âYou sure?â
You nod, smiling softly. âIâm sure. Youâve shown me that this bond means something to you, that youâre not going to hurt me. And⊠I want this. I want us.â
Loganâs face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. âIâm glad, darlinâ. Because I want us too. More than anything.â
â
It isnât long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, itâs subtleâsmall things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when youâre around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.
During a training session in the Danger Room, youâre paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on youâmaking sure youâre safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. Itâs a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.
After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.
âWhat?â you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.
Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. âNothing, just⊠noticing how good you two are together.â
Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. âYeah, itâs⊠different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.â
Logan shrugs, but thereâs no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. âWhatâre you guys talking about?â
âJust that itâs nice to see you happy, Logan,â Ororo says gently. âReally happy.â
Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. âYeah. It is.â
More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Loganâs demeanor has shiftedâless brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.
âI must say,â Charles says, his tone warm and approving, âI havenât seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, itâs working.â
And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isnât just the little gestures anymoreâitâs the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.
â
âI never thought weâd get here,â you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.
Logan looks at you, his expression tender. âNeither did I,â he says, his voice full of sincerity. âBut Iâm damn glad we did.â
You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. âI love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.â
His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. âI love you too, darlinâ. I never thought Iâd feel this way about someone.â
You know what heâs trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. âShow me,â you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.
He doesnât need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if heâs savoring the feel of you.Â
You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown.Â
His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until youâre both breathless.
When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each otherâs, youâre both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.
âYouâre everything to me,â he murmurs. âI never thought Iâd get my happy ending, but here you are⊠and Iâm never lettinâ you go.â
You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where youâre meant to be. âAnd Iâm never leaving,â you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.
This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Loganâs hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.
That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if youâre the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, youâre not just in loveâyouâre in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely.Â
And that makes all the difference.
----
a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual
#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#the wolverine#wolverine#wolverine angst#logan x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlett imagine#angst#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett angst#deadpool 3#wolverine smut#deadpool#wade wilson#x men#x men movies#logan howlett smut#mcu#marvel#mcu imagine
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i can fix him and fuck him.
18+ [logan x female!reader]
nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.
word count: 5,737
logan sulks. heâs so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. heâs confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him canât even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesnât have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and heâs fully pumping cold, hard metal).
logan is a man who answers to himself and doesnât give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because heâs not in the fucking mood. heâs never in the moodâŠunless you put him in one. usually a good one.
you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you werenât here, logan would have left a long time ago. theyâre right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where heâd go, heâd justâŠgo. but you didnât dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.
deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frameâŠhe wanted things to be right again. heâd find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.
âso weâre working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?â you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.
âso weâre catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!â you asked on a thursday.
âheeyyy, loâŠdo you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scottâs morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointmentâŠ,â you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scottâs jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)
but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, heâd always say yesâŠto you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two werenât around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.
although as of late, youâve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when youâre not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, youâre hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.
tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.
your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot.Â
âhi lo,â you say. âyâscared me, heh.â you arenât used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. heâs over 150 years old, of course heâs grumpy and an early bird. youâre usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. âlogan, are you-â
âi think iâm gonna get out of here, bub.â
those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.
âwha-what do you mean?âŠyouâre leaving?â you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.
âitâs too hard being here.â
with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. âcâmere,â you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesnât budge and you pull âthe lookâ that you know he canât say no to. âcome sit with me please, lo.â
he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.
you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to âread himâ a few months ago, you told him youâd never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.
but right now you couldnât help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else⊠a pressureâŠbuilt up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didnât feel bad thoughâŠit felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.
he wasnât emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be â happy, whatever that was. but that couldnâtâve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldnât suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).
you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, heâd been crying.
âloâŠ,â you muttered. âwhy were you crying, wolv?â you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. âwhy do you want to leave?â
he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didnât cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.
âlogan,â you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.
âis this okay?â he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, youâre already looking down at him nodding. âsay itâs okay for me to touch you like this, bub.â
âyes, keep going, logan,â you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadnât been touched like this since jeanâs christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.
his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.
âyou donât have permission to read me,â he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew thatâs what you were doing he said, âyou get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.â
âlogan, what are we doing?â you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble.Â
his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly.Â
âwhat do you mean?â he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.
âiâmâŠnot doing this with youâŠif youâre just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckinâ sun comes up. iâm not doing this,â you said, with your hands on your hips.
he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin.Â
he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. âi give you permission,â he moaned in your mouth. âread me. feel how i feel about youâŠhow iâve always felt about you.â
he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling âmm, coldâ into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him.Â
your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in loganâs head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving itâs way lowerâŠand lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.
a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a âwell, say somethingâ from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.
thatâŠwas the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.
there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of himâŠmore of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.
âlay down,â he said into your kiss. it wasnât really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.
he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.
logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times heâd touch himself wondering how itâd feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.
as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.
âyou look so beautiful, sweetheart,â he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles.Â
he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.
logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.
kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck
he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. âi need these off of you, princess.â once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning.Â
he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your âspecial occasionâ panties left to wear.
âdâyou know how pretty you are,â he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.
his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.
âneedâŠto tasteâŠyou,â he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while heâs pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, heâs hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.
you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. heâs enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his faceâŠhis neckâŠhis armâŠthe bedâŠthe floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.
âloganâŠplease, please,â you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he wouldâve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in itâs enchanting aroma.
like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal â to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is â at the mansion and also all over you.Â
logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. heâd suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasnât playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.
your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing heâs the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozartâs symphony no. 25.
he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.
âlook at how good youâre taking my fingers,â he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. âyou can come for me, baby.â he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.
âloâŠlogan, iâm-â
âfuck my fingers, baby. use themâŠoh thatâs itâŠthatâs itâŠi feel that clenching, câmon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.â his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.
logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.
ââm not done with you, princess.â he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.
âfuuuck,â you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.
he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.
just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.
âyouâre gonna stay,â you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. âtell me youâre going to stay for me,â you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.
âthereâs no where else i want to be,â he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. âyouâre mine, you know that?â he noticed your hand slow, âkeep going,â he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. âyour faceâŠyour mouthâŠ,â his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. âyour bodyâŠyour cunt.â he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. âyour laughâŠyour heart,â he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. âyouâre all mine. is that okay with you, baby?â
youâre so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you canât do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.
âuse your words, honey.â his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.
âiâm yours, logan,â you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. âif youâll stay with me, iâll be yours forever,â you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.
âiâm not going anywhereâŠi promise,â he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. âi need toâŠfuck youâŠnow,â he cursed in between swallowing moans.Â
âdo what you wantâŠiâm yours,â you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it.Â
logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully.Â
âfuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,â he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one â one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. âoh, you look so fuckinâ pretty with my cock down your throatâŠyouâre taking me so good, sweetheart.â
he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.
âmm, baby i need to know how good you feel.â with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. âcâmere, baby.â you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.
âlay down,â he said.
âdamn, yes sir,â you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.
âdâyou know how long iâve thought about this moment with you?â he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. âi want you to read me the whole time iâm insideâŠcan you do that?â
âare youââ
âyes iâm sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i havenât even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,â he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.
before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.
âohâŠfuck,â he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. âare you okay? dâyou want to stop?â
âno, baby,â you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. âjust been a whileâŠkeep going, iâm okay.â
with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.
âyou feelâŠfuckâŠlike it was made for me,â he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. âare you okay?â his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.
âfuck meâŠplease logan,â you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did.Â
he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.
âoh myâŠfucking god,â you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasureâŠbut the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.
âyou know you feel so good, look at that fuckinâ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? donât stop readinâ me, princess. itâs all for you,â he praised for you to hear every word.
âholy shitâŠmm fuckinââŠahh!â your hands couldnât help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.
âhere, baby, hold onto me.â logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top.Â
logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. âoh this is so funâ, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it.Â
as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.
he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely.Â
âyouâre my good girl, huh?â
âmhmmâ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.
âuse those words for me, baby. areâŠmm, fuckâŠyou my good girl?â
âyeâŠsss, baby iâm yourâŠgoodâŠoh my fuckingâŠgirl!!â
âopen your mouth.â he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. âgoodâŠfuckinâ girl,â he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again.Â
your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything.Â
his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heartâŠeverything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.
âoh youâre so prettyâŠthatâs pretty, baby, keepâŠfuckâŠuse me, itâs all for you.â his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like heâd fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.
he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he.Â
âbabyâŠyou keep clenching around me like thatâŠiâm gonna fuckinâ fill you,â he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.
âi want it, babyâŠfill your good girl up.â you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies.Â
âfuuuuckâŠfuuuck,â he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you werenât bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face.Â
SNIKT!!
you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.
a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass.Â
ââŠi love you, logan.â
âi think you know how much i love you, baby,â he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.
you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again.Â
ease and silenceâŠand love.
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#xmen fic#wolverine smut#i hate everyone but you#logan howlett#wolverine#hugh jackman
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Kid?
Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I havenât watched X-Men since I was a child, so I canât promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I havenât watched DP & W either, Iâve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So youâre a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Donât judge me, Iâm just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)
It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jeanâs bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment.Â
You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, youâre blind to all logic when it comes to Logan.Â
You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know heâs lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadnât paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All youâd heard was Loganâs name and youâd zoned out for the rest of the conversation.Â
And, of course, you donât knock. You grab the doorâs handle and bust in, âHey!â Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. Heâs leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling.Â
Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jeanâs cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. Thereâs no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding.Â
The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you canât decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. âCharles,â you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. âSorry,â you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. âCharles needs us all for a mission.â
You donât give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name.Â
You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. Itâs not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didnât make your heart crumble away into nothing.
Maybe itâs because youâre a mutant that youâre so used to rejection. Youâre used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back canât compare to half of what you went through.Â
Thatâs what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesnât hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you canât feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesnât turn down at the corners, your eyes donât water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected.Â
He sits down beside you and leans towards you. âI can explain-â
You cut him off and shake your head. âForget about it. I should have knocked.â You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head.Â
Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns donât exist. âJean, Logan, glad that youâve finally joined us.â
Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit.Â
You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadnât believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles.Â
Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything youâve done together. And youâre hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?
You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesnât see your major mental freakout.Â
Youâre not that much younger than him. Well, itâs not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when youâve been falling harder and harder for him, heâs just been platonically taking care of you? Youâve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it.Â
Youâre spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea whatâs even being discussed or whatâs going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what youâre doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldnât be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.
You nod your head, moving like youâre in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. âYou alright, kid?â
The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesnât want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean.Â
Thereâs a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that youâre grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Loganâs idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly.Â
You ignore Logan and instead catch Jeanâs eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.
You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, âKid.â You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like sheâs ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath.Â
âScott,â he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize youâre planning something.Â
Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, âMind checking my cuffs?â Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. Sheâs not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check.Â
Youâre still new to welding them. And theyâre too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadnât had the cuffs on this morning, youâre afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.
âThey look fine, Flux.â His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesnât know why youâd come to him for this when itâs Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasnât for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull.Â
Youâve got leverage over her that youâve never had before. Scott wouldnât take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what youâd seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. Youâre sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesnât seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, sheâd never choose him over Scott.Â
âThanks,â thereâs a bite to your tone that youâre not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you wonât have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. Youâre channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger.Â
You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charleâs and Stormâs chairs so you donât have to look at the others. It doesnât take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps.Â
Loganâs arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you canât escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why youâre angry when youâre faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because heâs so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him.Â
âWanna explain what the hell that was?â His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be.Â
You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. âWhat? Just needed some help.â Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes.Â
Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. âPut a pin in the loverâs spat, weâre landing.â Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. Thereâs a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and youâre practically running into the snowy forest.Â
You donât know where you are, mainly because you werenât paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isnât doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. Youâre partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, youâre not stupid enough to argue against it.
You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You canât risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space.Â
You both linger behind the otherâs as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Loganâs face, youâre not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices.Â
Youâre startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. âWanna tell me whatâs got you so pissed off?â
You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. âNothing,â you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jeanâs head. Youâre surprised you havenât chipped a tooth with how hard youâre grinding your teeth together.Â
He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesnât say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, âIâm a little surprised thatâs all.â
âOh yeah, âbout what?â You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didnât just break your stupid fucking heart.Â
You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you canât tell if you love or hate. âYou and little Miss Perfect.â You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen.Â
Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. âGuys, really?â Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. âNot the time,â she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others.Â
You come upon a warehouse, itâs nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal.Â
Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. Thereâs a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside.Â
âNo one here?â Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesnât make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?
Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, âGuys! Over here,â mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear.Â
As awful as it is, youâve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There arenât usually many mutants in one place. They donât like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. Thereâs nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers.Â
They donât want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that youâre not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. Youâre nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds.Â
You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, âBehind you!â A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. Thereâs a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, theyâre useless. One wonât work without the other.Â
You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. Itâs been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs.Â
âWe need to get you out of here!â He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan.Â
You listen to the otherâs worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You donât know their powers yet. Donât know what might go wrong if they get too scared and canât control their abilities.Â
You canât speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know itâs delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyoneâs hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it canât decide if itâs liquid or solid.Â
You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. âYou need to get out,â you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode.Â
âWeâre not leaving you,â Logan snaps. Thereâs shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns.Â
âWasnât a question,â you grit out. You look towards Jean and thereâs a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much heâll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like youâre already altering the atoms of their being.Â
This is why youâre only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you canât. Youâre not sure youâre going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, âDonât you fuckinâ dare-â
His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. âIâll cover you,â you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like youâre being tugged in a hundred different directions. âJust get them out,â you nod towards the kids.Â
Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isnât hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone.Â
âTheyâre in the jet,â Charles's voice rings out. âDonât do this,â he warns. You canât think of a response, youâre not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission.Â
At least those kids are safe. Itâs not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave.Â
It feels like a dam exploding. It doesnât leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as menâs bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. Youâre blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy.Â
You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you canât even feel. You donât know when the screams stop, or when youâre finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black.Â
âIâm gonna kill you,â Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though itâs Charles who is holding him back. Heâs got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse.Â
Theyâre waiting for the all-clear. The others know thereâs always the possibility that theyâre going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Loganâs face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much heâs fighting against Charlesâs hold.Â
Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she canât take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as theyâd started. Seeing the way heâs acting now, sheâs starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen.Â
Heâd looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems heâs only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. Heâs terrified that they're going to walk in there and youâre going to be dead.Â
Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. Theyâve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didnât have enough time to shut you down.Â
Jean, as much as sheâs tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, canât look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. Itâs never been her that heâs wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until youâre pissy and mouthing off. Itâs not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesnât view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. Youâre something else to him, something she doesnât want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue.Â
Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him heâs running out of the jet. âLogan,â Jean tries to call after him but heâs already a distant blur.Â
Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. âCome on,â he mutters. Heâs the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, heâll end up being Loganâs punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, sheâs not sure she wants to see whatâs happened.Â
Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesnât want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash.Â
They reach where the warehouse should be. Itâs nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesnât see your body, none of them do. But Logan isnât giving up.Â
He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesnât sense your presence anywhere but she doesnât have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she canât see him anymore. Heâs disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if youâre breathing. And he doesnât say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout thatâs going to happen after this.Â
The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that youâre in a bed you donât recognize.Â
You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus.Â
A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, âFinally awake, princess?â
Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but thereâs something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up.Â
You canât help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe itâs the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you canât remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more.Â
He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. âHow do you feel?â
Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize youâre in the medbay. Itâs why everything smells so sterile. âLike I got hit by a semi.â
He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, âWhat the fuck were you thinking?â He doesnât ease you into this at all and you frown. Youâre not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. Thatâs not his style, heâs always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldnât be.Â
âWhat else was I supposed to do?â You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like itâs been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal.Â
âNot put yourself at risk like that.â He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know heâs holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, heâs stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. âNot have Jean knock me out like that. You donât get to make those decisions for me.â
Itâs completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you canât help but scoff at the mention of Jeanâs name. Can you not have one conversation thatâs not tainted by the mention of the redhead?
Loganâs mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. Youâre not exactly acting like an adult. Youâre being a brat and for such a stupid reason too.Â
Just because you like him doesnât mean he has to reciprocate. You canât just force your feelings on someone. âLogan,â you whisper his name, âSorry. Iâm sorry-â
He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like heâs smiling. âJean? Thatâs what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?â
You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you donât know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, âWho?â If you werenât so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didnât know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia.Â
Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You donât have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze.Â
âCome on,â he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until youâre forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but youâd only ever seen it directed at Jean. Itâs the same way youâve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire.Â
The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. âOnly ever wanted you, darlin'.ââ
The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldnât, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold.Â
His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. Itâs cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when heâs holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you.Â
He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like itâs a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you canât hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you donât feel anything other than each other. You think youâre going to devour each other like youâll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You donât want to let go of him, donât want to lose this moment.Â
But you have to breathe. You donât get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire.Â
You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it canât betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You donât waste a second before youâre draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you.Â
âCanât believe you were jealous of Jean.â
âShut up,â you snipe. You look up at him and glare, âHow else do you explain what you two were doing?â
He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. âShe came onto me, sweetheart.â Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. Sheâs going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. âRelax, youâre gonna blow your fuse again.â
You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You canât believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when youâve got him. âIâll be fine now that Iâve got my cuffs.â
His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. âI donât ever want to see that again.â Youâre a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming.Â
âI had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.â
Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, âNext time, take me with you. Iâm not fucking dealing with Summers without you.â
You canât help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. âDeal,â you whisper, still smiling at him.Â
A/N: Okay, this might be shit, Iâm not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess Iâm officially off my hiatus.Â
end. â I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#wolverine x reader#Wolverine x you#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett x you#x men#deadpool and wolverine#Wolverine
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logan howlett x fem!reader
summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.
contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut
word count: 1.8k
a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blogâŠanyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3
i feel like we donât talk enough about loganâs enhanced sense of smell.
the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. itâs especially heightened when he realizes heâs attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.
his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.
youâre touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.
it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.
the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charlesâ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once youâre out of eyesight.
thereâs only one explanation for it.
youâre ovulating.
which means thereâs no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.
so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he canât risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.
of course youâre completely oblivious to it. you think that heâs just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, heâs back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.
then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice itâs just you heâs avoiding.
you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you couldâve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.
after a couple months, you decide youâve had enough.
cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.
âwhy have you been avoiding me?â you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. youâre expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.
but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.
still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.
âmânot avoiding youâ he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.
you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.
âa few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,â you start to list off, counting with your fingers. âlast month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.â
logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldnât step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.
âand the month before that,â you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. âyou didnât even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.â
guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.
youâve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. âdid i do something wrong?â
âno,â logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. âyou didnât do anything wrong.â
âthen what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling thatâs been eating away at you. âlogan, you know if somethingâs bothering you, you can tell me.â
and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if youâll offer to help him out. but youâre you. the sweetest, kindest thing heâs ever known and heâll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.
but then youâre inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.
it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than youâve ever seen before. he looks pained. like heâs fighting something internally.
âlogan,â you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. âwhatâs going on?â
his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. âjust, please go back to your room.â
âiâm not leaving you like this.â
âmânot asking you,â he grits out, almost like a growl. âiâm telling you. go back to your room.â
now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.
âor what?â
suddenly heâs crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. loganâs voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.
âor iâm gonna do something i regret.â
when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesnât go unnoticed, and he knows that youâre not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what heâs been hiding.
thatâs when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.
âi can smell you.â
curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.
âi donât understand.â
then, the manâs gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits whatâs been driving him mad.
âi can smell you.â
the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.
oh.
oh.
slowly things start to piece together. how loganâs behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.
he wasnât avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.
logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what heâs not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.
âi can help you with that if you want.â
you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if youâre even really grasping what youâve said.
the wolverine shakes his head. âtrust me, you donât want this.â
he doesnât quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something youâve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.
the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.
âyou donât get to make that choice for me,â your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.
logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows itâs futile. if thereâs one thing he knows about you, itâs that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.
and that when you want something, you donât stop until you get it.
your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasnât anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.
your words are barely above a whisper. âi trust you, logan. completely.â
thatâs all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.
he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss youâve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. loganâs large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. itâs messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like heâs been thinking about for weeks.
you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.
âlogan,â you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. ânot here.â
âwhy not?â he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.
âbecause i would prefer if you didnât fuck me where our friends eat.â
he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.
looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.
pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.
âlead the way sugar.â
thanks for reading! <3
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#wolverine x reader#logan howlett#wolverine smut#wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#hugh jackman#x men#the wolverine
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Heroes (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)
A/N: I think I used David Bowie's "Heroes" for another fic when I first started writing on this blog. Oh well. We're using it again bc it inspired this fic. This is a combo request fic: Co-teachers/Logan having a nightmare/smut. Hope you guys enjoy!
Summary: You and Logan are assigned by Charles to co-teach a class to learn how to work as a team. You expect Logan to be cold, distant, short. What you don't expect is the way you find yourself needing him, and him needing you.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, soft!Logan, cocky!Logan (always), softdom!Logan vibes, implied age gap (Logan is obvi older), frenemies to lovers, feelings, some violence (Logan accidentally hurts the reader while having a nightmare), reader has regenerative powers, fluff, hurt to comfort (literally), reader has family trauma, afab!/f!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it!
Word Count: 5,267 kinda wanna do a part 2 this was cute
âI work better alone Charles. You know that.âÂ
You and Logan Howlett never did see eye to eye.Â
âYes, Logan. Which is why Iâm giving you this challenge.â
He was always cold.Â
âI donât think this is a good idea.â
Always distant.Â
âHence why it is an excellent idea, Logan.â
But you never thought heâd be this resistant to teaching a class with you.Â
âIâm fine with it,â you say, your eyes flitting between Logan and Charles. âIt doesnât faze me at all.â
Loganâs leather jacket crinkles and he puts his hands on his hips. He furrows his brows. âYouâre fine with this?â He asks, cocking his head to the side.Â
You shrug your shoulders. âI donât see why not.â Your eyes find Loganâs, but you canât make out the expression on his face. Canât tell if itâs dislike, pure hatred, or something else altogether.Â
âThis canât happen,â Logan insists, tearing his eyes away from yours and turning towards the Professor. His words sting and youâre not quite sure whyânot sure why you should care about this at all.Â
âIt is too late,â Charlesâs voice booms. âI have already decided. You will co-teach a history class for...â Charles trails off, choosing his words carefully. âYounger students.â
You smile, but Logan rolls his eyes, his brows still furrowed. âHow young?â You say in unison, although in starkly different tones. You whip your head to face Logan and find that his eyes are already on you. Â
âAges six to seven,â Charles explains. âThis will be a smaller class, given how rare it is for children of that age to show their abilities, and the course will be incredibly simple.â He rolls away from behind the desk and approaches you and Logan in the center of the room. âI have faith that the two of you can handle this.â
Logan exhales deeply but doesnât say a word. âWe can,â you answer, your stare breaking away from Logan and turning to the Professor instead. âI look forward to teaching the class,â you pause, âwith Logan.â
Something in Loganâs glare softens. His frown slowly disappears, melting away. His jaw relaxes, and his shoulders go slack. âFine.â Heâs curt, but something about the resolve in his voice gives you an ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe this will go well.Â
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This is, in fact, not going well at all.Â
Agreeing on the curriculum was not a problem. Logan, having experienced most of U.S. History, believes in telling history as it happened. No rose-colored glasses. No murky half-truths or prettily wrapped white lies. No weird Christopher Columbus-themed arts and crafts. Having seen multiple wars and experiencing the power of government exploitation firsthandânot surprisinglyâhas made Logan progressive.
So, you had designed an age-appropriate, honest, curriculum. You were shocked at how well you and Logan worked together. You shared quiet hours in the library, passing scribblings and notes back and forth while pouring over books. You actually felt quite confident.Â
That is, until the very first class.Â
You and Logan had only just introduced yourselvesâwritten your names on the board.Â
âWe are going to have a fun, educational year,â you finish, smiling widely. âDoes anyone have any questions?â
A young girl in the center of the room raises her hand. You nod towards her, and she smiles sheepishly. âAre you two married?â
Youâre taken back, your brows furrowing. âOh, umââ
âNo,â Logan cuts you off, his arms crossing tightly against his chest. His shortness hurts more than youâre willing to admit. âAbsolutely not.âÂ
The little girlâs eyes widen. âBut then why do you look at her like that?â
âExcuse me?â Logan asks, his voice a little too harsh. âLike what, kid?â
âLogan,â you whisper, turning to face him. âSheâs six. Let it go,â you chide. âProfessor Logan and I are friends and co-teachers. Thatâs all.â You turn back to the little girl, who nods, but she doesnât look convinced.Â
The rest of the class goes relatively well. Itâs very introductoryâteaching the children how mutant history and human history are intertwined. You and Logan are able to simplify things for the children so that they can understand. And, as the class goes on, Logan seems more comfortable with the children.Â
The period is almost over when a little boy raises his hand, and Logan calls on him. âMy older brother told me people like us are scary,â he says shyly. His eyes are sadâtoo tired for a six-year-old. âHe told me that we shouldnât exist.â
Your stomach drops, tears burning behind your sinuses. You think back to your own family, back to the trauma of being disowned for something you couldnât control. Youâre too heartbroken to tackle the question. Loganâs eyes flicker between you and the little boy.Â
âYour brother is wrong,â Logan answers, crossing the room to stand next to you. He brings a hand to your lower back. Itâs the ghost of a touch, but itâs a lifeline. âYouâre special,â Logan says, and you know heâs talking to you, too. âYou all are. Donât listen to what they say. Youâre more important than youâll ever know. More extraordinary than they can understand.â
The bell rings, and the children stand, collecting their belongings. âSee you all tomorrow,â Logan shouts over the shuffling and ruckus in the hallway. The children file out the door, jumping and cheering as if nothing happened.Â
âTheyâre so resilient,â you say, shaking your head and watching them leave. You look over to Loganâhis face close to yours, his palm still pressed against your back.Â
âSo are you,â he whispers, smiling softly, rubbing up and down your back. âYou did great.â
âYes, she did. And you did too, Logan,â Charles says, suddenly in the doorway to the classroom. âI forgot to drop off the roll call this morning,â Charles explains, holding out a sheet of paper. You cross the room to meet him, taking the sheet into your hands. âIt has the list of names of the children in your class, as well as their abilities.â Charles backs into the hallway. âExcellent work, you two. You make a better team than you realize.â
âThank you, Professor,â you say. Logan mumbles a soft Thanks, and heads towards the door once Charles is gone.Â
He scratches his head, almost nervously. âGot another class to teach,â he husks. âMeet up later to go over tomorrowâs lesson plan?âÂ
You nod your head. âSounds good.â Logan smiles and walks through the doorway and down the hall.Â
You look at the roll call, and your eyes widen. Your heart beats out of your chest. You find the name of the little girl who had asked if you and Logan were married.Â
Claire TellerâPrecognition, Clairvoyance, shows signs of potential telekinesis.
The paper falls from your hands and drifts slowly to the floor. You look down, your lips parted in shock. Did she see you and Loganâ
âYou alright, sugar?â Rogueâs voice snaps you back to reality. You look up, and sheâs standing in the door.Â
âY-yeah,â you stutter, shaking your head. âIâm fine.â
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The rest of the week goes smoothly. You and Logan meet each night to discuss the lesson plan for the following day. The classes go well. Claire always seems a bit distracted, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, but she does just fine in class.Â
In fact, youâd say this was going better than well. You and Logan, despite his hesitation in the beginning, were growing closer every day.Â
Itâs written in secret, stolen momentsâhands accidentally brushing, glances across the room. But you can feel it, the way your lives are being sewn together. You find ways to spend time alone outside of classâordering dinner and grading together, practicing in the Danger Room as partners and not opponents. You had become something of a team.  Â
Tonight, youâre alone with Logan, sitting on the floor of his room, grading the small quiz you had given the children on the branches of government. Logan had picked the background musicâ60s and 70s rock.Â
You hum along to Evil Woman by Electric Light Orchestra as you write â100%â at the top of a studentâs quiz.Â
âPretty voice,â Logan rasps, looking up from his last quiz. Before you can react, before you can even process what he says, heâs moving on. âYou almost done?â
âJust finished.â You write another â100%â and look up at Logan. Heâs on his side, resting his head in his hand, balancing on his elbow. He smirks and stands up, striding over to you. He reaches his hand out, and you tilt your head, confused. You take his hand all the same, and he pulls you up.Â
Loganâs hands find your waist, and he sways you from side to side. You giggle, shakily bringing your arms up and around his neck. Your heart thunders in your chest as you dance with him.Â
âDidnât take you for a dancer,â you murmur. Evil Woman fades out and Heroes by David Bowie starts up. Â
âThereâs a lot you donât know about me,â Logan husks. He pulls you in tighter, his chest pressed to yours.Â
âYeah?â You ask, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. Your eyes flutter closed. âLike what?â
Heâs suddenly silent, and you can feel the tension thicken in the room. âWhen Charles came to us about the classâŠâ He trails off, searching for the right words to say. âI was nervous,â he admits.Â
You lift your head from his neck. âWhy?â You question, smiling softly.Â
Logan presses his forehead to yours. âBecause Iââ But then thereâs a knock at the door. âLogan?â Itâs Charles on the other side. Logan huffs, his eyes closing defeatedly as he loosens his hold on your waist and walks over to the door.Â
âThere has been an emergency,â Charles says the second the door is open. âI need you to go on a mission immediately. This is a dire situation.â
Logan looks across the room to you. âOkay,â he says, his eyes still trained on yours.Â
Charles nods and heads down the hallway. âMeet me downstairs. Hank is readying the jet now.âÂ
âI have a bad feeling about this,â you confess, fighting the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. You canât quite place where the feeling is coming fromâwhy youâre suddenly so nervous about Logan leaving. A month ago, this sort of thing wouldâve felt routine, normal. Thereâs always a crisis somewhere.Â
Logan swallows, his Adamâs apple bobbing in his throat. âIâll come back,â he promises. âAnd we can talk then.â He strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pulling you into his chest. âDonât worry. Itâll be fine.âÂ
âLogan?â Charles calls from downstairs. âWe need to leave at once!âÂ
Logan squeezes you tightly before letting go. He works his jaw, his teeth gritting as he backs out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart drops as you listen to his footsteps echoing against the stairs. By the time you muster up the courage to follow him, itâs too late. The door to the mansion slams just as you make it to the bottom of the steps.Â
You can still hear Heroes faintly playing from Loganâs room.Â
And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, forever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day
You sit on the bottom step, your head falling into your hands.
âOh, sugar,â Rogue whispers as she walks into the foyer. She settles next to you. âI didnât know you and LoganâŠâ She trails off, shaking her head. âHeâll come back. He always does.â She hangs her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her chest.Â
You hope sheâs right.Â
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The next morning, Logan is still gone. Youâre forced to teach the class alone. As youâre starting roll call, a young boy raises his hand.Â
âYes, Jimmy?â You call, arching your brows.Â
âWhereâs Professor Logan?â He asks curiously, tilting his head to the side.Â
You swallow harshly, inhaling deeply. âHe has something to take care of,â you explain. âItâll just be me teaching today. Is that alright with you?â You try to sound light, jovial, plastering a fake smile across your face. The kids buy it, giggling and nodding. Jimmy smiles widely and nods, too.
But Claireâthe little girl who can seemingly see into the future, stares at you sympathetically. It sends a chill down your spine. Itâs like she knows how youâre feelingâcan see it in her mindâs eye. You shake the feeling off, proceeding with the lesson. The material is distracting enoughâthe U.S. voting system, carefully explained so that the children can understand.Â
The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and the bell finally rings. The session felt longer than usual without Logan, and certainly harder to get through, but not impossible. The class picks up their belongings and files out. You grab your papers, readying to leave, assuming that everyone is gone.Â
âHeâs going to come back,â a small, familiar voice whispers. You look up from your materials, and thereâs Claire, standing in front of the desk. Her deep, brown eyes twitch back and forth. She closes them tightly and smiles. âYou donât have to worry,â she assures. âHeâs safe. Heâll always come back to you.â She pauses. âAll I see is happiness.â The veins in her temples grow thicker, and you can tell sheâs working too hard to look to the future.
âClaire,â you say, your hand grabbing her shoulder. âDonât hurt yourself, my love. You donât have to do that for me. Iâm okay.â
Her eyes fly open, and she smiles widely, as if nothing happened. She steps away from the desk, your hand falling from her shoulder. âDidnât hurt at all!â She calls as she skips out the door. âSee you Monday!â
You shake your head. Resilient, you think to yourself. So goddamn resilient.Â
The rest of the evening is slow. You try to keep yourself busyâgrading papers, listening to music, going for a run, training in the Danger Room. But all you can think about is Logan.Â
After dinner, you get ready for bed, changing into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. You sit alone in your room, on your bed, reminding yourself of what Claire had told you this afternoon.Â
Heâs going to come back. You donât have to worry. Heâs safe.Â
You lay back on your pillows, bringing the covers up to your chin and closing your eyes. You repeat her words over and over again in your head as you fall asleep. Heâs safe. Heâs safe. Heâs safe.Â
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You wake up a few hours later, your bedside lamp still on. Your alarm clock reads 1:45 AM. You groan, rolling over and shutting your eyes tightly, trying to force yourself back to sleep. But itâs no useâyouâre awake, thinking of Logan already.Â
You push yourself to sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, and pressing your feet into the cold wood floors below. You walk to your door, twist the knob, and head out into the hallway.  A lap around the mansion might make you tiredâmight relax you.Â
You walk down the hallway slowly, noticing instantly that Loganâs door is closed. You canât help but pick up your pace, striding towards Loganâs room.Â
You stand in front of his door, your hand on the knob, ready to twist and push. You stop yourself, wondering if this is crossing a line, tearing down a carefully constructed boundary. But all you want is to see him breathing, lying on his bed. You need to know heâs in thereâsafe.Â
You knock once, but thereâs no answer. You swallow nervously, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.Â
Your heart stops. There he is. Heâs home. Heâs safe. Heâs breathing. You let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly as you start to close the door.Â
But then his head snaps to the side, and he grunts. âLogan?â You call, opening the door slightly. He doesnât answer. He grunts again. You quickly notice the way his fists white-knuckle his sheets.Â
You step inside his room, closing the door behind you. âLo,â you whisper into the darkness. He tosses and turns, his head whipping from side to side. He must be having a nightmare, You think to yourself, your heart breaking in two, watching pain wrack his body, his mind.Â
You meet his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. âLogan,â you say, your voice louder, stronger this time. âYou need to wake up.â But he doesnât. He groans, his brows furrowed, sweat beading his forehead.Â
âCome on,â you plead, climbing into the bed, and straddling him. You hold him down by his shoulders, stopping him from writhing. Now that youâre closer, you can see the tears streaming down his cheeks, can see the agony etched into the lines of his face. âLogan!â You yell. âYou gotta wakeââ
His eyes fly open, and you feel cold metal pierce your leg. Your jaw drops as pain stings sharply in your thigh. âOh fuck,â Logan curses, sitting up and retracting his claws. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes as the pain worsens. âShit!â He cries out, grabbing at your thigh, blood spilling into his fingers.Â
You close your eyes as your powers take hold. Your skin slowly stitches up, putting yourself together again. You groan, and Logan wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. âIâm so sorry,â he mumbles into the side of your head, pressing soft, gentle kisses there. âI love you, Iâm so sorry sweetheart.â
What did he just say?
âW-what?â You ask, the pain fading away as those three words echo in your mind.Â
Loganâs breathing only quickens as he realizes what he said. âA-are you okay?â He asks, ignoring your question.Â
You nod. âItâs already gone,â you whisper, nodding to your thigh. âBut what did you justââ
âI love you,â he interrupts, saying it again. You pull back a bit to look at him. You can see the seriousness in his eyes, the adoration, the honesty. âI love you.âÂ
You bite your lip, your eyes widening as you process what this means. Logan loves you. Itâs everything you ever wanted. Everything you could have asked for. It just makes sense.
âI love you too,â you confess, choking on your words. âI was so worried. I didnât know when youâd come back, or if youâd come back at all. I saw your door closed, and I just had to see you. I needed to know that you were okay, that you came home.â
He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes closing. âBefore I left,â he pauses, his Adamâs apple bobbing in his throat. âI was going to tell you why I didnât want to work together.â His eyes open again. âI was scared to get close to you,â he explains. âI knew I wanted you the second I saw you. Knew I had to have you. Iâve never felt that way before. You opened something inside me that I thought I didnât have. Turns out it was just locked, waiting around for you.â
âLogan,â you breathe, his lips just inches from yours. âI wanted you too. Wanted you this whole time.â You need him to kiss youâto take you right here and now. âI thought you didnât like me,â you admit, giggling softly.Â
He shakes his head, smirking. âI liked you too much,â he rasps. âDidnât know what to do about it. You were driving me crazy, sweetheart.â You can feel his erection straining in his boxers, and you canât help but grind down on him, your core rocking against his cock. âFuck,â he groans, gripping your hips. âSlow down, pretty girl. Are you sure youâre okay?â
You nod emphatically. âAlready healed,â you assure him. âJust need you, Lo.â
âNeed you too, sweetheart,â Logan groans, rolling your hips against his, tugging you down his length. âCan feel you soaking through those panties already,â he grunts. And heâs right. The heat pooling between your legs is uncontrollable.Â
You groan as your clit drags across his erection. âF-fuck,â you stutter, his fingers digging into your hips. You bring your hands to the waistband of his boxers, tugging at them. But before you can get anywhere, Logan is flipping you onto your back and crawling down your body.Â
âNext time, sweetheart,â he coos, hiking your shirt up and smirking when he sees you arenât wearing a bra. He palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples before sliding down further. âWanna take care of you this first time.â
Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. You can see the hunger in his eyes as he kisses down your stomach, going past the hem of your panties, stopping at your clit. He takes a deep breath. âCan smell that pretty pussy. Know she needs me, darlinâ.âÂ
He hooks his fingers into your waistband, and tugs the thin lace down your legs, revealing your aching cunt to him. He settles between your thighs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your clit.Â
âL-Lo,â you choke. âPlease.â
He smiles against you, breathing you in again. âPlease what, princess?â He asks, looking up at you under hooded eyes. âTell me what you need.â
âYou,â you beg. âNeed you. Always gonna need you.âÂ
His smile meets his eyes as he licks a long stripe through your folds, his tongue pushing through your entrance, tasting you, savoring you. He hums against you, the vibration of his voice rocking your core. âTastes so good,â he mumbles, licking another long stripe. âPerfect pussy. Knew youâd be this sweet.â
You watch as he laps at you, drinking you in. Loganâs tongue finds your clit, drawing tight circles into the bud. âF-feels so good,â you stutter.Â
âI know, beautifulâ He soothes, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh, drawing closer to your heat. âYou look so pretty when you let me eat you out,â he praises, his fingers prodding your entrance. âYou want more?â He teases, slipping just past your slit and quickly pulling out.Â
âYes,â you whimper, pleasure coursing through your veins. âNeed your fingers, Lo. Please.â
He wastes no timeâsuddenly thrusting inside you, his long, thick fingers splitting you in two. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. âSo tight,â he coos, pulling out and sliding back in. âSo fucking wet.â
Logan wraps his lips around your clit, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, hard. He releases, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your walls clench around his fingers at the sensation. âFuck,â Logan curses, smirking against you. âYou like that?â He teases. âLike when Iâm rough with you?â His tongue flits out, lapping flat strokes across your clit.Â
You moan a soft Yes in affirmation, your back arching off the mattress. Youâre already close, ready to let go. But Logan isnât letting up, his fingers slamming into you, taking your clit back into his mouth and sucking harder, rougher this time. He swirls soothing circles into the bud, pushing you to the edge.Â
âLogan,â you whine, your hips squirming as he drags his tongue harder against your heat. âIâm so close.âÂ
Your muscles contract and release around his fingers as he hits that sweet spot inside you, pump after pump. âI know, pretty girl,â He soothes, his free hand wrapping around your hip and holding you down to the mattress. âLook at you,â he praises between harsh sucks. âSo beautiful like this.â His tongue circles your overstimulated clit. âAlready fucked out, arenât you?âÂ
âYes,â you mutter, your hips squirming helplessly against his grip. Itâs all too much, his hushed whispers, his praises, the way his tongue flits against you, his deep thrusts dragging along your walls. âLogan, Iâm gonnaâŠâÂ
âThatâs it, pretty girl,â Logan coaches, his tongue still lapping at you ravenously. Heâs starving, unwilling to stop. He needs more. âShould keep you in my bed so I can taste you whenever I want.â He grunts against you. âWant you to come on my fingers, darlinâ. Wanna taste it. Let go.â
Itâs all blazing, white-hot heat, raging through your body, searing your skin. Your eyes stay trained on Logan as he works you through your orgasmâravaging you, lapping up every last drop of your release. His fingers pump in and out, slowly, before he pulls out completely. But his face stays buried against your cunt, his tongue pushing through your folds.Â
âLogan,â you whine, lacing your fingers through his hair. âNeed you up here.âÂ
He looks up from your heat and licks one more long stripe before climbing up your body. He tugs his boxers down his legs, his eyes not leaving yours. His cock springs free, bumping against his stomach.Â
Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand wraps around the base of his cock. You instinctually spread your legs, as if itâs second nature, as if youâve been here before. âSuch a good girl,â Logan praises, sliding his tip through your folds. âAll spread open for me.â His cock nudges against your clit and slides back down. âYou need me, sweetheart?â
âYes,â you choke. âMore than you canââ
And then heâs plunging inside you, bottoming out with just one thrust. âFuck!â You cry out. He stays inside, unmoving, letting you adjust to the size of him.Â
He presses his forehead to yours. âYou okay?â He asks. His cock throbs, pushing against your walls, searching for more. His hand slips between your bodies and finds your clit.Â
âY-yes,â You stutter, sighing in relief as his fingertips draw gentle strokes into the bud. âS-so big.â
âI know,â Logan soothes, sliding out only to shove himself back in, down to the hit. Your back arches off the mattress, your chest coming flush with his. âGonna work you open.â His voice is gentle, calm. âIâve got you. Relax for me, sweetheart.âÂ
Logan pulls out and thrusts in again, his lips swallowing your moans with a kiss. His fingers swirl around your clit as pleasure pulses through your every nerve ending. âFeels so good,â you murmur as he picks up his pace, his hips rolling against yours.Â
He grunts. âSo perfect,â he praises. âFucking made for me.â He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go. He pinches your clit, rolling the bud under his fingertips. âNever gonna want anyone but you, you know that?â He twitches inside you, and your walls flutter around him.Â
You curse under your breath. âYes,â you cry out. âOnly gonna want you, Lo. Only you.â
âDoing so good for me,â he husks between hard thrusts. âTaking me so well.â His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit rapidly, adding more pressure. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly, fitting against you like a puzzle piece.Â
Your chests heave together, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing against the walls of the room. âYouâre so perfect,â he whispers, his lips suddenly at the shell of your ear. He bites down on your pulse point, his tongue flitting out to lick the pain away. âSo fucking beautiful.âÂ
Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. Youâre so close, ready to come undone. âFuck, Logan,â you whine as he pounds into you. âIâm gonnaââ
âMe too, pretty girl,â he rasps, twitching inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close as he plunges deeper. He lifts his head from the crook of your neck and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. âDonât wanna stop. Donât wannaâŠâ He trails off, his cock throbbing inside you again. You know he canât hold back.
You tighten your legs around his waist. âDonât stop,â you beg. âStay inside.âÂ
He groans, his forehead pressing to yours. âYou want me to fill you up, sweetheart? That what youâre asking for?â
âY-yes,â you stammer, his fingers pinching your clit and stroking relentlessly. âPlease,â you choke, begging, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.Â
âFuck,â he curses. âWanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Wanna make you mine.âÂ
âAlready yours,â you whisper, your muscles contracting around his length again, your legs trembling as stars flood your vision. Logan moans your name, and you can feel him spilling inside you. You come together, your orgasm crashing into you, more intense, more powerful than the last.Â
âLove you so much,â he whispers as he finishes, painting your walls.Â
âLove you too, Lo,â you say back, your heart beating out of your chest as you come down from your high.Â
His fingers drag against your clit, swiping gently before running up your body, slipping under your back, and pulling you into his chest. His hips are still, his cock unmoving inside you. He finally pulls out, and rolls off you, taking you with him. He tugs you into his chest, holding you tightly.
âAre you okay?â He asks softly. âNeed anything?â
âJ-just you,â you stammer. His fingertips trace patterns along your back, soothing and gentle.Â
âLet me clean you up, sweetheart,â Logan whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and moving to sit up. But you stop him, wrapping your arms around his torso and holding him down. He smirks, letting you pull him back. âIâm just gonna grab a towel, yeah? Wanna take care of you. Iâll come right back.â
You nod, letting him go. He slips out of the bed, strides over to his bathroom, and grabs a towel from inside without turning a light on. Within ten seconds heâs back in bed, just like he said he would be.Â
Logan brings the towel between your legs and wipes you clean. His touch is gentle, soothing, careful not to be too rough. Once heâs done, he throws the towel to the floor and reaches over to his nightstand. When he turns back to you, he has a glass of water in his hand. He extends the glass out, bringing it to your lips. The water feels cool as it slides down your throat. You drain the glass, and Logan smiles as he pulls it from your lips.Â
He places the cup back down on the nightstand and pulls you into his arms again. You bury your head into the center of his chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat. Itâs even, steady, constant. Just like him.Â
âNever felt like this before,â he whispers into the silent darkness of the room.Â
âLike what?â You mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.Â
You can hear the smile in his voice as the words leave his lips. âHappy. Safe.â
Tearsâhappy tearsâfree themselves from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks.Â
âCanât let go of you,â he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. âDonât wanna go back to before.â
âYou donât have to, Lo,â you pant. âIâm yours. Always.â And you know you mean it. You know itâs true. Itâs already been decided, already played out. Already etched into the future.Â
Are you two married? Claire had asked.Â
Heâll always come back to you. All I see is happiness, She had promised.
And she was right.Â
âI love you,â Logan husks.Â
âI love you, too.âÂ
tags: @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @Ifdybadgirlsdiw @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour
#Logan Howlett x reader#Wolverine x reader#James Logan Howlett x reader#Logan Howlett x reader smut#Wolverine x reader smut#James Logan Howlett x reader smut#Logan Howlett smut#Wolverine smut#James Logan Howlett smut#Logan Howlett x you#Wolverine x you#James Logan Howlett x you#Logan Howlett friends to lovers#Logan Howlett x you smut#Wolverine x you smut#James Logan Howlett x you smut#Logan Howlett x reader friends to lovers#Logan Howlett imagine#Wolverine imagine#James Logan Howlett imagine#X Men imagine#Hugh Jackman#Deadpool and Wolverine#Logan Howlett fluff#Logan Howlett x reader fluff#Logan Howlett x you fluff
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LIKE THE FIRST TIME
it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.
logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter
it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.
in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.
he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.
âhow was your day?
logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.
âdid something happen?
you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.
âjust a tired fuckin' day, that's all.
you hummed, understanding. âwell, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?
logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.
âi've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.
you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.
logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.
âi miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.
you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.
your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.
you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.
your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.
his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.
your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.
âit's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.
you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.
he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.
you kissed him so he could stop worrying. âlet me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you â.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.
your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.
âfuck â. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. âfuck, you're so hot.
with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.
âit was one of your favorite tshirts.
âdon't care.
and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.
all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?
now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.
he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.
âyou're beautiful â. he whispered.
logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.
you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.
âcareful â. logan mumbled against your lips.
you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. âi need a moment.
logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.
you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.
âthat's it, take your time â. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.
he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.
âyou make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuckâ. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.
between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.
you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.
âcum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.
oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?
logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.
âshit â. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. âi haven't hurt you, have i?
you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.
âare you okay? that probably hurt â. you caressed his knuckles.
âfelt too good to even think about it.
you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. â'm so sorry, fuck.
âdon't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.
he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. âyou're a freak.
#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett angst#logan smut#logan angst#logan fluff#wolverine smut#wolverine#wolverine fluff#wolverine x reader#wolverine fanfiction#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#hugh jackman#deadpool and wolverine smut#logan howlett imagine#logan imagine#wolverine imagine#x men#xmen smut#marvel#marvel smut#mcu#avengers#avengers smut
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(piano) keys to your heart | charles leclerc social media au
pairing: charles leclerc x fem fan reader
who knew the fan stages could be so romantic?
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
f1
liked by liamlawson30, yukitsunoda0511 and 1,340,667 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri & landonorris
f1: it's always chaos at the fan stages
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user1: what is in the air today?
user2: i think it's so early in the season that they haven't lost the will to live yet
user3: there's still light in their eyes LMAO
lewishamilton: let me just say... that was an experience
georgerussell63: i wish all media commitments were this entertaining
lewishamilton: we can only pray
user4: wait i'm so lost what happened at this damn fan stage
user5: there was a girl with a baby toy piano who played one of charles' songs for him đ
user6: and he was SO IMPRESSED
user7: he was impressed? I WAS IMPRESSED like it sounded so good and it has five keys that make ANIMAL NOISES
user8: aniMAL NOISES???
pierregasly: i think i watched that man fall in love in real time
charles_leclerc: are you not also enchanted?
pierregasly: by animal sounds? no?
charles_leclerc: so rude! you wouldn't know real art even if it hit you in the face
pierregasly: nuh uh !!!
user9: girlies i do think he might be in love what is going on?
user10: has he even spoken to her other than through hundreds of people on a microphone?
charles_leclerc: can a hopeless romantic live ?
user11: yeah it's terminal people
user12: well i'm not gonna lie if someone learnt my music on such an esteemed instrument i'd also be flattered
charles_leclerc: EXACTLYYYYYY
yourusername
liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 12,309 others
yourusername: got to play a pretty boy piano this weekend, what about you?
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user15: PIANO WOMAN MY QUEEN
user16: you have a real piano?
yourusername: where do you think i honed my skills in order to play it on such a crazy model
yourbff: MAMA THERE'S 12,000 PEOPLE ON YOUR POST đ
yourusername: act natural
yourbff: how can i ACT NATURAL BABE THE HOTTEST MAN IN THE WORLD IS IN YOUR LIKES
yourusername: as he should be
yourbff: i know for a fact you are not that chill rn ... i can hear you screaming from my house
yourusername: *harmonising
user17: we're all stalkers for being here but i'm pleasantly surprised with how funny she is
yourusername: damn ask me out on a date first
user18: so you are single queen?
yourusername: chronically so ...
charles_leclerc: i FOUND YOU
pierregasly: * i found you
oscarpiastri: not that i want the title of chief stalker but it was me (you have very niche mutual friends with my sisters)
yourusername: OMG OSCAR !!!!!!!!!!!! (tell hattie i said hi and take me to the next kpop concert)
charles_leclerc: so fuck me i guess
yourusername: i would love to fuck you, yes
charles_leclerc: oh hehehehehehehehehe
yourbff: for a man who is the sexiest in every room he's in, you're embarrassingly easy to please
lewishamilton: he's not the sexiest in every room, that is lewis hamilton erasure
yourbff: WHAT THE FUCK
user19: so is like all of the current f1 grid here?
maxverstappen1: i'm just here to watch charles embarrass himself
danielricciardo: i am retired but i must be interested in the exploits of my countrymen
pierregasly
liked by yukitsunoda0511, charles_leclerc and 885,489 others
tagged: charles_leclerc & kika.c.gomez
pierregasly: he's making us take a flight on our one week off
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user20: deadass if they're going to australia
user21: these are levels that i would actually completely expect from charles
user22: pierre and kika are better than me because a flight to AUSTRALIA oh no baby
maxverstappen1: well this is an update that SOMEONE (i'm talking about you pierre) forgot to put in the group chat
pierregasly: i'm kind of in the middle of a flight and sat to the nosiest motherfucker in the world
charles_leclerc: what group chat?
georgerussell63: nothing!
oscarpiastri: nothing!
landonorris: nothing!
alexalbon: nothing!
maxverstappen1: we're laughing about how down bad you are behind your back đ
charles_leclerc: thanks max!
charles_leclerc: WAIT?
user23: oh charles how can you be so smart yet so dumb
user24: all brain power goes to f1 and piano
user25: and piano girl now apparently
yourbff: you're not being serious ....
pierregasly: deadly
yourusername: this is so charming
yourbff: this man is flying 24 HOURS TO SEE HER ???
yourusername: i'm not appreciating your tone rn
yourbff: oh no you're more than worth it pookie but DAMN the air miles
charles_leclerc: i chartered a private jet :D
yourbff: you're crazy
yourusername: i'm in love with you?
user26: guys i think they're just as insane as each other
user27: a match made in heaven i fear
liked by charles_leclerc & yourusername
yourusername
liked by yourbff, charles_leclerc and 41,298 others
tagged: charles_leclerc, pierregasly & kika.c.gomez
yourusername: guys there's a cute guy at my door (and a guy with a bad hairline but he doesn't matter (i love you kika))
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user29: chat - it's never been so over i fear
user30: we've lost him
yourusername: :P
user31: she's so unserious i love her
user32: i know every other wag wants to be this in our face so i respect it
charles_leclerc: i'm very happy to be the cute guy at your door
yourusername: you best be :)
charles_leclerc: i'm here to swipe you off your feet
yourusername: believe me you won't have to do much
charles_leclerc: i saw you have a proper piano ...
yourusername: you don't want to serenade me with my animal noise piano ???
user33: so like this is real? how did this actually happen?
user34: like surely they had met before this - it can't be the animal sounds piano of monaco that did it
user35: have you ever considered that maybe someone doing something as ridiculous but as time consuming as that is incredibly endearing
charles_leclerc: my love language is acts of service :)
pierregasly: i am sat in your living room and you're blasting my hairline on instagram?
yourusername: yes!
pierregasly: you know what? you two are perfect for each other
yourusername: i know :D
user36: oh to be a girl who has charles flying across the world for her
user37: if we get a video of them playing piano it might just kill me
maxverstappen1: interesting.... very interesting....
yourusername: can i help you?
maxverstappen1: just observing ....
yourusername: you're observing very loudly
charles_leclerc
liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 1,894,300 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: obviously we had to take the real piano for a drive
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user38: killing myself <3
user39: the most rational reaction
user40: THEY'RE SO FUCKING CUTE (i want to die)
yourusername: as if you needed to be any more handsome
charles_leclerc: i gotta match your beauty some how
yourusername: SHUT THE FUCK UP
yourusername: YOU'RE SO CUTE
yourusername: and also objectively the most beautiful man in the world
lewishamilton: once again, stop lying to him please đ
yourusername: okay queen..... whatever you wanna hear
user41: lewis not being in the GC but always being here to stunt on charles is killing me
user42: getting in the psychological warfare for next year
yourusername: lewis hamilton psychological warfare (immovable object) vs sleep deprived y/n y/ln (unstoppable force)
lewishamilton: YOU'VE KNOWN HIM MAX A WEEK ???
yourusername: there's no set timeline for love girlypop
maxverstappen1: piano? this is boring
yourusername: i would post me treating him the way he should but that would violate instagram's guidelines sorry!
charles_leclerc: no !!! i don't wanna share you with anyone
maxverstappen1: i don't wanna see all that anyway
charles_leclerc: don't lie buddy
yourusername: you're just intimidated :P
user43: couples who bully max together, stay together
maxverstappen1: it seems that way ...
yourusername: omg we're so couple goals
charles_leclerc: we so are <3333
user44: CONFIRMATION???
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff and 68,309 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
yourusername: guess i'm a recording artist now? oh and i have a bf, he's there i guess?
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user46: oh they want me dead
user47: ignoring this for my mental health
user48: they're đ so đ cute đ i'm đ so đ happy đ for đ you
charles_leclerc: no one i'd rather work with!! we've been in a whirlwinf but i'm glad i have you
yourusername: you have had the (piano) keys to my heart long before we met
charles_leclerc: i still had to charm you though ;)
yourusername: oh i was smitten straight away i was just trying to play it cool
pierregasly: you weren't very convincing
yourusername: i was ???
yourbff: the day you found out he was flying over to aus you did 20,000 steps just pacing in the living room
yourusername: well...
charles_leclerc: i found it very cute no worries
user49: they're so hilariously embarrassing for each other it's so cute
user50: i mean they're both insanely attractive so yeah i'd be just as nervous around them
user51: everyone is just hating on their whimsical love
arthurleclerc: so you're official and you've still not met us đ€šđ€šđ€š
yourusername: well............. i'm in aus what do you want me to do about that?
arthurleclerc: charles irresponsibly uses a private jet - i expect to see you for dinner this weekend ! (that's an order from maman)
yourusername: CHARLES I CAN'T LET YOUR MUM DOWN
maxverstappen1: does this mean i might get air max back in europe?
yourusername: you've been hating this whole time but it was YOUR JET THAT GOT CHARLES HERE?
maxverstappen1: and what?
yourusername: i'm just observing, loudly
charles_leclerc: he loves me really <3
yourusername: but not too much đ€š
charles_leclerc
liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff and 2,398,099 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: i am never complaining about media again
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user52: so when i do an interpretative dance as a cat to seduce max then what?
maxverstappen1: if you dare do that anywhere near me i am getting a restraining order
user52: anyone tell you you're no fun?
maxverstappen1: all the time, i'm still not going to fuck someone dressed as a cat đ
yourusername: loving you is the easiest thing in the world
charles_leclerc: the most natural thing in my life - we were made for each other
yourusername: forged by the gods for each other and they decided to give me the prettiest boy in the world
yourusername: @lewishamilton i dare you to say otherwise
charles_leclerc: she's so protective đ€đ€đ€
roscoelovescoco: ...
yourusername: i'll still fight your dog i have no shame when it comes to defending my man
user53: see this ^^ is appropriate action for wags i too would fight a bull dog to defend charles' honour
yourusername: it's the least i can do
charles_leclerc: i will literally run someone over with my ferrari
yourusername: considering i've seen your road parking - that's a real threat, so romantic
pierregasly: so i really am stuck with this for the rest of my life?
yourusername: it doesn't have to be a long life
pierregasly: you're breaking up with charles ???
yourusername: i'm threatening your life đ
pierregasly: oh!
charles_leclerc: so romantic
user54: childhood friends being thrown under the bus? this is real romance
user55: and this all started with an animal sounds piano?
yourusername: i owe my baby cousin everything
charles_leclerc: does she want a ferrari?
fin.
note: HAPPY CHARLES LECLERC BIRTHDAY DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc smau
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ă ⊠F1 GRID â LETS GET PHYSICAL
Ë àŁȘ đ„ navigation. | requests â open | main masterlist (coming soon)
drivers included | max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, daniel ricciardo, franco colapinto, lewis hamilton
description | drivers and their favorite kinks
content warnings | mature content ahead â 18+ only, minors do not interact
authors note | hope everyone enjoys reading this one! if you have any requests for drabbles or blurbs involving those i write for please send it in and i will try to get it out as soon as possible <3 *not spelled checked*
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
â đđđ đđđđđđđđđđ Âč
Ò PRAISE KINK !
â whether he praised you or you praised him; max verstappen was an absolute whore for praising
â both in public and behind closed doors he would take the praises only from you. being a three time world champion as many reminded him of his accomplishments heâd down play it. but you? oh he loved when youâd sing his praises
â âyou did so great out there, maxie. no one does it like you.â praising him in public after a great race would look like that. behind closed doors was another story; âright there, max. fuck youâre doing so well keep going.â âonly you know my body, no one comparesâ
â on the other hand max loved praising you and he was an absolute menace for it when heâd have you bent over the bed fucking you with his hands gripping your hair; âcome on, baby. squeezing me so tight you love being handled like this, hmm?â âyouâre doing so well for me, baby.â âsuch a good girl for me.â
Ò QUICKIES !
â max loved taking his time with you but with his busy schedule especially on race weekends he couldnât give you enough time. however, he always made the most of the 10-20 minutes you had together on any occasion.
â whether it be 10 minutes before heâs gotta go out for the national anthem or 15 minutes before he is due to attend the press conference he would grab you and take you in any room that had a lock. âfuck thatâs it, youâre doing so good for me baby.â âgonna have you cum three times before i gotta be out there in ten minutes. you like that?â
â đđđđđđ đđđđđ â”â”
Ò HAIR PULLING KINK !
â the man has beautiful hairâŠhow can he not have a hair pulling kink?
â carlos loved pulling your hair whether it was while you rode his cock or he was taking you from behind; he loved having his hands in your hair
â but it was when you pull his hair that really gets him going both intimately but whenever youâd be watching a movie or out with friends your hand would go to the nape of his neck and travel up to his hair giving it a soft tug
â between your legs carlos is eating you out both sloppily and hungrily, tongue against your aching core his fingers now at your entrance giving you extra pleasure when theyâre stretching you out, âfuck. just like that carlos,â you tangle your fingers in his hair giving it a rough tug when he rubs his thumb on your clit
â every thrust his fingers would give your cunt and tongue giving your folds so much attention youâd tug his hair closer to your pussy if that was possible; âfuck, baby, do that again. harder.â âgod, hermosa, gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep pulling my hair like that.â âright there, keep doing that princesa. wanna suffocate in your pussy.â
Ò DIRTY TALK !
â his native language being spanish played a role in his love for dirty talking he loved the reaction heâd get out of you when youâd hear him speaking to you in spanish
â morning, noon, night; carlos fucked you any moment he had some free time which was rare but on those occasions he did he make sure to speak his dirty thoughts of you: and to you
â âfuck, my good girl, chokinâ on my cockâ âthatâs it, hermosa. let them all hear whose fucking your tight pussyâŠthe only man who makes you cum.â âte ves tan perfecta para mĂ de rodillas llena de mĂ. mi bella princesa.â
â đđđđđđđ đđđđđđđ Âčâ¶
Ò ORAL !
â charles loved having you on your knees mouth stuffed with his cock. your lips showing his tip some extra love with a few kisses after finishing in your mouth and youâd take him once again pulling him in your mouth again for another round.
â what he loved the most though? spending hours in between your thighs giving you multiple orgasms until you are begging him to stop (very rare to want him to stop)
Ò ROUGH SEX !
â despite seemingly carrying a calm demeanor around friends & family behind closed doors charles loved being rough with you in bed. especially after yet another week where ferrari fucks up his race he feels the best place to let out his stress and anger is on you. which you gladly took.
â rough and sloppy kisses you share entering his hotel room to his rough hands pushing you onto the bed and fucking you with his fingers until youâre squirting all over him and the bedsheets.
â your face pressed down on the mattress while he takes you from behind arching your back and yanking on your hair pulling you close to his chest heâd give you another rough thrush while whispering the most vulgar sentences to come out of his mouth.
â đđđđđ đđđđđđ âŽ
Ò COCKWARMING !
â sometimes being weeks apart from each other you wanted to feel as close as possible while catching up on what youâd miss. youâd get settled on his lap moaning at the feeling of him stretching you after being gone for so long. youâd get comfortable and you would both talk about what you had been up to the last few weeks
â streaming with max youâd make sure his camera was off before you climbed on his lap. he would be confused as to what you were doing but the moment you take his cock out of his briefs and sinking down on him heâd hold his moans in and grab your waist pulling you closer.
- turning his mic off he lets out a whine when you rock your hips against him, âfuck, baby, canât do this right now iâm so close to winning.â youâd agree with him and tell him to finish the game youâll just wait for him; still sitting on him with his cock deep inside you. safe to say he lost the game just to play again, enjoying the feeling of his cock resting inside you
Ò SHOWER SEX !
â lando loved it when heâd be showering and youâd join him halfway through giving him some extra attention that he desperately wanted. he loved the intimacy about it when youâd help rinse of the shampoo in his hair or how heâd glide the body gel all over your body
â you loved it when it was a post race win or podium and heâd drag you to the small bathroom in his drivers room and shove you against the shower wall giving your pussy some extra love while you pull on his hair before he would have his cock shoved deep in your aching cunt, getting some loud moans out of you which heâd cover up with a kiss
â đđđđđ đđđđđđđđ âŽâŽ
Ò PHONE SEX !
â being a formula 1 driver was a demanding job which required lewis to travel almost all year long and you couldnât always go along with him due to your job. you missed him all the time when he was gone but especially on the days when you were extra needy were the worst
â thatâs why heâd stay on the phone with you all day despite his busy schedule. heâd have one airpod in while having to be in a meeting not listening to the less important subjects so heâd listen to you and what you were doing for the day
â but then on days where your vibrator wasnât enough youâd call or facetime your boyfriend begging him to help you through your orgasm, it also helped that he had the most soothing voice that constantly brought you to tears when heâd have your face shoved on the mattress, ass pressed against him as he fucked you
â âohâŠâm so close, lewâ youâd whimper through the facetime call, your phone propped against your nightstand while you grind your aching cunt against a pillow. desperately needing more release your reach to rub your clit when lewisâ voice fills the phone, âi didnât say you could do that, did i?â he questions, he was due to be in the media pen in 10 minutes but he wouldnât let you take the easy way out to cum before he left
â âplease, baby, need to cum please,â you beg lewis as your movements speed up. âdonât use your hand. keep fucking youself on my pillow, iâll be home in a few days and take such good care of you. thatâs it baby, be a good girl and cum for me.â his encouragement is more than enough to have you squeezing your breasts and nipples as your release spills all over the pillow
Ò MIRROR SEX !ă
â you werenât sure if it was you or lewis who decided adding a mirror to the ceiling of your bedroom was the best option for your sex life but either way you were two happy people
â you enjoyed watching lewis fucking you his eyes meeting your through the mirror; he loved having you bounce on his cock watching the way you threw your head back moans filling the room. he loved it so much he requested his drivers room to have a mirror on the ceiling as well. after many warnings not to they finally gave in and gave him what he (and you) wanted
â his hand around your throat with two fingers deep inside your pussy heâd whisper dirty thoughts into your ear, âyou look so pretty for me like this. wanna see you cum for me, sweet girl. thatâs it youâre squeezing my fingers so good,â youâd bite your lip trying to suppress your moans in the small room knowing anyone walking by could easily hear you
â đđđđđ đđđđđđđ âžÂč
Ò DRY HUMPING !ă
â again, being a formula one driver was a demanding sport. a demanding sport that kept your sex life with oscar very low many, many, many times. so when you had the chance to feel a little bit closer to your boyfriend you took the chance.
â whether against the wall of his drivers room with your clothed pussy rubbing against his race suit or in bed on his lap before ha has to catch a flight to the next race; you were both absolutely infatuated with each other and dry humping
â drivers room; oscar would be leaned up against the wall while your hips grind against his thigh, âosc,â you whine as he moves your panties to the side rubbing your clit while you con the to fuck yourself on him, âshh, be a good girl for me and stay quiet. then after the race iâll stuff you full of my cock all night.â his words have you biting down on his shoulder as you cum all over his thigh
Ò SQUIRTING !ă
â he had discovered this one night while you both watched a movie, laying between his thighs your head pressed against his chest his hand trailed down to your shorts pulling them off with nothing else underneath he worked his fingers inside you. soon enough you had squirted all over his hand and bedsheets; a first for both of you
â that just started something inside oscar which was wanting to make you squirt any chance he got. you could be exhausted from work or a long flight but youâd let him have his way with you. at the end youâd be filling the room with sounds of pleasure as his fingers or cock fucked your tight cunt until he reached the exact spot that had you squirting all over him
â "so wet for me, and so fuckin' tight." "i can feel how close you are baby, gonna make a mess all over our sheets, hmm?" he praises you, his fingers curling deep inside you. his groans and your moans fill the room as you squirt all over his hand and sheets making a mess like he had said. pulling away from you he now plays between your thighs and smiles up at you, âtime to clean this mess up.â
â đ
đđđđđ đđđđđđđđđ âŽÂł
Ò DIRTY TALK !ă
â youâve seen franco in interviews he was a talker so it wasnât a surprised he was a talker behind closed doors as well. he had a filthy mouth on him when it came to you and he never stopped praising you
â âeso es amor, apretĂĄndome tan bien. let me hear your pretty moans.â âcum all over my cock, amor. fuck, fuckâlook so perfect for me.â âgonna let me fuck you against the door? gonna make sir everyone hears what a filthy whore you are.â youâd think by now youâd get tired of his constant yapping (sometimes you did) but when he fucked you? you loved hearing his voice the entire time
Ò ORAL !ă
â the man was good with his tongue what more could you say? he was infatuated with having his tongue on your pussy for hours on end tasting how sweet you were. buried between your thighs as your hand stung on his hair, whines and moans escape your mouth begging him for more
â âfranco, âm so close, right there,â you gasp feeling his tongue poking in your cunt as he devours you, âes todo princesa, dĂ©jalo ir por mĂ. mierda. sabes tan dulce.â you cum and he doesnât let a drop escape his tongue as he licks you clean
â đđđđđđ đđđđđđđđđ Âł [retired]
Ò THIGH RIDING !ă
â the man had a tattooed thighâŠhow could you not want to ride it? it first started on a night out with friends enjoying the sunset at the beach when daniel placed you on his lap your hand traced circles on the tattoos that littered his thigh; one thing led to another and you snuck off to the car and he let your imaginations come to life
â at a club filled with loud music and dark lights youâd take advantage of the moment and grind yourself on his thigh enjoying the feeling, at home while he works on sending out some emails youâd keep him company with your core pressing against his thigh, anyplace and anywhere you were a menace for his thighs
â he loved it too, so much heâd started adding some more tattoos to his collection on his thighs which made you even more excited to ride him only to wait until he was healed to do so. you could ride his other thigh but something about fucking yourself on his tattooed thigh felt so so much more enthralling
â âyou look so pretty like this, ridin' my thigh...makin' yourself cum.â âmake yourself cum on my thigh right now, good girl. feels good, doesn't it?â his encouraging words bringing you to your third orgasm of the night just form riding his thigh, âcome on, honey, gonna give me one more then iâll fuck you for however long you wantâ
Ò FILMING !
â daniel loved having videos or pictures of the activities you got up to in the bedroom with each other. he loved watching the videos while he was away from you weeks on end. however, he loved it more whenever you got the chance to film each other especially for fun not because heâll be gone for a few weeks and needed someone to fill the void
â daniel comfortably laying down between your thighs lapping at you like thereâs no tomorrow, âdanny, feel so goodâŠoh,â you whine trying to hold the camera that was pointed at him steadily but you were so close. âthatâs it baby, cum all over me you taste so fucking sweet. could never get enough of this,â he says only getting a second to breathe before heâs diving back between your thighs to bring you to your second orgasm of the night
â you loved the risk of having an album on your phones that were filled of videos and pictures of the two of you or sometimes of just one of you. youâd created a small album curated for daniel filled of pictures of you in lingerie or fully nude; the videos were another story. filled with you fucking yourself with your fingers, vibrator, a pillow; you made sure daniel was fulfilled for the weeks he wouldnât have you
â daniel made a small photo album for you as well more so filled of the two of you, he knew how much you loved rewatching the videos of you two fucking. you loved the way he propped the camera against the nightstand and had you riding his cock until you begged him to let you cum or the time he fucked you in his drivers room facing the mirror on his door his hands on your breasts squeezing them while you rode him back against his chest holding onto the camera shakily and almost dropping it when heâd thrust up into your cunt
#f1 amour works#max verstappen#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#lando norris#lewis hamilton#oscar piastri#franco colapinto#daniel ricciardo#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#carlos sainz x reader#lando norris x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#daniel ricciardo x reader#oscar piastri x reader#franco colapinto x reader#max verstappen smut#charles leclerc smut#carlos sainz smut#lewis hamilton smut#franco colapinto smut#lando norris smut#oscar piastri smut#daniel ricciardo smut#f1 grid x reader#f1 x reader#f1 smut#f1 grid blurbs
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GETTING CAUGHT MAKING OUT WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID
INTRODUCING THE BOYS. lando norris. charles leclerc. oscar piastri. max verstappen. alex albon. daniel ricciardo. mick schumacher. logan sargeant. BONUS. . . lance stroll.
â
â LANDO NORRIS (4)
it stared with a couple of innocent kisses in landoâs driver room before the race. you donât usually engage in that kind of behavior at least until after a race, but lando was feeling a little under the weather and while you were only trying to comfort him, he had other plans. and, well, if that makes him feel better you wonât deny him a little bit of fun. now, youâre straddling your boyfriendâs thighs, itâs hot and you want to rip your top and his fireproofs off, and lando, as always, is one step ahead of you. his hands slip under your shirt, the pad of his fingers softly caressing your skin as his lips find the pulse point on your neck. you donât know if the whimper you hear belongs to you or lando, the only thing you know is that the race can wait a few minutes.
âlando itâs time to gââ you donât hear the end of the sentence because landoâs race engineer itâs too stunned to finish speaking. youâre quick to jump off of your boyfriendâs lap, but youâve been caught and itâs impossible to deny what you were doing, thereâs evidence on yours and landoâs face. the man just laughs and closes the door, saying something about keeping his head clear of any distraction.
â
â CHARLES LECLERC (16)
you were just trying to help charles clean his shirt after you spilled your drink on top of him. but he was so close to you, his breath tickling your cheek and sending a shiver down your spine, and it just happened. the kiss was shy at first, both of you uncertain of what you were doing. but then you were being lifted up by charles and sat down on the sink, legs immediately parting to make room for him. you didnât care that you were in daniâs guest bathroom and anyone could walk in on you, you also didnât care when charlesâ hands found your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh while his mouth kept the assault in yours, neither did you care when those same hands lifted your dress up, up and up until you could clearly feel the effect your kisses were making on him.
you were ready to ask charles to do something when the door opened startling you both. charles stepped away and you jumped off the sink, trying to brush your hair and looked presentable to the owner of the house who was now looking at you, surprise written all over his face before bursting out laughing. âguys! you wonât believe this!â it only took a panicked looked between you and charles for the boy to sprint down the hallway to try and shut his friend up.
â
â OSCAR PIASTRI (81)
you donât know if australia has something in the air or if being in oscarâs childhood bedroom is making you feel a certain way. but the second the door closes, youâre leading him to the bed. oscar is a little uncertain at first and looks like heâs about to say something, but the words die in his throat the moment your lips find his. he doesnât wait a minute in taking control, and lays you down on the bed, his body on top of yours. then your impromptu kissing session itâs not enough, you need to feel him closer, you want his hands everywhere.
âwould you like some lemonade?â itâs too late for you to pretend to be doing something else than being in an intense making out session when oscarâs mom, the woman youâve just met that same day, opens the door. when she sees the scene, she quickly closes her eyes, hiding behind her hands. it would make you laugh if it were any other situation. oscar doesnât move but looks like a deer caught in the headlights. âi did not see a thing!â you would pretty much prefer for the earth to swallow you whole than to face the woman again.
â
â MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)
itâs not maxâs fault that you look so, so good in that damn dress that all he wants is to rip it off of you. if the FIA gala wasnât so importantâitâs not. not for him, at leastâhe would get out of there immediately. instead, he has to settle with crowding you against a wall in a secluded corner of the building when he finally has some time for you. he can barely keep his hands to himself, and is touching you even before you can feel his lips against yours. max whispers sweet nothings as his lips go from your mouth to your neck and then up again, making you feel dizzy. he lifts your dress up around your thighs, and you allow him access in a heartbeat, not caring about anything but how addicting his kisses are.
âejem,â a cough makes max pull away, and doesnât hesitate on shielding your body with his, giving you enough time to fix up your clothes. âweâre next.â christian horner tries to look at anywhere but you, and you donât know if youâre supposed to laugh or feel ashamed. both, probably. max dismisses him with a simple nod of his head, and once youâre alone, max goes back to what he was doing before. you still have a few minutes to spare, he says.
â
â ALEX ALBON (23)
you were having the time of your life choosing an outfit for a party next week, your boyfriend waiting for you just outside the changing room; you actually were focused on trying to zip up a beautiful black dress you had chosen when the door opened, revealing alex with a mischievous smile on his face. as quick as he opened it, he closed it behind him. you didnât question him, itâs definitely not the first time heâs done something like this, so, you, more than happy, welcomed him with open arms and a set of pink and plump lips. and alex is immediately swiping his tongue across your bottom lip and kissing your properlyâkissing you so slow while gently cupping your face, trying to take as much as he wants from you, and youâre ready to give it to him freely.
âis someone there?â a girlâs voice startles you both, but before you can think of hiding alex or saying somethingânot that you can with your boyfriendâs mouth against yoursâsheâs opening the door. neither you nor alex know what to do other than to stay very still and very quiet, as if that would make the girl forget what she saw.
â
â DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)
you told daniel that hiding in the airplane bathroom to make out wasnât a good idea, but you still got up and went voluntarily when he gave you the signal. waiting for him to knock was torture, you were pretty sure you were going to get caught. but when you opened the door and your boyfriend pulled you in to finally kiss you, you forgot about everything. the way daniel kisses should be illegalâhow he lets you take the lead until your kisses become sloppy and your head feels dizzy and you canât keep up with it because it feels so good. then he takes control, gripping your waist with such force itâll leave marks; the mere thought makes you weak in the knees.
âopen up! you canât do that in here.â a huge knock on the door makes you pull away, but daniel doesnât let you go, chasing after you until you give up and kiss him again. this time the kisses are more intense and the tiny bathroom itâs too warm and youâre wearing too many clothes. the person behind the door is forgotten the moment daniel gets so close that you become one. youâre already in trouble, so, itâs doesnât matter if you stay a few more minutes in there.
â
â MICK SCHUMACHER (47)
kissing at clubs is not something you wouldâve done in the past, not even when lights are so low and no one cares what the person next to you is doing. but ever since you started dating mick, there are a lot of things youâve already done that you never thought you would do. and making out in a corner of the club with mick pressing against the window, his body molding into yours just in the right spots is definitely one of them. mick is practically knocking the air out of your lungs with the way heâs kissing you, and you have to hold onto his shoulders afraid of melting to the ground. you donât know where you are, and you really donât care as long as mick keeps kissing you like that, so you donât push him away when you feel his hand making its way up your thigh, getting closer to where you need him the most.
but then you hear people laughing. mick pulls away first, groaning for being interrupted, but then you look around and youâre right next to the bathroom from where a group of girls are walking out. you feel all the blood in your body rushing to your face, they look amused but you want to disappear. you hide your face in your boyfriendâs chest and donât look up until mick is the one lifting your chin up to kiss you. this time he takes your hand while saying something about going home to finish what you started.
â
â LOGAN SARGEANT (2)
itâs childish. and all of you are adults. you definitely should not be playing truth or dare in a party like thirteen years old. however, you donât say anything when oscar dares you to spend seven minutes in the closet with logan. itâs true you both have been dancing around each other for a while now, what you didnât know itâs that it was so obvious for everyone around you too. the cheering from your friends dies down when the door closes and you and logan are alone. you look into each otherâs eyes for a minute, pure silence in the secluded space, then logan glances down at your lips and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize heâs asking for permission. your eyelashes flutter as you take a step closer, and he wraps his arms around your waist without a trace of hesitation. youâre gasping into his mouth the next second, his lips warm and soft. his fingers brush along your jaw and, in that moment, you decide this wonât be the last time youâre gonna be tasting his lips, you want to do it every hour of every day.
but then the door opens and you immediately pull away as if youâve been burned. there are a lot of eyes looking between you and logan for a moment before someone shouts âfucking finally!â and everyoneâs laughing and cheering. when you look at logan again, he has a lopsided grin plastered on his face.
â
â LANCE STROLL (18)
lance made sure you two were alone in his parentâs house before taking you in his arms and sitting on the couch. he smiles at you with the same bright and pretty smile that stole your heart one time two years ago as you run your hands through lanceâs hair, down his neck and over his shoulders, letting them rest on his chest. lance grabs onto your waist and meets your lips halfway, all his body relaxing immediately. he kisses you so softly but determined, licking into your mouth when you give him access, like itâs his last day on earth and he needs you to keep breathing, surviving. you let his hands roam freely over your body and you can feel your heart pounding so hard, almost as if itâs gonna jump out of your chest and you canât do anything about it. when your boyfriendâs hands graze your lower back for a second before grabbing your arse, a tiny mewl escapes you.
and as youâre about to grind down, âoh my god!â lanceâs sister screams in surprise. you both look at her, more embarrassed than afraid. you know your cheeks and ears are as pink as the shirt youâre wearing, and you feel like your skin is actually burning. âwell, i guess we had the same thought.â she says stepping aside, her boyfriend coming into view with a shy smile on his face.
requested by @biancathecool. . . The boys (individually) Nd fem!reader getting caught making out, with the driver having thier hands shoved down their gfs pants or up their shirt đ« â€ïž Alsin if you could please add lance in this one.
© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⯠do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
#ê°ê° đ â verstappen cult files ê±ê±#f1 x reader#f1 grid x reader#charles leclerc x reader#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc fluff#max verstappen fluff#f1 imagine#max verstappen x reader#charles leclerc imagine#f1 fanfic#mick schumacher x you#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo blurb#logan sargeant x reader#alex albon x you#alex albon imagine#lance stroll x reader#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fanfic
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đȘĄThe Obvious String
*part of the reverse trope series*
Paring: Lestappen x MercedesDriver!Reader Genre: SMAU/Fluff/Humor Summary: The invisible string was so visible that everyone missed it but them. What are they? Rivals? Friends? Emotional Support Buddies? But they can't be lovers . . . can they?
*I took a lot of inspo from people on twitter. I think this is the most work I've ever done for a chapter before. the tweets alone took almost two hours to do. I absolutely love lestappen so this is super self-indulgent. but that's why I'm a writer. I hope you all enjoy!*
TAG LIST IS CLOSED
Lando knew that there was something between the three of them.Â
Anyone could see that. Instagram, twitter, TikTok, hell even the Formula 1 app was talking about it. The grid was getting very suspicious, but who could blame them.Â
Max wasnât putting out the fire by pulling his two childhood friends in as they posed for pictures. Charles couldnât help but flash his God-given dimples at the Dutchman or the Briton girl. And Y/n, she was just as bad, blush on her cheeks every moment she was around them.Â
So yeah, everyone was talking. But, no one truly knew what exactly was going on.Â
And thatâs exactly what Lando was going to find out. (With the help of his fellow 16 drivers.)
His first victim: the French bestie of the non-French man.Â
âI have no clue what is going on between the three,â was the first thing that came out of Pierreâs mouth when Lando showed up to his driverâs room door. The poor McLaren driver hadnât even gotten a word out.Â
Lando rolled his eyes. âYou have to know something. And you call yourself Charlesâs best mate.âÂ
Pierre threw his hands up. âNon, apparently that is Y/n and Max. Iâve been kicked to the side.âÂ
The Alpine driver definitely wasnât bitter or anything. He was actually thankful that you and Max had been able to keep an eye on Charles when he couldnât. Knowing that the Monegasque had frequent delf-deprecating thoughts, he felt better that he had the two of you.Â
Pierre turned to Lando. âArenât you supposed to Maxâs best friend as well? How would I know something that you donât.âÂ
Now that made Landoâs brows furrow. He was supposed to be Maxâs best friend. And maybe thatâs why he felt a bit peeved to not know what was supposedly going on between you, him, and Charles. His arms crossed in front of his chest.Â
âIâm going to get to the bottom of this,â he muttered, turning away to the door.Â
The Frenchman scoffed. âGood luck mate. Weâve been trying since 2019.âÂ
âWe?âÂ
Lewis was not expecting the numerous knocks at his door during media day. The Briton held his breath, willing the unexpected visitors to give up and go away. Yet, a sigh left his lips once the knocking started up again. He pulled himself off of his couch and walked over.Â
When the door swung in, two bodies brushed against his side.Â
His eye brows raised. âYes, welcome. Come right in. Oh, thank you Lewis for allowing us to disturb your peace.âÂ
Lando chewed his lip. âYeah, thanks man.âÂ
Pierre took a look around the room. âThank you Lewis.âÂ
The papaya clad driver took a seat exactly where Lewisâs had been sitting, which cause Lewis to glare at him.Â
âAnd why are the two of you here?âÂ
Pierre huffed, looking at the pictures on Lewisâs wall.Â
âAsk him.â A finger pointed at Lando, making the Briton look up from his phone.Â
âOh yeah. Do you know. . . â
Once again, Lando couldnât even finish his sentence because Lewis interrupted him.Â
âNo, I donât know whatâs going on between Y/n, Max, and Charles. Honestly Lando, no one knows and I donât think they know either.âÂ
Lando leaned his head back and groaned.Â
âBut how could they not? They all make goo-goo eyes at each other. And itâs worse on the podium.âÂ
âAt least you havenât bit on the podium with two-thirds of the groups. Itâs insufferable man. They canât go without talking about each other for more than a few moments.â
A laugh left Pierreâs lips. âOh yeah. Itâs always âY/n was so strong on corner 2â or âPierre, did you see how Max overtook Checo?â And then âOh Charles was told to stay behind again. He really needs to ignore them.â It makes me want to puke every time.âÂ
Lando scratched his chin. âNow that Iâm thinking about it, youâre right. It was like how Max and Charles completely ignored me in China. They kept looking at Y/n below!âÂ
The last few words had a slight whine to them. Charles had been quick enough to catch Checo on the last lap, and placed himself in P3 after Lando.Â
The Alpine driver looked lost. âLewis, youâve been Y/nâs teammate for almost three years. How can you not know anything.âÂ
All he got was a glare back.Â
âLike I said, Gasly, I donât even think they know something is going on. Itâs pathetic honestly.âÂ
Lando put his head in his hands. âShe must be pining. Donât you two do girls night or at least something like that?âÂ
âLando, she spends all her free moments with Max and Charles. How can she be pining to me if she doesnât leave their side.âÂ
It was quite for a moment before Lando snapped.Â
âIâve got it. If we want grid gossip, we got to go to the source.âÂ
âNo Lando, I donât know if Max, Charles, and Y/n are in a secret relationship. And I donât think they think of each other like that.âÂ
The groan that Lando let out was so loud it made a couple of people look their way. George, the tall, lanky Briton was set to take Lewisâs seat for 2025 after two years in Williams. The driver pool was going crazy.Â
Logan was returning to Formula 1 with HAAS after a brief sabbatical and would be a teammate pair with Oliver Bearman. Nico and Daniel of all people were going to Audi. Liam was set to take the second Red Bull seat. And Carlos, well, no one really knew, but rumors said that he was going to return with Audi when they caught up with the regulations in 2027.Â
The McLaren driver was close to pulling his curls out.Â
âBut George.âÂ
Lando was now full on whining. George seemed exasperated and shrugged.Â
âWeâre not that close anyway. We arenât even teammates yet. And you knew how she yelled at me that one time that my car scraped a hole in Maxâs car.âÂ
The group of four winced at the memory.Â
Max had just finished yelling at George, calling him every name under the sun. And then you had shown up to double it. The Williams, well, now Mercedes driver, was thankful that Charles had shown up to drag the two of you away.Â
Lewis looked a bit pale.Â
âYeah. I donât think sheâs fully forgiven me for Silverstone 2021.âÂ
Lando turned to Lewis. âBut they were all still fighting at that point. Remember the whole unfollowing they did in 2019?âÂ
Pierre snorted. âOf course we remember. That doesnât mean that they didnât still care about each other. You know that Charles and Y/n were the first ones to congratulate Max after he won the championship in Abu Dhabi. And then her and Max practically tackled Charles in Japan in 2022. I donât even want to imagine when Y/n wins her championship.â Â
Lando ran a hand down his face.Â
âWell, if Pierre doesnât know, Lewis and George donât know. Then who would?âÂ
George cocked his head.Â
âHave you asked Daniel? You know that he and Max are pretty close.âÂ
Landoâs eyes widened. âWhy did I not think of that. George I could kiss you!âÂ
Georgeâs face scrunched. âNo thank you. I donât want to be anywhere near your lips.âÂ
Lewis was already at the door, wanting to get a move on. âLetâs go. George youâre coming too. If we get to the bottom of this, youâre going to have to learn how to deal with all three.âÂ
A shudder ran down Georgeâs spine. He did not want to imagine the horror of sharing a podium with all of them. Heâs heard enough stories.Â
When they got to Danielâs motorhome, the Australian was peacefully talking with Oscar. Lando had run up to them and was currently hunched over, trying to catch his breath.Â
âDo,â inhale, âyou two,â exhale, âknow if,â inhale and heave, âthereâs something,â exhale, âgoing on,â inhale, âwith. . .â
Daniel sighed. âMax, Charles, and Y/n?âÂ
Lando shot up, eyes full of hope. Lewis nodded next to him.Â
âYes! Do you?âÂ
The older Aussie wanted to smirk as he saw hope fill the groupâs faces. He nodded a bit, and Lando looked like someone told him that his birthday and Christmas had come early.Â
âNo.âÂ
The McLaren driver fell to the ground. Pierre smacked Daniel on the shoulder.Â
âWhy would you do that!âÂ
Now Lewis was the one whining.Â
âBecause it was funny. Mate, theyâve been like this since Max joined in 2018. Even then, it was worse than whatever this is.âÂ
The Mercedes driver of the group let out another groan for what felt like the millionth time in that hour.Â
âMax was insufferable in 2018. Taking his sim everywhere so that he could game and race with them online. And the multiple phone calls. I think Max partied harder for Charlesâs F2 champion win and Y/nâs F3 championship than his first race win.âÂ
âOk, but thatâs kind of cute.âÂ
All eyes landed on Oscar.Â
The younger Aussieâs eyes bulged. âWhat?âÂ
Daniel pointed a finger at him. âIf Max hears you say cute in any way, shape, or form that is distinctly near his name, he will come after you.â Â
An audible gulp was heard.Â
Lando had begun to pace. âWell, if I donât know, Pierre doesnât know, Lewis doesnât know, George doesnât know, Oscar doesnât know, and Daniel doesnât know, then who would know?â
Everyone looked a little lost.Â
âAha!âÂ
The two papaya drivers jumped out of reflex. Landoâs head turned violently toward Lewis.Â
âWhat!âÂ
He held his phone up with a contact showing.Â
âWe call Seb.âÂ
âLewis, like Iâve told you. Charles hasnât told me anything.âÂ
For the sake of everyone around in the paddock, they held in their groans.Â
âBut Seb, you were practically Charlesâs grid-dad. You have to know something!â Daniel said, face nearly in Lewisâs phone, as if Sebastian could hear him better.Â
A sigh was heard through the speaker.Â
âCharles was nothing less than a terror in 2019. I think the calmest anyone has seen him was 2018 when his car didnât go fast enough for him to catch anyone.âÂ
Lewis hummed. âThatâs true.âÂ
âBecause everyone there should know that 2019 was the year of them. Every headline was all about them. And donât get me started on when they had that big fight. I had to hear everything about it every. single. weekend.âÂ
Daniel nodded. âIt was the same with Max. If Fernando was here, he could say the same for Y/n since she was still racing with Alpine at the time.âÂ
Oscar had completely forgotten about Fernando being Y/nâs teammate for half a season before she made the jump to Williams to replace Kubica to race alongside Nicholas Latiffi. The young Aussie had looked up to the older female when he was making the decision to leave Alpine. She had personally congratulated him on the move and gave him a wink. Well, had tried to before Max and Charles dragged her away.Â
Sebastian had gone quiet over the phone.Â
âHas anyone actually asked them if theyâre together or not? Instead of just asking everyone else about a matter that deeply involves the three of them?âÂ
Their silence had answered for them.Â
Lando grabbed Lewisâs phone out of his hand.Â
âThank you Seb! Weâll get right on it!âÂ
âHey!âÂ
It was too late and Lando had already hung up and was passing the phone back to his fellow Briton.Â
âGuys, we canât ask them.âÂ
âWhat!â Pierre yelled.Â
âThink about it. If we just go and ask, theyâre going to make excuses. We wonât get a right answer.âÂ
âLando, youâre being unreal. Letâs just go ask them,â George said.Â
âAsk them what?âÂ
The six of them jumped out of their skin at the new arrival of a familiar voice. Lando froze before slowly turning around, to come face to face with you, Charles, and Max, all looking cozy for media day.Â
âUh, nothing?â Lando squeaked out, eyes darting around so he wouldnât have to look at the trio.Â
Max snorted. âDoesnât sound like nothing to me.âÂ
He took a sip of his Red Bull.Â
Daniel looked panicked. âWe were just wanting to ask, uh, Lewis and Nico if they had forgiven each other yet?âÂ
âHey!âÂ
Charles raised his eyebrows. âWhy do you seem so unsure? And Lewis is right there mate. Kind of rude to talk about his problems in front of him.âÂ
âThank you Charles.âÂ
The Monegasque hummed as he turned to Max. His mouth dropped.Â
âMax, I thought I told you to stop drinking that stuff. Itâs bad for your heart.âÂ
The Dutchman shrugged and took another sip, just to spite the Ferrari driver. You rolled your eyes, knowing a playfight was just around the corner.Â
Oscarâs eyes narrowed as he looked over the trioâs choice of outfits.Â
âY/n, are those Charlesâs cloud pants? Charles is that Maxâs cap? And Max is that Charlesâs Monza hoodie.âÂ
The arguing that was beginning to build between the two male drivers suddenly stopped. Your eyes widened as you jerked your head toward them.Â
Sure enough, Charlesâs hat was not bright red and it had the number 1 on it, something that Charles lost to Max in 2023. You leaned back to look at the hoodie Max was wearing, and indeed it had the iconic podium scene on the back of it. The two males looked toward your pants. The bright white clouds seemed to stare back at them.Â
âUh, yes?â you asked. âBut we share clothes all the time. Itâs not a big deal.âÂ
Max and Charles nodded before Charles was hit with a thought.Â
âOh, chĂ©ri, I forgot to tell you that your dry cleaning was picked up a few hours ago and is back at the hotel,â he said as he looked at his phone, completely missing the six pairs of wide eyes that were now looking at him.Â
Max smirked as he leaned over and kissed the top of Charlesâs head.Â
âThank you schatje.âÂ
This time, a whine came from you.Â
âIâm being left out,â you muttered, crossing your arms. However, the two were not having it and quickly brought you into their arms.Â
Lando stared, blinked, and stared some more before he rubbed his eyes. He completely believed that the three would disappear when his hands lowered, but he caught Max in the middle of kissing your lips.Â
âWHAT?âÂ
You turned back to the group.Â
âAre you all fine?âÂ
Lewis threw his hands up. âIâm done. Call me when we need to go to the media.âÂ
The door opened quickly, allowing Lewis to slip out.Â
Pierre looked a bit pale. âWhat? When? Where? Why?â
Charles shrugged. âWeâre together. After my championship. The hotel. We love each other.âÂ
Daniel sighed. âSo youâve been together since 2022?âÂ
Max rolled his eyes. âNo.âÂ
âBut Charles just said his championship!â Oscar explained, hands outstretched.Â
It was your turn to smile. âHis F2 championship. Weâve been together since 2017.âÂ
A long sigh came from Lando. âI think I need to sit down.âÂ
Danielâs door swung back open, revealing Lewis once again. He also seemed out of breath. His hands were on his knees for a bit until he straightened back up.Â
âYouâre telling me that you three have been together SINCE 2017!âÂ
You nodded. âYes.âÂ
Pierre pouted. âBut what about 2019?âÂ
The three of you winced in a synchronized matter. With a quick look, Max was the one to sigh. His hands dug into the front pocket of the cozy, black hoodie.Â
âLong story short, we took a small break until Y/n won in Brazil. We all got our heads out of our asses and apologized.âÂ
Oscar rose an eyebrow. âThen why havenât you followed each other back on Instagram.â
A snort from you made the two men chuckle. You simply shrugged your shoulders.Â
âToo lazy? We donât feel like breaking the internet.âÂ
Lando took a seat on Danielâs couch. âWhy havenât you told anyone?âÂ
Charles ran a hand over his face. âLando, we race in countries where people are killed for being homosexual. We canât risk anything.âÂ
The air suddenly took a solemn turn as the McLaren driver nodded, truly taking in the situation. Charles chewed his lip in anxiety, while Max picked at his fingers. You were looking at the group.Â
âYou wonât tell anyone right?âÂ
Suddenly, everyone felt bad for wanting to find out. They had pushed the three to confess something that they might not have wanted people to know about at that time. What a group of friends they were.Â
Lando hung his head. âWe wonât. Iâm sorry that we asked about it before you three were obviously ready to tell someone.âÂ
Another snort left Charlesâs lips as his hand rested on his mouth. Max had a shit-eating grin on his face, you had one to match.Â
Pierre looked at them with a skeptical expression. âSomething to tell us?âÂ
Maxâs shoulders raised. âPeople know. You arenât the first ones to know.âÂ
Lewis sighed, shoulder sagging. George put a hand on the older Britonâs shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. Lando looked close to losing it. His hazel eyes narrowed at the trio.Â
âThen . . . who knows?âÂ
Charlesâs eyes looked up a bit as he started to count.Â
âUh, Christian, Fred, Toto, Kimi.âÂ
You pulled out his fingers and counted. Â
âJensen, Mark, uh, Nico.âÂ
Lewis looked like he wanted to pass out.Â
Max smirked.Â
âOh, and Seb.âÂ
There was silence amongst the group.Â
âOh he is so dead.âÂ
âLando you canât kill Seb!âÂ
âSorry Lewis, but this is his fault!âÂ
âCalm down Lando. Youâll lose your seat.âÂ
âOscar, I just want to talk to Seb. Who has his phone number?âÂ
âI am not giving you his number Lando.âÂ
âIâm not asking you Lewis. Daniel, I know you have it.âÂ
You smiled in Max and Charlesâs arms as Lando started to get physical, trying to grab Danielâs phone.Â
You leaned up, immediately being engulfed in Maxâs aftershave. âShould we stop them?âÂ
Charles leaned a bit forward to look at his two lovers. A soft smile formed on his face, before a smirk replaced it.Â
âNah.âÂ
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Love Again
Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader
Summary: you never thought you would be able to let someone else into your heart after your husband passed away, but when a bucket list your husband left you to fulfill inadvertently leads you straight into Charlesâ path, you learn exactly what it means to love again
Warnings: death of significant other
The funeral is everything you expected it to be and nothing like you imagined. The church is suffocatingly full, every pew occupied, and the walls themselves seem to press in on you.
You sit in the front row, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles white against the black fabric of your dress. You havenât said a word since you walked into the church, since you caught sight of the casket at the front, draped in a flag. You canât speak because if you open your mouth, youâre certain youâll break apart.
You focus on the details instead. The way the flowers â lilies, his favorite â are arranged with too much precision. The way the air smells faintly of old wood and incense. The way the murmur of the crowd sounds like itâs coming from underwater. Your head is spinning, but your body is still, a statue carved out of grief and shock.
You hear the scrape of a chair being moved and look up just in time to see the man taking the pulpit. You recognize him, vaguely, as someone from the organization â Doctors Without Borders. He was there when it happened. He was there with him.
He clears his throat, glances down at a piece of paper in his hand, then up at the crowd. âIâm not sure I have the right words for this,â he begins, his voice low and trembling just enough to be noticeable. âBut Iâll try.â
You hate him a little for that â for having to try. You donât want him to try. You want him to fail, to stumble over his words, to not be able to get them out. But he doesnât. He takes a deep breath and continues.
âJames was ... the best of us. You all know that. He was selfless, tireless. He didnât just want to save lives â he did it. Every day. In the most dangerous places, under the most terrifying conditions. He was a healer in the truest sense of the word.â The manâs voice catches for a second, but he pushes through it. âAnd he was my friend.â
You flinch at that, a sharp pain slicing through your chest.
âHe saved us that day,â the man says. âHe saved all of us.â
The church is so quiet now, you could hear a pin drop. You canât take your eyes off the man at the pulpit. You want him to stop talking. You want him to stop telling you things you canât bear to hear. But he doesnât stop.
âWe were in the middle of the compound when the shelling started. It came out of nowhere. One minute we were patching up a kid whoâd been hit by shrapnel, and the next, the whole world was exploding around us. We were trapped. There was no way out.â The manâs voice lowers, almost like heâs talking to himself now. âBut James ... James didnât hesitate. He ran toward the blast, toward the fire. He pulled people out, dragged them to safety.â
A tear slips down your cheek, and you swipe it away angrily.
âHe was hit by the last shell,â the man continues, his voice trembling now. âHe was trying to get one of the nurses out. She was trapped under some debris. He managed to free her, but then the shell hit, and ...â The manâs voice falters, and he closes his eyes for a moment. âHe didnât make it.â
Thereâs a collective gasp from the crowd, a ripple of shock that moves through the room like a wave. You feel it crash over you, pulling you under. You canât breathe. You canât think. You canât do anything but sit there and listen as the man finishes his eulogy.
âHe died a hero,â the man says, his voice breaking. âHe died saving lives, the way he always wanted to. And I ... I donât know how to make sense of it. I donât know how to make it okay.â
He steps back from the pulpit, his head bowed, and thereâs a moment of silence so thick, itâs suffocating. You feel like youâre drowning, like the walls of the church are closing in on you. You need to get out, but you canât move. Youâre frozen in place, trapped in your grief.
Finally, you manage to take a breath, and it feels like your lungs are on fire. You get to your feet, unsteady, and start to make your way down the aisle. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the church on you, but you donât care. You need to get out. You need air.
You push through the heavy wooden doors and stumble out into the daylight, gasping for breath like youâve been underwater for hours. The sky is too blue, the sun too bright. Everything is too much.
You lean against the wall of the church, pressing your forehead to the cool stone, trying to steady yourself. But the tears come anyway, hard and fast, and you canât stop them. You donât even try.
You donât know how long you stand there, sobbing into the wall, but eventually, you hear footsteps behind you. You donât have to turn around to know who it is â your husbandâs best friend.
âHey.â His voice is soft, hesitant.
You donât respond. You canât. You just keep crying.
âI ... Iâm so sorry,â he says. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth of his presence beside you. âI donât know what to say.â
âThereâs nothing to say,â you manage to choke out, your voice raw.
Heâs silent for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath. âJames ... he gave me something. To give to you. In case ... in case something happened.â
You turn to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. Heâs holding an envelope, white and plain, with your name on it in Jamesâ handwriting. Your heart stutters in your chest.
âHe asked me to give it to you,â he says, holding the envelope out to you. âBut only when youâre ready.â
You stare at the envelope like itâs a bomb about to go off. You donât want to take it. You donât want to know whatâs inside. But you reach for it anyway, your hand shaking.
âTake your time,â he says softly. âThereâs no rush.â
You nod, clutching the envelope to your chest like itâs a lifeline. You canât bring yourself to open it, not yet. You donât even know if you ever will.
âThank you,â you whisper, your voice barely audible.
He nods, his eyes full of sympathy and something else â something you canât quite place. âIâm here if you need anything,â he says. âAnything at all.â
You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something more, but then he just gives you a small, sad smile and walks away.
You watch him go, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand, and you feel the weight of it like a stone in your chest. You know that whateverâs inside is going to change everything, and youâre not sure youâre ready for that.
But you donât have a choice.
***
The envelope sits in the top drawer of your nightstand, hidden beneath an old notebook and a stack of receipts you keep meaning to throw away. Itâs been there for over a year, untouched.
Some days, you forget about it entirely, letting the routine of work and lonely dinners numb the ache in your chest. But most days, it lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet hum of guilt and grief that you canât quite shake.
You know youâre supposed to open it â James left it for you, after all. But every time you reach for the drawer, your hand hovers just above the handle, frozen. Because what if the letter makes it worse? What if the words on the paper bring everything crashing back down on you, when youâve spent so long trying to build yourself back up?
So you leave it. Days turn into weeks, and then months, until a whole year has passed. Friends have stopped asking how youâre doing, their well-meaning calls and texts fading away into awkward silence. You donât blame them. Itâs not like youâve been much of a person to be around.
But today, for some reason, you canât ignore it any longer.
Itâs raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that makes the world feel smaller, quieter. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the drawer like itâs going to open itself. The house is still, too still, and the sound of the rain against the window only amplifies the silence.
Your hand trembles as you pull the drawer open. The envelope is right where you left it, the edges slightly yellowed now, but the ink still bold and clear: your name, in Jamesâ handwriting. Seeing it sends a pang through your chest, like someoneâs reached inside and squeezed your heart.
You sit there for a long time, just holding it. Itâs ridiculous, really. Itâs just paper. But it feels heavier than anything youâve ever held.
âJust open it,â you whisper to yourself, but the words feel hollow, like they belong to someone else.
Finally, with a shaky breath, you tear the seal.
Inside, thereâs a folded letter. Beneath it, another piece of paper â something thicker. You hesitate, then unfold the letter first. The handwriting is familiar, the slant of the letters uniquely his. You read it slowly, your eyes scanning the words with a mix of dread and longing.
My love,
If youâre reading this, then Iâm not there with you. And Iâm so, so sorry for that.
I wish I could tell you how much I wanted to come home. How much I needed to come home to you. But I know that wherever I am now, Iâm still with you in some way. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I think Iâd lose my mind.
This is the part where Iâm supposed to tell you to be strong, to keep living your life. And you will. I know you will. But itâs okay to fall apart first. Itâs okay to break, to cry, to scream at the universe for being so damn unfair. I would.
There are so many things I wish we couldâve done together, so many things we talked about but never got the chance to do. So Iâm leaving you with something. A list. Itâs not a list of things you have to do â itâs a list of things I wish we couldâve experienced together. But more than that, itâs a list of things I want you to experience. For both of us.
The first oneâs a bit selfish. But the last one ... that oneâs for you.
I love you more than words can ever say. And if thereâs any way for me to still be with you, to still be a part of your life, then I hope this is it.
Yours always,
Jamie
By the time you finish reading, tears blur your vision, dripping silently onto the letter. You wipe at your face, but the tears just keep coming. His words cut through you, raw and tender, like a wound thatâs never fully healed.
You sit there for what feels like hours, the rain outside matching the rhythm of your sobs. Itâs only after youâve cried yourself out that you remember the second piece of paper, still folded in the envelope.
With a shaky breath, you unfold it.
Itâs a bucket list. Five items, written in Jamesâ scrawled handwriting. Your heart clenches as you read them, one by one.
1. Go to an F1 race. You know how much I wanted to see one in person. Do this for me. I want you to feel the rush, the excitement. Itâs something I never got to experience, and I want you to feel it for both of us.
2. Visit that little café in Paris we always talked about. The one by the Seine with the red awning. We were supposed to go there on our honeymoon, remember? Have a coffee, eat too many croissants. Just sit there and watch the world go by.
3. Take a road trip with no destination in mind. Just drive. Donât plan anything. Turn down random roads, get lost, stay in tiny motels, and eat at diners where they donât know your name. I always wanted to do that with you.
4. Dance in the rain. We talked about doing it, but we never did. Just let go and do it. Donât care if people are watching. Donât worry about looking silly. Just feel the rain and think of me.
5. Find love again. I know this one is hard, and I know you might not want to think about it right now. But promise me that one day, when youâre ready, youâll open your heart again. It doesnât have to be soon. It doesnât have to be anyone like me. But donât close yourself off to it. You deserve that kind of happiness.
You sit there, staring at the list, your chest tight and your hands trembling. Itâs so ... James. The way he could be both lighthearted and deeply thoughtful, the way he always wanted you to live fully, even if he couldnât anymore.
But how can you? How can you even think about doing these things without him?
You read the list again, and this time it feels different. Less like a burden, and more like a challenge. A promise, almost. To live. To try.
But the last item â thatâs the one that breaks you. Find love again. The words echo in your mind, and you can barely breathe through the weight of them. It feels impossible, inconceivable. And yet, itâs the one thing James wanted most for you.
A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. You quickly wipe your eyes, folding the letter and the list back into the envelope before shoving it into the drawer again. You stand up, trying to compose yourself.
When you open the door, you find his best friend, the one who gave you the letter in the first place, standing there. His expression softens the moment he sees your face.
âYou finally opened it,â he says gently.
You nod, unable to speak for a moment.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. âIâve been wondering when you would.â
âI ... I couldnât,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âNot until today.â
He sits down on the couch, and you join him, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable.
âWhat did he say?â He asks softly.
You hand him the list, unable to find the words yourself. He reads it, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reaches the last item.
âThatâs James,â he says, shaking his head. âAlways thinking about everyone else.â
You laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. âHow am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to just ... live my life without him?â
âYouâre not,â he says, his voice gentle. âYouâre supposed to live your life with him. By doing these things, youâre keeping him with you.â
You stare at the list again, your heart aching. âBut the last one ...â
He doesnât say anything for a long time. Then, quietly, he asks, âDo you think heâd want you to be alone forever?â
You shake your head, tears spilling over again. âNo. But I donât know how to ... move on.â
âYou donât have to move on,â he says. âYou just have to keep moving. One step at a time.â
You nod, even though it feels impossible. But maybe thatâs the point. Maybe this list isnât just about Jamesâ dreams. Maybe itâs about helping you find your way back to yourself.
âI guess Iâd better start with number one,â you say, your voice shaky but determined.
He smiles, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe â just maybe â you can do this.
***
The roar of engines echoes through the air as you step out of the taxi, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The circuit sprawls out before you, a sea of red, blue, and green flags waving in the hands of thousands of fans, all buzzing with excitement. You clutch your ticket tightly, the edges crumpled from your nervous grip.
It took everything in you to get here. The flight, the hotel, the whole ordeal of buying a ticket from some sketchy reseller online â all of it felt like a test of your resolve.
But this is for James. You repeat that to yourself like a mantra. He wouldâve loved this, you think, as you look up at the towering grandstands. The hum of the engines, the electricity in the air, the sheer intensity of it all â itâs exactly the kind of thing he would have dragged you to, his enthusiasm infectious.
But now, youâre here alone. And that thought twists in your chest, a painful reminder of why youâre doing this in the first place.
You make your way to the entrance, the ticket clenched in your hand. The queue moves quickly, fans eager to get to their seats, their conversations a mix of English, French, Italian, and other languages you canât quite place.
You try to blend in, keep your head down, and avoid drawing attention to yourself. Just scan the ticket and get inside. Thatâs all you have to do.
When itâs finally your turn, you hand your ticket to the attendant, offering a small, nervous smile. He takes it without much thought, scanning the barcode with the device strapped to his wrist. But instead of the usual beep, thereâs nothing â just a blank screen.
The attendant frowns, tries again. Still nothing.
âUh, let me just check something,â he says, his tone suddenly cautious.
You feel a cold knot forming in your stomach. âIs there a problem?â
He doesnât answer right away, fiddling with the scanner, trying different angles. The queue behind you is growing restless, and you can feel eyes on your back. Finally, he looks up at you, sympathy in his eyes.
âIâm really sorry,â he says quietly, âbut this ticket isnât valid.â
You blink, not understanding. âWhat do you mean? I bought it online ...â
âItâs a fake,â he says, his voice gentle but firm. âYou mustâve been scammed. It happens sometimes with resellers.â
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You feel the color drain from your face, your mind reeling. Fake. Scammed. The ticket crumples in your hand as you step aside, trying to make sense of it. How could this happen? You did everything right â or at least, you thought you did.
âBut ... I paid a lot for this,â you stammer, the reality of it sinking in. âI-I donât understand.â
âIâm really sorry,â the attendant repeats, glancing over your shoulder at the impatient crowd behind you. âThereâs nothing I can do. Youâll have to contact whoever you bought it from.â
You nod numbly, stepping away from the gate. The world around you seems to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. You feel like youâre suffocating, your chest tight with a mixture of humiliation and despair. This was supposed to be the first thing you did for James, and you canât even get that right.
You donât know where youâre going, just that you need to get away from the entrance, away from the people. Your legs carry you to the far side of the parking lot, where the crowds thin out and the noise dulls to a low hum. You lean against a concrete pillar, your breath coming in shaky gasps.
Itâs too much. The weight of it all â the grief, the loneliness, the pressure youâve put on yourself to make this trip meaningful â itâs crushing you. You slide down to sit on the curb, burying your face in your hands as tears spill over.
âIâm sorry,â you whisper, the words meant for James, though you know he canât hear you. âIâm so sorry ...â
Youâre so caught up in your tears that you donât notice the figure approaching until heâs right in front of you. When you finally look up, your vision is blurry from the tears, but you can make out the silhouette of a man standing there, watching you with concern etched on his face.
âHey, are you okay?â His voice is soft, with a lilting accent you canât quite place, but itâs gentle enough to cut through the fog of your despair.
You quickly wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but itâs a losing battle. âIâm fine,â you manage to choke out, though itâs clear to both of you that youâre anything but.
He doesnât move, just crouches down in front of you, his brow furrowed. âYou donât look fine. What happened?â
You shake your head, embarrassed by the whole situation. âItâs stupid ... I just â I bought a ticket, and itâs fake, and I ... I just donât know what to do.â
The words tumble out between hiccups and sniffles, and you feel ridiculous for crying in front of a stranger. But he doesnât seem to mind. If anything, his expression grows even more sympathetic.
âThatâs not stupid at all,â he says gently. âYou came all this way for the race, didnât you?â
You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying again. âYeah. But now I canât even get in. I feel like such an idiot.â
âYouâre not an idiot,â he reassures you, his tone firm but kind. âPeople get scammed all the time. Itâs not your fault.â
You look up at him then, really look at him. Heâs young, probably around your age, with messy brown hair and striking green eyes that seem to radiate warmth. Heâs wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd, but thereâs something about him â maybe the way heâs looking at you, like youâre the only person in the world that matters right now â that makes you feel a little less alone.
âI donât even know why Iâm here,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âIâm not really a fan. Itâs just ... something I had to do.â
He tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes. âFor someone else?â
You nod again, fresh tears welling up. âMy husband. He ... he passed away, and this was on a list of things he wanted me to do. I thought ... I thought I could at least get this right.â
The manâs expression softens even more, if thatâs possible. He doesnât say anything for a moment, just sits there with you, letting the weight of your words settle between you.
âIâm really sorry,â he says finally, and you can tell he means it. âThat must be so hard.â
You shrug, wiping at your face again. âIt is. But I wanted to do it anyway. For him.â
He nods, and then, after a brief pause, he says, âWhat if I told you I could help?â
You look at him, confusion and hope warring in your chest. âWhat do you mean?â
He smiles, and itâs a kind, genuine smile that makes you feel like maybe things arenât as hopeless as they seem. âI might be able to get you into the race. If youâre okay with that.â
Your heart skips a beat, a flicker of hope sparking to life. âHow? Are you some kind of VIP or something?â
He laughs, a soft, melodic sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. âSomething like that. Just trust me, okay?â
You donât know why, but you do. Maybe itâs because heâs the first person whoâs really listened to you in a long time, or maybe itâs because youâre so desperate to make this work. Either way, you nod.
âOkay,â you say, your voice a little stronger now.
He pulls out his phone and dials a number, glancing back at you as he waits for the call to connect. âThis might take a minute,â he says with a reassuring smile.
You watch him, your heart pounding as you wonder just who this man is and how he plans to help you. But as you sit there, your tears drying and the noise of the race humming in the background, you canât help but feel a glimmer of something you havenât felt in a long time.
Hope.
***
Charles doesnât leave your side while he waits for the call to go through, his green eyes focused on you as if making sure youâre still okay. The sincerity in his gaze is almost unnerving, and for a brief moment, you forget about the pitiful mess youâve become, losing yourself in the quiet strength he radiates.
Whoever he is, itâs clear heâs not just a fan â thereâs something about him that feels different, like heâs used to handling situations like this with a calm confidence that most people can only fake.
He speaks briefly into the phone, in a language you donât understand, and within minutes â faster than you wouldâve thought possible â a Ferrari team member rushes toward you both, holding a shiny red VIP pass. The emblem glints in the sunlight, and as he hands it over to Charles, your brain starts to catch up. Your eyes flicker between the pass, the Ferrari logo, and Charles, whoâs now holding the pass out to you with that same reassuring smile.
âHere,â he says gently, placing the pass into your trembling hand. âThis will get you into the paddock, and pretty much anywhere else you want to go.â
You stare at the pass, then at him, the realization dawning on you slowly. Ferrari. VIP. Charles. It suddenly clicks into place, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Heâs not just a concerned fan. Heâs someone important.
You swallow hard, looking up at him with wide eyes. âWho ... who are you?â
He chuckles, but itâs soft, not mocking, more like he finds the situation endearing. âIâm Charles. Charles Leclerc. I drive for Ferrari.â
Your mouth opens, then closes, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. Youâre mortified that you didnât recognize him, that you didnât put it together sooner. Youâve heard the name before, of course â who hasnât? But youâve never been into F1, and you hadnât expected to meet someone famous today.
âI-Iâm sorry,â you stammer, looking down at your feet. âI didnât realize ...â
âHey, itâs okay,â Charles interrupts, waving off your apology. âYouâve had a rough day. The last thing you need to worry about is recognizing some racing driver.â
âBut I shouldâve known ...â you begin, but he cuts you off again, this time with a playful smile.
âNow, why would you know that? You already told me youâre not a fan,â he teases lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. âAnd Iâd much rather be remembered as the guy who helped you out than as that Ferrari driver you didnât recognize.â
You canât help but laugh, albeit weakly. His charm is disarming, and itâs hard to feel embarrassed when heâs making it so clear that he doesnât care about your mistake.
âThank you,â you say, meaning it. âFor all of this. I donât know how to repay you.â
Charles shakes his head, his expression turning serious again. âYou donât need to repay me. Just enjoy the day. Experience everything to the fullest â in honor of your husband.â
You blink at him, the mention of James sending a fresh wave of emotion through you. But instead of the sharp pain youâve grown accustomed to, itâs more of a gentle ache this time, softened by the kindness of the stranger-turned-friend standing before you.
âI know what itâs like to lose people you love,â Charles continues, his voice low and sincere. âAnd I know how important it is to keep their memory alive by doing things they wouldâve loved. Itâs not easy, but ... itâs worth it.â
You donât know what to say to that. The depth of his words, the understanding in his eyes â itâs like heâs speaking directly to the part of you thatâs been hurting the most. And suddenly, you feel a connection to him that goes beyond the superficial. He gets it. He understands.
âThank you,â you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. âReally, thank you.â
He nods, his gaze holding yours for a long moment before he stands, offering you his hand. âCome on. Let me show you around.â
You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way you hadnât expected. You let him lead you through the bustling parking lot, your heart still pounding but now for a different reason.
Thereâs something surreal about walking next to Charles Leclerc, knowing heâs one of the biggest names in the sport and yet treating you like youâre the important one.
As you approach the entrance to the paddock, the atmosphere shifts. Itâs a different world in here, a world of precision, speed, and power. Team members rush about, focused and intense, the hum of engines a constant background noise. But as you pass by, more than a few heads turn, eyes widening as they take in the sight of you walking with Charles. He doesnât seem to notice, or if he does, he doesnât care.
âHere we are,â he says as you reach the Ferrari hospitality area, gesturing to the sleek red building with the prancing horse logo proudly displayed. âYouâre my guest today, so feel free to make yourself at home. The team will take good care of you.â
You look up at the building, feeling a little overwhelmed. âI donât know what to say. This is ... itâs too much.â
âItâs not too much,â Charles insists, his tone gentle but firm. âItâs exactly what you deserve today. I want you to enjoy yourself.â
You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. Heâs serious. He really wants this for you, and the sincerity in his voice makes it clear that this isnât just about being nice. Itâs about giving you something good in a time when good things have been hard to come by.
âOkay,â you say finally, your voice soft. âIâll try.â
Charles smiles, and itâs the kind of smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. âThatâs all I ask.â
He leads you inside, where the air is cool and the decor is modern and sleek, all polished surfaces and red accents. A few team members glance your way, but Charles waves them off, his focus entirely on you.
âI have to get prepped for the race,â he says, stopping just inside the entrance. âBut Iâll come see you afterward, okay?â
You blink, taken aback by his offer. âYou donât have to do that,â you stutter. âYouâve already done more than enough. I donât want to take up any more of your time.â
Charles just shakes his head, that same determined look in his eyes. âI want to. Besides, Iâll probably be in a better mood if I know youâre here cheering me on.â
The thought of actually cheering for him, of being invested in the race, is a foreign one. But the way he says it, so casual and confident, makes it seem almost natural.
âI donât really know much about racing,â you admit, feeling a little silly.
He grins. âDonât worry, youâll pick it up quickly. And if you have any questions, thereâll be plenty of people around who can help. Just relax and enjoy it.â
You nod, still feeling a little out of your depth but also oddly comforted by his words. He makes it sound so simple, so easy, like all you have to do is show up and everything else will fall into place.
âOkay,â you agree. âIâll try my best.â
âThatâs all I can ask for,â Charles says, his smile widening. âIâll see you after the race.â
He gives you a small wave before turning and heading off, his stride confident and unhurried. You watch him go, still trying to process everything thatâs happened in the last hour.
Itâs almost too much to take in â the ticket fiasco, meeting Charles, the VIP pass, and now being his personal guest for the day. It feels like youâve stepped into someone elseâs life, one filled with glamor and excitement, so different from the quiet, grief-stricken world youâve been living in.
But as you take a deep breath and look around at the world Charles has invited you into, you canât help but feel a spark of something you havenât felt in a long time â hope. Maybe, just maybe, today will be a good day.
***
You sit in the Ferrari hospitality suite, watching the festivities from a distance. The energy in the room is electric, everyone buzzing with excitement over Charlesâ win.
His face is plastered on every screen, grinning as he holds up the trophy, spraying champagne with the other drivers on the podium. The cheers echo in your ears, but thereâs a strange numbness in your chest, a disconnect between the celebration and what youâre feeling.
Youâre happy for him, of course you are. But the fact that Charles just won a race feels surreal, like something out of a dream. And youâre not sure where you fit in the dream â or if you fit in at all.
The hospitality suite is more crowded now, filled with people congratulating one another, toasting with glasses of champagne and sparkling water. The clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter fill the air, making the room feel smaller, more enclosed.
You keep to the side, clutching your phone and fiddling with the VIP pass Charles gave you earlier. The weight of it around your neck is a constant reminder that this isnât your world.
The minutes tick by, each one stretching longer than the last. You tell yourself itâs okay to leave, that Charles wonât mind if you slip out quietly. After all, heâs got plenty of people to celebrate with. People who belong here, who know him well, who are part of his world. Youâre just a stranger he happened to help.
But something keeps you in your seat, a small flicker of hope that he might actually come back. Itâs silly, really â heâs a race winner, he should be out there celebrating, soaking in the victory. Still, you find yourself glancing at the door every few minutes, wondering if maybe, just maybe, heâll keep his promise.
Nearly an hour and a half after the race ends, just as youâre convincing yourself to leave, you spot him. Charles enters the suite, now changed into a Ferrari branded polo, hair damp from what you assume was a quick shower. Heâs scanning the room, and when his eyes land on you, they light up in recognition.
Your breath catches in your throat as he makes his way over, weaving through the crowd with a purposeful stride. He looks different out of the car, more relaxed, though thereâs a tiredness in his eyes that wasnât there before.
âHey,â he says, slightly breathless when he finally reaches you. âSorry it took me so long. There were media duties, and then a debrief with the team after the podium ceremony.â
You blink up at him, stunned that he actually came. âYou â You came back.â
âOf course I did,â he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âI told you I would.â
You shake your head, still in disbelief. âBut you should be out there celebrating. You just won a race, Charles. You didnât have to come just to see me.â
Charles waves away your concerns, his smile widening. âI came because I wanted to. Celebrations can wait.â
Thereâs a sincerity in his tone that takes you off guard. Heâs not just saying it to be polite or to make you feel better. He actually means it. You search his eyes for a sign that heâs just being nice, but all you find is that same genuine warmth that heâs shown you from the start.
âI-I donât know what to say,â you murmur, suddenly feeling self-conscious. âIâm sorry if Iâm keeping you from anything.â
âYouâre not keeping me from anything,â Charles reassures you, his voice gentle. âIâm glad you stayed.â
You nod, still feeling a little out of place, but his words soothe some of your anxiety. âCongratulations, by the way. Iâm really happy for you.â
âThank you,â he says, and thereâs a softness in his expression that makes your heart skip a beat. âIt was a good race.â
Thereâs a brief silence, the noise of the room fading into the background as you stand there, just the two of you. Youâre not sure what to say next, the weight of the moment making it hard to think straight. But Charles doesnât seem to mind the quiet, his presence calm and unhurried.
After a few moments, Charles clears his throat, his voice hesitant. âAre you staying nearby?â
The question catches you off guard, and you blink up at him, not quite sure where heâs going with this. âUm, yes, Iâm staying at a hotel downtown.â
His eyes brighten at that, and he gives you a small, almost shy smile. âIâm staying in the same area. Thereâs a great restaurant nearby. Would you like to join me for dinner?â
Youâre taken aback by the offer, and for a moment, youâre not sure how to respond. Dinner? With Charles Leclerc? It feels like too much, like something you shouldnât accept. You donât want to intrude on his life any more than you already have.
âCharles, you donât have to spend time with me,â you start, shaking your head. âYouâve already done so much-â
He interrupts you gently, his voice firm but kind. âI want to spend time with you.â
The way he says it, so straightforward and sincere, leaves no room for doubt. Heâs not asking out of obligation or pity â he genuinely wants your company. And the thought of having dinner with him, of spending more time with someone who actually seems to care, is suddenly more appealing than anything else.
âOkay,â you say softly, meeting his gaze. âIâd like that.â
His smile widens, and you can see the relief in his eyes. âGreat. Letâs get out of here, then.â
You follow him as he leads the way out of the suite, the noise of the celebrations fading behind you. The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun sets. Charles is quiet as he walks beside you, his presence comforting in its steadiness.
As you reach the paddock parking lot, you spot the familiar red of a Ferrari, and you canât help but smile at the sight. Itâs fitting, in a way, like everything about this day is part of some surreal, unexpected adventure.
Charles opens the passenger door for you, waiting until youâre settled before rounding the car to get in himself. The engine purrs to life with a smooth growl, and you feel a thrill of excitement as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the open road.
You glance over at him, taking in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the easy way he handles the car. Itâs strange how comfortable you feel with him already, like youâve known him for longer than just a few hours. Maybe itâs the way heâs treated you from the start â with kindness and understanding â or maybe itâs just the way he carries himself, with a quiet confidence that makes you feel safe.
As you drive through the city, the lights of downtown reflecting off the carâs polished surface, you canât help but wonder what this evening will bring. Itâs been a long time since youâve felt this way â hopeful, curious, maybe even a little excited. And as Charles navigates the streets with practiced ease, you start to think that maybe, just maybe, youâre finally ready to start living again.
***
The restaurant is unlike anything youâve ever experienced. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, itâs all exposed brick, warm lighting, and rustic charm. The kind of place that feels both intimate and alive with history, where every detail seems to whisper stories of countless other dinners, other nights, other lives.
You follow Charles to a corner table, noticing the way the candlelight flickers across his features, softening the angles of his face. Thereâs a natural ease about him, a kind of unspoken confidence that makes you feel a little more at home in this unfamiliar setting. He holds out a chair for you, and as you sit down, you canât help but feel like youâve stepped into a scene from someone elseâs life.
âThis place is incredible,â you say, glancing around at the cozy surroundings. âHow did you find it?â
Charles smiles, settling into the chair across from you. âItâs one of my favorites. A friend introduced me to it a few years ago. I come here whenever Iâm in town.â
You nod, taking in the atmosphere, the scent of fresh bread and herbs mingling with the low hum of conversation. Itâs the kind of place that feels special, even if you didnât know anything about it.
The waiter appears to take your order, and before you know it, the table is filled with plates of beautifully arranged dishes, each one more enticing than the last. Charles gestures for you to start, and you pick up your fork, feeling a little more at ease with each bite.
âThis is amazing,â you say between mouthfuls, savoring the flavors. âI donât think Iâve ever had anything like this.â
âIâm glad you like it,â Charles replies, watching you with a soft smile. âItâs one of the things I miss most when Iâm traveling â good, simple food.â
Thereâs a comfortable silence as you both enjoy the meal, the clinking of silverware and the quiet murmur of the other diners providing a gentle backdrop. Youâre grateful for the peace, for the way Charles doesnât push you to talk, doesnât ask any questions that feel too invasive.
But as the meal draws to a close, you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Charles seems to be choosing his words carefully, his expression thoughtful as he looks across the table at you.
âI hope you donât mind me asking,â he begins, his tone gentle, âbut ... would you like to talk about your husband?â
The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, youâre not sure if you can answer it. Itâs been so long since anyone asked, since anyone cared enough to ask, and youâre not sure if youâre ready to go back to that place, to open up the wound thatâs still so raw.
But thereâs something in Charlesâ eyes, a quiet understanding, that makes you feel like itâs okay to share this part of yourself with him. Like maybe he can handle it, even if youâre not sure you can.
âHe was on a mission in ... well, it doesnât really matter where. There was an attack â one of those random, senseless things that happen in places like that. He was helping a patient when it happened. They said he died a hero, but ... it doesnât feel like that to me. It just feels like heâs gone.â
The tears that youâve been holding back all evening finally spill over, and you donât even try to stop them. Youâre tired of pretending to be strong, tired of keeping it all inside. And somehow, with Charles sitting there, listening so intently, it feels okay to let it out.
âIâm so sorry,â he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. âI canât even begin to imagine what that must be like.â
You wipe at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. âItâs been over a year, but ... it still feels like it was yesterday, you know? Like Iâm still waiting for him to walk through the door, to tell me it was all some terrible mistake.â
Charles reaches across the table, his hand covering yours in a gesture thatâs as comforting as it is unexpected. âYou donât have to go through this alone,â he says softly. âAnd you donât have to rush through it either. Grief doesnât have a timeline.â
His words are like a balm, soothing some of the raw ache thatâs been sitting in your chest. You nod, unable to speak, afraid that if you do, the tears will start again and wonât stop.
Thereâs a brief silence, and then you continue, feeling the need to explain, to make him understand. âHe left me a letter ... and a list. A bucket list, of things he wanted us to do together, but he didnât get the chance. He asked me to do them for him, to ... to live the life he didnât get to.â
Charles leans forward slightly, his eyes locked on yours. âWhatâs on the list?â
You hesitate for a moment, but then you reach into your purse, pulling out the folded piece of paper thatâs become a permanent fixture in your life. You unfold it carefully, smoothing out the creases before passing it across the table to him.
He takes the list from you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before he begins to read. You watch his face as he scans the items, his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something almost reverent.
Heâs quiet for a long time, and you wonder what heâs thinking, if heâs judging you for carrying out such a personal task, for holding on to a life thatâs no longer yours.
But when he looks up at you again, thereâs no judgment in his eyes â only empathy, and maybe even a touch of admiration.
âHave you done any of these yet?â He asks, his voice soft.
You nod your head. âIâve only just started. The first item was to go to an F1 race ... thatâs why Iâm here.â
Charlesâ gaze softens even more, and he nods slowly, as if understanding the weight of what youâve shared. âAnd Paris?â He asks, his tone careful.
You canât help but laugh a little, despite the heaviness in your chest. âParis ... I mean, who doesnât want to go to Paris? But I donât know when Iâll have the chance to tick that one off the list.â
Charles is quiet for a moment, then he hesitates, as if heâs debating something in his mind. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and tentative. âYou know ... the summer break has officially started. I donât have another race for a month, and I donât have anything I have to do for over two weeks.â
You blink at him, not quite understanding where heâs going with this. âOkay ...â
âIâve always loved Paris,â he says, his gaze steady on yours. âAnd ... I know weâve only just met, but I would love to help you tick off the second item on your list.â
You stare at him, your mind reeling from what heâs suggesting. Go to Paris? With him? Itâs crazy â itâs absolutely insane. You donât know him, not really, and the idea of going on such a personal trip with someone youâve just met feels like stepping into a world that doesnât belong to you.
But thereâs something in the way heâs looking at you, something in his voice, that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, itâs not as crazy as it seems. Maybe itâs exactly what you need.
âAre you serious?â You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Charles nods, his expression earnest. âSometimes the best things in life are crazy and spontaneous. And ... I know itâs a lot to ask, but I really would love to help you with this. I want to be there for you.â
You feel a lump forming in your throat, a mix of emotions swirling inside you â fear, excitement, uncertainty, and something else you canât quite name. Itâs terrifying, the idea of letting someone new into your life, of opening yourself up to the possibility of connection, of loss.
But at the same time, it feels like a lifeline, like a chance to finally start living again.
âI ... I donât know,â you stammer, unsure of how to respond. âIt just seems so ...â
âCrazy?â Charles finishes for you, a small smile playing on his lips.
âYeah,â you admit, feeling a little overwhelmed. âCrazy.â
He leans back in his chair, studying you with those steady, kind eyes. âMaybe it is. But sometimes the craziest things turn out to be the most important.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you weigh the decision. It would be so easy to say no, to stay in your safe, controlled world where nothing ever changes. But where has that gotten you? Nowhere.
And then, almost without realizing it, you find yourself nodding, your voice small but determined. âOkay.â
Charlesâ eyes light up with something close to relief, and he smiles at you â a genuine, warm smile that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this is the right choice.
âOkay?â He repeats, as if needing to hear it again.
âOkay,â you say again, a little more certain this time. âLetâs go to Paris.â
You both sit there for a moment, the reality of what youâve just agreed to sinking in. It feels like the beginning of something â something that scares you as much as it excites you.
Charles reaches across the table, gently taking your hand in his. âThank you,â he says, his voice sincere.
You look at him, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, youâre not alone in this.
***
Youâre still reeling from the decision when the check arrives at the table. Charles grabs it before you can reach for your purse, waving away your protests with an easy smile.
âTrust me,â he says, his tone light but firm, âthis oneâs on me.â
You thank him, still half-convinced that this is all some surreal dream youâll wake up from any minute. As you step outside, the cool evening air brushes against your skin, grounding you in the reality of what just happened.
Youâre going to Paris. With Charles Leclerc. You glance at him, wondering how he can be so calm when your world has just been flipped upside down.
âOkay, so ... whatâs the plan?â You ask, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind races with all the logistics you need to sort out.
He turns to you with that relaxed smile, as if planning a spontaneous trip to Paris is the most natural thing in the world. âPlan? We drive back to the hotel, grab our things, and head to the airport.â
âThe airport?â You blink at him, thrown by the suddenness of it all. âI havenât even booked a flight yet. Or a hotel. Or anything.â
Charles chuckles softly, shaking his head. âYou donât need to worry about any of that. Iâve got it covered.â
You open your mouth to argue, to tell him that you canât possibly let him do this, but he cuts you off before you can say a word.
âReally,â he says, his voice gentle but firm. âItâs no trouble at all. Iâm an F1 driver, remember? Iâve got more than enough resources, and I want to do this for you.â
You stare at him, at the easy confidence in his tone, at the sincerity in his eyes. You know he means it, but it still feels like too much. âCharles, I ... I donât want to take advantage of you.â
âYouâre not.â He steps closer, his expression softening. âThis is something I want to do. For you. For your husband. Please, let me help you.â
Thereâs a quiet intensity in his voice that makes it impossible to argue. You nod slowly, feeling a mix of gratitude and disbelief. âOkay ... thank you. I just â I donât know what to say.â
âYou donât have to say anything,â he assures you. âJust pack your things and meet me back here in a few minutes. Weâll take care of the rest.â
And just like that, you find yourself heading back to your hotel, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You pack quickly, throwing your essentials into your suitcase with trembling hands. The reality of whatâs happening starts to sink in, and for a moment, youâre overwhelmed by the sheer craziness of it all.
You pause, standing in the middle of the room with your half-packed suitcase, wondering if youâre really doing this. Paris. With a man youâve just met. Itâs all too surreal, too spontaneous, too-
Thereâs a knock on your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You open it to find Charles standing there, his expression calm and reassuring.
âReady?â He asks, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
You take a deep breath, nodding. âYeah ... I think so.â
âGood.â He smiles, and somehow, that simple gesture is enough to steady you. âLetâs go.â
You follow him downstairs, your heart racing as he drives you both back to his hotel. He parks the car, and you watch as he disappears inside, returning a few minutes later with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
âThatâs it?â You ask, surprised at how little heâs carrying.
He nods, tossing the bag into the back seat. âThe team will pack up the rest of my stuff and have it sent home later.â
You donât have time to process the implications of that before heâs back in the driverâs seat, navigating the streets with the kind of ease that comes from years of traveling. You try to keep up with the conversation, but your mind keeps drifting to what lies ahead, to the sheer audacity of what youâre about to do.
Itâs only when you pull up to a private airstrip that the full reality of the situation hits you. You step out of the car, staring in awe at the sleek, chartered jet waiting on the tarmac. The sight of it leaves you breathless, the sheer scale of what Charles is doing for you almost too much to comprehend.
âCharles ...â you begin, your voice catching in your throat.
He turns to you, his expression soft. âYes?â
âThis is ... I mean, I donât know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined. Are you sure-â
âIâm sure.â His tone leaves no room for doubt, and he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. âCome on. Weâve got a flight to catch.â
He leads you up the steps, and before you know it, youâre inside the luxurious cabin, sinking into a plush leather seat. Everything about the jet screams opulence â the polished wood accents, the soft ambient lighting, the quiet hum of the engines in the background. Itâs the kind of luxury youâve only ever seen in movies, and you canât quite believe that itâs real, that youâre really here.
Charles takes the seat across from you, his expression relaxed as he buckles his seatbelt. âComfortable?â
You nod, still too stunned to form a coherent response. He smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, and you realize that this kind of thing must be second nature to him. For you, itâs a once-in-a-lifetime experience. For him, itâs just another day in the life of an F1 driver.
âJust sit back and relax,â he says, as if sensing your thoughts. âWeâll be in Paris before you know it.â
The flight itself is smooth and uneventful, the hours passing in a blur of disbelief and quiet conversation. Charles keeps things light, sharing stories from his racing career, and you find yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. Itâs easy to forget about your worries when youâre with him, easy to get lost in the charm of his stories and the warmth of his smile.
Before you know it, the plane begins its descent, and the lights of Paris come into view below, twinkling like a sea of stars. The sight of the city leaves you breathless, the sheer beauty of it almost too much to take in. You press your face to the window, unable to tear your eyes away from the breathtaking panorama of the City of Light.
âBeautiful, isnât it?â Charlesâ voice is soft, and when you turn to look at him, thereâs a wistfulness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.
âYes,â you whisper, feeling a surge of emotion welling up inside you. âItâs ... itâs perfect.â
The plane touches down smoothly, and within minutes, youâre whisked away in a sleek black car, driving through the streets of Paris as the city comes alive around you. The streets are bustling with life, the cafes and bistros glowing with warm light, the air filled with the sound of laughter and music.
Itâs everything youâve ever imagined and more, and you canât believe youâre really here, experiencing it all with Charles by your side.
The car pulls up in front of an exclusive, centrally located hotel, and you step out onto the cobblestone street, your heart pounding in your chest. The hotel is grand, its facade illuminated by golden lights, and as you step inside, youâre greeted by a world of elegance and sophistication.
You barely have time to take it all in before youâre being led to a two-bedroom suite with the most stunning views of the Eiffel Tower youâve ever seen. You stand by the window, staring out at the iconic landmark as it sparkles against the night sky, the reality of your situation hitting you all over again.
âI canât believe this is happening,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
Charles steps up beside you, his gaze focused on the view outside. âBelieve it,â he says softly, his tone filled with quiet conviction. âYouâre here. Weâre here. And tomorrow, weâll start checking off that list.â
You turn to look at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and something else â something youâre not quite ready to name. âThank you. For everything. I donât even know how to begin to thank you.â
He smiles, a warm, genuine smile that lights up his face. âYou donât have to thank me. Iâm just glad I can be here for you.â
You feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out and pull him into a hug. Itâs a long, lingering embrace, filled with all the gratitude, all the emotion you canât put into words. Charles holds you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that makes you feel safe, comforted, understood.
When you finally pull back, there are tears in your eyes, but theyâre tears of relief, of something like hope. âGood night, Charles,â you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.
âGood night,â he replies, his voice just as soft. âSleep well. Weâve got a big day tomorrow.â
You watch as he heads to his own room, and then you turn back to the window, staring out at the glittering Eiffel Tower. It feels like a dream, but for the first time in a long time, itâs a dream youâre ready to embrace.
***
The sun is already high in the sky when you finally open your eyes, the weight of the past few days still pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The exhaustion is bone-deep, the kind that makes every movement feel like wading through thick syrup.
You stretch out in the luxurious hotel bed, the cool sheets tangling around your legs as you blink against the soft light filtering through the curtains. Paris. Youâre in Paris. The thought slips through your mind, almost unreal, as if you might wake up any second to find yourself back in the monotony of the past year.
You sit up slowly, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furniture and the faint sounds of the city outside. Itâs almost noon, you realize, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Just as youâre about to contemplate the day ahead, thereâs a gentle knock on the door connecting your room to Charlesâ. You almost forgot about him for a second â almost.
âGood morning,â you call out, your voice still thick with sleep.
The door opens, and Charles steps in, a smile lighting up his face as he sees you. âGood afternoon, you mean,â he teases lightly, leaning against the doorframe. âI was beginning to think you might sleep through the whole day.â
You rub your eyes, shaking your head as you try to fully wake up. âI guess I was more tired than I thought.â
He nods, his expression softening. âNo rush. Weâve got all the time in the world.â
Itâs that statement that hits you more than it should. All the time in the world. You used to believe that too. You push the thought away quickly, not wanting to drown in it.
âWhatâs the plan?â You ask, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on this strange, wonderful day thatâs somehow yours.
Charles grins, his eyes sparking with something mischievous. âHow do you feel about lunch at a little cafĂ© by the Seine?â
Your heart skips a beat. The cafĂ©. The red awning. Itâs what your husband wanted, what he wrote down on that list. You swallow, trying to keep your emotions in check. âThat sounds perfect.â
Charles seems to sense the shift in your mood, his smile softening into something more understanding. He doesnât push, just nods and steps back, giving you space to get ready. âIâll wait for you in the lobby.â
When heâs gone, you take a deep breath and head to the bathroom, the reality of where you are and what youâre doing starting to sink in. You canât help but think of the letter, the list. Of the man who should be here with you instead of buried under the earth. You splash cold water on your face, trying to shake off the melancholy that clings to you like a second skin.
By the time you join Charles downstairs, youâve managed to put on a smile, though it feels fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. He greets you with a warm, reassuring look, his eyes scanning your face as if to check that youâre really okay. You nod, and he leads you outside, where a car is waiting.
The ride to the cafĂ© is quiet, filled with the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of the city. Charles doesnât try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and youâre grateful for that. Instead, he lets you stare out the window, watching as the streets of Paris unfold before you like a storybook.
When the car finally pulls up in front of the cafĂ©, your heart clenches. There it is, just like your husband described it: the small tables lined up outside, the red awning casting a warm glow over everything, the view of the Seine just beyond. Itâs almost too much. You hesitate, feeling a lump in your throat, but Charles is already out of the car, holding the door open for you.
âYou okay?â He asks quietly, his gaze steady on yours.
You nod, though youâre not sure if you believe it. âYeah. Just ... itâs exactly like he said.â
Charles doesnât say anything, just offers his arm in a gentle, old-fashioned gesture. You take it, letting him lead you to a table by the water. The waiter greets you with a smile, and Charles orders for both of you without hesitation â coffee and croissants, just like on the list.
The sun reflects off the Seine, making the water shimmer like itâs made of liquid gold. You sip your coffee slowly, savoring the rich taste, though your thoughts are a million miles away. You can almost see your husband sitting across from you, that goofy grin on his face as he tries to explain something in broken French to the waiter. You smile at the memory, even as it twists something painful deep inside you.
Charles doesnât interrupt your thoughts, just lets you have this moment. Youâre grateful for that. The croissants arrive, warm and flaky, and you find yourself laughing softly as you break off a piece, thinking of how your husband always complained that they never made them right back home. Here, though ... here theyâre perfect.
âThis was his favorite place,â you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. âHe talked about it all the time. Said it was the best spot in Paris, hands down.â
Charles listens, his eyes never leaving your face. âHe had good taste.â
You smile, though it wobbles a bit. âHe did.â
Thereâs a pause, a comfortable one, where you both just sit there, watching the world go by. Itâs everything your husband wanted, everything he put on that list. And yet, it feels different â like youâre living a dream that isnât entirely yours.
After a while, Charles speaks up, his tone gentle. âHave you thought about what you want to do next?â
You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. âNext?â
âWith the list,â he clarifies, his eyes searching yours. âI mean, you donât have to ... but if you want to keep going, Iâd like to help.â
You open your mouth to protest, but Charles holds up a hand, cutting you off before you can start. âI know what youâre going to say,â he continues, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. âAnd Iâm telling you right now, youâre not bothering me. I wouldnât offer if I didnât want to.â
You look at him, really look at him, and see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Itâs overwhelming, this kindness heâs showing you, this willingness to be a part of something so deeply personal. You donât know what to say, how to express the jumble of emotions swirling inside you.
âCharles, I-â You falter, trying to find the right words. âThis isnât your responsibility. Youâve already done so much ...â
He shakes his head, cutting you off again. âItâs not about responsibility. Itâs about doing something that feels right. And this â being here with you, helping you through this â it feels right.â
The tears well up before you can stop them, spilling over as you look away, embarrassed by how easily they come. Charles doesnât say anything, just reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.
âThank you,â you whisper, your voice breaking on the words.
He squeezes your hand gently. âYou donât have to thank me.â
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. âI donât want you to feel obligated ...â
âI donât,â he assures you, his voice firm but kind. âI promise you, I donât.â
You nod, blinking away the last of your tears. âOkay.â
âOkay?â He echoes, a hint of a smile in his voice.
You smile back, a real one this time. âOkay.â
Thereâs a quiet moment where everything feels ... settled, like a weight has been lifted from your chest. Itâs not gone â not by a long shot â but itâs lighter, more manageable. You can breathe a little easier, see a little clearer.
Charles leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. âSo, what do you say we finish this coffee, eat a few more croissants than is probably advisable, and then figure out what our next adventure is?â
You laugh, a real laugh that surprises you with its brightness. âI think Iâd like that.â
And so you do just that. You sit there with Charles, sipping coffee and eating too many croissants, watching the world go by as the sun moves slowly across the sky. Itâs peaceful, almost idyllic, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something that might be happiness.
As the afternoon stretches into evening, Charles brings up the rest of the list again, but this time, you donât try to wave him off. Instead, you find yourself talking about it, really talking, and it feels good to share it with someone who actually seems to care.
You tell him about the road trip with no destination in mind, about the other things your husband wanted you to experience. Itâs bittersweet, but thereâs a warmth to it too, a sense of connection that you didnât expect to find.
âWeâll enjoy a few more days in Paris,â Charles says, his voice steady and reassuring, âand then weâll hit the road. No plans, no deadlines. Just ... see where it takes us.â
You look at him, feeling that same pull, that same inexplicable draw thatâs been there since the moment you met him. Itâs crazy, all of this â crazy and spontaneous and completely out of your comfort zone. But maybe, just maybe, thatâs exactly what you need.
âLetâs do it,â you say, your voice stronger than you expected. âLetâs do the road trip.â
Charlesâ smile broadens. âPerfect. Weâll make it an adventure.â
***
The morning sun filters through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a golden glow that seems to soften the world around you. You stretch in bed, feeling a lightness in your chest that you havenât felt in a long time. Thereâs a sense of anticipation humming through your veins as you get ready, knowing that today marks the beginning of a new adventure.
When you step into the lobby, Charles is already there, leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. He grins when he sees you, a playful glint in his eyes.
âReady to go?â He asks, his voice warm.
âAs ready as Iâll ever be,â you reply, a smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
Charles nods, gesturing for you to follow him. âCome on, then.â
You step outside, and your breath catches in your throat. Parked at the curb is a sleek black Ferrari, its curves gleaming under the morning light. You glance at Charles in surprise, your eyebrows shooting up.
âWhere did you get this?â You ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.
He chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly. âLetâs just say I know a guy.â
You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. âOf course you do.â
Charles opens the trunk, helping you load your bags inside. Thereâs a thrill in the air, a sense of freedom that you havenât felt in ages. Once everything is packed, he opens the passenger door for you with a small bow, a teasing smile on his lips.
âYour chariot awaits,â he says.
You roll your eyes, but the gesture makes your heart warm. You slide into the car, sinking into the plush leather seat as Charles walks around to the driverâs side.
âReady?â He asks, his hand resting on the gear shift.
You glance over at him, meeting his gaze. Thereâs something reassuring in his eyes, something that makes you feel like, for the first time in a long time, everything might just be okay.
âReady,â you say, and with that, he starts the engine, the car roaring to life.
The two of you set off, the city of Paris fading in the rearview mirror as the open road stretches out before you. Thereâs no set destination, no strict itinerary â just miles of road and the promise of wherever the day might take you.
For the first hour, you drive in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine and the wind rushing past your ears. You watch as the landscape changes, the bustling city giving way to rolling fields and quaint villages. The farther you go, the more the tension in your chest eases.
Eventually, Charles turns to you with a grin. âPick a direction. Left or right?â
You blink, looking at the fork in the road ahead. âYouâre letting me decide?â
âOf course,â he replies. âThis is your adventure, after all.â
You hesitate for a moment, then point to the right. âRight.â
Charles nods and turns the wheel, the Ferrari smoothly gliding down the chosen path. âRight it is.â
The day passes in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You turn down random roads, sometimes doubling back when you realize youâre hopelessly lost, but it doesnât matter. Thereâs no rush, no pressure to be anywhere but right here, right now.
You stop at a tiny roadside cafĂ© for lunch, the kind of place where the menu is handwritten on a chalkboard, and the waitress knows the regulars by name. The food is simple but delicious, and you canât help but savor every bite, feeling more alive than you have in months.
After lunch, you continue driving, the hours slipping away as you explore hidden corners of the French countryside. You pass through small towns where time seems to have stood still, with cobblestone streets and old stone houses that look like something out of a fairytale.
As evening approaches, you start to feel the weight of the day settling in your bones. You glance over at Charles, who looks just as content as you feel, his hand relaxed on the steering wheel.
âShould we start looking for a place to stay?â You ask, your voice soft.
He nods, glancing at a sign by the side of the road. âThereâs a small inn a few miles ahead. We can try there.â
You hum in agreement, the idea of a cozy inn sounding perfect after a day on the road. The Ferrari winds its way through narrow streets until you arrive at the inn, a charming, ivy-covered building that looks like itâs been plucked straight out of a storybook.
Charles parks the car, and the two of you head inside. The lobby is quaint, with old wooden beams and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The innkeeper, a kindly older woman with a warm smile, greets you as you approach the front desk.
âBonsoir,â she says in a lilting accent. âHow can I help you?â
Charles steps forward, his voice polite as ever. âBonsoir. We were hoping to get a room for the night.â
The innkeeperâs smile falters slightly, and she glances at the reservation book. âAh, Iâm afraid we are nearly full tonight. There is only one room left, and it has only one bed. Iâm sorry.â
Your heart sinks, and you glance at Charles, unsure what to do. You donât want to make him uncomfortable, but you also donât relish the idea of finding another place so late in the evening.
Charles, however, seems unfazed. He turns to you with a reassuring smile. âItâs up to you. We can stay or keep looking.â
You bite your lip, weighing your options. The day has been long, and youâre both exhausted. Finally, you nod. âLetâs stay.â
The innkeeper hands Charles the key, and he leads you upstairs to the room. Itâs cozy, with a low ceiling and a large, comfortable-looking bed dominating the space. Thereâs a small window overlooking the garden, where the last rays of sunlight are casting everything in a golden hue.
You drop your bags by the door, glancing at the bed. Itâs big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with Charles makes your heart flutter nervously.
Charles seems to pick up on your hesitation. âI can sleep on the floor,â he offers, his tone gentle. âItâs no trouble.â
You shake your head quickly. âNo, donât be ridiculous. Iâm not making you sleep on the floor.â
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, his expression softening. âOkay, if youâre sure.â
You both get ready for bed, the atmosphere between you growing more relaxed. When you finally climb under the covers, you can feel the warmth radiating from Charlesâ side of the bed, a comforting presence in the quiet room.
For a while, you both lie there in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of the sheets as you try to find a comfortable position. Despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself inching closer to him, drawn by the sense of safety he brings.
âGoodnight,â you whisper, your voice barely audible in the darkness.
âGoodnight,â he replies, his voice soft.
You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath. And then, almost without thinking, you shift closer, until your head is resting on his shoulder, your body curled against his side.
Charles tenses for a moment, and you almost pull away, but then his arm wraps around you, holding you gently. He doesnât say anything, but the way he holds you is enough. Itâs not romantic or suggestive â just a simple, comforting embrace that makes you feel less alone.
You relax into his warmth, feeling a sense of peace wash over you that you havenât felt in what feels like forever. The road trip, the bucket list, everything fades into the background as you allow yourself to just be in this moment.
For the first time in a long time, you feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be. And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Charlesâ arms, you canât help but think that maybe â just maybe â youâre starting to heal.
***
The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the small inn room. You stir slightly, the warmth of the shared bed coaxing you into a slow wakefulness. Charles is still beside you, his breath even, his face relaxed in sleep. Itâs almost surreal how peaceful this moment feels, as if the world outside has paused just for the two of you.
You turn onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow, and watch him for a moment. The lines of worry that usually crease his brow are gone, replaced by a serenity that makes him seem younger, almost boyish. You wonder how he manages to carry so much weight on his shoulders and still offer you comfort, still make you feel like youâre the only person in the world who matters.
The faint clatter of dishes from downstairs pulls you out of your thoughts. You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. The cool wooden floor sends a shiver up your spine as you pad over to the small window. The view outside is a picturesque scene of rolling hills and a cobblestone street winding through the tiny village. Itâs the kind of place that feels untouched by time, where life moves at a slower, more deliberate pace.
A soft knock on the door startles you. You glance back at Charles, who stirs but doesnât wake. Quietly, you open the door to find the innkeeper, a woman in her late fifties with a kind face and a warm smile.
âGood morning,â she whispers. âBreakfast is ready whenever you and your friend are.â
You nod, offering her a smile in return. âThank you. Weâll be down soon.â
She leaves you with a slight nod, and you close the door softly behind her. Turning back to the bed, you see Charles is awake now, blinking away sleep. He stretches lazily, his eyes finding yours, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
âGood morning,â he says, voice rough with sleep.
âMorning,â you reply, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. âThe innkeeper says breakfast is ready.â
He nods, pushing himself up into a sitting position. âIâll be down in a minute. You go ahead.â
You hesitate for a moment, but then you nod and head downstairs. The small dining area is cozy, with a fireplace crackling softly in one corner. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You take a seat at one of the wooden tables, the innkeeper greeting you with a pot of coffee.
âIs it just the two of you?â She asks, pouring you a cup.
âYes, just us,â you say, taking a grateful sip. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, waking you up fully.
âSuch a lovely young man,â she comments, a twinkle in her eye. âYouâre lucky to have someone like him.â
You smile at that, unsure how to respond. Are you lucky? It feels strange to think of Charles in that way when the loss of your husband is still so fresh, still so raw. But you canât deny that Charles has brought something into your life that you didnât know you needed â comfort, companionship, and maybe even a little bit of hope.
Charles appears a few minutes later, his hair slightly tousled from sleep, but he looks more awake now. He greets the innkeeper with a polite nod before taking the seat across from you.
âDid you sleep well?â He asks, reaching for a piece of the fresh bread.
âI did,â you admit. âAnd you?â
âBetter than I have in a while,â he says, and thereâs a sincerity in his tone that makes you believe him.
The innkeeper returns with plates of food â scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit, and more of the bread youâve already sampled. Itâs simple, but itâs the kind of breakfast that warms you from the inside out, reminding you of the comforts of home.
As you both eat in companionable silence, Charles looks up at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. âHave you ever been to Monaco?â
You pause, caught off guard by the question. âNo, I havenât. Iâve heard itâs beautiful, though.â
âIt is,â he agrees, a smile playing on his lips. âWould you like to go?â
You laugh softly, shaking your head. âOf course I would, but realistically, I know I probably never will. Life has a way of getting in the way of things like that.â
Charlesâ smile widens, his eyes glinting with mischief. âThatâs not true at all, actually.â
You raise an eyebrow, not sure where heâs going with this. âOh? And whyâs that?â
âBecause my mother is expecting us for dinner tonight,â he says casually, as if itâs the most normal thing in the world.
You stare at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. âWait, what?â
He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. âYou heard me. Weâre going to Monaco. My mother has been asking about you, actually.â
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the words. âCharles, I ... I donât know what to say. Thatâs ... thatâs incredibly sweet, but I donât want to impose. And we havenât exactly been planning on going to Monaco.â
âYouâre not imposing,â Charles insists, reaching across the table to take your hand. âSheâs already expecting us, and it would make her really happy to meet you.â
You look down at his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. Thereâs something about the way he says it, so earnest and sincere, that makes it hard to say no.
âAre you sure?â You ask, your voice soft.
âAbsolutely,â he says, squeezing your hand gently. âLetâs make the most of this adventure, okay?â
You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. âOkay. Letâs go to Monaco.â
The drive to Monaco is nothing short of breathtaking. The Ferrari roars to life as Charles maneuvers it expertly along the winding coastal roads, the Mediterranean Sea sparkling to your right. The windows are down, and the wind whips through your hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the promise of something new.
Charles hums along to the music playing softly through the speakers, glancing over at you every so often with a contented smile. Thereâs something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart flutter, and you find yourself smiling back, unable to resist the infectious energy that seems to surround him.
When you finally cross the border into Monaco, it feels like stepping into another world. The city is a blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, with grand buildings perched on cliffs overlooking the sea and sleek yachts bobbing in the harbor. The streets are bustling with life, but thereâs an air of sophistication and elegance that sets it apart from anywhere else youâve been.
Charles navigates the narrow streets with ease, eventually pulling up in front of an apartment building that exudes quiet elegance. He cuts the engine and turns to you with a smile. âWeâre here.â
You take a deep breath, your nerves suddenly kicking in. âIâm nervous,â you admit.
Charles reaches over and takes your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. âYou have nothing to be nervous about. Sheâs going to love you.â
You nod, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach as you step out of the car. Charles comes around to your side, taking your hand once more as he leads you up the steps to the building. The door opens with a soft creak, and you find yourself in a beautifully decorated foyer, the scent of fresh flowers filling the air.
Charles leads you down a hallway, stopping in front of a door with a gold number plate. He looks at you, a reassuring smile on his face, before knocking softly.
The door opens almost immediately, and there stands a woman who can only be Pascale. Sheâs petite, with kind eyes and a warm smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. Her face lights up when she sees Charles, and she immediately pulls him into a hug.
âCharles, mon chĂ©ri,â she says, her voice filled with affection.
Charles hugs her back, and you can see the love between them in the way they hold each other, the way they speak without words. When they finally pull apart, Pascale turns her attention to you, her smile softening even more.
âAnd you must be Y/N,â she says, stepping forward to embrace you as well. Her hug is warm and comforting, the kind of hug that only a mother could give.
You hug her back, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. Itâs been so long since youâve felt this kind of maternal warmth, and it brings tears to your eyes. But theyâre good tears, the kind that remind you that maybe, just maybe, youâre starting to heal.
âItâs so lovely to finally meet you,â Pascale says, pulling back to look at you. âCharles has told me so much about you.â
âAll good things, I hope,â you reply with a small smile, trying to compose yourself.
Pascale laughs softly, a musical sound that fills the hallway. âOnly the best.â
Charles takes your hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. âShall we?â
Pascale nods, stepping back to allow you both inside. As you step into the warm, inviting space, you canât help but feel a sense of belonging. For the first time in a long time, you feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.
***
Pascaleâs apartment is cozy, filled with warm lighting and the comforting smell of something delicious simmering in the kitchen. Youâre still standing by the door when she pulls you into a tight hug, her embrace firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you feel a wave of unexpected comfort.
âWelcome, mon ange,â Pascale murmurs in your ear, her voice soft and motherly, the kind you haven't felt in so long. âIâve been looking forward to meeting you.â
You blink back the tears that suddenly prick at your eyes. Thereâs a part of you thatâs still surprised to be here, in Monaco, of all places, with Charles â let alone meeting his mother. âThank you,â you manage to say, feeling a little overwhelmed by her warmth.
Charles gives you an encouraging smile as he slips out of his shoes, motioning for you to do the same. âCome on,â he says lightly, âI told Maman weâd help with dinner.â
You glance at Pascale, whoâs already moving toward the kitchen. âOh, I donât want to be any trouble.â
âNonsense,â Pascale calls over her shoulder. âYouâre our guest, and in this house, guests are family.â
Charles nudges you playfully. âShe means it. Better get in there before she tries to do everything herself.â
You follow them into the kitchen, trying to shake off the nerves that have settled in your stomach. The space is as welcoming as the rest of the apartment, filled with the sounds of something sizzling on the stove and the scent of fresh herbs. Pascale is already at work, her hands moving deftly as she chops vegetables with the ease of someone whoâs done this a thousand times.
Charles rolls up his sleeves and grabs a cutting board, handing you one as well. âHere,â he says with a grin, âletâs show Maman what weâve got.â
Youâre not much of a cook, but thereâs something about the way Charles and Pascale move around the kitchen that makes you feel at ease. Before long, the three of you are working together, chopping and stirring and laughing as Pascale regales you with stories from Charlesâ childhood.
âHe was always getting into trouble,â she says with a fond smile, passing you a bowl of something that smells divine. âClimbing trees, chasing after the neighborhood cats ...â
âMaman,â Charles groans, but heâs grinning, his eyes sparkling with that same mischievous glint youâve seen more than once.
You chuckle, picturing a younger Charles, wild and full of energy. Itâs easy to see where he gets his charm â Pascale is a force of nature, and the love she has for her son is palpable in every word, every look she sends his way.
As dinner comes together, you find yourself opening up to Pascale in a way you didnât expect. She asks about your life, your past, and though itâs hard to talk about your husband, something about her gentle demeanor makes it easier.
âIâm sorry,â you say at one point, when the conversation dips into quieter territory. âI didnât mean to bring the mood down.â
Pascale shakes her head, her eyes full of understanding. âYou didnât, dear. Itâs important to talk about the people weâve loved and lost. It keeps them with us.â
Her words resonate with you, and for a moment, you just stand there, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the comfort of their presence wash over you.
âYour husband,â Pascale says after a beat, her voice soft. âHe sounds like he was a wonderful man.â
âHe was,â you whisper, your throat tightening with emotion. âHe really was.â
Pascale reaches out, covering your hand with hers. âAnd you,â she says gently, âare an incredible woman.â
You donât know what to say to that, so you just nod, swallowing back the tears that threaten to spill over. Charles catches your eye from across the kitchen, giving you a small, encouraging smile, and you feel a surge of gratitude for him â for bringing you here, for making you feel like youâre not alone.
Dinner is a simple affair, but itâs one of the best meals youâve had in a long time. The conversation flows easily, and for a while, it feels like youâre part of something youâve been missing for so long â a family.
At some point during the evening, you and Pascale find yourselves alone at the table. Charles has stepped out to take a call, leaving you with Pascale, who has been watching you with a thoughtful expression.
âYou know,â she begins, her voice gentle, âwhen Charles told me about you, I could see how much he cares. Heâs a good boy, my Charles, but he doesnât let people in easily.â
You feel your cheeks warm under her scrutiny. âHeâs been ... incredibly kind to me,â you say softly. âI donât know what I would have done without him.â
Pascale nods, as if she already knows. âHeâs been through a lot, just like you. Losing his father, and then Jules ... it changed him.â
Thereâs a sadness in her eyes, and you realize that, like you, sheâs carrying her own grief. âIâm sorry,â you say, the words feeling inadequate. âI didnât mean to bring up-â
âDonât apologize,â Pascale interrupts, reaching across the table to take your hand. âItâs good to talk about these things, to remember. Charles ... he doesnât talk about it much, but I know itâs there, always.â
You nod, understanding all too well. The weight of loss is something that never truly goes away; it just becomes a part of you.
âI see a lot of his father in him,â Pascale continues, her voice wistful. âThat determination, that drive to be the best. But itâs more than that. Heâs got a good heart, my Charles. He cares deeply, even if he doesnât always show it.â
You smile, thinking of the way Charles has been with you â patient, understanding, always knowing just what to say to make you feel better. âHe does,â you agree. âHeâs ... heâs been more than I could have ever asked for.â
Pascaleâs gaze softens, and for a moment, she just looks at you, as if sheâs seeing something sheâs been hoping to find. âIâm glad he has you,â she says finally. âI think youâre good for each other.â
Youâre not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. Itâs too soon to think about what all of this means, but thereâs a part of you that canât help but wonder where this is going â what it could become.
Before you can dwell on it too much, Charles returns, his usual easygoing demeanor back in place. âEverything okay?â He asks, glancing between you and Pascale.
âPerfect,â Pascale replies with a smile, but thereâs something in her eyes that makes you think she knows more than sheâs letting on.
The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable blur, with more stories and laughter, and by the time youâre getting ready to leave, you feel like youâve known Pascale for much longer than just a few hours.
As youâre putting on your coat, Pascale pulls Charles aside, and you see her lean in close, whispering something to him. He nods, his expression serious, and when he glances back at you, thereâs something unreadable in his eyes.
âWhat did she say?â You ask when youâre finally alone with Charles, walking back to the car.
He smiles, but it doesnât quite reach his eyes. âJust that she likes you,â he says simply. âA lot.â
You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but thereâs also a flicker of something else â something that feels a lot like hope.
âSheâs wonderful,â you say honestly. âThank you for bringing me here.â
Charles stops walking, turning to face you. âYou donât have to thank me,â he says softly. âIâm just glad you came.â
Thereâs a moment of silence, and then he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. âYouâre an incredible person, you know that?â
You blink, taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. âIâm just trying to get by,â you admit quietly.
He nods, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer. âArenât we all?â
You donât know how to respond to that, so you just give him a small smile, hoping he understands.
You reach the car, and Charles opens the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slide inside. Thereâs something different in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniably there, and as you drive away from Pascaleâs apartment, you canât help but wonder what it all means.
What you do know, though, is that youâre not alone anymore â not really. Charles is here, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.
***
The drive from Pascaleâs apartment to Charlesâ place is filled with comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional hum of the engine and the soft tunes playing on the carâs stereo. You find yourself stealing glances at Charles every now and then, noticing how relaxed he seems, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other is lightly to the rhythm of the music. His calmness was contagious, and you lean back in your seat, letting out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding.
When the car finally pulls into an underground parking garage, Charles cuts the engine and turns to you with a soft smile. âReady to meet Leo?â He asks, his tone almost teasing.
âLeo?â You echo, raising an eyebrow.
âMy dog,â Charles clarifies, his smile growing. âHeâs ... enthusiastic, to say the least.â
You laugh lightly. âI think I can handle enthusiastic.â
Charles leads you to the elevator, and a few moments later, you are stepping into a sleek, modern apartment. It is tastefully decorated, with large windows that offer a stunning view of the city. Before you could take in all the details, a high-pitched bark echoes through the space, and a small beige dachshund comes skidding around the corner, his tiny legs moving at lightning speed as he raced toward Charles.
âLeo!â Charles greets the dog with a wide grin, crouching down to scoop him up. The dachshund wiggles excitedly in his arms, his tail wagging furiously. âThis is Y/N,â Charles introduces, turning Leoâs attention to you. âBe nice.â
You kneel down, and Leo wasted no time leaping from Charlesâ arms to yours, showering your face with a flurry of enthusiastic licks. You canât help but laugh as you try to fend off the affectionate assault, gently rubbing the little dogâs back.
âHeâs adorable,â you say, looking up at Charles with a wide smile. But when your eyes meet his, you noticed the way he was watching you â softly, intently, as if seeing you in a new light. It was the kind of look you hadnât seen since ... since James. The thought hits you with a sudden pang, but there is no sadness in it. Just a quiet, tender acknowledgment of the past and the present.
Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat as he straightens up. âIâm glad you like him,â he says, his voice a touch quieter now. âHeâs been good company.â
You stand, Leo still wriggling happily in your arms. âI can see why.â
Charles smiles again, that same gentle warmth in his eyes. âCome on, let me show you to your room. I had one of the guest rooms made up for you.â
You follow him down a short hallway, the soft pads of Leoâs paws following close behind. Charles pushes open a door, revealing a cozy, well-appointed room with a large bed, a dresser, and a window that looks out over the city skyline. Your bags are neatly placed at the foot of the bed.
âI hope itâs comfortable enough,â Charles says, glancing around the room as if assessing it himself.
âItâs perfect,â you assure him, setting Leo down on the floor. The little dog immediately hops onto the bed, circling a few times before settling into a comfortable spot.
Charles chuckles. âLooks like youâve already got company.â
You smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and giving Leo another affectionate pat. âHeâs a good boy.â
Thereâs a pause, comfortable and full of unspoken things. Charles lingers by the door, as if he wants to say something but is weighing his words.
âIf you need anything,â he finally says, âmy roomâs just down the hall. Donât hesitate to knock.â
You nod, appreciating the offer more than you could put into words. âThank you, Charles. For everything.â
His gaze softens, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something more. But instead, he simply nods, giving you a small, almost bashful smile before stepping back into the hallway.
âGoodnight, Y/N,â he says, his voice warm and sincere.
âGoodnight, Charles.â
As the door closes behind him, youâre left alone in the quiet room, Leoâs soft breathing the only sound. You sit there for a moment, letting everything that had happened over the past few days wash over you. The unexpected kindness of a stranger who is becoming so much more, the gentle way he helped you navigate the grief that still lingered like a shadow ... and the way he looked at you, as if he saw something in you that youâd almost forgotten was there.
With a deep breath, you lie back on the bed, Leo curling up beside you. The city lights twinkle through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, you are beginning to heal.
And as you drift off to sleep, you find yourself thinking of the days to come, and the possibility of something new and beautiful growing from the ashes of what youâd lost.
***
The next morning, Charles is practically buzzing with excitement as he leads you out of his apartment and towards the harbor. His hand is warm and sure around yours, and you canât help but smile at his enthusiasm.
The sky is a brilliant shade of blue, the kind of color that seems to only exist in this part of the world, with the sun glinting off the water and the scent of salt in the air. The harbor is alive with activity, the gentle hum of boats rocking in the marina, the occasional laughter of tourists, and the distant sounds of a city going about its day.
âIâm taking you to my favorite spot,â Charles says, his voice light and cheerful. âItâs a bit of a hidden gem. The tourists donât usually find it, but the locals love it.â
You laugh softly, looking up at him as you walk side by side. âSounds perfect. Iâm always up for good food.â
Charles grins at that, his eyes twinkling with a boyish charm. âTrust me, you wonât be disappointed.â
The walk is leisurely, and as you near the harbor, you notice how Charles slows his pace, as if wanting to savor every moment. The way he talks about Monaco, you can tell how much he loves it here, how much this place means to him. Itâs like seeing the city through his eyes, and you find yourself appreciating the little details more â the old stone buildings, the narrow streets, the way the sunlight reflects off the water.
The brunch spot is tucked away, a small, unassuming place with a few tables outside, shaded by a striped awning. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wafts through the air, and you immediately feel at home. Charles greets the owner like an old friend, exchanging a few words in rapid French before leading you to a cozy table by the window.
You sit down, and Charles orders for the both of you â pastries, fresh fruit, eggs cooked just the way you like them, and, of course, coffee.
As you sip your coffee and nibble on a flaky croissant, you take in the surroundings. The cafĂ© is quaint and charming, with wooden tables and mismatched chairs, the kind of place where you could easily spend hours just watching the world go by. Itâs clear that Charles has a deep connection to this place, and you feel honored that heâs sharing it with you.
âThis place,â you say, setting your coffee cup down, âitâs perfect.â
Charles smiles softly, his gaze lingering on your face. âI knew youâd like it.â
For a while, the two of you talk about everything and nothing â his childhood in Monaco, your favorite books, the little things that make life sweet. Thereâs a comfort in the conversation, a sense of ease that comes from being with someone who understands you, who doesnât need you to be anything other than yourself.
After brunch, Charles suggests a walk along the harbor. The day is warm, the sun high in the sky, and as you walk, you can feel the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. The conversation flows easily, laughter coming more often than not, and you realize how much youâve missed this â missed feeling alive, missed the simple pleasure of being in the moment.
But as the afternoon wears on, the sky begins to darken. You glance up, noticing the heavy clouds gathering overhead, and before you can say anything, the first raindrop falls.
Charles looks up at the sky, a grin spreading across his face. âLooks like weâre in for a bit of rain.â
You laugh, holding out your hand as the raindrops begin to fall faster, harder. âA bit? This looks like a full-on storm.â
The rain comes quickly, turning from a light drizzle to a steady downpour in a matter of moments. The tourists around you scatter, seeking shelter under awnings and in shops, but Charles doesnât move. Instead, he looks at you, his expression playful, his eyes daring.
âCome on,â he says, taking your hand again, this time with more urgency. âLetâs do something crazy.â
Youâre about to ask what he means, but then you see the look in his eyes, and you know. You know exactly what heâs thinking.
Without another word, he pulls you into the open, right into the middle of the empty street. The rain is cold against your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you donât care. You donât care about anything in this moment except the feeling of the rain on your face, the sound of Charlesâ laughter, the way he spins you around like youâre in the middle of some grand ballroom instead of a rain-soaked street.
You let go. You let go of all the sadness, all the pain, all the fear. You let go and dance, not caring if you look silly, not caring if anyone is watching. Itâs just you and Charles and the rain.
For the first time in a long time, you feel free.
And then, without even thinking, you lean in, and Charles is there, meeting you halfway. His lips are warm and soft against yours, a stark contrast to the cold rain, and you can feel the gentle pressure of his hands on your waist, holding you close, grounding you in this moment.
The kiss is slow, tender, as if Charles is trying to convey everything heâs feeling without saying a word. Thereâs a sense of rightness in it, like this is where youâre supposed to be, like this is what youâve been missing.
When you finally pull back, youâre both breathless, the rain still pouring down around you, but neither of you seems to care. You look up at Charles, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his face, and you canât help but smile.
âIâve never danced in the rain before,â you say, your voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.
Charles grins, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. âNeither have I. But Iâm glad my first time was with you.â
You laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. âYouâre crazy, you know that?â
He chuckles, his arms tightening around you. âMaybe a little. But sometimes the best things in life are a little crazy.â
You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time since you lost James, you feel like youâre truly living again. And itâs because of Charles.
The rain shows no signs of stopping, but you donât care. You could stand here forever, in this moment, with Charlesâs arms around you and the rain falling like a blessing from the sky.
But eventually, the cold starts to seep into your bones, and Charles pulls back, his hands still on your waist, his eyes searching yours.
âLetâs get out of the rain,â he says softly. âWe donât want to catch a cold.â
You nod, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace, and together you make your way back towards the apartment, the rain still falling around you, but your heart feeling lighter than it has in months.
As you walk, Charles slips his hand into yours again, and you glance over at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. Youâre not sure whatâs happening between you and Charles, but for the first time, youâre not afraid of it. Youâre not afraid to see where this might go.
When you reach the apartment, youâre both soaked to the bone, your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but youâre laughing, unable to stop the joy bubbling up inside you.
Charles unlocks the door and ushers you inside, his eyes twinkling with mischief. âI think we might need to dry off a bit.â
You laugh, nodding in agreement as you look around the familiar space. Leo is waiting by the door, his tail wagging furiously as he barks excitedly, clearly not pleased that you both got caught in the rain without him.
Charles crouches down, rubbing Leo behind the ears. âHey, baby. We didnât mean to leave you out of the fun.â
Leo licks Charlesâs face enthusiastically before trotting over to you, looking up with big, expectant eyes. You canât help but smile as you reach down to pet him, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the rain.
Charles stands, his eyes soft as he watches you with Leo. âLetâs get you some dry clothes,â he says gently, leading you down the hall.
You follow him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. Thereâs something about being here, with Charles, that feels right. Like maybe, just maybe, youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.
And as Charles hands you a towel and one of his oversized shirts, you realize that maybe youâre finally ready to start letting go of the past and embracing whatever the future holds. With Charles by your side, it feels like anything is possible.
As you dry off and change into the warm, comfortable clothes Charles gave you, you canât help but smile at the thought. Maybe this isnât just about ticking off items on a bucket list. Maybe itâs about finding yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, itâs about finding something more.
***
You fall asleep that night, still feeling the warmth of Charlesâ arms wrapped around you as he whispered a soft goodnight. His gentle kiss, tentative yet filled with an unspoken promise, lingers on your lips even as you drift into slumber.
But in your dreams, the world shifts.
You find yourself standing in a place both familiar and strange â a field of golden wheat, the sun setting in the distance, casting a warm, orange glow across the horizon. The sky is endless, blending into shades of pink and purple, as if the heavens themselves were painted with the softest brushstrokes.
And there he is. James.
Heâs standing a few feet away, his back to you, hands in his pockets, the way he always used to stand when he was deep in thought. The wind rustles the wheat around him, and for a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching with the longing that never really goes away.
âJames ...â Your voice is soft, trembling, almost afraid that speaking his name will shatter the dream.
He turns slowly, his familiar smile, that same one that used to make you feel like everything would be okay, spreads across his face. Heâs exactly as you remember him â tousled brown hair, slightly crooked nose from that time he tried to impress you by skiing down a slope far too steep, and those eyes, those deep, warm eyes that always seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself.
âHey, you,â he says, his voice carrying the same teasing lilt that always made you laugh, no matter how bad your day had been.
You move towards him, your feet sinking into the soft earth, but it feels as though the distance between you never changes. The closer you try to get, the farther he seems. âI miss you,â you say, and your voice cracks under the weight of the words. âI miss you so much, Jamie.â
âI know,â he says, and his voice is soft, understanding. âI miss you too, but Iâm here now.â
You finally reach him, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel his warmth, but thereâs a hesitance within you, a fear that touching him will break the fragile illusion. âIâm scared,â you confess, the tears that have been gathering in your eyes finally spilling over. âIâm scared of moving on, of letting go ⊠of forgetting you.â
James takes a step closer, and suddenly, heâs right in front of you. You can feel his warmth now, the comforting presence that had always been your anchor. He lifts a hand, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, just like he used to.
âYou wonât forget me,â he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart. âYou carry me with you, always. Iâm a part of you, just like youâre a part of me.â
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, memorizing the feel of him, the sound of his voice. âBut it feels like Iâm betraying you ⊠with Charles.â
James chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through you, filling you with a warmth that you hadnât felt in so long. âCharles Leclerc, huh?â He steps back slightly, enough to meet your gaze fully. âNever knew you had a thing for fast cars and dangerous men.â
You canât help but smile through your tears. âHeâs ⊠different. Heâs kind, and patient, and he makes me feel ⊠alive again.â
âThatâs good, Y/N,â James says, his tone earnest, as if heâs trying to make you understand something crucial. âThatâs what I want for you. I donât want you to be stuck in the past, living with a ghost. I want you to live, to be happy, to love again.â
âBut you-â
âIâll always be with you,â he interrupts gently. âIâm not going anywhere. Iâm here,â he says, pressing a hand over your heart. âBut you need to let yourself be happy. You need to let yourself find love, even if itâs not with me.â
A sob escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the sound, but James pulls you into his arms, holding you close. âItâs okay,â he murmurs into your hair. âItâs okay to love someone else. I want you to. You deserve that.â
You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent thatâs so uniquely him â earthy and warm, like freshly cut grass on a summerâs day. âI donât know if I can,â you whisper. âIt feels like losing you all over again.â
âYouâre not losing me,â he reassures, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. âYouâre gaining something beautiful. And if youâre worried about my approval ...â He grins, that mischievous glint in his eye that you always loved. âI mean, heâs no Max Verstappen, but Charles Leclerc? I guess heâs almost good enough for you.â
A laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as tears continue to fall. Itâs absurd, really, this moment, this conversation, but itâs exactly what you needed.
âI canât believe you just said that,â you murmur, shaking your head with a small smile.
James shrugs, a carefree gesture that was so him. âWhat can I say? I always had a soft spot for Max. But Charles ⊠heâs got potential. Just ⊠give him a chance, okay? For me?â
You nod, even though the idea terrifies you. âIâll try,â you whisper. âFor you.â
James smiles, a sad, but proud smile, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, the same way he used to when he wanted to comfort you without words. âThatâs all I ask. And Y/N ... donât wait too long, okay? Life is too short for that.â
âI wonât,â you promise, even though your heart is heavy with the thought of truly moving on.
James takes a step back, his form beginning to fade into the golden light of the sunset. âI love you, Y/N. I always will. But itâs time for you to live again.â
âGoodbye, Jamie,â you say, your voice trembling as he becomes more and more ethereal, like a shadow dissolving in the light. âI love you.â
He smiles one last time, his figure almost completely faded now. âAnd I love you. Always.â
The dream fades, and youâre left standing in that field of golden wheat alone, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting the world into twilight. But thereâs a peace in your heart that you havenât felt in a long time, a quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, itâs okay to start letting go.
When you wake, your cheeks are damp with tears, but thereâs a soft smile on your lips. You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the dream in your mind, feeling the weight of Jamesâ words settle in your heart.
You know what he said is true. You know itâs what he would want. And you know, deep down, that itâs time to start allowing yourself to heal, to open up, and to let someone else in.
And as you think of Charles, of his patience, his kindness, his quiet understanding, you canât help but feel a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest â a hope that maybe, just maybe, you can find love again.
***
The morning light filtered through the curtains of Charlesâ dining room, casting a soft, golden hue over the room. You sit at the table, trying to focus on the breakfast in front of you â a selection of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee that Charles had lovingly laid out. Yet, the thoughts swirling in your mind make it hard to concentrate. Charles sits across from you, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours, a small, contented smile playing on his lips.
The memories of the past few days are almost surreal: the unexpected road trip, the rain-soaked dance that ended with your first kiss, and the way Charles held you afterward, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Itâs been a whirlwind, but a beautiful one. And yet, as you take a sip of coffee, reality nudges its way back into your thoughts.
âI ... I should probably head back home soon,â you say, your voice hesitant, as if saying the words might make them less real. âI need to get back to work.â
The air in the room shifts. Charlesâ smile fades just a little, replaced by a look of understanding, tinged with something you canât quite place. Sadness? Disappointment? He sets down his coffee cup, his fingers playing with the handle as if it could offer him some guidance on what to say next.
âOf course,â he replies, his tone gentle, though you can hear the effort it takes to keep it light. âYou have responsibilities, a life back home ...â
Thereâs a pause, the kind that stretches a moment into something heavier, more significant. The silence is thick, filled with the unspoken truth that neither of you wants to confront: this bubble of time youâve been living in, where only the two of you exist, is about to burst.
âI like you,â you blurt out, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. They hang in the air, raw and vulnerable.
Charles looks up, his eyes locking onto yours. âI like you too,â he says, his voice low, steady, and filled with something that makes your heart skip a beat.
You both sit there for a moment, staring at each other, the weight of your mutual confession settling between you like a third presence at the table. Itâs terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
âI want to see where this goes,â you continue, your voice trembling slightly as you try to gather your thoughts. âBut I donât know how ... I mean, youâre always traveling for the races, and I-â
âCome with me,â Charles interrupts, his voice firm, almost urgent. âTo the next race. And the one after that. I donât want this to be just a beautiful memory. I want you there with me, every step of the way.â
His words hit you like a wave, washing over the fears and doubts that had been quietly gnawing at the back of your mind. The idea of uprooting your life, of stepping into his world, is daunting â but the thought of not being with him is even more unbearable.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. âAre you sure?â You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. âI donât want to get in the way, or make things complicated.â
Charles leans forward, his hand reaching out to cover yours. His touch is warm, grounding. âYou wouldnât be in the way. I want this. I want you. And if it gets complicated, then weâll figure it out together.â
The sincerity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. Youâve spent so long guarding your heart, protecting yourself from the pain of losing someone again, that the idea of opening up to love, to Charles, feels both terrifying and exhilarating.
âTwo and a half weeks,â he continues, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âThatâs when the next race is. Come with me. Weâll have more time to figure this out, whatever this is.â
You nod slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. âOkay,â you say, your voice firming up with the decision. âIâll come with you.â
A bright, relieved smile breaks across Charlesâ face, and in that moment, you know youâve made the right choice. Whatever happens, youâll face it together. The thought is both comforting and thrilling.
Charles stands up, pulling you gently to your feet. âI think we should seal this decision properly,â he says, his tone light, teasing.
You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood from becoming too serious. âAnd how do you propose we do that?â
He doesnât answer with words. Instead, he steps closer, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leans in, capturing your lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss. Itâs different from the kiss you shared in the rain â this one is slower, more deliberate, filled with the promise of everything that could be. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you kiss him back, letting yourself get lost in the moment.
When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented smile on his lips. âIâm really glad youâre coming with me,â he murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion.
âSo am I,â you whisper back, your heart swelling with a mixture of hope and anticipation.
For the first time in a long time, you feel like youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be. And as you stand there in Charlesâ arms, the future doesnât seem so scary anymore. In fact, it looks pretty damn wonderful.
***
18 Months Later
The cemetery is quiet, a solemn stillness that wraps around you and Charles as you walk down the winding path lined with weathered tombstones and ancient trees. The sky above is a muted gray, the kind that seems to reflect the heavy emotions youâve been carrying with you.
Your hand is tightly clasped in Charlesâ, his grip firm and reassuring, but you can feel the slight tremor in his fingers. Heâs nervous, though he tries to hide it behind a small, gentle smile.
You havenât been here since the funeral, since that awful day when you laid James to rest. The thought of returning to this place has always felt too overwhelming, like reopening a wound that never fully healed. But now, over a year and a half later, youâre here again, and this time, youâre not alone.
You lead Charles to the spot where James is buried. Itâs a modest grave, marked by a simple headstone that bears his name, his dates, and a short inscription that never fails to bring tears to your eyes: Beloved husband, healer of hearts, taken too soon.
Charles lets go of your hand as you kneel in front of the grave, gently brushing away the few leaves that have settled on the stone. You trace Jamesâ name with your fingers, the cold granite grounding you in a way that words never could. Charles stands a few steps behind you, giving you space, but his presence is a comforting anchor in this sea of grief.
Youâre not sure how long you stay like that, silent and lost in memories, before you finally speak. âHi, James,â you whisper, your voice trembling. âIâm sorry it took me so long to come back. I-I brought someone with me. I think youâd like him.â You swallow the lump in your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks. âHis name is Charles. Heâs ... heâs very special to me. Youâd probably think heâs not good enough for me, but you were always a little biased.â
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you glance back at Charles, whoâs watching you with a mixture of love and concern. âWould you ... would you mind giving us a moment?â Charles asks softly, stepping forward. âI â Iâd like to talk to James, if thatâs okay.â
You blink up at him, surprised by the request, but the earnestness in his eyes makes you nod. âOf course,â you murmur, rising to your feet. You lean in to kiss Charles on the cheek, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping away, giving him the privacy heâs asked for.
Charles waits until youâve moved a respectful distance away, then turns his attention to the grave. He takes a deep breath, crouching down so heâs at eye level with the headstone. He feels awkward, talking to a man heâs never met, a man who was such a huge part of your life. But he knows this is important, that he needs to do this â for you, for James, and for himself.
âHi, James,â Charles starts, his voice low and unsure. âI-I hope you donât mind me talking to you like this. Iâve heard so much about you, and I know how much you mean to her.â He pauses, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. âI wanted to say thank you. Thank you for loving her the way you did, for making her so happy. She deserves that, you know? She deserves all the happiness in the world.â
Charlesâ throat tightens, and he has to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. He hadnât expected this to be so hard, hadnât expected to feel this intense connection to a man he never knew. âIâm ... Iâm going to propose to her,â he finally says, his voice shaking. âAnd I wanted to ask for your permission, if thatâs okay. I know I canât replace you, and I wouldnât want to. Youâll always be a part of her, and Iâll never try to take that away.â
He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. âBut I love her, James. I love her so much, and I promise Iâll take care of her. Iâll do everything I can to make her happy, to make sure she feels loved every single day. I know she still loves you, and Iâm okay with that. Thereâs more than enough room in her heart for both of us.â
Charles reaches out, placing a hand on the cool stone of the headstone, as if trying to make a connection with the man resting beneath it. âWeâve been talking about her moving to Monaco with me soon,â he continues, his voice steadying. âAnd I promise you, sheâll have free reign of my private jet to visit you whenever she wants. Iâll make sure she never feels like she has to choose between us.â
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. âI hope thatâs okay with you, James. I hope ... I hope youâre at peace, wherever you are. And I hope you know that Iâm going to love her with everything I have. Iâll do my best to make her as happy as you did. Thank you for that.â
Charles stays there for a moment longer, his hand still resting on the gravestone, before he finally stands. He wipes at his eyes, surprised to find them wet with tears, and glances over at you. Youâre watching him, a mix of curiosity and love in your gaze, and he gives you a small, reassuring smile.
You walk back over to him, slipping your hand into his, and he squeezes it gently. âThank you,â you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. âI ... I donât know what you said, but thank you.â
Charles just nods, pulling you into a hug, holding you close as you both stand there in the quiet cemetery, the weight of your shared love and loss settling around you. Itâs not an easy moment, but itâs one that feels right, like a necessary step forward in the journey youâve been on together.
As you stand there in Charlesâ arms, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You know that James would have approved, that he would have wanted you to find happiness again, to find love again. And now, with Charles by your side, you finally feel like you can do that.
Eventually, you both turn to leave, hand in hand, walking back down the path toward the cemetery gates. As you reach the car, you glance back one last time at Jamesâ grave, a soft smile on your lips. âGoodbye, Jamie,â you whisper. âThank you for everything. I love you.â
Charles opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you feel a sense of closure, of new beginnings. Itâs not about moving on, you realize, but about moving forward â carrying the love youâve known with you into whatever comes next.
And as Charles drives away from the cemetery, his hand resting on your thigh, you know that whatever comes next, you wonât be facing it alone.
***
The reception hall is filled with soft, warm light, the kind that makes everyone look beautiful and the world seem perfect for just a moment. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter create a background hum that feels almost comforting in its familiarity.
You stand at the edge of the room, looking out at the faces of friends and family, people who have watched you navigate the hardest years of your life and who are now here to celebrate this new chapter.
Charles is beside you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back, a touch so natural that it feels like it's always been there. When he smiles at you, there's a quiet understanding in his eyes, a love that has grown deep and steady, rooted in the soil of shared grief and the careful, tentative steps toward healing.
You know he can feel your nervousness â heâs always been able to read you so well â but thereâs no rush, no pressure. Just his presence, anchoring you as you take a deep breath and step forward to the microphone.
The room gradually quiets as people realize youâre about to speak. The lump in your throat feels almost too big to swallow, and for a moment, you think you might not be able to get the words out. But then you feel Charlesâ hand squeeze yours, a silent encouragement that you can do this, and suddenly, itâs easier to find your voice.
âThank you,â you begin, and your voice wavers a little, but itâs steady enough. âThank you all for being here today. I know that every bride says this, but it really does mean the world to us that youâre here to share this day with us.â
You glance at Charles, who is watching you with that same soft look he had when you first met Leo. His eyes are full of pride and love, and it gives you the strength to continue.
âMost of you know that today isnât just about celebrating the love that Charles and I share, but itâs also about honoring the past that brought us here,â you say, and you can see some people nodding, their smiles tinged with understanding. âA few years ago, I lost my husband, James. He was an incredible man â kind, compassionate, and so full of life. And when he passed, I didnât think Iâd ever be able to move on, let alone find love again.â
Your voice catches, and you have to pause to take another breath. The room is silent now, everyone hanging on your words.
âJames left me a letter,â you say, and thereâs a faint murmur as people who donât know the story lean in, intrigued. âIn that letter, he left me a bucket list of things he wanted me to experience, things he wished we could have done together but that he wanted me to do in his memory.â
You reach into your pocket and pull out the now well-worn piece of paper, carefully unfolding it as you speak. âThe last item on that list was to find love again.â
A few people gasp quietly, and you can see some wiping their eyes, moved by the weight of those words. You feel your own tears threatening to fall, but you blink them back, determined to finish what youâve started.
âFor a long time, I didnât think I could,â you admit, your voice thick with emotion. âI didnât think it was possible to let someone else into my heart after losing James. But then, I met Charles.â
You turn to look at him, and he smiles at you, a smile that is both gentle and reassuring. âCharles showed me that itâs okay to love again, that my heart is big enough to hold all the memories I have of James while still making room for new ones with him. Heâs been patient, understanding, and so, so kind. And I know that James would have loved him just as much as I do.â
Charlesâ eyes glisten with unshed tears, and when he squeezes your hand again, itâs not just to comfort you â itâs a shared moment of recognition, of understanding that this journey has been just as profound for him as it has been for you.
âI know that some people say you can only have one great love in a lifetime,â you continue, your voice growing steadier with each word. âBut I think Iâve been incredibly lucky, because Iâve had two.â
The room is filled with the sound of sniffles and soft murmurs of agreement. You can see your family, who has been there through it all, nodding and smiling through their tears.
âSo today, as we celebrate this new beginning, I want to take a moment to honor the man who brought us here. James, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go, for knowing that I needed to find happiness again. I know youâre here with us, in spirit, and I hope youâre proud.â
You pause, your heart heavy but full. âAnd to Charles, my Charlie ⊠thank you for being brave enough to love me, even when it wasnât easy. Thank you for showing me that itâs okay to hold on to the past while embracing the future. I promise to love you with all of my heart, forever and always.â
The room is silent for a long moment after you finish speaking, and then the applause begins â soft at first, then growing louder as people rise to their feet, clapping not just for you and Charles, but for the love that has brought you both here, and for the man who made it all possible.
Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to your temple as the applause swells around you. âI love you,â he whispers, and you can hear the emotion in his voice. âThank you for sharing that with everyone. It was perfect.â
âI love you too,â you whisper back, your voice thick with tears. âAnd thank you, Charlie. For everything.â
The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, dancing, and celebration. But the memory of your speech, of standing up in front of everyone and sharing your heart so openly, will stay with you forever. And as you and Charles step onto the dance floor for your first dance as husband and wife, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that James is watching over you both, smiling as you take this next step forward together.
The music begins to play, a soft, romantic melody that wraps around you like a warm embrace. Charles pulls you closer, his arms around your waist as you sway together, and for the first time in a long time, you feel complete. Itâs not that the pain of losing James has disappeared â it never will â but it has softened, and in its place, there is a new kind of love, one that is just as strong, just as true.
As you dance, you rest your head against Charlesâ chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The guests fade into the background, and itâs just the two of you, moving together in perfect harmony. You know that this moment, this dance, is the beginning of a new chapter, one that you never imagined you would have, but one that you are so grateful for.
When the song ends, Charles lifts your chin with his finger, his eyes searching yours. âYou okay?â He asks softly, his voice filled with concern.
You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Instead, you press your lips to his in a tender kiss, one that says everything you canât put into words. Charles holds you close, and as you pull back, you see the tears in his eyes, a mirror of your own.
âThank you,â you whisper, and Charles smiles, his thumb brushing away the tear that slips down your cheek.
âNo, thank you,â he says, his voice full of love and admiration. âFor letting me be a part of this, for trusting me with your heart. I promise, Iâll take care of it.â
And as you stand there, wrapped in each otherâs arms, you know that youâve found what James wanted for you all along â someone who will love you just as deeply, just as fiercely, as he did. Someone who will walk with you through the good times and the bad, who will hold your hand and guide you through the darkest days, and who will celebrate the bright ones with joy and laughter.
Youâve found love again, just like James wanted, and it feels like coming home.
***
You park the car under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step out, Charles following behind, holding Jacques in his arms.
The baby is cooing, tiny hands grabbing at Charlesâ shirt as if itâs the most fascinating thing in the world. You pause for a moment, breathing in the cool air, trying to gather the courage to walk towards the familiar grave that youâve avoided for so long.
Charles adjusts Jacques in his arms, the babyâs chubby legs kicking slightly as he looks around, taking in the new surroundings with wide eyes. You glance at Charles, and he gives you a small, encouraging nod. But this time, thereâs no pressure. Heâs letting you take the lead, letting you go at your own pace.
The last time you were here, you and Charles had just gotten engaged. The memory of Charles standing by Jamesâ grave, asking for his blessing, is still vivid in your mind. And now, two years later, everything has changed. Youâre married to Charles, and you have a beautiful baby boy. But standing here, in front of the man you once loved with all your heart, the weight of everything comes crashing down.
You take a deep breath and start walking towards the grave. The headstone is simple, elegant, just the way James would have wanted it. Fresh flowers have been placed there recently â probably by Jamesâ parents, who visit regularly. A pang of guilt twists in your chest. You should have come sooner.
When you reach the grave, you kneel down, brushing your fingers lightly over the engraved letters of his name. The silence is thick, filled with everything you want to say but canât find the words for. Charles stays a few steps back, giving you space, though you can feel his presence like a warm anchor, grounding you.
âHi, Jamie,â you finally whisper, your voice trembling. âItâs ... itâs been a while, I know. Iâm sorry for not visiting sooner.â
The words catch in your throat, and you have to pause, blinking back tears. You thought you were prepared for this, but being here, with so much time having passed, itâs harder than you imagined.
âI wanted to come sooner, but ... everything just got so overwhelming,â you continue, your voice breaking. âIâve missed you so much. And I know youâre watching over us, but I needed to feel like I could do this ... like I could come back here and tell you everything.â
You glance back at Charles, who is now sitting on the grass with Jacques in his lap. The baby is looking up at the sky, oblivious to the somber mood, a tiny smile playing on his lips. When you turn back to the grave, the tears you've been holding back finally spill over.
âI want you to meet someone,â you say softly. You reach back, signaling Charles to bring Jacques over. Charles carefully lifts Jacques, walking over to you, and gently hands him to you. The baby gurgles, his small hand wrapping around your finger instinctively. You hold Jacques close, your tears falling onto his soft hair.
âThis is Jacques,â you whisper, looking down at your son. âHeâs named after you and Jules. Charles and I wanted to honor you both in some way.â
The name had been something you and Charles had discussed at length. When you found out you were pregnant, there was no hesitation in your minds who you wanted to name your son after. It felt like the right thing to do, like a way to keep a part of James alive in your new life.
âHeâs ... heâs so beautiful, James,â you continue, your voice trembling with emotion. âI wish you were here to see him grow up. To be a part of his life. But I promise, Iâll tell him all about you. About how amazing you were, and how much you loved helping others. Heâll know his name carries a legacy.â
Jacques wiggles in your arms, and you press a soft kiss to his forehead. The tears continue to fall, but now theyâre mixed with a sense of bittersweet acceptance. You look up at the sky, the clouds shifting lazily, and you wonder if James is watching, if heâs smiling down at you.
You glance at Charles, who is watching you with those soft eyes that seem to hold all the love in the world. Heâs been so patient, so understanding, and in this moment, you realize how incredibly lucky you are to have found love again. Itâs not something you ever thought would be possible, but here you are, standing between the past and the future, with a heart big enough to hold them both.
âCharles has been amazing,â you say, your voice barely above a whisper. âYouâd like him, James. Heâs so kind, and he understands ... he understands everything Iâve been through. Heâs been so good to me, and to Jacques. I think youâd be happy to know that we found each other.â
Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. The warmth of his body against yours is comforting, a reminder that youâre not alone in this. Jacques babbles, his tiny fingers reaching up to touch Charlesâ face, and Charles chuckles softly, nuzzling his nose against Jacques' cheek.
You close your eyes, leaning back into Charles, letting yourself feel the full weight of the moment. The grief, the love, the hope â all of it swirling inside you like a storm thatâs finally starting to calm.
âI love you,â you whisper, your voice breaking. âI always will. But Iâve learned that itâs okay to move forward. To let myself be happy again. And I think ... I think youâd want that for me.â
The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves in the trees, and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel Jamesâ presence â like a gentle touch on your shoulder, a whisper in your ear, telling you that itâs okay. That heâs at peace, and he wants you to be too.
You turn slightly, pressing a kiss to Charlesâ cheek, then look back at the grave, feeling a sense of closure that you didnât think was possible.
âWeâll be back to visit,â you promise, your voice steadying. âI wonât wait so long next time. And Jacques will grow up knowing who you were, what you meant to us. Heâll know his name is special.â
Charles squeezes your hand, and you nod, letting him know youâre ready to go. You stand, brushing off your pants, and take one last look at Jamesâ grave. The flowers sway gently in the breeze, and you feel a strange sense of peace settle over you. Itâs not goodbye â itâs more of a âsee you later.â
As you walk back to the car, Charles keeps his arm around your waist, holding you close. Jacques is still babbling happily, completely unaware of the emotional weight of the visit. But thatâs okay â heâll understand when heâs older. For now, youâre just grateful to have this moment, to feel like youâre honoring both the past and the future.
When you reach the car, you carefully buckle Jacques into his car seat, making sure heâs secure before you get in. Charles closes the door behind you, and as he starts the engine, you glance back at the grave, giving a small nod as if to say, âThank you.â
As the car pulls away, you lean your head against the window, watching the trees blur past. Charles reaches over, taking your hand in his, and you smile softly, squeezing his hand in return.
Itâs a long drive back home, but you donât mind. You have everything you need right here with you. And as you close your eyes, letting the gentle motion of the car lull you into a peaceful state, you realize that this is what James wanted for you â to find love again, to be happy, to live your life to the fullest.
And you will. For him, for Jacques, for Charles, and for yourself.
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â f1 boys falling asleep on you.
Ë â LANDO NORRIS
trying to sleep at an ungodly hour after returning home from a night out; still feeling giddy from the rush and excitement of the night as you both get ready for bed. he hugs you from behind and rests his head on your shoulder as you brush your teeth, almost falling asleep right there. after youâre done, you crawl into bed together, saying âgoodnightâ for the thousandth time, but neither of you closing your eyes as you gaze happily at each other with soft giggles and bright smiles amidst yawns. sleepy and a little tipsy, but too in love with the moment and each other to want to fall asleep, but inevitably doing so with happy sighs as he pulls you closer to him, with his face in your neck and intertwining your legs.
Ë â GEORSE RUSSELL
he always says he wants to do a lot of things with you when he gets home to make up for the time he was gone, but as soon as you settle in to watch that new movie you were looking forward to watch, he falls asleep. you look at him and smile, gently placing his head on your lap. you stroke his hair as he sleeps peacefully. but he ends up waking up in the middle of the movie, and starts asking questions like "what happened to him?" while lazily pointing at the character and, as soon as you finish talking, he dozes off again, even though he promised himself that he would stay awake.
Ë â SEBASTIAN VETTEL
you woke up early, but you didn't want to disturb his sleep, so you tried to get out of bed as quietly as possible. you sat up and stretched, but before you could actually get up, you felt his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. you smiled, and tried to tell him that you needed to get up, but he was too busy using your lap as a pillow to even hear you.
Ë â CARLOS SAINZ
he had been trying to sleep alone for a long time, but he couldn't even with the gentle sound of the rain outside. you open the bedroom door and he smiles when he sees you; he lifts the blanket next to him, a silent invitation for you to go lie down with him. you smile and lie down, silently he pulls you to him, holding you lovingly. you stroke his hair and he closes his eyes, enjoying your affection and the warmth of your body. and when you least expect it, he is in a deep sleep while holding you.
Ë â CHARLES LECLERC
you were lying together on the couch in the living room, savoring the warmth and the cool breezes that came in through the sunny window; you admired how the sunlight fell beautifully on each other's features as he held you close to him. there was soft music playing in the background as you hummed along to the melody or said things like "oh, i love this song!" which always made him smile. wordless but meaningful looks of "i love you" to each other. suddenly he stopped running his fingertips over your body and, looking at his face, you saw that he fell asleep holding you, feeling safer than ever.
Ë â LEWIS HAMILTON
you and him love to talk before bed; itâs an unspoken routine in your relationship. you talk about your days, your thoughts, your worries, about that squirrel you saw on the street, anything and everything; your voices only slightly above whisper, trying not to disturb the quietness of the night but failing to do so when laughter comes over you both. he hugged your waist and put his face in your neck while you spoke, but at a certain point you felt his heavy breathing and, when you looked at him, you saw him sleeping. you smiled affectionately and gave him a kiss on the corner of his mouth, which made him pull you even closer to him.
Ë â OSCAR PIASTRI
after he takes you to a great restaurant in the city, you arrive home and rest on the couch while talking about anything that comes to mind. he sighs deeply, and puts his head on your shoulder, looking at his face, you notice how sleepy he is when the food coma kicks in. you smile, and pull him closer to you, and that's when he settles down next to you on the couch, holding you tightly against him as he lets sleep take over.
Ë â FRANCO COLAPINTO
he comes home absolutely exhausted after a long training session. after a hot shower, he lies on top of you, hugs your waist and puts his face in your neck, feeling your warmth and your scent. at that moment, he feels like he is in heaven. you gently stroke his back while asking him how his day was, but he is so tired that he just mumbles something softly and falls asleep on you.
Ë â MAX VERSTAPPEN
you woke up earlier than usual, and you couldnât fall asleep again but you didnât want to leave his side; quiet moments with him are so rare, so you wanted to make the most of them. he also wakes up, but only to pull you towards him even more, using you as a pillow. you smile and stroke his hair, which makes him sigh and fall asleep again, without a care in the world.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#george russell x reader#george russell imagine#sebastian vettel x reader#sebastian vettel imagine#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton imagine#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto imagine
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BET
‷ JAMES B. âBUCKYâ BARNES
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Pairing: James B. âBuckyâ Barnes x fem!reader
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Genre: romance, angst and fluff
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Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo
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Story type: one shot
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Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)
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Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.
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TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene
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AU: college au
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Request: not requested
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Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)
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Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)
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MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)
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Masterlist
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If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!
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English isnât my first language and this isnât proof read
The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows heâs going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, whichâbased on the collection of red solo cups by their feetâmight be a while.
Theyâre all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Buckyâs arm, catching his attention.
âBet you couldnât last a month with someone like her,â Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.
Bucky glances up, following Samâs gaze until he spots you. Youâre perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. Heâs seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. Thereâs something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know heâs more the type to go for a party girlâsomeone loud, someone who doesnât ask too many questions.
âWhat, the bookworm?â Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends donât let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.
âYouâre always chasing the same type,â Steve chimes in. âWhat are you afraid of, that sheâd actually challenge you?â
Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge thatâs always lurking just beneath his smirk.
âAll right,â Bucky finally says, shrugging. âIâll do it. One month.â
His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomachâa feeling heâs not used to. He brushes it off. Itâs just a game, a challenge. Itâs not like heâs actually going to care.
The next day, youâre tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesnât match the usual quiet of the space.
âMind if I join you?â His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.
You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Youâve seen him around campusâheâs hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.
âSure,â you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. Youâre used to people mostly ignoring you here. Itâs your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.
âYou look like youâre buried in work,â he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. âWhatâs got you so busy?â
You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. âJustâŠassignments. Trying to keep up with everything.â You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.
âWhatâs your major?â he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people donât bother to ask; they assume or donât care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, youâre telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.
It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into youâat the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, youâre wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.
And Bucky? Heâs surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. Thereâs a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isnât supposed to mean anything.
But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like heâs someone worth knowing.
He tells himself itâs just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows heâs starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.
Itâs been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, heâs found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself itâs harmlessâheâs just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows heâs lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.
One night, back at the frat house, heâs lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.
âSo, Barnes. Howâs it going with the bookworm?â Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isnât so easily deterred. âDonât tell me youâre catching feelings.â
Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. âItâs going fine. Like I said, a monthâs no problem.â
Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. âLetâs make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, youâve got to take it further.â
Buckyâs jaw clenches. âFurther?â He has a bad feeling about where this is going.
Steve raises his eyebrows. âCome on, Buck. Youâve been hanging out with her, sure, but weâre talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you knowââ He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.
âSleep with her,â Sam adds bluntly, laughing. âSeal the deal, and thereâs two hundred bucks in it for you.â
Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself itâs just a stupid bet. Heâs done things like this beforeâgotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. Heâs Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesnât do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feelâŠoff.
âFine,â he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty heâs trying to ignore. âTwo hundred bucks. Done.â
The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.
When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. Itâs been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since youâve felt genuinely excited about someone. Buckyâs been different from the startâwarm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Youâve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.
After a second, you type back, Yeah, Iâd love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.
The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.
âYou look amazing,â he says, his gaze warm. Thereâs something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.
âThanks,â you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldnât have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.
The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, thereâs something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way thatâs both thrilling and terrifying.
After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon youâre strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.
âYou know, I donât think Iâve ever been on a date this nice,â you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.
He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. âReally? I find that hard to believe.â
You shrug, trying to brush it off. âI guess Iâve just neverâŠmet anyone like you before.â
Thereâs a flash of something in his eyesâguilt, maybe, or regret. But itâs gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.
âYouâre pretty amazing, you know that?â he murmurs, his voice low.
You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment youâve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.
But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what heâs doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and itâs enough to make his stomach turn. Heâs never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.
âHey,â he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. âYou trust me, right?â
Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. âYeah,â you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.
He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. âGood,â he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if heâs going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it mattersâthat he wonât let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows heâs lying to himself.
The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like theyâre happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like thereâs this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.
Every time youâre with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if heâs sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when heâs not lookingâat the way his jaw clenches when heâs lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you canât quite name.
Itâs after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you heâs got some old movies youâve probably never seen, and, honestly, heâs rightâyouâd never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but thatâs exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon youâre sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.
The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.
âYou can get closer, you know,â he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.
Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until youâre tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent thatâs becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.
Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more datesâlittle coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you canât breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.
One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, heâs stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you canât help but notice how natural this feels. Itâs terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if heâs always been there.
You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.
âYouâre terrible,â you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though youâre laughing too.
âOh, come on. It was hilarious,â he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. âI justâŠcanât believe youâre real sometimes.â
The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, youâre too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.
As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. Heâs there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. Heâs there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he canât believe his luck.
One night, youâre back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. Youâre nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and heâs quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.
âBucky?â you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
âHmm?â he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.
âThank you,â you say, your voice barely a whisper. âFor everything.â
He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. âYou donât have to thank me for that,â he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. âBeing with youâŠitâs the easiest thing in the world.â
You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like heâs savoring every second. Itâs moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, youâre finally safe with someone, that this is something real.
But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. Heâs never felt this way beforeâthis calm, thisâŠconnected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.
Heâs supposed to ask for more. Thatâs what Sam and Steve were expecting, werenât they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he canât turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that heâs crossing a line he canât uncross.
He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he canât bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe youâll never have to know.
One evening, as youâre lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.
âBucky?â you whisper, your voice soft.
He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. âYeah?â
You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. âIâŠI think Iâm falling for you.â
The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.
âYou have no idea how much that means to me,â he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.
She deserves the truth.
That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that heâs in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much heâs risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but heâs terrifiedâterrified that this fragile, beautiful thing youâve built together will shatter, that youâll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.
In the morning, he makes a decision. Heâll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.
So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
âItâs beautiful,â you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.
âYeah,â he replies, his voice soft. âIt is.â
But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows thereâs a chance heâll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.
For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, youâll understand.
The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if itâs his own. He knows he should say somethingâthat he needs to say somethingâbut the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever heâs built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.
As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.
Once youâre inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than youâve ever seen it. "You donât have to stay if you donât want to,â he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.
âI want to,â you say, the words escaping before you can even think. Thereâs no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.
Buckyâs eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if youâre something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss thatâs softer than any before. Itâs unhurried, tender, as if heâs savoring every second.
The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until thereâs no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.
Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. Thereâs a gentleness to Buckyâs movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if heâs memorizing every inch of you. Heâs slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.
âAre you okay?â he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.
You nod, feeling breathless but certain. âIâve never been more sure of anything.â
His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then heâs kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feelâsafe, wanted, like youâre the only thing in the world that matters.
When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, youâre exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.
Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.
Youâre both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each otherâs presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something youâve been holding back, something you hadnât planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.
âBucky,â you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if youâre the only thing he sees. âIâŠI want you to know that this was my first time.â
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, youâre afraid heâll pull away, that heâll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesnât flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.
âYour first?â he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.
You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. âYeahâŠI wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.â
Buckyâs chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like heâs just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.
âYou have no idea how much that means to me,â he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Thereâs a vulnerability in his gaze, as if heâs holding back a hundred things he wants to say but canât find the words for.
You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. âThank you, BuckyâŠfor making it so special.â
He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like heâs afraid to let you go. âIâd do anything to make you feel special,â he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.
You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.
But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything heâs kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness youâve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.
He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that heâs already crossed a line he canât uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truthâsoon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.
But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.
The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like heâs exactly where heâs meant to be.
You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.
âGood morning,â you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.
He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âMorning,â he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.
The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of himâthe playful, thoughtful sideâis something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.
Youâre both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.
It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like youâve found a place thatâs safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.
But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if thereâs something heâs not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You donât press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if youâre seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something youâre not yet ready to confront.
As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if heâs trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. Thereâs an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isnât the end.
Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book youâre pretty sure youâll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. Youâre nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.
As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Buckyâs laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voiceâSamâsâcutting through, low and joking.
"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Samâs voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if heâs talking about something trivial.
You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.
"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, âdonât act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.â You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. âSo? How was it?â
Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesnât argue. âYeah, yeah,â he says, his voice casual, light. âIt was⊠good.â
You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet donât move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.
Steveâs voice joins in, chuckling. âWell, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?â
âNo clue,â Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when heâs nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.
Sam laughs again, louder this time. âAnd hey, betâs a bet,â he says, and then thereâs a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. âTwo hundred dollars, as promised. Canât say you didnât earn it, thoughâyou even managed to get her into bed. Didnât think you had it in you, but here we are!â
Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Buckyâs earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust youâd handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.
Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You donât let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.
Hours later, youâre back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe thereâs an explanation youâre missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.
A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Buckyâs voice calling your name softly from the hallway. Itâs just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that somethingâs wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.
When you open it, Buckyâs eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. âHey, you,â he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. âWhatâs wrong?â
For a moment, you canât bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.
âWere you even going to tell me?â Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. âOr were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?â
Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. âTell you what? IâI donât understand.â
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if itâll keep you from falling apart. âDonât play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.â
He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. âY/N, IâI didnât⊠I didnât mean for you to find out like this.â
The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. âSo, itâs true, then? All of it? This whole⊠this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?â
He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. âY/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasnât like that, I swear. It started that way, but then⊠then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we sharedâit was real.â
You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. âReal? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what youâve done?â Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. âI trusted you, Bucky. I thought⊠I thought you cared about me.â
His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. âI do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. Thatâs why I wanted to tell you, I justââ
âWanted to tell me?â you interrupt, your voice shaking. âWhen, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?â
The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Buckyâs shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.
âDo you even realize how humiliating this is?â you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. âI trusted you with something⊠something Iâd never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.â
His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. âIt was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just⊠I didnât want to lose you.â
âYou didnât want to lose me?â you repeat, laughing bitterly. âYou lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to⊠to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.â
He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. âY/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.â
âJust stop,â you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. âYou donât get to do this. You donât get to make me feel sorry for you when youâre the one who lied.â
Buckyâs face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. âI know. I know I donât deserve your forgiveness. But please, just⊠give me a chance to make it right.â
Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you donât know if you can ever look at him the same way again.
âI canât do this,â you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. âI canât just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I donât even know who you are anymore.â
He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. âI understand. Iâll⊠Iâll leave, if thatâs what you want.â
You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.
âFor what itâs worth, Y/N⊠I love you. I know I donât deserve to say that, but itâs the truth.â
You donât reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.
The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like youâre on autopilot. Itâs as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.
It doesnât take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if youâre okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each timeâa nod, a small smile, and an assurance that youâre just tired. Itâs easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.
Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when heâd whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.
Bucky isnât doing any better. In fact, heâs a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptinessâit lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didnât know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesnât blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.
Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy theyâd known for years, looks hollow, as if heâs carrying a weight he canât shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.
One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesnât answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
âHey, man,â Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Buckyâs bed.
Bucky doesnât react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.
âWhatâs up, guys?â he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.
âWe should be asking you that,â Steve says, his tone softer than usual. âYou havenât been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, itâs like⊠youâre a completely different person.â
At the sound of your name, Buckyâs face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. âYeah,â he says quietly, almost to himself. âThatâs because I am.â
Sam frowns, studying Buckyâs expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. âLook, man, we didnât mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared⊠why didnât you just tell her the truth from the start?â
Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. âI donât know,â he whispers, his voice breaking. âI was scared, I guess. I knew Iâd screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just⊠couldnât. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.â He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. âStupid, right?â
Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. âNot stupid, just⊠a mistake. A big one, yeah, but youâre not the first guy to mess up. Youâre just⊠Bucky, this isnât like you. Iâve never seen you like this over anyone before.â
Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âThatâs because Iâve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I canât even fix.â
Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. âSo what are you gonna do about it? You canât just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to herâand to yourselfâto try and make it right.â
Bucky laughs, but itâs empty, hollow. âAnd how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesnât know who I am. She doesnât trust me. I donât deserve another chance.â
Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, âMaybe. But you canât just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that youâre not just the guy who hurt her, that youâre willing to fight for her. And if she doesnât take you back⊠at least youâll know you tried.â
Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. âI donât know if sheâll ever forgive me. I donât even know if I deserve it.â
Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. âLook, man, I get that youâre hurting. But donât you think sheâs hurting, too? Sheâs probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.â
Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows youâre hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didnât deserve. And knowing that heâs the reason for your pain⊠itâs a feeling he wouldnât wish on anyone.
Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that heâs truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. Heâs terrified, but he canât ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.
Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesnât know if youâll listen, doesnât know if youâll even give him a chance. But he has to tryâto give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that youâll give him the chance to show you that heâs not the man who hurt youâthat heâs ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.
The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but itâs enough to pull you from your thoughts. Youâve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty thatâs almost heartbreaking. Heâs gripping a small notebook in his handsâyour notebook, the one you left in his roomâand his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation youâve never seen before.
âHi,â he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You donât reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you donât. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.
âHi,â you reply, your voice guarded.
He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. âI, uh⊠you left this. Thought you might need it.â
You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. âThanks.â
A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way youâve never seen before.
âCan we⊠can we talk?â he asks, his voice almost pleading. âPlease. I know I donât deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you donât want to listen, Iâll understand, and Iâll leave you alone. I just⊠I need you to know the truth.â
You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.
For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
âI know you have every right to hate me,â he starts, his voice barely steady. âI know I messed up in ways I canât even fix. And I know⊠I know what I did was horrible. I justââ He swallows, his throat tight. âI just need you to know that it wasnât all a lie. When we started this⊠when we first got close, I didnât expect any of this to happen. I didnât think Iâd feel the way I did.â
You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. âBut it was a bet, Bucky,â you murmur, your voice trembling. âYou⊠you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.â
He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. âI know. I wonât make excuses for itâI was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started⊠I started caring about you, more than Iâve ever cared about anyone.â
You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. âThen why didnât you just tell me the truth?â
He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. âBecause I was scared. I was terrified that youâd look at me the way youâre looking at me now, that Iâd lose you. I know that doesnât make it better, but itâs the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe⊠maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.â He looks down, his voice breaking. âBut that was stupid. I shouldâve just been honest with you from the start.â
You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything heâs saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. âI trusted you, Bucky,â you whisper, your voice barely audible. âI thought⊠I thought what we had was real.â
He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. âIt was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesnât change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and Iâll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if youâll let me.â
You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that heâs truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.
âBucky,â you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, âI canât just go back to how things were. I canât pretend this didnât happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and itâs going to take time for me to get past that.â
He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesnât look away. âI understand. And I donât expect you to forgive me right away. I just⊠I just want the chance to prove to you that Iâm more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we canât go back, I want to be there for you, even if itâs just as a friend.â
You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you canât rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, heâll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.
âMaybeâŠâ You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. âMaybe we can start as friends. Just⊠friends. No promises, no expectations. If youâre willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up⊠then maybe, someday, Iâll be able to trust you again.â
Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. âIâll take that. Anything youâre willing to give, Iâll take it. Iâll prove to you that I can be better. Iâll prove that Iâm worth your trust.â
You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. Itâs small and fragile, but itâs enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.
Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. Youâre surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that heâs serious about making things right.
Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if heâs seeing something precious he thought heâd lost forever. Itâs in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.
One day, as youâre both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. âI know weâre just friends right now, and Iâm okay with that. But I want you to know that Iâm grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if itâs just like this.â
You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you havenât felt in a long time. âThank you, Bucky,â you say softly. âFor not giving up. For being patient with me.â
He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. âIâll wait as long as it takes. Iâll prove to you that Iâm here for you, no matter what.â
And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lostâa tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person heâs trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know thereâs a long road ahead, youâre finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he wonât let you down.
The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. Itâs your first time back here since everything happened, and you canât deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels differentâBucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.
Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. Heâs proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. Heâs become someone you can lean on, someone whoâs earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between youâsomething deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.
When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, Theyâre harmless.
âGlad you came tonight,â he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. âI was worried you might skip.â
You shrug, glancing up at him. âWell, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.â
He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. Itâs the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even betterâbecause youâre finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.
As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. Heâs attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure youâre comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.
At one point, as youâre talking with a friend, you feel Buckyâs hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. âWant to get some air?â
You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.
âIâve been wanting to tell you something,â he begins, his voice low and steady, as if heâs thought about this moment a thousand times. âI know weâve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N⊠being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I canât stop thinking about you. About us.â
Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing thatâs been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.
âBucky,â you say softly, stepping a little closer. âI⊠I feel the same. Itâs been hard, letting go of the past. But I thinkâno, I knowâIâve forgiven you. Youâve shown me who you really are, and⊠I like that person.â
His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure youâre truly ready for this.
âCan I kiss you?â he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.
You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, itâs like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. Itâs gentle at first, tentative, as if heâs afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.
When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile thatâs equal parts relief and joy.
âY/N,â he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, âI promise, Iâm not going to mess this up again. I want this with youâfor real, no games.â
You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. âGood, because youâre stuck with me now.â
He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you havenât felt in a long time. Youâre finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, itâs real.
maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol
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