#i smell some favoritism in this list

[epickiya722]

I'm sorry, but what you mean Yuji is only in third?! At 9%? Them Black Flashes ain't for decoration. He only backed out the fight ONCE and jumped back into the fight and overall other than Gojo, has been in the fight against Sukuna the most.

Ugh... the nerve...

[hiddenbeks]

oc + random associations

tagged by @hibernationsuit thank youuuuu <3

tagging @famewolf @gwynbleidd @magicmissiled @rosykims if you feel like doing this!!

gonna do this for liah bc we are in kotor mode rn!!

animal: tiger, white shark, dragonfly

colors: black, red, grey, Jedi Browns™

month: march

songs: meet me in the woods - lord huron, paint the sky with blood - bodom after midnight, stockholm syndrome / butterflies and hurricanes - muse

number: 2. also 9

plants: rainflower, cactus, iris

scents: peppermint, citrus... sweat?

gemstone: aragonite, rainbow obsidian, serpentine

time of day: dawn

season: spring

places: gyms and sparring rooms, busy cantinas, forgotten temples, inside an old spaceship, windy plains

food: protein bars, instant noodles, this specific chicken recipe i came upon, anything with chicken really,

drinks: coke, protein shakes, cocktails, lum ale

element: water

seasonings: coriander, salt, black pepper

sky: just before sunrise when the sky is turning from dark blue to purple... like this

weather: partially cloudy with strong wind. cool but not cold

magical power: telekinesis

weapons: double-bladed lightsaber, heavy blaster rifle

candy/sweets: mint and peppermint pastilles, fruit-flavored chewy toffee

method of long distance travel: the ebon hawk (preferably chilling while somebody else does the flying), whatever the sw speeder equivalent of a really cool motorcycle is

art style: expressionism, modernism

fear: herself, loss of sense of self, being controlled

mythological creature: phoenix

piece of stationery: 2B pencil

three emojis: 💥🫠☄️

celestial body: pluto

[anipgarden]

Some of you may have heard about Monarch butterflies being added to the Threatened species list in the US and be planning to immediately rush out in spring and buy all the milkweed you can manage to do your part and help the species.

And that's fantastic!! Starting a pollinator garden and/or encouraging people and businesses around you to do the same is an excellent way to help not just Monarchs but many other threatened and at-risk pollinator species!

However.

Please please PLEASE do not obtain Tropical Milkweed for this purpose!

Tropical milkweed (Asclepias curassavica)--also commonly known as bloodflower, Mexican butterflyweed, and scarlet milkweed--will likely be the first species of milkweed you find for sale at most nurseries. It'll be fairly cheap, too, and it grows and propagates so easily you'll just want to grab it! But do not do that!

Tropical milkweed can cause a host of issues that can ultimately harm the butterflies you're trying to help, such as--

Harboring a protozoan parasite called OE (which has been linked to lower migration success, reductions in body mass, lifespan, mating success, and flight ability) for long periods of time

Remaining alive for longer periods, encouraging breeding during migration time/overwintering time as well as keeping monarchs in an area until a hard freeze wherein which they die

Actually becoming toxic to monarch caterpillars when exposed to warmer temperatures associated with climate change

However--do not be discouraged!! There are over 100 species of milkweed native to the United States, and plenty of resources on which are native to your state specifically! From there, you can find the nurseries dedicated to selling native milkweeds, or buy/trade for/collect seeds to grow them yourself!!

The world of native milkweeds is vast and enchanting, and I'm sure you'll soon find a favorite species native to your area that suits your growing space! There's tons of amazing options--whether you choose the beautiful pink vanilla-smelling swamp milkweed, the sophisticated redring milkweed, the elusive purple milkweed, the alluring green antelopehorn milkweed, or the charming heartleaf milkweed, or even something I didn't list!

And there's tons of resources and lots of people willing to help you on your native milkweed journey! Like me! Feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any questions!

Just. PLEASE. Leave the tropical milkweed alone. Stay away.

TLDR: Start a pollinator garden to help the monarchs! Just don't plant tropical milkweed. There's hundreds of other milkweeds to grow instead!

[gojosprettyprincess]

Hide n Fuck!!?

Synopsis - A quick game of hide n seek quickly turns into a nasty game of hide n fuck with your step-brother Megumi

Warning! - Prone bone, stepcest, they fuck in the attic, degradation, praising, spiting, dirty talk, creampie, choking, breeding kink, Reader is 19 n Megumi is 21, They aren’t blood related. They got caught :0, they may be some grammar errors!! Please do not interact if this isn’t your cup of tea!! MDNI!! Oh he is Toji’s son alright.

Kinktober List ԅ(°Д°ԅ)

A/n - I’m so horny

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You didn’t think the day would come where you get to relive a cherishable childhood memory of playing one of your favorite games of all time. Playing a game of hide and seek with Megumi and his cousins—a game you never thought you’d play again considering the fact that you were 19 and what people would describe as "too grown" to be playing childish games like that but fortunately, some of Megumi’s family from his dad's side came over for a small family reunion so that’s what led to the evocation.

You sighed in disappointment after finding a well concealed spot to hide in the crowded attic—behind some large boxes in the corner that has been collecting dust for probably years now, just to be raided by Megumi, who joined you.

It was a pretty clandestine hiding spot but now the chances of getting caught has increased even more because it’s been proven to you throughout the years in your childhood that you’ve played the game that you're most likely to get caught quicker if someone else was hiding with you.

But soon enough all those apprehension flew right past your head once you were being fucked hard into oblivion by Megumi— he’s basically mounting you, his larger frame almost crushing your back as you lay on your stomach. Your ass arching up a bit to accommodate the amelioration of the angle. His curved dick sliding in and out of your gushing cunt with ease every time he humps himself into you. His pelvis slapping against the fat of your ass so lewdly, causing the flesh to jiggle like jello against him. Literally, all that could be heard were his loud breathing and occasional groans, your pathetic moaning and babbling a bunch of god knows what, along with the constant sounds of his meaty balls thwacking against your puffy clit—that’s practically wet and dripping with slick. It was actually so fucking nasty how wet you were, coating and drooling all over his cock with your aroused slick as your snugged pussy enveloped his mean cock.

“Fuck you hear how soaked she is for me? Such a little slut. You don’t care what the situation is, you just wanna get your little hole stuffed and fucked like a horny bitch, is that right?” his deep voice rasped against your ear, it was pretty hilarious to you that he was saying that when he was the one groping you from behind and kissing your neck while rubbing his hard bulge into your ass with your skirt hauled up just seconds after he joined you—basically the one to initiate what was happening in the first place. You weren’t even surprised though, Megumi always had a thing for sneaky fucking—An exhibition freak.

You moaned out like brainless slut, placing one of your hands on Megumi’s right hand, which is balled up into a fist to ground himself at the sides of your head. He was so close to you that you could smell the delicious scent of his cologne—sweet and minty, wafting straight into your nostrils, making your mind hazy.

“Gumiii” you whined, feeling your brains getting fucked out that you're just babbling nonsense at the point. “Hmm? What is it baby” he moved his head closer to yours, licking a long stripe on the side of your neck that sent shivers down your spine. "We need to ngh—Hur-ry, or we’ll get cccaught!” You yelped suddenly, biting your lips when you felt two of his lengthy fingers toying with your nipple, tugging and pinching the hard bud.

“Oh yeah? Then I guess you’ll just have to be a good girl f’me and be extra fucking quiet or would you rather let everyone see and hear you getting fucked dumb and stupid by your stepbrother’s cock?” His deep voice whispered in your ear, a tiny smirk plastered on the corner of his face that immediately made your pussy clenched even harder around his girth, Your jaw dropped as his cockhead kissed your cervix, making your eyes roll back in your head. It’s like every time he fucked his cock deeper and deeper into you, your mind goes clumsy and you turn into a brainless zombie.

There’s no way any one couldn’t hear the loud thumping noises and loud moans coming from the attic—there’s no way fucking way but by the way Megumi was being an arrogant lil shit and stretching your little pussy open with his cock so brutally to accommodate his size like this, making you moan uncontrollable as if he wants someone to hear and get caught, he doesn’t seem to give a shit.

“Fuckk wish I could suck on those pretty tits” he murmured as he fondled with your breast, groping and squeezing the soft flesh as you shiver slightly because of his cold hands. He quickly lets go and wraps his big hand over your throat, angling your head to look up at him, a dark glint beaming in his eye with a tiny smirk as he eyed your fucked out face. He watched as your face distorted in pleasure, his thick cock twitching in your pussy knowing that he was the reason for that. You opened your mouth, acquitting a loud pornographic moan, Megumi used that as a perfect opportunity to corrugate his lips, a loud “pff” sound ringing in your ears as you felt a thick substance hitting your tongue. “Swallow it now” he ordered nonchalantly, dark blue eyes piercing into your soul. You did as you were told and swallowed his spit, opening your mouth after to prove it to him.

“Mmm That’s a gooddd girl, fuckk this pussy s’good, imagine if I blow my load inside this pretty cunt and fill you up, bet you’d like that yeah? Wanna give your mom and Toji some snotty little grandkids?” He babbles maniacally in your ear as you go stupid, feeling your orgasm approaching.

He noticed. Hand enthralling harder around your neck as he buckled his hips against you roughly, pulling his thick cock out of you just to bully it right back into your tight hole faster knocking loud whimpers out of you. He quickly lets go of your neck, his hand snaking its way to your sticky clit, using three fingers to sloppily rub circles on it without any type of rhythm, if you weren’t fucked so dumb right now you might’ve actually had a chance to recognize the messy spelling of his name rubbing onto your clit. “Fuckkk—look at this greedy little pussy squeezing my cock like this, you gonna cum? You really gonna make a mess on your step-brothers dick? Fuck you’re suchhh a little slut, baby. He laughed while moaning, feeling your pussy milking his cock for his own release. Fuck he really is considering fucking a baby into you at this point, your pussy was driving him crazy. His eyes rolled to the back of his head so pathetically as you screamed his name, feeling your hole spasming around his length as you squirted on his cock and all over the floor. Wet squelching noises achoing against the thin wooden walls as he fucked the liquid out of you, steams of your pussy juice heaving everywhere.

“Shitt you squirted??Oh fuckfuckfuck, What a dirty bitch” he gritted his teeth, almost losing his mind. Oh he’s trying his best to hold onto the small amount of sanity he has left as his cock molds your hole perfectly, his thick girth sliding into your pussy painfully fast because of your wetness. His mean tip grazing against your g-spot perfectly that it made your toes curl. You can feel literally feel how much his cock was twitching and beating against your fluttery walls, His eyes screwed shut as he emptied his balls into your messy pussy, cum overflowing and pooling everywhere as he shot ropes of his seed into your womb.

“Holy fuckkk yeah you’re definitely hah—carrying my kid, woman” he groaned loudly, stilling himself inside of you for a bit to catch his breathe before picking himself up from your back to rest himself on the back of your thighs, his eyes fixated on the mess between your thighs. He bit his lips, slowly slipping his cock out of you as he watched as your mixed cum leaks out of you. You whined lowly feeling so stuffed full yet so empty at the same time without Megumi’s cock. You body fully collapsed on the floor, you were so fucked out you couldn’t even process anything as he slowly spread your cheeks, getting a better view of your ruined hole before slapping his dick on your cunt, he let it a low “fuck” as your juices splattered on him.

“Such a messy bitch” he muttered with low grunt, Slapping his soaked cock on your cheeks.

“Best little step-sister aren’t ya?” He smirks. About to open his mouth to speak again before the attic door flew open, causing the two of you to jolt unexpectedly—both eyes shooting open toward the source.

“GOT YAA-“ Yuji’s eyes quickly widen, mouth visibly dropped at the lewd scene in front of him. A horrific expression plastered on his face. Oh boy.

[weirdsociology]

hey writers we have to talk.

if you've read any romance or fanfic in the past twenty years (i know you have), you know that there are a certain number of scents associated with hot dudes. you can probably recite the list of Things Men in Fic smell like in your sleep: leather, black pepper, pine, sandalwood, "something uniquely him", clean sweat, and if the character has ever fucking been within 50 yards of a firearm, something called "cordite".

here's the thing.

NO ONE SMELLS LIKE CORDITE.

cordite was a highly specific type of smokeless gunpowder developed in the 1890s by england specifically and used mostly in wwi.

if your good-smelling guy is not (a) english (b) using a very specific type of british rifle (c) dying in a trench in flanders, he does not smell like cordite. technically even if he does meet all those conditions he still doesn't smell like cordite because he smells like trenchfoot.

the point is, cordite is so far from universal that no one but the most hardcore gun nerds give a single shit about it. making your Sexy Hero smell like cordite is like naming a cassette-only bootleg live recording from the 1970s as your favorite grateful dead album. everyone at the party hates you immediately and knows you're doing it for clout. also, it's just factually... wrong. please stop. i know everyone else is doing it, but you can do the right thing here, i believe in you.

so what do people who are using guns smell like?

well if your story is set before the late 1880s, the smell of a fired gun is black powder, which, unfortunately, smells like seventeen flatulent cows have been shoved in a tire factory. trust me, you do not want your Hot Dude to smell like black powder. it's b a d.

if your story is set after the late 1880s, guns are using some variety of modern 'smokeless' powder - which speaking broadly doesn't really have a ton of scent when used. it does have some, but it's sort of non-descript: the best way i can describe it is the sweet, ozone, hot-plate smell of popping your car hood with a warm engine.

people who use guns a lot don't smell like fired guns all the time anyway, so while those scents might work in a fight scene, they're not realistic all the time. but there are some things that your Sexy Shootist will smell like basically 24/7 and that's metal and gun oil. metal you can go and sniff (i recommend non-stainless steel), but if you want a reference, most gun oils have a sharp, organic smell that's not dissimilar to canola oil but muskier and with a tang overtop. it's not unlikely leather is in the mix as well due to routine handling of leather equipment and gear. modern gear also tends to have a certain smell although it varies by production country and storage conditions - lots of opportunities there.

in conclusion: gunslingers and hired killers and military folks can be sexy and smell great on page, but i am begging you not to say "cordite" when you mean "gunpowder" ever again. we can do this. we are writers and therefore pedants. i believe in us!

[the-cimmerians]

It's 2024. I have been participating in fandom for 40 years. This is a ramble commemorating some history I've experienced along the way.

In 1984, I attended my first convention, and made a beeline for the one long row of covered tables in the Dealer's Room that was, according to the whispered lore of my friends, 'the one'. "um", I said, very suavely and coherently, except for how it was totally the opposite of those things, "I'm here for the... for the, uh. For-"

"Come around here," the man behind the table said with exhausted ennui, so I went around, and he lifted up the table skirt next to him and pointed to rows and rows of boxes underneath the line of tables. "It's all under here."

It was all under there. Along with about five older ladies with glasses, graying hair, cardigans. Flipping through slash zines and chatting in whispered voices like old friends (which of course they were). I noticed one of them had the good sense to be wearing kneepads. I was still too young and ablebodied to need kneepads when crawling on a carpeted floor, but I immediately found her preparedness skills to be both impressive and hot. "You're new," one of the ladies whispered to me--a bit warily, which made sense. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

In the faint light (the kneepads lady had also come prepared with a flashlight, additional practicality hotness points for her) I grabbed a comb-bound book with a heavy line art piece on the cover, featuring a musclebound Captain Kirk getting righteously and enthusiastically plowed by a stern-yet-ebullient Spock. "This," I said, pointing helpfully at the cover, like I was trying to make myself understood in a language I had only the vaguest knowledge of. "I'm here for this."

Outside at the convention, most of the attendees were wearing large homemade circular pins that shrieked 'K/S is BS!!!'1. But underneath the table, we reveled in the forbidden.

***

In 1985, I fell very hard for Starsky & Hutch fandom. Which was simply referred to at the time as 'the other fandom', because there were only two. We were upstarts. Many fannish elders predicted that it was just a phase.

***

The 'circulating library' was a massive stack of barely-legible pages that smelled strongly of mimeograph ink. When you were on the list, you would write stories while you waited for your turn, and when the big box was mailed to you, you would read everything (new finds, old favorites), add your own sloppily-typed or hastily-mimeographed stories, and then mail the whole thing to the next person. For me, at the time, it was an extremely expensive indulgence--but my favorite one.

***

By 1990, slash fandom had grown enough that I no longer knew everyone in it, which was both thrilling and a bit daunting. A young woman at a convention waited for me after a panel I was part of (I think it was 'writing impactful smut' or something like that), and said she had a question she didn't want to ask in a group setting. I'd heard that before. I said that's fine, go ahead and ask; and she came out with: "Why do you have to be gay?"

I blinked. "Is... that a problem?"

She looked annoyed. "Yes, because your stories are on all the recommendation lists and in all the top zines, but if you're gay and I read something you wrote and I get hot from it that makes me gay, and I'm not gay."

"Wow." I grinned, I couldn't help it. It probably made me look very predatory-dyke-about-to-score-a-toaster. Whatever, it was enough to make her back away from me fast.

When I thought about it later that night, I wondered what it would be like not to be the only queer person in slash fandom.

***

By 1997, slash started appearing on the internet. Many fannish elders claimed it was the death knell of slash fandom, or dismissed it as 'just a phase'.

***

Anyway, I wrote all this for myself as a commemoration of sorts, but if you took the time to read it--thank you. Love you, fandom. I always will.

1 In those days, m/m fandom was known as 'slash', which grew from the fannish shorthand where 'K&S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock having adventures or tribulations or what have you, and 'K/S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock getting it on (Kirk divided by Spock or Spock into Kirk--it was mathy fannish humor and I was into it then and I still am now). Slash was decidedly unpopular in the fannish world in 1984, and there was a concerted effort to force slash authors, artists, and fans out of 'mainstream' fannish public life. Hence, under the table.

[pucksandpower]

Love Again

Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader

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

Warnings: death of significant other

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” His voice is soft, hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t have a choice.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My love,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours always,

Jamie

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

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

With a shaky breath, you unfold it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You finally opened it,” he says gently.

You nod, unable to speak for a moment.

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

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

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

“What did he say?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The attendant frowns, tries again. Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your chariot awaits,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice soft.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did,” you admit. “And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Leo?” You echo, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Charles.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

But in your dreams, the world shifts.

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

And there he is. James.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

18 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[seungfl0wer]

*𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝘽𝙤𝙮*

Pairing: Bunny!Hybrid Felix x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Friends -> Lovers, Multiple: Orgasms/rounds and creampies, unprotected sex, Ear Kink? Idk man lol. Oral (Both), Hickeys/bite marks, 69, Squirting, slight face fucking. Sorry for any mistakes or missed warnings.

A/N: Posting this funny enough on my birthday lol. I love love love this I hope you guys do to!

Series Master List

-🐾

Today was your best friend’s birthday. You kept asking him what he wanted and all he would say was just to hang out with you. Your friendship to others would seem more than friends. Felix always had some part of him touching you. Whether it be his arm around your waist or holding your hand. He just had to be close. He would always say it was just a hybrid thing, that he liked your body heat and it made him feel calm. I mean it was true, however Felix always had the massive crush on you. Ever since he got to know you almost 6 years ago now.

You met by chance from a friend of a friend who ended up leaving you alone at the cabin you all rented. You stayed up all night just talking about everything and anything. You’d be dumb to deny you had any feelings for him. Because in reality you may be more in love with him than he was with you. That pretty blonde hair of his, the way it draped over his face so perfectly. The way he smiled at you so warmly every time he saw you. The way those soft floppy ears would perk up as soon as he laid his eyes on you. Not to mention that cute little tail of his that always gave him away.

He had such a habit of laying his head on you wanting you to play with his hair, to touch his soft sensitive ears. He would melt like putty anytime you would too. Almost purring like a cat when you did. To everyone else you were together but neither of you ever confirming or honestly denying it either. It was almost a limbo of “are we together? Are we just friends?” Kinda thing. Neither of you dated or even looked for a partner.

You had everything set up for his birthday, you know he’d whine seeing you put so much effort into it but you wanted to make it special. After getting the apartment ready you slipped into Felix’s favorite outfit. Nothing special something you never understood why he liked so much. It was just a pair of sweats and your favorite crop top. He always told you how much he liked to cuddle up to you like that. How warm and cozy you felt all comfy.

When he arrived letting himself in you could hear him whine just like you knew he would. You decked out the place with his favorite color, made his favorite dinner and stopped at his favorite bakery to pick up the cookies he loved so much. When you saw him he looked like he could cry rushing over to you to give you a big hug. His little cotton tail moving like crazy, his cute nose twitching at all the good smells. “Y/n you didn’t have to do all this” he whined more.

“Ssh let’s go eat birthday boy” you said with a smile giving him a little nose kiss before making your way to the kitchen. You both sat and ate, listing to Felix talk about his day. He looked so handsome, his hair a bit messy, his black t shirt clinging to him a bit showing off his toned body. The way his sweats tugged down a bit to show off his little happy trail he had. Ugh and those eyes, those big eyes that could get him away with murder. They way the shined, smiled even while talking to you. You were hopelessly in love with him.

“Lixie I got all the blankets out on the pull out! We can snuggle and watch whatever you want!” You said with a smile.

“Is that why it’s so cold in here? You always make it freezing so ‘we need all the blankets’” he said with a chuckle.

After putting the dishes away you had to swat his hands away when he wanted to wash them. He always had that habit, trying to help you with everything. “Nuh uh, I appreciate it but today’s your birthday” you said pushing him slightly to go to the living room. He chuckled but did as you told him making his way to the couch as you put the dishes in the washer. You found him already cuddled up under the covers, he smiled at you.

“Come on, you got it so cold I need your warmth. I may die!” He whined. He moved the covers letting you take your spot. Slinking his arms around you, laying his head in the crook of your neck. “Mm you smell so good and so warm” he said with a little purr. You snuffled into him toes touching his legs making him jump “stooop you’re cooold” he whined more.

You put on some movie Felix had told you about. Felix couldn’t help but move a bit the way you had your body pressed against him now ass against his slowly hardening cock. He felt his head spin. You could feel his breath on your neck, the way it hitched a bit as you moved to reposition yourself. You could feel him pressed against you. Maybe it was that you had enough of whatever limbo you guys were in. Maybe it was the atmosphere of it being his birthday, having his cock so nicely pressed against you. You couldn’t help yourself your hand found its way to the hem of his pants making him jolt.

You glossed your hand over his hardening cock making him let out a soft whimper. You felt him move himself pushing his hips against your hand. You turned your body not saying anything before dipping under the covers. His eyes went wide, he felt you lower yourself on him. “Y/n-“ he choked out looking down out you, holding the covers up to see you.

“It’s your birthday lixie let me take care of you?” You said softly. And all he could do was nod. He watched as you slowly pulled his pants down letting his cock finally free. It was almost cute however you weren’t expecting how thick he was. He wasn’t big on length terms not small either but what he lacked in length he made up in sheer girth. He was so thick, his tip already leaking pre cum. You licked over his tip making him shake at the sensation. You were quick to take his hand in one of yours before taking him slowly back your throat.

The way his body trembled under you, the way he squeezed your hand and oh boy the way he moaned. It made your core tremble. You could feel yourself becoming wet at just the sound of him. You slowly bobbed your head on his length your other hand coming up to slightly touch his balls. “You- you’re gonna make me- ah ah” he said bucking his hips up cumming without any warning. Well he tried to but it came on so fast he couldn’t even get the words out. You swallowed around him, drinking in everything he had. To your surprise though he was still harder than ever, so you didn’t stop.

You moved your head faster, fondling his balls more. “Fuck y/n” he moaned out taking his other hand to move your hair. When you looked up at him, when you met those glossed over eyes you moaned. The vibrations sending a shock wave through him. He was already close again- fuck he was so close again. Something about bunny hybrids was they had tremendous stamina. They could cum over and over and still keep going.

He watched as you took him all in, if his brain was fuzzy before it definitely was now. Your eyes locked on him as you took him all back, tongue twirling around him. “God I can smell how wet you are” he said his voice low. His hand came under to cup your face pulling you off of him with a pop. “Let me take care of you too?” He said moving your body so he could lean back to touch you.

“But it’s-“ you started to say only to be cut off by him.

“Yeah and I say I wanna feel how drenched you are” he almost growled.

He pulled down your sweats groaning at the fact you didn’t have anything under it. He moved his hand down your stomach before pressing it against your clit. He quickly moved down a little feeling how wet you were. “Mm you’re soaked- fuck” he said softly before pushing his fingers into your needy hole. You moaned finally getting some stimulation to your throbbing cunt. You quickly moved your head back to take him in licking at his tip before slowly taking him back your throat.

He bucked his hips up, his cock head hitting the back of your throat. He felt you clench around him making a low groan come out from deep back his throat. “Y-you like me using that pretty throat of yours?” He asked. You hummed in response, he wanted to chuckle but fuck it was so hot. He moved his hips more fucking slowly into your throat as his fingers explored your folds. “I can’t take it anymore- need- I need to- ah taste you.” He moved his body laying on his back before you could even say anything in response he was pulling your body down on top of him.

He attached his lips to your dripping cunt lapping at every juice that dared to flow past his lips. His hands gripped at your ass and thighs keeping you on his face. Wanting nothing more to be surrounded by your warmth and essence. He ate you out like it was the most tastiest dessert that had ever graced his lips. His tongue darted at your hole fucking it into you. His thrusts into your mouth were becoming more erratic as he chased another orgasm. You were close behind him, feeling your body melt into him. The stings keeping it at by ready to break at any moment.

When he nipped at your clit sucking on it harshly is all it took. The strings snapping cumming in his tongue with a loud moan. His eyes rolled back pushing his cock back your throat one more time before cumming. His cum shot down your throat as you swallowed it once more. He licked your cunt clean not wanting to waste any of the sweetness he had only dreamt about tasting.

He quickly grabbed you, flipping you to your stomach before getting behind you. “Need you- I need you like I need fucking air- please y/n” he whimpered his cock pressing at your core begging for entrance.

“Felix, ah lixie please- fuck me, I’m all yours always been all yours” the words that came from you were almost desperate. You moved your ass back pushing him into you. The sound he let out was almost pornagraphic and the way his hands flung to your hips gripping them tightly.

“Shit-“ he choked out. He took a moment for his head to wrap around what was actually happening however the way you clenched around him he couldn’t help but move. He started off a bit slow still trying to adjust to what was happening but hearing you moan made him lose it. His thrusts were so deep, his thick cock grazing against all your sensitive spots. He pounded into you fucking you like bunnies do. “Shit- shit- gonna- ah I’m fucking c-cuming!” He screamed hands digging into you surly leaving marks.

The hot cum filling you, making him glide in and out even better. He gripped ahold of you pulling you back. He had you on his lap now his chest pressed against your back. He thrusted up into you even harder the new position making him feel even thicker. “Always wanted this, wanted to be burred so deep into you- to fill you full- ah-“ he babbled out. His hand came down to rub your forgetting clit. His master fingers bringing you close to another orgasm.

He was relentlessly, his thrusts so precise but also so sloppy. He left kisses to your neck sinking those bunny teeth into them. He needed to mark you up, needed to let everyone know you were finally all his. You felt your high ready to crash over you this time it felt stronger you knew that feeling from only one time before. Funny enough you were thinking of him that time too, riding your bunny dildo thinking of your best friend. It was the first time you ever squirted and you knew you were gonna do it again.

His other hand came up to grip at your neck softly pulling your had to the side to give him full access to your neck. He sucked purple marks all over leaving a bit indent of those cute little bunny teeth. With one more harsh thrust one more deep bite you were cumming. Felix’s thrusts stuttered as he watched the stream of fluids come from you. Squirting all over the couch body shaking violently. “Ah- ah that’s it fuck- I can’t believe you just- shit!” He groaned against your neck pushing as far as he could cumming deep into you once more.

He wasn’t done yet though, he moved your body once more laying you down on your back before thrusting into you once more. This time more desperate. “T’much” you stuttered out tears pricking at your eyes. You were so sensitive so fucking sensitive. Each thrust made you feel like you were gonna cum again.

“One more angel, please- you can give me one more right? For my birthday? Just one more- need- need to see you cum on my cock. I wanna-“ he panted out. “I wanna see that beautiful face while you cum all over me- please you can give me one more right?”

“Anything- anything for you lixie- you feel so fucking good” you croaked.

“God you feel so good to- so fucking good- you’re so warm so fucking wet- ah you’re all mine- all mine right angel?” His eyes had a gleam in them you’ve never seen before almost animal like.

“All yours! Always have been lixie!” You almost screamed.

He quickly attached his lips to yours kissing you hungrily as he ponded into you. Your hands flung up to his hair pulling him deeper into the kiss. Your hands grazed his ears making him whimper. “Ah- wait don’t” he started today but it was too late. You started to stoke his ears, they were always so sensitive but this was a different kind of sensitive right now. His body shook, he put all his body weight in you. His head in the crook of your neck letting out soft moans and whimpers. You gently pulled on his ears and he lost it.

His thrusted harshly into you feeling his high about to spill once more into you. He pulled away looking down at you. “Gonna-“ he choked out before cumming deep into you for the third time of the night. It was enough to bring you over the edge again cumming with him. He watched your face contort in pleasure feeling you clench so tightly around him.

He leaned himself back down to you cupping your face to kiss you lovingly. He brushed some hair from your face looking tenderly in your eyes. “The best birthday gift I could ever ask for is to just have you as mine” he said sweetly.

“Lix- I love you” you said breathily wrapping your arms around him to hug him tightly.

“I love you to, I love you so much” he said nuzzling back into your neck.

You felt his hips move slightly feeling him hard again. “Seriously?” You said in a jokingly voice.

“Sorry angel, can’t help it. It’s what bunnies do best” he said with a chuckle.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @jehhskz @babigriin @kkamismom12 @jeonginsleftcheek

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Love (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Warnings: I don't think there are any but correct me if I'm wrong.

Word Count: 1,323

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Y'all, I'm lowkey dying from the requests. I'm sorry for the last five or so taking so long, I just need a little break and mix in some of my own ideas if that is okay.

Alastor was drinking at the bar with Husk, Charlie, and Angel. The day had been a lot, seeing Mimzy was always a lot. Yes she was trouble, but Alastor loved her. He loved her for the same reason he was trying to drink himself stupid at the bar. He loved her because she reminded him of Y/n. Mimzy had been her friend first, after all.

He sat off to the side in his own little world while Angel and Charlie chatted and Husk obediently poured the drinks. Normally, Husk would have joined the pair in the mindless, mundane chatter but after the events of the day, Alastor's presence kept him silent.

"No way!" Charlie exclaimed.

She and Angel were talking about some TV show they both watched or another. A mind numbingly boring background noise but, Alastor wasn't complaining.

"Yes! They are one hundred percent perfect for each other." Angel replied animatedly.

"Literally how. Name one thing that shows they have good chemistry."

"Uh, they’re constantly at each other's throats? If that's not love, I don't know what is."

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't know what love is."

Husk let out a short, sharp laugh as he topped off Angel's drink.

"Oh yeah? Well then, Princess, what do you think love is."

Charlie sighed, leaning her elbow on the counter as a dreamy look spread across her face.

"Love is... love is when you would do anything for the person. It's when they're your guiding star, your... your prayers answered."

"Uh, no? Love is when you want to literally kill the person but like, in a good way."

"Angel, what does that even mean." Charlie laughed.

"It means... it means there is passion. That spark everyone always talks about? It's violence."

"Hey Al!" Charlie suddenly called, leaning back in her seat to peer at Alastor behind Angel's back, "Who's right, me or Angel?"

Alastor looked up from his glass.

"I hate to say it, but neither of you are correct." he sighed in irritation at having been disturbed, "Love is neither a constant fight nor a blind devotion, though it contains aspects of both."

"Like you know anything about love, mister fancy talk creepy voice." Angel scoffed, turning to face Alastor as well now.

"Actually, I do."

Charlie's face lit up. She practically vibrated with anticipation.

"Alastor! You've been in love!?"

Normally, on a night like this, he'd be alone. He'd be careful to be alone, or at least have Husk as his only company. When he told Husk to shut up and pour, he listened. Other people, not so much.

"Yes."

Charlie had stars in her eyes. She inched closer to him.

"Are you gonna spill?" Angel asked after a moment.

"It was a long time ago."

Alastor took a long sip from his glass.

"Do you... do you not remember it?" Charlie asked, her excited smile slipping slightly at the notion

Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the long day, Lucifer, Mimzy, Husk. Those shark demons. Maybe it was just that secretly all along, he had wanted someone to talk to. He watched the liquor in his glass as he swirled it gently.

"It was a long time ago, but I still remember it." his smile softened as he spoke, "It's strange. I remember her laughter, her little quixotic tendencies. I remember the way her eyes would light up when she smiled and the way her perfume smelled. I know her favorite author, the way she took her coffee, the way she folded her clothes but, I can't seem to ever see her face anymore. I..."

He trailed off, taking a breath.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Charlie quickly said, not wanting to make Alastor uncomfortable.

Alastor shook his head.

"I've spent years not talking about her. Maybe... maybe something else would be nice."

"So, how'd you guys meet?" Charlie immediately asked.

Alastor looked up at her and let out a light chuckle. He felt like he was human again for a moment. It was odd.

"I don't know if you know this about me, but I was a radio broadcaster back when I was alive. A rather famous one at that, in New Orleans at any rate. Her family ran a restaurant near the studio that I went to get lunch at from time to time. She worked there as a server."

"And she loved you?" Angel asked, "Like, you weren't just delusional?"

"I was quite the lady's man back in my day."

"Uh-huh." Angel doubtfully replied, "Sure."

"Oh hush, Angel." Charlie shoved the spider demon slightly, "Tell us more! What was she like? Did you ever get together or were you just friends? Gah! I wanna know everything!"

"She was..." Alastor's gaze fell back to his glass, "you remind me of her in a way. She was so idealistic, so driven. So... bubbly. She worked hard and she cared deeply. I don't know how I swung her, despite my charms. We were friends for about a year. The whole time, I was trying to work up the courage to ask her out but she ended up being the one to ask me. We got married when we were in our mid twenties. I only had a few years with her as my wife before I died."

Unbidden ideas darkened the edges of his mind. Y/n had always been so good, so sweet. Alastor had no idea if she had ever learned of his... escapades. He figured she must know, considering the manner in which he died but it was a horrifying thought. He was grateful when Charlie spoke again, pulling his mind back to the present.

"Thats so cute!" Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands as she looked between Alastor and Angel, searching for similar excitement.

"Can we meet this alleged doll of yours?" Angel asked, "Cause I am really not believing any of this bullshit your spouting."

Charlie gasped, suddenly struck by inspiration.

"Do you think she would want to be redeemed?"

"Oh dear," Alastor shook his head, meeting Charlie's eyes, "she's not here."

"Then wh-"

"She's in heaven?" Angel exclaimed, "You married someone who ended up in heaven?"

"Either that or she's over a hundred years old and still on earth." Alastor weakly joked.

"I'm sorry."

Alastor shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

"No!" Charlie insisted, "You'll... you'll never get to see her again! That's so sad!"

"And here I thought you were trying to get us redeemed." Angel scoffed.

Charlie turned to him.

"I'm trying to get you redeemed cause you're a guest. Alastor isn't a guest."

"Right you are, my dear."

"But you could do that." Charlie said turning back to Alastor, "Angel's right, if you were a guest you could be redeemed. You could see her again!"

Alastor smiled kindly at the excited demon. He patted her back.

"I'm afraid I don't think that's an option."

"But why not!" Charlie insisted, "Anyone can be redeemed, Alastor."

"That's not the issue, my dear." he sighed, "I did some things on earth that she would most certainly view as... unfavorable shall we say? Things she most certainly learned of after my death."

"You're not even gonna give it a shot?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, come on Alastor. Let us help you. You never know how it could turn out!"

"It's alright. I have the time we spent together, the memories. I don't want to taint that." he slowly, unconsciously, raised a hand to his chest, his palm over his heart, "The love is still there, thats what matters."

The quartet fell silent as Husk poured Alastor another drink. Alastor sighed, grabbing the glass and examining it carefully, but not taking a sip.

"What was her name?" Charlie asked, her voice small and her smile long gone.

"Y/n."

It had been years since he'd said it out loud. His tongue relished every syllable.

"Her name was Y/n."

[chocogoldie]

Love Slip

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contains: established relationship, a bit suggestive at one point

short continuation of Nip Slip 18+

It's been a while since the two of you started dating. Approximately three months, two days and forty-three minutes. But who's keeping count?

During your time together, you've come to learn many things about the blond ticking time bomb:

One, he's a very organized and clean guy. He has to-do lists separated into categories in his phones' notepad app, a strict schedule he follows everyday to stay in shape — not that he needs it, but getting to brag about being able to lift you up certainly strokes his ego — and an extremely neat room that stays neat no matter what. He brushes his teeth three times a day, eats healthy meals, has a proper skincare routine and smells of sweet caramel even when he's dripping with sweat coming back from the gym or from an intense training session with your classmates. ln short, his hygiene is top notch.

Two, he's a little bit of a gym freak. Not that you'd ever mind, you even find it hot most of the time, but sometimes he gets provoked by his other gym buddies, mainly Kirishima and Kaminari, to try out all sorts of exercises with you on his back. Push-ups, squats, even yoga poses, literally anything they can think of just to see if it'd work. You've fallen on your ass more than he'd like, or care, to admit. Not because he wasn't strong, no, but because you cannot concentrate on holding onto him for the life of you, always getting distracted by the way his muscles flex and how he grunts from exertion. It's a sight for sore eyes, strands of hair sticking to his forehead while his usually spiky hair dampens and falls down beautifully, framing his face. It reminds you of your first night together, so of course you wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything else. You don't mention how incredibly good he looks in his compression shirts. Yes, he bought multiple after you oggled him up and hinted at loving the way they fit muscly men.

And last but not least, he's clingier than anyone you've ever met which is a stark, and quite frankly adorable, contrast to his sharp appearance. You're working on some assignments? He's bringing you food and making himself comfortable on your bed while putting on a weird dating show on the TV, occasionally checking up on you to remind you to take breaks. You're going for a quick grocery run? He doesn't waste a second to throw on whatever clothes he can find and join you, walking around the store with the shopping cart and imagining you two as a married couple well into your marriage shopping for your little family. You're taking a bath? Scooch over, he's helping you wash your hair and back. You're feeling sad? He's bringing your favorite ice cream and listening to you vent while gently running his hands over your face, back, thighs, arms, anywhere to soothe you. He cradles your face when your sobbing gets louder, pressing his forehead against yours to help ground you into reality, to snap yourself out of your worries by murmuring “I'm here, baby,” or “I got you”. All in all, he's a big softie for you.

He often shows his affection through his actions, but sometimes when the two of you are alone and in the silence of your bedrooms, he pushes his embarrassment aside and spills his heart out. He vents about hero work, about how he doesn't think he's good enough, or rather, nice enough to be a hero, always ending up berating people to hide his true intentions and words. It's something he's always struggled with, but he's been working on it constantly with you, his friends, and in therapy. He tells you everything about what happened during his time in highschool, how the man literally died for a minute, and how much that impacted his life onwards. You listen intently and comfort him through it, crushing him into a tight embrace to remind him you're there for him as well and that you'd do anything to make him happy. He tells you that your presence is enough.

He whispers soft “I love you”'s each night before you two drift off to sleep, letting his hand rest on the small of your back underneath your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his to be able to sleep. The warmth your body provides gets rid of his reoccurring nightmares and allows him to sleep soundly throughout the night with you by his side. And he very quickly realizes he never wants to lose you. Ever.

Because he might've slipped into having a little crush on you, but he willingly chose to fall in love with you.

© chocogoldie 2024. do not translate, copy, or repost.

a/n: a little smth i came up with while waiting for the poll to finish :3 hope u enjoyed it! not proofread

[yoditopascal]

Sweetest Pie

summary: The Worst Logan isn’t so bad after all. (logan/wolverine x fem black reader)

content warning: Wade is your best friend that’s a warning all on its own, some angst (like literally the tiniest bit) cussing, mutual pining, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talking? (I’m so bad at writing it lmaoo), creampie, actual pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), dacryphilia, post DP&W, breaking the bed, scent kink, overstimulation, he technically sniffs your underwear??, Deadpool being Deadpool, MINORS DNI

a/n: The Sweetest Pie by Megan the Stallion is playing in the background while y’all fuck, that’s all.

tag list: @allmyn1ghts @figsnpassionfruits @dragonqueen89 @shebby-the-webby

Ducking down out of the way, Wade just barely makes it out of the line of fire as a glass mug hits the wall behind him, shattering on impact.

“You wanna run that by me again bub?”

“That was my favorite mug!”

“Repeat what you fucking said!” He snarls, hand balled into tight fists, it’s taking everything in his power not to maul the idiot with his claws….again

“All I said was you're more pent up than a nun doing squats in a cucumber field!” Wade said looking back at the wall, there was already a dent forming, one of many that had been popping up since the older mutant had decided to move in with him.

It's been 3 months since Logan started living with Wade and Blind Al and he’s about fucking had it. Laura had moved out after the first month, needing her own space, but she still frequently visited, he honestly was tempted to join her but figured she wouldn’t want her old man around all the time cramping her style.

Logan could feel a headache coming on as he pinched the bridge of his nose as Wade spoke again.

“You, my little honey badger, are lacking in the hanky panky department and no amount of self loving in the bathroom mirror at midnight is gonna fix that.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asked, sometimes he felt like instead of forming actual sentences Wade just put a bunch of random shit together so he could hear himself speak.

“Oh my gooood you’re so old, I’m talking about sex grandpa, you know, fucking? The horizontal hula? Bumping uglies? Filling the cream donut?”

“Stop.” Logan said with a look of disgust.

“I can smell your sexual frustration from here.” Wade groaned. “You need to spend a little less time brooding around the house like you're a DC character, and maybe spend a little more time doing hot yoga.” He was as he holds up a finger and boops Logan on the nose.

Logan swats his hand away but Wade continues paying no mind to his attitude as he points toward the front door.

“It just so happens that I know a great friend o’ mine who’d have absolutely no problems taming the beast for you bub and oh look at that, she happens to live right across the hall.” He said with a wink

“Don’t bring her into this.” Logan said, waving him off as he went to sit on the couch. Unfortunately Wade knew exactly how he felt about you, having figured it out during their whole ordeal with his variants, Paradox and Cassandra and the bastard had yet to let him live it down.

“Come on Wolvie you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife, it’s so thick!” He groans again, throwing himself on the couch beside him dramatically. “It might even be thicker than ours!” Wade said as he leans on Logan’s shoulder fluttering his scarred eyes at him. He shrugs him off, turning the tv on hoping the sound of whatever was on would drown him out but Wade just kept going.

“Stop being a pussy and talk to her!”

“Oh like how you talked to Vanessa?” He snapped back, his anger reaching its limit.

“First of all, we’re a working progress right now and second of all, ouch! Who hurt you?”

Growing tired of Wade and his endless jabbering Logan stood going to grab his jacket from the closet so he could leave.

“Where are you huffing and puffing off too big bad wolf?”

“Anywhere but here.” He said slamming the door shut behind him.

After a few drinks at Sister Margaret's and time to cool his head, Logan returns home to get some chores out of the way. He was far over due to wash his stuff and his hero costume was really starting to fuck with his nose, so, shoving a few handfuls of quarters from Al’s disco dust fund jar into his pockets,he loaded up his hamper and heads down to the laundry room in the basement.

Upon entering he almost immediately bumps into you. You were kicking the dryer when he found you, pissed because it ate your quarters, not paying attention to your surroundings at all.

Digging around in his pockets he bumps his shoulder to yours to get your attention. Startled you nearly jumped out of your skin as he held a hand up in surrender, not meaning to scare you.

“Sorry, just thought I’d offer up some of mine.” He said, pulling a handful of change from his back pocket.

“Oh. that’s ok, I’m-” you start but are stopped when he grabs your hands with one of his and unceremoniously dumps the change into your palms.

“I wasn’t suggesting, take 'em I got more than enough.”

With a silent nod you thank him as he shrugs you off with a “Don’t mention it.”

Logan starts to load up his laundry into the washer next to yours, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you toss your wet clothes into the dryer. You don’t notice as a piece of yellow fabric falls to the floor between you, Logan turns his head to say something, at first not realizing what it was, until it dawns on him that, holy shit, it's a pair of your underwear…and they had Wolverine on them.

They were boxer briefs, nothing inherently sexy about them, but the scent they gave off, clean laundry soap mixed with the smell of your core had Logan reeling.

A small smirk crawled across his face as he started to imagine you wearing them around your house, nothing else adorning your body except for an oversized tee shirt that looked eerily like one of his own, he thought it was cute. Turning his head back to finish his task he kept loading his clothes not showing interest in the underwear to keep from making things awkward. One thing he couldn't deny was your scent. The scent of your core that lingered on the fabric was making his head swim, it was utterly intoxicating, this definitely didn't help with growing his frustration.

After he loaded the washer he pulled a flask from his pocket taking a shot of liquor inside to compose himself as he realized you still hadn’t noticed you dropped them. “You uh dropped something sweetheart.” he nodded towards them. Horrified, you snatch them up and throw them in the dryer.

“Oh god I-I’m sorry! I-“ you start to stutter, at a complete loss for words you slam the dryer lid close and grab your basket ready to leave and hide away in your apartment for the rest of your life until Logan stops you with a strong hand that engulfs your wrist.

“No I-uh I get it. He was your hero right?”

“Yeah he was… but so are you!” You started but quickly press a fist to your forehead in frustration.

“Sorry I don’t want you to feel like you're obligated to live up to him or anything, you’re your own person! I just-“ you were interrupted by Logan closing the distance between you. In your frustration a few of your locs had slipped from your ponytail and were hanging in your face. Logan reached towards you moving one from your face tucking it behind your ear, his bright hazel eyes scanning you carefully taking in your features with a smirk.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He said, your scent was sending his sensing into overdrive, he could smell your sweat mixed with the soap you used with the spicy aroma of your arousal starting to peek through.

You look down to the ground still slightly embarrassed but mostly warm from the close proximity before you feel a finger lift your chin causing your gaze to meet Logan’s once more. “S-sorry I ramble when I’m nervous.” It came out almost as a whisper, causing Logan to chuckle. It was an annoying habit you had picked up from your best friend Wade over the years he noticed. The intensity of his stare was starting to send your stomach into knots but not in a bad way.

The sound of the laundry room door opening and closing as another tenant enters quickly separates them. Silently the pair looked away from each other as the tenant loaded up his belongings in the open washer. He quickly spared a passing glance between the two of you who awkwardly tried to stare at anything but each other before shrugging his shoulders and leaving.

An awkward silence blanket over the two of you as you shuffle your feet before you scooped up your basket again.

“Listen Logan-“

“Darlin I-“

You both started at the same time. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest causing your cheeks to feel warm. You smiled down at your feet and tucked another stray loc behind your ear before Logan spoke again.

“You first.”

“I was just gonna ask, did you maybe wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

Logan thought of a million different reasons why he shouldn’t. As if you could see the hesitation across his face you spoke up again.

“Before you say no, I got booze. Something a bit stronger than what I normally drink but it’s right up your alley. It was a gift from Wade.”

Of course it was from Wade.

“I’m also making pie.”

Well shit.

He let out a small sigh, looking down at your big pleading doe eyes before he shrugged; “Sure,why not.” Afterall how could he say no to you when you looked like that?

He could almost imagine Wade fist pumping the air in excitement at the aspect of the two spending alone time together, the blubbering idiot.

You flashed Logan another bright smile before heading to leave, you paused in the doorway for millisecond, before asking “See you at 7?”

“It’s a date doll.”

Seven o’clock rolled around much too quickly for either of them. Logan was busy fussing with his hair in the mirror trying to get the tufts of hair that usually stick up to lay down when Wade walked into the bathroom unceremoniously.

“Don’t you look positively ravishing tonight, got a hot date peanut?”

“Fuck off.” He growls, giving up with his hair and going to throw on a flannel over his wife beater.

“Wait, you do! Holy dick cheese Batman it’s finally happening!” Wade squealed excitedly

“What the hell are you even doing in here?” Logan asked in the doorway of the bathroom observing Wade, he was dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of hello kitty pajama pants and slippers, Logan rolled his eyes before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Had to take a shit, thanks for asking, but don’t change the subject!” Wade said following him into the kitchen “Who’s the lucky gal?” He asked leaning on the island, his head propped dreamily on his fist. “Or guy we don’t judge here. Wait wait wait! It's not who I think it is, is it?”

Logan didn’t say anything as he guzzled down his drink pre-gaming for the night, turning to grab another from the fridge before plopping down on the couch behind him.

At his silence Wade kicked his feet and clapped his hands excitedly, swinging around in his seat to look at Logan. Mary Puppins barked from her spot on the couch beside him.

“Fuck the Bachelorette and Love Island! The producers are going to make a killing outta this!” He paced excitedly flopping down beside him struggling to keep his composure. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?! We are gonna make millions, no fuck that billions off your sex tape alone! I mean you two love birds are going to blossom in internal passion as the stars align with the future of the virgin Mary!” He said hugging Logan from the side.

Confused as fuck he shrugs Wade off him with a frown as he stands to his feet looking at his roommate with a raised brow. Downing the last of his beer he puts the empty bottle on the counter and heads for the door not wanting to be late.

“Oooh don’t forget to wear a condom, peanut! Remember wrap it before you tap it, before you attack her wrap your whacker! And if you’re not gonna sack it, come home and-!“

Logan slams the door shut before Wade could finish anymore of his bullshit.

He raised his hand to knock at your door but hesitated for a moment. Memories of the you from his timeline flooded his brain for a brief moment and he lowered his hand. He had really fucked you over royally in his own timeline and then you had died before he had a chance to fix that. Was he even worth your time in this one?

He shook the thoughts from his head and squared his shoulders, this was his second chance, a chance to fix all the shit he messed up before and he’d be damned if he was gonna waste this opportunity.

Just as he raised his hand to knock again you tore the door open with wide eyes.

“Logan hi!”

“Hey- you ok kid? You look outta breathe.” He questioned looking you up and down in concern while also unabashedly checking you out.

“Y-yeah I’m sorry I was about to come over and ask Wade if I could borrow something but I-it’s fine come on in!” you said ushering him in before the door behind you both.

The inside of your apartment is cute. The layout is much the same as his own place that he shares with Wade and Blind Al but yours just felt a little more homey to him.

Movie posters and works of art decorated your walls, there was a bookcase in the living room full of all kinds of books and knick knacks that you had collected over the years. On a table by the tv was a record player with a decent sized stack of vinyls. The whole place just screamed you.

“Dinner’s just about ready!” You said drawing his attention back to you. You had changed clothes since he last saw you in the laundry room, your outfit hugging your soft curves in all the right places.

“I was comin’ over to see if Wade had some ice cream for the pie, but I guess we could go without it.” You said leading him into the dining room with a smile, you’re always smiling at him, he noticed. “I hope you like blueberry!”

Logan never thought he'd see the day where someone would cook a nice meal for him let alone the variant of someone he treated so callously before.

He winced internally trying not to think about that. He was here now, not in his old shitty universe where you were gone, but in a new one, one where he had friends, a daughter, a family. It was a chance to start over.

“Sounds great darlin, I’m starving.”

Once you sit down for dinner Logan immediately tucks in, he could smell what you were cooking hours ago from across the hall and damn if it wasn’t the best thing he ever put in his stomach.

The two of you made light conversation as you ate, you poured yourself a glass of wine while Logan had the hard stuff, single malt scotch on the rocks. It had been a gift from Wade after one of his missions, an expensive one at that, and Logan savored every drop of it.

After a few more drinks the pair cleared their empty plates, wrapping up the leftovers of their meal up in portions so Logan could take some home with him. You were pulling the pie from the oven when you heard the telltale sound of running water, looking over you see Logan, rolling up his sleeves with a dish towel draped over his shoulder as he started to do the dishes.

You bite your lip to physically keep from moaning and embarrassing yourself on the spot, domesticity looked damn good on him.

His nose twitched as he smelled your arousal spike for a second, thinking it better to keep that to himself he shifted on his feet as he dried a dish and put it on the rack.

“You don’t have to-“ You started pulling off your oven mitts. They were Star Wars themed, nerdy like the rest of your apartment.

God you were such a geek! You thought flustered, while shoving them onto the counter behind you.

“Nah you cooked, it’s the least I could do.” He said not moving from his spot at the sink

“Logan.” You said firmly placing a hand on your hip. “You’re a guest.”

“And you cooked.” He reiterated,cocking an eyebrow your way. “I’m not budging on this darlin.”

You sigh defeatedly as you grab the towel from his shoulder. “Fine, at least let me help.”

The two of you do the dishes in silence, him washing and you drying, your fingers brushing against each other every so often.

“Dinner was great.” Logan said awkwardly trying to break the stifling silence that enveloped you.

“Good I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled down at your hands timidly, refusing to let him see you cheesing as hard as you were.

“Sorry for not being better company, I know you’re more used to people talkin’ your ear off.”

Wade begrudgingly crosses his mind.

"I'm just uh not so good with people. Makes me anxious.” He admitted, it took a lot for him to come out and say it but he was comfortable with you, he trusted you.

“I get it, I’m the same way that’s why I’m always around Wade. He usually does all the talking for me.” You say fondly thinking back to all the times Wade had been your emotional support extrovert.

Logan honestly had no idea how you put up with him.

“Besides I think your company’s just fine Logan, I like having you around.”

I like being around you too, he wanted to say but he couldn’t get it out. Instead he settled for brushing his shoulder against yours, a small smile dancing across his features as you smiled back up at him.

Flicking the water from your hand as you both finished up, you dry your hands on another rag before offer it up to Logan, his fingers brushing against yours for the umpteenth time that night.

When you look up he’s staring at you, his eyes taking in your features again, flickering between your face and your mouth. You can’t quite place what the emotion is behind his eyes but it makes your belly feel warm and your chest flutters.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you both had, though you know for a fact it takes a whole hell of a lot more than what you had to get you both drunk, but you could have sworn he was getting closer to you.

You start to back up just as he moves to close the distance between you. Chest to chest, or more like chest to sternum as he was almost a whole foot taller than you, Logan starts to lean down sniffing you as your back hits the counter behind you.

“Your heart’s racing.” He says

You had almost completely forgotten about his heightened senses. You were so nervous this whole evening, hoping that everything would go right, could he hear you this whole time? Oh god could he smell you?

“You smell good too.” He says moving to stroke your face with the back of his hand, confirming your fears. You clench your legs together tightly, hoping to at least dampen the smell of how wet you were becoming, causing him to chuckle.

“No use hiding it doll, I can smell you from a mile away.” He said leaning down so that his face is closer to yours.

“Logan…” you whisper. His eyes never leaving your mouth.

“Hm?”

“T-the pie…” You stuttered nervously as your own eyes drifted down to his mouth. You worked so hard on the pie you didn’t know if you’d hate it more if it went to waste or if he moved away from you at that moment.

You wanted more than anything for him to stay where he was, caging you in at the counter like a frightened little mouse.

“It can wait sweetheart.” He said, finally claiming your lips as his own.

He pulls back for a moment to look at you, dipping to place a gentle peck on your lips, as if he’s asking if this is ok.

You wrap your arms around him, dragging his mouth back down to yours, he moves his hands to the back of your thighs hoisting you up onto the counter behind you, grinding himself into you as the kiss deepens.

Logan hesitates in the kiss for a moment, pulling himself away from you as if he realizes something. When you try to lean back in and kiss him again he stops you, holding you at arm’s length searching your eyes for something, anything he could use to make you hate him in this timeline like you undoubtedly did in his old one but he found nothing but adoration.

“You-“ he starts to speak, his voice a little shaky “You don’t want this sweetheart, I’m not a good man.”

I’m not your hero, he meant to say.

You place a hand on his cheek rubbing softly at his mutton chops with your thumb.

“Please stop telling me what I fucking want.” You say leaning back in to peck at his lips. “I want you, not a hero, or this timeline’s Logan, or any other Logan out there, just you. You’re not the Worst Logan, you're just you and I want all of you.” You finish while leaning up into him, waiting for his response.

Raising an eyebrow and at a complete loss for words, having rarely heard you cuss, Logan smirks before leaning back down to meet you the rest of the way recapturing your lips with a “Yes ma’am.”

His right hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently running the pad of his thumb over the skin before running his hand up to weave his finger through your locs.

You hop off the counter, grabbing him by his flannel your mouth reconnects with his as you lead him into your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him.

You start to kiss down his jaw before Logan stops you with a growl. He picks you up and tosses you onto the bed before his lips reconnect with yours.

His hands find their way under your clothes to paw at you, as you free him from the confines of his flannel. Tossing it behind him, it hits your iPod dock causing music to start playing but neither of you care, too enraptured in each other to even notice. Logan pulls away from your mouth only long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his hands trailing down to pull down your pants and underwear next.

He grabs you by your hips dragging you to the edge of the bed, as he kneels down in front of you, eye level with your hot core.

You throw your head back with a moan at the first drag of his tongue. Your legs finding their way around his shoulders as he drags his nose and tongue up and down teasing you.

He presses his mouth against your clit, sucking on it before pulling away and flicking it with his tongue, drawing circles and nipping at it with his teeth.

Watching you through dark lashes, he drags his hand down your body bringing it to his mouth, he licks his finger, bringing it to your wet cunt as he slowly begins to move it in and out of you, curling it against your gummy walls searching until he finds the right spot. You let out a strangled half-sob as he leans back down pressing his mouth against your clit again, sucking and flicking at the hard nub.

“Shit,” you rasp out, reaching out for him. He knew you were getting close, he could tell from the way you pulsed around him as he added another finger.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you felt your orgasm building. “Please, right there!” You choked, eyes closing as you threw your head back.

“So fucking wet for me already and I barely touched you.” Logan chuckles. You stifled a noise as your impending orgasm builds in your gut.

“I-I’m gonna-!” You start to cry out but are cut off by a sob.

“I gotcha darlin, I’m right here.” He mumbles into your pussy as he reaches his free hand out to hold your hips open for him, your hands frantically bury themselves in his hair, desperate for something to hang on to. He carries on lapping at you as you squirm talking you through your orgasm as he rubbed his nose to your clit, drawing it out of you as his fingers continue to fuck in and out of you.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He sighs as he keeps fucking you on his fingers, his intensity increasing as he latches himself back onto your clit devouring you like a man starved, you come almost instantly. It’s when he looks up at you, hazel eyes dark and hungry, that you finally lose it, your second orgasm of the night ripping through like a freight train.

Standing back to his feet Logan licks your residue from his lips and fingers, chin glistening with your slick.

You sit up immediately grabbing at his belt, fingers rushed and fumbling with the buckle, he replaces your hands quickly unbuckling it before pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head.

Reaching behind you, you free your chest from your bra, just as he kicks his pants off. Logan pushes you backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress beneath you as he stalks over towards you on his hands and knees.

He inhales deeply through his nose taking in your scent, the aroma of you mixed with your arousal is intoxicating and is driving him absolutely feral, with a wet kiss he bites down hard where your neck and shoulder meet, where your scent’s the strongest, nearly drawing blood, before he’s back on you, covering your mouth with his own kissing you viciously as if you’d fade away from existence if he let you go.

He laps at the spot he had previously bitten you as he slowly pulls away, soothing the skin there. The mark was already gone, thanks to your healing factor, but god you could still feel it and you secretly ached that he’d do it again.

You soon feel the head of his cock running along your folds, it’s thick, and hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick hole. Then without warning he’s pushing into you, sheathing himself inside of you with a single thrust.

Logan threw his head back with a loud groan. He promised himself he’d go slow with you, take his take opening you up for him but fuck if this didn’t feel right, good it felt oh so good.

“Fuck” he grunts out into your mouth as he drops his head down to drag you into a hard smoldering kiss swallowing your moans as he sinks in fully.

He lets you adjust for a few moments before he pulls back and thrusts into you instinctively, repeating the harsh action as he begins to slowly pick up his pace. If you had been completely human, the force of his thrusts would’ve surely shattered your pelvis or at least threw them out of alignment.

Reaching up to grab onto the headboard of your bed to anchor himself Logan locks in fully, gripping the wood bar in a death grip as he pushes into you. You reach up too, grabbing a handful of sheets by your head with one hand and his hips with the other, desperate for something to anchor yourself with as Logan’s brutal pace has you reeling.

“L-Logan!” you cry out, body shaking from the force of his thrusts. His cock sinking deeper and deeper as he angles your legs over his shoulders, hitting that sweet spot inside of you repeatedly making your legs tremble in unadulterated pleasure.

An audible crack is heard from where Logan is still holding onto your headboard but you both could careless, your heads completely clouded over with lust.

Just when you were starting to think it was all too much, his thumb finds your clit again and starts to rub fierce quick little circles.

“Gimme one more darlin.” His voice is strained and rough, as he leans down to your neck inhaling your scent again as he licks up to your neck nipping at your jaw and neck as he pulls away.

You scrambled to get away, pushing at his chest as the over sensitivity was proving to be too much.

Logan lets go of the headboard and grabs both your hands with his much larger one, locking them firmly to his chest right over his rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t try and run from me kid, you wanted this remember?” He chuckled darkly, picking up his pace even more if that were possible.

Tears stream steadily down your cheeks as your barreling toward your next orgasm, it’s here, with your hair fanned out around your head, cheeks puffy and tear stained while you pant desperately trying to get away and keep up with him at the same time , that he thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you.

“Come on my dick, baby.”

Your body completely locks up at his words, your back arching off the bed as you scream, your orgasm wrecking through you as you clench around him like a vice. Logan drops your legs, yanking you up into a messy kiss as he takes you through it.

“Good fucking girl.” He grunts against your lips, he gives you a few moments to come down from your high, burying his face into your neck before he resumes his punishing pace.

You think you’re at your limit as fat tears fall from your eyes, never have you ever felt this good, this full before, it’s far too much for you.

Just as you were about to tap out, he grunts into your neck, his hands move to grip your ass bringing it up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck, tell me where?” He growls out. He wraps an arm around your back bringing you chest to chest as he fucks you on his lap, the new angle making him hit that sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

At first you don’t quite understand what he’s asking, your brain too foggy to comprehend much of anything right now, but as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, nearly drawing blood again, you finally understood, he was close and so were you again.

“Inside, please I wanna feel you.” You whimpered as he pounds into you. He groans at your request and picks up the pace rutting up into you desperately like an animal. His hammering is deep and unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it feels too good to make him stop, you’ll definitely have a hard time walking in the morning.

With one last harsh flick of his thumb to your clit you’re coming hard on his dick, clenching around him as your body quivers uncontrollably, almost blacking out for a moment.

He growls as his hips stutter against your own, as he cums into you, the force of his final thrust knocking you both bad down onto the mattress. Logan thrusts a few more times, pumping his load as deep inside of you as he could, claiming your mouth once again in a deep searing kiss.

You run your hands through his hair as he nearly drops himself on you, his forearms supporting the weight of his adamantium skeleton. He’s still buried inside you as you're peppering his face and neck with light kisses.

It’s quiet for a moment before he lifts himself up, pulling himself from inside you with a grunt. He pushes stray locs from your face as he kisses your forehead and flops over onto the other side of the bed dragging you with him.

At the weight of his adamantium bones dropping down onto the already crack and barely hanging on frame your bed frame finally gives out dropping your mattress to the floor with a loud thud, startling the both of you.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You panted too shocked and tired to move from your spot on his chest.

“Sorry baby, I’ll get you a new one.” Logan laughs lightly as he pulls you to his chest.

A comfortable silence fills the room as the two of you lay on the floor, your breathing starting to return to normal. Leaning down to inhale your scent again Logan’s met with the pleasant tang of you covered in him and pulls you tighter snuggling you into him.

“You still with me?” The rough edge of his voice brings you back to your senses.

You smiled up at him from his chest with a big dopey smile, eyes completely dazed as you answered with an “mm-hm.” Too fucked out to fully speak properly. You laid back down on his chest, eyes closed as you shiver, he runs a hand up and down your spine as you start to drift off.

He chuckles at your response or lack thereof and pulls your sheets over the both of you. The temperature in the room had started to come down dramatically as your sweat covered bodies cooled in the night.

Just as Logan was about to close his eyes and join you in what was hopefully a peaceful night’s rest for the first time in years, your bedroom door bursts open revealing Wade, still clad in his hello kitty pajamas helping himself to a piece of the pie you had left out.

“Jesus Wade!” You yell eyes practically bulging out of your head as you scramble to grip the sheets to your chest.

“What the fuck asshole?!” Logan growled trying his best to shield you from view with his arms. His hazel eyes were seething with anger.

“My sweet virgin eyes!” Wade said, covering his eyes but still peeking through them through a gap in his fingers with a smirk as he chewed loudly. “You two sounded like an indoor jungle gym but instead of a shit ton of kids it's just you two.” He laughs shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth as he moves to sit on the edge of the broken bed on the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You, young lady, have some pipes on you. Could hear you practically singing about the Wolverine.~” he teases with a tsk.

“And you sir!” He points to Logan who growls at him as he swats his hand outta his face. “Where do I even begin?” He tsked again as he shook his head “You really had some pent up frustration didn’t you, you slut? Did you break her? I know she has a healing factor too but good god man have some restraint!” he leans back on her broken bed as he spreads himself out on the end.

“And her poor bed! I hope you're planning on replacing it, bee tee dubs.” Wade rolls over onto his side propping himself up on his elbow at the couple’s feet. “Did he even use a condom?” He whispered to you loudly before adding “Nice tits by the way.” as he winked at Logan. “I don’t think creampie was the type of pie she had in mind when she invited you over for dinner, old man.”

“Who knew Wolverine was a cuddler?”

You roll your eyes at Wade’s antics completely used to him over the years of knowing him but Logan on the other hand had clearly had enough. Ripping the sheets from himself you watch as Logan comically chases Wade out of the room, buck ass naked.

Slamming your bedroom door shut Logan turns the lock with a grunt, finally returning to your side he pulls you back to his chest and flings the sheets over you.

“He’s not so bad, y'know when you get used to him.” You shrug with your eyes closed as you snuggle into his chest. Adrenaline, now dying down, sleep had started to wrap you in its dreamy embrace and it was hard to keep your eyes open.

“That little cockroach is gonna be the death of me.”

You laugh at him one last time before finally drifting off. Your soft snores were the last thing Logan heard as he too snuggled into your warmth and drifted off.

Who knew the Wolverine was such a cuddler.

[certifiedfreec]

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that ghost took an interest in you…

- one time you were showing him something on the computer, and he took that massive 6’4” body of his and leaned it right over your shoulder to read the screen. as if that wasn’t close enough, he rested one of his big ‘ol calloused hands on the desk beside you, effectively caging you into your seat. you could practically feel the warmth that radiated off of him when he did that. (he really likes the smell of your shampoo, by the way.)

- he watched you make your coffee one morning, memorizing your order down to the number of sugar packets you used. after that, you’d head down to make your morning cup and all the exact ingredients would mysteriously be laid out on the counter for you. he’d pick on you later about drinking coffee instead of tea, though. maybe he’ll make you a cup for you to try- back in his own office, of course ;)

- everyone in tf141 knows you’re a perfectly capable soldier, so they think it’s odd that ghost always finds ways to provide extra backup for you during missions. guarding you from danger, making sure your area is clear of threats…he can’t help but want to protect and take care of his fellow teammate, though he has a list of other ways he’d like to take care of you :’)

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that keegan took an interest in you…

- he saw your phone screen after training one day, immediately zeroing in on the artist you were listening to. later that evening he casually brings up the exact same band/person, because he’s coincidentally one of their biggest fans! maybe he’ll ask you to go to one of their shows when you’re off duty… looks like you’ve found yourself a concert buddy ;)

- he bullies you, but it’s with the best intentions. it’s more like him relentlessly nagging at you until you match his snarky energy and give him some sass back, which he loves to provoke from you. you always have the best comebacks when he uses his dry humor on you, and he thinks it’s adorable. he definitely likes to push your buttons, but he’d like to undo them even more <3

- ever since he revealed your “shared love” for your favorite artist, he sends you music recommendations for you to listen to (that will hopefully make you think of him whenever you hear them!). pay attention to the lyrics, because he might be trying to tell you something with them… :))

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that graves took an interest in you…

- if you have any snacks or candy on you, he’s nonchalantly stepping right beside you and doing that “underhand-behind-the-back” gesture for you to shake some into his palm. (sometimes he imagines that’s what your lips taste like- omg who said that???)

- he let you wear his jacket during an operation where you were in the freezing cold outside for an extensive amount of time. he watched you shiver through your orders, trying your best to be a good soldier for him :( he walked up to you and draped his shadow company jacket over your shoulders (which smelled deliciously like him) and flashed you that toothy grin. “you look like you’re ‘bout to get frostbite, soldier. take this.” (he was definitely thinking of some other ways that he could warm you up…)

- he took his time when he read through your file, and wow, it looks like your city’s professional football team rivals his. it’s the perfect way to initiate banter with you. he’ll be giving you a hard time about it for sure, and maybe he’ll make some interesting bets with you depending on how well the season’s going ;)

[jjslaybank]

mine - rafe cameron

warnings: porn WITH plot, use of degrading language to describe reader ("fucktoy," "slut," "bitch"), unprotected sex

i recommend listening to "it's no good" by depeche mode or "come undone" by duran duran while reading :)

omg this has been in my drafts for probably a MONTH atp 😭 hope you guys like it <3 OH and imagine s2!rafe while reading

please read till the end for a few more notes from yours truly 🥰

🏷list: @slut-4-gojo @booklover-6665 @amel1ee @riaras-everthroner

ward is going to kill him.

fuck it, rafe thinks to himself as he enters a strip club. he clutches the money his father had given him to escape the outer banks tightly to his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

he squints his eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. the whole place smells heavily of sweat and cigarettes. he believes it's the perfect place to find a little fucktoy to help him forget the intense pressure he's currently under.

it was then that he spots you — dancing and humping and grinding against the pole as men throw you money.

"holy shit," rafe mumbles softly to himself, his feet carrying him near to the pole you're dancing with before he even knew what his body was doing. a few men shoot him dirty looks. he never noticed them — his eyes are solely on you.

you're wearing your favorite pair — black, lacy underwear and a matching black pushup bra which pushed your tits higher than normal, deepening your cleavage.

as you notice rafe staring, you give him a wink. his eyes darken.

he needs you.

and he's willing to do whatever was necessary to have his way with you.

"hey, asshole!"

he turns to face one of the men who had rudely greeted him.

"eyes off my damn property."

"what?" rafe asks, squinting at the man. "what do you mean? she's like... like your girlfriend or something?"

the man scoffs. "hell no. just my property for the night."

he holds up a keychain with a singular key attached and a small, white jade stone.

the man nods his head to where you were dancing, oblivious to the conversation. "jade's my little slut for tonight, so i better not see your lousy ass around her. got that?"

rafe growls. no way in hell was he losing this pretty girl to an asshole like him.

"hell no."

the man stands up, slamming his fist down on the table to emphasize the motion. others look on at the commotion.

"i think you oughta learn some manners, boy."

"how much did you pay?" rafe asks, sighing and rolling his eyes as he rubs the bridge of his nose. he had been in too many fights recently. the poor guy just wants to empty his balls into some willing, pretty slut.

"more than you can comprehend."

rafe raises an eyebrow, squeezing the wad of bills ward had given him.

"number."

the man tilts his head, confused. "what?"

"give me a number."

"more than 1k."

"1k," rafe echoes to himself as he shakes his head, the tone in his voice almost mocking. "i have so, so much more than that... that lousy amount you're paying her. hey jade!"

you turn towards him, responding to your stripper name.

"if i pay you more, will you let me fuck you instead of him?"

"depends on the amount," you reply, batting your eyelashes at him as you continue dancing around the pole.

you can barely see his face as you converse, but you can make out the curtain bangs, hunched back, and the furrow of his eyebrows as he flips through his stack of bills.

"5k," rafe says.

your eyes light up and you shrug at the other man who had "bought" you for the night.

"sorry, i'm going with this fine young gentleman tonight." you gesture at rafe.

"you made a deal, bitch!" the man yells. rafe's eyes flash with anger. he grabs the man by his shirt collar.

"she said she's going with me! back the fuck off!"

rafe pushes the man down and he collides with a nearby table. he then frantically fishes a sizable stack of bills from his stash. as he hands it to you and you take it from him, his fingers reach to grab yours - effectively sandwiching the money between your hand and his.

he begins to run but you pause, picking up the key the other man was holding earlier. rafe takes the key from you and heads to the back of the club with you in tow.

the back is a hallway with doors - somewhat like what you'd see at a hotel. names of available women were attached at the top of each door.

"jade," he murmurs, looking at the names of the doors.

"jade," you repeat as an agreement. a good look at the man reveals to you his set jaw and conflicted eyes. you can feel something brewing beneath the surface, but you push it aside. you were told not to be nosy. you were lying if you said you didn't find hin sexy. in fact, to say he was attractive was an understatement.

you pull him to the door marked with your name. you grab the key from his hand as he lets you go and open the door.

the room inside is lit by a single small lamp perched atop a dresser. a bed sits in the middle, taking up most of the small room's space.

"shit," rafe sighs, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "just wanted to empty my balls, dammit. no confrontations, no fights..."

he begins to pace around the room. "everyone's fucking after me. like... like everyone wants me gone or dead – or just out of their life. i'm not doing good, man. just gotta... just gotta push it aside and focus on the now, though. like... you know? just gotta man up!"

"hey," you begin calmly. "it's all good. i'm yours for tonight, 'kay?"

rafe sits down at the edge of the bed. you follow suit.

"calm down. i'm here. thanks for the money."

he nods, trying to calm himself. you take his hand. he looks into your eyes with what you think is a hint of vulnerability, but it immediately gets replaced with hunger. his eyes darken, and you liken it to a predator about to pounce on its prey.

rafe grabs your shoulders and lifts you, throwing you face down into the bed. your makeup stains the white sheets.

he paces around the bed, a low hum sounding from his lips. "don't fucking move, jade. you understand?"

"y-yes..." you reply meekly, feeling your panties dampen. being manhandled was something that turned you on more than you realized.

"just be good for me, okay?" rafe asks, his voice trembling slightly as he undos his pants. "such a pretty fucking ass."

you jolt as he slaps the meaty flesh. rafe chuckles lowly.

"i did everything i could to have you, and now you're here. and i'm about to fuck you."

you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle as it hits the floor. your heart skips a beat, your anticipation at its peak.

"but i'm gonna be nice about it," he mutters more to himself than to you. "gonna prep this tight fucking hole."

your bottoms come off with one swift tug, and rafe inhales them deeply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"fuuuuccckk," he gasps shakily, his nostrils full of your scent.

he puts his middle finger into his mouth and wets it before slowly sliding it into your wet hole. his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head as he feels your hot, warm walls envelop his finger.

"oh, fuck," you moan, your back arching. the fact that you couldn't see what he was doing turned you on even more.

"give it to me, baby," rafe says, pumping his finger in and out of you faster.

he adds another finger and you gasp.

"that's it," rafe coaxes. "so fucking tight and wet, you slut."

he removes his fingers and positions his cock near your stretched hole, hissing at the contact.

"shit." rafe groans. "fuck, it's gonna feel so good filling this tight cunt up."

he takes a deep breath as he removes his finger and enters you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as you moan loudly.

"fucking hell," rafe growls. "shit, you're so fucking tight!"

he rocks into you, his cock filling you up completely.

"such a pretty fuckin' cunt," he murmurs, leaning down to bite the shell of your ear.

"this cunt," he continues, accentuating his words with harsh thrusts, "is all mine for tonight."

he pants, speeding up his thrusts. "i hope you're on the pill because i'm cumming inside this greedy fuckin' cunt."

you nod, your mind hazy with lust. "mhm, i'm clean and take the pill."

"good girl. see how she fucking sucks in my fat cock, she was made for me. fuckin' cunt was made for me," he mutters through clenched teeth.

suddenly he slips out of you. you cry out.

"fucking turn around. lemme see that pretty face as i fuck you."

you obey immediately. he lands a gentle slap on your ass as encouragment.

"pretty fuckin' girl," he compliments, leaning down to kiss your lips. you kiss him back, savoring the taste of sweat and marijuana on his lips.

as he pulls back, he re-enters you. you both hiss at the feeling.

"i'll never get enough of this fucking cunt, jade," he groans as you feel his balls slapping against you.

"mm," you whimper, about to moan out his name when you realize he never told you what it was. "wh-what's your name?"

"rafe," he answers, accentuating the one syllable with a deep thrust, making you see stars.

the name falls from your lips as a high-pitched moan. it sounds almost natural. he groans at the sound of his name and he thrusts into you faster, feeling his balls tighten.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum, you slut," he hisses through clenched teeth, the words coming out clipped as he revels in the feel of your pussy.

"cum!" you repeat, your brain going blank as you feel the knot in your stomach close to snap. "cum inside my greedy cunt!"

at that rafe thrusts forward, groaning in ecstasy as his cum shoots deep into your pussy. you cry out as you spasm around his cock, milking it for every last drop.

"fuck," he mutters breathlessly, slowly pulling out to marvel at the mess he made. "would you look at that - a properly bred fucktoy."

you're gasping for breath as you come down from your high.

"fucking shit," you mutter, your thighs soaked with rafe's cum as it slides down from your pussy.

"pretty good, eh?" rafe asks, a low chuckle leaving his lips. "i like it messier, though."

"me too," you admit with a small smile, moving your messy hair out of your face.

"i like you," rafe says, lying down beside you. "maybe i should keep you around. what do you think about coming to wilmington with me?"

charm's notes:

first of all, tysm for reading! <3 i've been working on this for so long lmao. anyways, i have this thing on my blog called "horny hours" where you can hope into my inbox (anon is on, dw) and send me horny thoughts you may have about any of the obx boys! feel free to add links to pics/vids/whatever too! don't forget to read my request rules tho to know what i vibe with. lastly if you want to read more of my work, you can check out my masterlist for my previous works as well as others i'm working on.

©️ jjslaybank, 2024.

[misctf]

Country Living

When he stopped to help you on the side of this lonely country road, you couldn’t have been more grateful. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on these desolate backroads. Nor did you expect a lack of cell service. Your years studying in college didn’t exactly give you the knowledge on how to diagnose and fix cars. But based on all the smoke, you figured something was wrong.

“Aw, don't you worry none, I'm right happy to help y'all out.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his short brown hair, “Name’s Bucky. What brings y'all to this neck of the woods?”

He was certainly taller and more muscular than you- not to mention ripe with the smell of a hard day’s work. And you could tell he was looking you over, the juxtaposition couldn’t have been clearer. Country vs city boy, manual laborer vs keyboard warrior, dropped out of high school vs college educated. The list could go on. But despite the bias you held towards these country folks, you were happy he was helping. And so you introduced yourself and expressed your sincere gratitude. Bucky smiled and gave you a bone crushing handshake.

“Ain't no trouble at all, I'm just glad to help out.” He smiled warmly, his dark eyes, while lacking intelligence, were filled with kindness and just a bit of mischief.

He winks at you and you felt your heart flutter for just a moment. Maybe it was the way his stubble framed his tanned face. Or the way the sweat dripped from his muscular arms as he worked on your car. Or perhaps it was the occasional glances he gave you and the sly smirk that told you he knew you were checking him out.

“I reckon I know what's wrong. Just need to grab a tool from my garage.” He said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “You care to join me? Looks like you could use a sip of somethin’.”

It was true. In the sweltering heat, you were certainly thirsty. And while part of you wanted to stay with your car, you felt beckoned to go with him. And so you did. You climbed into his pick-up truck and watched as he revved the engine. And before long, you were cruising down the old country road with your car disappearing from sight.

“Well, dang if this ain't my favorite tune!” Bucky said, turning up the volume, “You figure you into this kinda music?”

It was some country song. One about cars, beer, and living on a farm. Not something you’d listen to voluntarily. But as Bucky sang in his southern twang, you found your foot tapping along. Soon you were mouthing the words, almost as if you knew the song by heart. And a moment later you joined in with him, the two of you putting your hearts into every lyric. You barely noticed the southern twang that garnished your voice.

“Well, I'll be darned! Can’t believe you like these kinda tunes. No offense intended, but you don't quite fit the mold, do ya?” He says with a chuckle.

Bucky gives your arm a playful punch and you look down at the exposed, tanned skin of your bicep. Your muscles were contracting and seemingly getting larger, highlighted nicely by the wifebeater that clung tightly to your skin. You look up at Bucky and he gives you a wink. Again, you feel comforted by his kind smile and playful dark eyes. You turn away and absentmindedly run a hand over your growing biceps. So firm and tight, the skin somewhat weathered. But deep down you know something isn’t right. Its nagging at you, begging for you to say something. To at least find out what’s happening to you. You want to tell Bucky, but he’s just pulled up to his garage.  

“Mind givin’ me a hand findin’ my toolkit?” Bucky asks. You nod quickly- your anxiety being pushed deep into your subconsciousness. And as Bucky enters the garage, he pulls off his sweaty wifebeater, “Don't pay me no mind, it sure gets mighty hot 'round these parts. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And you follow his example. As you do, you catch a whiff of your pits. The musk that invades your nostrils is a far cry from the vegan deodorant you applied this morning. Moreso, your usually well-trimmed pit hair is now a curly damp bush of dark brown hairs that poke out when you lower your arms. The smell makes you dizzy and you feel like you might fall over, but Bucky lends you a hand.

“Don’t go faintin’ on me now.” He says with a grin, “We got a lotta work to do.”

“Don't you worry 'bout me none, I got this here handled.” You say- the words leaving your mouth without much input from your brain. Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins.

“I shoulda known that.” His laugh fills your ears and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve heard. He notices you admiring him, “Gotta find those tools now.”

You nod and start rummaging through his garage and workbench. You pick up a wrench and place it down. Then another and another. You never really needed to learn basic mechanic stuff, let alone the names of wrenches. You were more focused on your degree. Your degree in... In...? You stare at the composite wrench in your hand and your eyes narrow. You were studying something at that univer... uni... book-learnin’ place of yours, right? Your thoughts are distracted when some oil spills on your hands.

“Gosh darnit.” You mutter, wiping the oil on your work jeans. Work jeans that were stained and torn from years of laboring.

You turn towards Bucky to say something, but instead find yourself gawking. His perfect stubble across his face, the sweat gleaming on his firm and toned muscles, and the way his chest hairs frame his pecs. Your dick gets hard and you quickly start to massage your bulge. And when you see how well his work jeans fit tightly around his juicy ass, you can’t but help let out a whistle.

“You say somethin’?” He asks, turning to face you, “Yeehaw! Look at you!” He says, clearly gawking.  

You turn to catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror and your eyes widen. You bounce your juicy pecs, appreciating the light dusting of hairs that decorate them. You raise your thick, meaty arm and flex, causing your muscles to bulge. And then you look at your face. It had squared out a bit, giving it a masculine edge and your cheeks now sported stubble. You felt powerful, and you couldn’t help but continue to flex.

“Hey there big fella.” You let out a masculine moan as Bucky comes from behind you, his arm reaching around, and his hand grabbing a fistful of your muscle tit, “You’re bigger’n a bull in springtime!” You just nod, unable to produce words as pleasure courses through you from his teasing hand, “It sure does get lonesome out here in these parts. Reckon I wouldn’t mind some company, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

He spins you around, your bodies pressing up against one another. His hand moves down your abs and then down your work jeans. He’s staring deep into your eyes now, a primal lust replacing the prior warmth from earlier. And for the first time, you feel lost. Scared even. As though you’re going down a path you wouldn’t be able to back away from. The end of one chapter of your life and the start of another you weren’t sure you wanted.

“Wait a minute... somethin’ don’t feel right. I... this ain’t who I am.” You say, unable to talk like you used to.

“Now, don’t go overthinkin’ it. Just keep your eyes on me.” Bucky whispered, his hands working to undo the buckle on your jeans.

You watch as he pulls down your pants and slowly gets down on his knees. Your enlarged, throbbing dick continues to grow, adding inch after inch. Bucky is nearly salivating as he comes face to face with your monster, and without another word, his tongue traces along the shaft. You moan as his mouth expertly works your cock. He bobs up and down, taking its entirety into his mouth. You feel as his hands wrap around your waist and he grabs a fistful of your muscular ass, causing you to let out another deep, masculine moan. You can feel your dick throbbing, your balls growing heavy with your seed. And as he expertly works the head of your cock, you can feel it. You’re getting close... so close. And then it stops. You’re breathing heavy now, and you look down at him. A sheen of sweat covers your body, dampening your body hair and filling the air with your country musk.

“Wh... why’d ya stop?” You breath out.

Bucky smirks, “You sure 'bout this, darlin’? Leavin’ behind all that city livin’ and book-learnin’? Just you and me, livin’ simple out here?” He licks along your shaft again, “Once you say yes, that’s it. No turnin’ back, no second thoughts. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Was this what he wanted? To bring you so close? To send you into a horny frenzy? To make it so that in this moment, all you’d be able to say was yes? With a smirk and a wink, he went back to sucking your cock. And as he did, you could feel it. You could feel your brain shrinking. Your memories growing up in suburbia vanished. As were your memories of going to college in the city. Nerdy interests like videogames and comic books vanished from your brain, and you felt terror as you forgot about your friends and family. Everything that made you you was vanishing from your mind. Instead, you could feel new interests: farming, hunting, woodworking, lifting weights, and drinking beer with your husband after a long day. Your fashion sense simplified: wifebeaters and work jeans, and honestly going shirtless was preferred. And as your eyes dimmed to reflect your lack of intelligence, and Bucky bobbed up and down on your dick, you finally came, releasing all of who you used to be. And as you filled your husband’s eager throat, you blacked out.

If someone told you who you used to be in your past life, I’m not sure you would go back. When the police came by a few days after your transformation with a missing persons poster of some kid, you had no idea who they were talking about. You quickly forgot all about that encounter. You had more important things like fixing the truck. But before you did that, you should check on Bucky. It’s been a few days, and your balls were mighty full.

[cherryredstars]

Hey sweetie hoping you're doing well

What about a college au where Miguel is a punk and reader is a smarty coquette? And Miguel is very teasing with her to catch her attention... Very enemies to lovers (with smut)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fluff, Penetrative Sex, Slight Mentions of Bondage

Summary: He loves how you wear your ribbons.

A/N: This request is so cutesy!! I hope you're doing well too, love!

Unedited

You hate him.

Which hurts you to say because you really do try your best not to hate anyone. But Miguel O'Hara makes it very easy to hate someone. You're just so tired of him! It's like he makes it his life mission to make you angry. Which makes you even more mad because he likes seeing you angry because he just loves making fun of how you look when you're mad!

He's always trying to annoy you. He finds it hilarious to pull on the ends of your bows, making them uneven and loose. You have to spend well over 5 minutes trying to fix your hair while he snickers about it. He's always pulling you back by tugging on your necklace of the day, maybe even pulling the ends of your styled hair. To him, there is always something nasty to point out about your carefully crafted outfits, let it be the quaint design, the ruffles, or even the freaking soft color of it. He finds some sick enjoyment in messing up your aesthetic notebooks and pens, removing the small decorations off of them when you're not looking or dirtying them with graphite stains. He always has to comment about something. He's making fun of the stuff he sees you liking on social media when he's being nosy. Has to tell you how utterly trash your music taste is as a Lana Del Ray song is sung under your breath. Can't let you have an ounce of peace when you talk about how badly you want the new Sonny Angels collection or looking for a specific Calico Critters set. Don't even get him started about all the pastel, cute items you have saved on Pinterest or on your home decor wish list.

But honestly, Miguel is a sucker for everything about you. He's constantly on his knees every time you walk into the lecture hall wearing your frilly skirts and dresses. Damn near collapses of a heart attack when he pulls on the silky bows in your hair or on your necklaces and the sweet smelling perfume you wear hits his nose. He's itching to steal one of your pens so he can have it everywhere he goes or taking a peak into your notebook to look at the dainty notes you are so concentrated on taking. He likes peering into your ribbon-filled world, trying to understand the 'relatable' posts you like about your favorite things. His browsing history is of the little toys you keep mentioning, an occasional search for room decor breaking the stream of Sonny Angels links. He has that one Lana Del Ray Album that you keep singing saved to his music app, and he much prefers your covers.

He finds luck where you find despair. While he loves the fact your professors always pair you two together because of your smarts, you find dread in knowing you can't escape him throughout the weekdays. You always have a pout on your glossy lips as you reluctantly take your seat next to him, your tote bag falling on the long desks with a thump to further emphasize your mood. It makes him chuckle, seeing your obvious dislike of being around him. It makes his heart skip a beat every time you turn to him, warning him in a low whisper to not get on your nerves today. In turn, he should be telling you not to distract him. He can't count how many times he's stopped paying attention to the lecture because he's watching you reapply your lip gloss or fix your hair from the corner of his eye. He's paralyzed for a good minute when you spray your perfume, leaning his arm the slightest bit out so the smell can cling to his leather jacket throughout the day.

But he finds himself the luckiest when he's walking through your dorm room for a project, taking in the distinct smell of you and a room that looks exactly like your Pinterest boards. He isn't exactly sure how it happens, but one second your notebooks are sprayed out against the covers of your bed, and the next they're a crumpled mess on your floor as he has you pinned under him. Your soft bed sheets have nothing on your skin as his rough hands travel up your legs and arms, pulling down the straps of your dress and untying them from the back. He's never been more in love with your bows than the moment your dress slips off your body to reveal the small bows decorating your underwear. It makes him groan as he slips them off your body, making a mental note to please take them home with him when he's done.

As much as he loves the ribbons in your hair, he can't help but think how pretty you look when your hair falls around your shoulders. He much prefers the look of the silk ribbon around your wrists, making sure the ends are even and the bow is tied in perfect loops. Your glossy lips look divine as they drop open in a moan as he pushes into your tight cunt, obsessed with the way your walls pulsate around his leaking cock. And the way you call out his name in that wobbly tone, so different from the low hisses you usually give him, has him gritting his teeth to will himself not to shoot his load so soon. His mind is as loopy as your bows when he buries his face in your neck, huffing at the smell of vanilla cherry and sweat and sex on your skin. He feels like he's in paradise, and even the low tones of Lana's voice filling the room doesn't take away anything from the moment.

Don't question him when that pink ribbon around your wrists goes missing after this, because there is no way in hell he isn't taking that home with him too.

Part 2 Part 3

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 4 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one two three

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: the date you've been waiting for dreading.

a/n: so i did the thing again where i dissapeared lol but IM BACK plz enjoy my offering

you get home safely, with soap, and you don't say a singular word. just kind of dumbly stare out the window and then at him when he helps you out of the car and into your house.

you can't stop thinking about ghost, and the fact that you quite literally cornered yourself into going on a date with your stalker

you really chalk it up to having some type of third response to danger, fight, flight or say the most ridiculous thing you possibly can. obviously you chose the third.

you go to bed that night with your cat in your arms, as if they can protect you from you're own stupid decision. you're shivering no matter how warm you try to get, and your cat throws you irritated side eyes.

you wake up with no sign of ghost. no calls, no texts, no emails. you try not to think about if he was in the house while you slept, like he had been before.

you try to have a normal day, but you're plagued with anxiety and anticipation

you decide to go outside, walk to the little coffee shop that's nearby to get fresh air and be somewhere you knew ghost hadn't been

you spend a few hours out, window shopping and trying to clear your head. you head back when the sun starts to go down, not keen on being out after dark.

what you come back to is almost comical.

you stumble through the door, eyes snapping to the huge figure in your kitchen. he turns around suddenly, and your cat is in his arms, rubbing her face against his mask. you only see it for half a second before he's setting them on the counter faster than you can blink. your cat lets out an irritated meow, and somehow even through the mask, ghost looks guilty

you laugh, you honest to god laugh. "oh my god. you fucking traitor." you whisper at your cat, trying to suppress your giggles. yeah, add this to the list of danger responses.

ghost straightens, and then you notice your surroundings. there's roses in a vase on your table, and he's cooking, there's at least 3 different pans and it smells incredible and you're dumbfounded. you stare at him, unable to say anything.

"welcome to your date love." he turns back to the stove, and you're grateful, because you feel like you can't move while he's looking. like one wrong move will make him snap and your worst nightmares will come true. you keep reminding yourself that nothing has happened before, and you take a seat in the chair at the table closest to the door.

"um, the roses are nice." you can see him cooking at this angle. "glad you like 'em. dinner will be done in a few." he doesn't turn around. he doesn't know how this will go, he's expecting you to run out at any moment, screaming bloody murder. he's trying to help you feel safe by turning his back, giving you the upper hand (or at least the illusion of the upper hand).

underneath that worry though, ghost was thriving in this scenario. it was like watching all of his fantasies come true, he couldn't help but preen under your compliment, and the ability to show you he can provide

you're still a little in shock. you don't say anything as ghost serves you dinner, your favorite, not surprising. you watch as he rolls up his mask, and takes a bite. it still doesn't convince you of the possibility of it being drugged.

"it's alright dove, not 'ere to hurt you, just 'ere to give you the date i promised." as he says it, your cat jumps onto the table, knocking over a glass of water. ghost stands, and looks down to find all the water had made it directly into his lap.

you find yourself laughing for the second time of the night. here your stalker is, looking like he peed himself. he chuckles himself, and you have to look away when you see his lopsided smile. you stand and grab a towel, temporarily forgetting the situation you were in. it was way too easy to see this as a real first date, awkward parts and all.

"thanks." he sits back down, clearing his throat. the proximity to you was intoxicating, but he was still worried about running you off.

you sit back down too, and take and slowly take a bite of the food. it's delicious, and you still can't believe the absurdity of the situation. "this is really great ghost. really." your voice is small, and music to his ears.

"thank you. m'sorry about breaking in. swear 'm just trying to make your life easier."

you decide to start testing boundaries, as one would. "maybe, since this is going... okay, you can stop coming in when i don't know? like maybe we can just keep doing this every once in a while?" damage control is all you can think of.

ghost thinks for a moment. "i dunno about that one love. how 'bout i give you a heads up when i do come in?"

"no more coming in here while i'm sleeping. and you still have to tell me when you're in my house."

"alright," he crosses his arm and leans back on the chair. do you hate how big he is because you're scared, or because you secretly like it? "i tell you when i come over, and no more coming in at night. but you 'ave to promise me one date a week."

you can't believe you're negotiating with this man. "okay." you concede.

he smiles and pulls his mask back down. he makes his way over to you, stroking your hair for half a second before clearing your plate. "look at us. arguing like a proper old couple already. "

as he does the dishes, you ask him more questions. he's answers as truthfully as he can, leaving out details here and there. no need to startle you.

you learn he was in the military, that the two men are some of the only people he's close with, that he trusts. besides you, of course. you feel like he throws that in to tell you to be wary of using this information against him.

from what you can tell, this is just a severely damaged man. the actions he was taking against you was just his reaction to loneliness, and his need to provide.

against your will, you feel the need to help him fill that hole. the need to tread lightly dissipates by the minute, and against your better judgement, you find yourself enjoying his company. and hey, he made dinner and did the dishes. that has to speak to his character somehow

later, he grabs your hand and runs rough fingers over your soft knuckles. promises he'll call, and then leaves.

and you're left alone, forced to do what you've done a lot lately; ponder your life decisions, and think about the large, surprisingly harmless stalker of yours..