#i teared up when i thought Charles died

[ineffablesteampunkcrow]

Me realizing I have to wait a whole week for the next episode to find out if Oliver is okay or not

[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.

[pastrymechanic]

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘༘ watching from heaven

➯ hervé leclerc, jules bianchi, and you watch the 2024 monaco grand prix from heaven and you cheer for charles when he finally crosses that finish line first.

➯ i got this idea the night after monaco, it came to me in a dream and i couldn’t wait to write it, it is a bit short because it’s all i could do but i still hope you enjoy it.

➯ warnings: reader, hervé leclerc, and jules bianchi are deceased and in heaven, no details of how they died.

➯ pairing: charles leclerc x fem!angel!reader

you watched through the sunlit clouds as charles leads the race with 2 laps left. his gap was eight seconds and you couldn’t be prouder as you held onto jules’ arm tightly nerves filling your stomach even though you knew he could do it.

“oh he’s going to do it. hervé, jules he’s finally going to do it,” you could already feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. the clouds were soft under your fingers as you all inched closer to the edge as charles took each corner and turn with ease and precision.

you looked to your sides at the two men’s silence and you noticed the tears falling down hervé’s face as jules just sniffled slightly.

you watched closely as he took the final lap on, seconds ahead of everyone else you could feel the excitement spreading around monte-carlo as everyone prepared for the man’s first home win. as he crossed that line the tears poured out from your eyes and fell through the soft clouds you three were knelt on.

jules pulled you close in a hug as you sobbed into his chest and he held hervé on his other side.

“oh he did it. he finally did it,” you cried to the boys and they just hummed in agreement.

after a few minutes you all parted to look down at the celebrations beginning for your boy. you watched as he approached the camera for his interview, tears staining his cheeks as he looked around at the celebrations for him in awe.

“so charles how are you feeling?” jenson began, letting charles take in the moment before he started talking about the race and then he begin to talk about his last laps.

“the last laps i was really thinking to my dad, jules, and y/n. um they all supported me so much when they were here and my dad gave up so much for this,” you watched as a tear rolled down your beloved past boyfriend’s face.

“i’d do it all over again for him,” you heard hervé whisper to you both, emotions of everything that has happened in all your lives hitting him hard.

“i wish we could be there with him,” the older leclerc continued, wiping at his eyes with his hands gently before laughing at the thought.

“we’re with him. just a little higher,” you told them both as you watched charles climb up onto that top step with pride in his heart and you swear when he looked up to sky you looked right into his eyes and him into yours and the smile that overtook his face made everything you had been through, on the ground and in the sky worth it. sure you wished you could be down there with him but if you couldn’t watching from the clouds as a angel was just as good.

his eyes flicked from you to jules, a sad smile taking over his face before he looked at hervé, the man who had raised him and who he had told he had made it before he did. but here he was, finally making it at monaco and he was glad you three were watching from above as the monégasque anthem played from below you three sang along. you couldn’t join the celebrations fully but knowing charles had seen you all even for a minute, whether he thought it was real or not was all you all needed. and charles needed it just as much.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Eternal Hell

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, abuse (physical, emotional, and mental), being kidnapped and a prisoner for a man, murder, slight gore

Summary: You’ve been living in your own personal hell with no way out. Until you meet Dean. Dean can make it better.

Square Filled: trauma (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“How about this one? I know you like the way I make them,” you say and hold up two packets of steaks.

“Sure,” he says distractedly.

You snap your mouth shut and put the steaks into the basket. You look at the end of the aisle and see a family of four doing their shopping. Two adults and two teenagers. It would be so easy to go to them. All you have to do is tell them what’s going on and you’d be free. That is, if they believed you.

That’s what’s stopping you. You almost didn’t survive the last time you pissed off Charles.

Ten years ago, your world was turned upside down. Ten years ago, you lost all the freedom you had. Ten years ago, you were taken from your family by a stranger. Charles grabs the cart and yanks it toward him to put some hamburger meat into the basket. He starts walking toward the dairy aisle and you follow like a good little girl. He used to keep you glued to his side in the beginning but he knows you won’t say anything now.

You’ve spent ten years with him. You would have tried something before.

If only you were so scared.

The last time you tried to escaped almost cost you your life. You gained a bit of freedom enough to go with him on small errands. You wrote something down and tried handing it to a waiter when Charles caught you. To say he was pissed was an understatment. He beat you so badly when you got home that you had broken bones and you were swollen for months afterwards. You almost died that night, and you haven’t tried to escape since.

That was eight years ago.

Now you go to bed praying that someone will see that something isn’t right. That someone will see the helplessness in your eyes and will do something about it. No one has. Now, you go to bed and hope that one day he’ll accidentally kill you and free your soul instead.

“Grab bread.”

“Okay.”

You leave his side and walk down the aisle to where the bread is. He’ll let you roam the aisle by yourself, but you can’t go to the next one without him. He doesn’t trust you that much. You grab the one that he likes that you think is disgusting and turn to head back to him. You’re not paying attention to where you’re going and end up crashing into a hard wall of muscle. Whoever it is grabs your waist to steady you, and you look into the greenest green eyes you have ever seen.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

You pull away from the man before Charles can see.

“No, it’s mine. I was looking at my phone.” He looks you up and down and takes a step back. “Are you okay? You look scared.”

“No, I’m not,” you say. I’m okay. Sorry again.”

You tense when you feel him coming. You just have a sixth sense about this nowadays. You almost break down in tears when you feel him at your back.

“Y/N, I was waiting for you,” Charles says.

“Sorry,” you mutter and look down.

The stranger looks at you and then at Charles before holding out his hand. “Hey, I’m Dean.”

“Charles.” He shakes Dean’s hand. “Sorry, We’d love to stay and chat but we have a huge dinner to make. Family is coming over. You know how it is,” he chuckles.

“Oh, yeah. Again, sorry for running into you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too,” you mutter.

Charles wraps his arm around your shoulder and guides you away from the nice man. The second you two are turned away from him, his grip on your body tightens. It’s taking everything in you not to break down crying because you know what’s coming when you get home.

It came and you thought you were prepared for it. Charles more or less sticks to the same things whenever he punishes you, but last night was different. He almost broke your nose. After the last time he broke your bones, you had to go to the hospital and he barely got away with a false explanation. He doesn’t care if he leaves bruises in places others can see. Whenever he punishes you, your privileges are taken and you’re forced to stay inside the house or inside the gated front area.

You stand in front of the mirror the next day dabbing your makeup sponge delicately on your skin. You’d cry if you didn’t already waste them all last night. No one is coming to save you. You’ve been damned for all eternity. Meeting Dean yesterday gave you the most hope you’ve had in years until it was yanked from you.

Despite what he’s done to you, you still have your daily chores to do. Only once did you make that mistake of not doing them.

Charles is sitting on the couch in the open living room so he can watch you do the chores while still keeping an eye on his show. You don’t get TV privileges until after your chores are done, however after yesterday’s incident, you probably won’t get to watch TV for a while.

After two hours of grueling inside chores, you move onto the outside ones. Charles loves a clean yard so you get to work on the garden first. If you had to take anything away from the past decade is the gardening. You love ebing in nature and getting your hands dirty. Gardening is the only time when you’re happy.

He won’t let you come in unless it looks good, so you try to prolong this for as long as possible.

You look up and see Charles standing by the window watching you, always a reminder that he is never going anywhere. You grab the rake and start cleaning the yard when you hear your name. You turn to see Dean walking down the sidewalk toward your house.

“Dean,” you stutter. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and I saw you just now.”

“Look, I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Yeah, no, I get it. Look, I don’t know if that man is your boyfriend or not but if not, I’d like to get a drink with you or something.”

“No. Leave me alone,” you say harshly with desperation in your voice. Dean looks taken aback by your tone and you sigh. “I’m doing it to protect you.”

“From what?”

Without saying anything, you look at Charles who is still standing in the window looking down at you. You. Not Dean. Dean follows your line of sight and see Charles almost glaring.

“He’ll kill you,” you whisper as if Charles can hear you. “Just leave while you can.”

“Okay, I’ll go.”

He walks off without another word, and Charlies immediately walks out of the house with purpose.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Nothing, darling. I told him that I was married and he should go. He did. Nothing happened. I promise.”

Thank the stars that he believes you. He watches Dean walk off until he is no longer visible. He barely looks at you and turns back to the house.

“Hurry up out here and come inside.”

“Okay.”

Night comes too quickly, and you’re lying in bed next to Charles. Sleep doesn’t come easy for you these days and hasn’t since you were taken. Charles snores next to you making you believe he is awake. If he so much as feels you get out of bed, he will spring up so fast that you think he’s pretending to sleep.

After staring at the ceiling in the dark for so long, you eventually find sleep.

After what feels like minutes but is probably hours, you wake up in pitch black darkness. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness so you can see silhouettes of things. Your heart pounds but you don’t know why. Something woke you up, not physically but psychologically. Something isn’t right. You shift on the bed but when you put your hand down, you feel a thick wetness.

You reach over with your right hand and turn the light on to see what you touched. Dark red liquid covers every inch of your hand, and you go rigid. You’re terrified to look next to you. As slowly as possible, you look at Charles’ side to see a horrifying sight. Charles is lying in a pool of his own blood with half of his face cut off.

You scream as loud as you can and fall off the bed from scrambling away from him. You look around the room frantically and notice a piece of paper on the back of the door. You pull yourself onto shaky legs and walk to the door as if someone is going to jump out from behind it and kill you.

I saw the fear in your eyes. I take care of monsters like him. If you ever need anything, call me. - Dean

On the note is a number. You look back at Charles who lies unmoving. This is it. This is what you’ve been praying about. You can either go back to your family and start fresh knowing you’re not tied down to anyone.

Either way, you’re free.

x

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[darnell-la]

𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗚𝗢 𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗟𝗟 𝗛𝗨𝗥𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥

pairing: traumatized & emotional!logan howlett x mutant close friend!reader

warnings: heavy drinking, growing close, therapist friend, emotions, nightmares, a lot of blood, panicking, near death, regeneration, confessions, kisses, realization, conclusion, etc.

summary: after an unexpected night, Logan realizes the danger he is for sticking to the past. he had to learn to let go of the evil that never was right for him.

note: this story has NO SMUT, but we got Logan who’s an emotional mess and breaks apart after injuring y/n on a mistake.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

When Jean died, y/n was the only one there for Logan. The x men couldn’t see the pain he was in, but she could. When she’d make her nightly routine to get water from the kitchen, he’d be down there passed out on one of the kitchen chairs, or drinking until he got to that point.

Y/n would pass by him for weeks. They soon became a couple of months, but after a while, she felt bad. He wasn’t keeping himself up and any time he spoke to the crew, he had an attitude and was drunk.

Charles had banned him on missions until he got sober, but that wasn’t happening any time soon.

It took a while for y/n to talk to Logan without him pushing her away. One night he was crying in the living, and she walked in.

The woman sat next to him and softly patted his knee, trying to do something to calm him down. Before she knew it, the man pulled her into a tight hug as he sobbed.

That night he poured his heart out to y/n. She had to tell him that what he did to Jean wasn’t his fault and it had to be done. She asked, “How do you think Scott felt when he thought she was gone?”

Logan knew Jean, but she was confused about why her death hit him so hard. He explained that everyone he cares for eventually dies. He said he was cursed.

For the past year, y/n has worked with Logan almost daily as a side therapist. Some days she’ll have to force him to talk while others, he comes to her.

They grew close, now fighting by each other’s side, rarely being seen without the other, having their drinking nights and sometimes falling asleep together on the couch.

Logan would be the first to wake up, so he’d carry the young woman to her bed. The first several times, he would leave to his own, then after, he’d stay and sleep on her sofa.

“Jean?” Logan asked as he turned around in his bed, seeing the woman he killed, lying next to him in a white nightgown. “Is that really you?” He asked as he sat up, hand instantly rubbing her cheek.

“Yes,” her voice seemed low as her eyes stared into his. “I-I’m sorry, Jean,” Logan’s eyes began to tear up. “Please stay. I promise I won’t hurt you or anyone else again,” he begged.

Jean leaned into the man’s ear with a slight smirk and blinked slowly. “Too late,” she said. Logan had felt his hand tingle. He was confused until he looked down, seeing his claws inside of the woman’s stomach.

“No, Jean!” He yelled. There was a huge poodle of blood. “Jean, please, no!” He pulled his claws away before pushing down on her stomach. “You were born to hurt people,” she spoke before her eyes darkened.

Logan hated her hateful words. After she came back the last time, she’s been hurtful.

Jean’s mouth opened, now screaming at Logan’s face, making him close his eyes. “Logan,” I voice called which seemed so far. “L-Logan,” y/n choked as her hand wrapped around his wrists tighter, trying to wake him up.

Logan’s eyes slowly opened, realizing he was in a dream. “Logan,” y/n could barely speak as the blood in her throat began to form. The man looked down seeing his class in her stomach.

“No,” he spoke low, not believing it at first until her fingers slowly slipped from his wrists. Y/n’s body leaned back, about to crash onto the floor until Logan held her up with his arms.

“No — Y/n I-“ his words got stuck in his throat. He’s never done this to anyone before, and that someone had to be y/n. “Y/n, stay up,” the man’s hands now pressed on her stomach.

“O-Okay,” she looked into the man’s eyes as she tried breathing. The blood made it hard, and he knew that. Logan looked around the room, looking at a place to place her so he could go run for help.

“C’mon,” Logan got up, carrying the girl in bridal style for only a few seconds until he laid her on her bed. He had fallen asleep on her sofa again. Now he was regretting showing this little detailed affection towards her. If he just left her downstairs and went to his own bed, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Fuck- Why did you come near me. You know how I can get,” scared tears started slipping down Logan’s cheeks. How could he do this? To her or all people. “W-Wanted to h-help,” y/n has never sounded worse in her life.

“Shit- I-I need to get help,” Logan said before yelling through the house for Storm and Hank. “Storm! Hank!” Logan ran downstairs since that’s where their rooms are at.

“God,” Hank yanked in annoyance as Storm rushed out of her room. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Storm asked, not too worried until he looked down at his fist. It was covered in blood along with a few splatters on his white tank top and thick blue jeans.

“What the hell happened!?” Hank’s body froze. “Y/n, she was- She came up to me while I was sleep a-and I had a dream. A-A very bad dream and I stuck Jean but when I woke up-“ he tried finishing.

“You stuck her,” Storm imagined. Storm remembers when he stuck Rachel on her shoulder, but it has to be worse if that much blood is on his hands and he’s shaking.

“You stuck Jean?” Hank asked as Storm and Logan began jogging back upstairs. “No! No, it was a dream. A very bad fucking dream,”

“Where is she? In your room? Why was she in your room?” Storm grabbed Logan’s door handle until he stopped her. “No, she’s in hers,” he said before taking a deep breath, admitting that he was in her room.

“What?” She asked as she sped over across the hall to hers. “A-After we pass out on the couch, I’m usually the one who wakes up first so I- I carry her to her bed and pass out on her sofa,”

Storm sped through y/n’s open room door and gasped at the sight of her. Her middle body was covered in blood and her head was tilted to the side with her eyes closed. She looked lifeless.

“N-No, no!” Logan ran over to her to put pressure on the wound. “I told you to put pressure on the wound, y/n!” He yelled as he used one hand to slap at her face, he she wouldn’t wake up.

“How bad does it look- Oh fuck,” Hank quickly ran over to y/n. The man pressed his two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse, and he got one. A very slow and weak pulse.

“She’s still alive, but she needs to go to the lab. Now!” Logan quickly picked Y/n up, now running through the mansion as kids came out of their rooms. “I’ll get the kids back to bed,” Storm stated back to do her job.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this to me, please,” Logan could feel his heart rate rise as her body felt slumped. She gave no sign of any form of life.

“Place her on here, quickly,” Hank tapped the medical bed, and Logan did as told. “I’m going to have to sedate her before I work on her — I don’t think you should be in here for this,” Hank suggested.

“Why not!? I did this to her, so f-fuck how I feel about seeing you cut her open. I’m the one that stabbed her!” Logan felt all different emotions. He couldn’t help it.

“It’s not for your sake, it’s for mine. She’s my friend too, and I want to concentrate and keep her alive,” Hank said. “No, no — I-I can’t leave her. I don’t want to leave her!”

Logan shook his head side from side, refusing to leave. He has nothing else to do. He’d only be somewhere stressed and waiting for Hank to come to him with bad news.

“Logan — I’ve got this. But I need my space,” Hank said low as he touched Logan’s shoulder to calm the man down who was looking down at y/n with tears. The white nightgown was soaked in blood. She was losing so much.

“I-I’ll be back, y/n. Please don’t do this time me,” Logan tightly gripped the unconscious girl's hand, raising it to his mouth before he gave her a peck.

“Did she make it? Is she alive!?” Logan quickly got up as the door to his lab opened. The man sat there all night. Hank slowly walked out of the lab without saying a word.

“What? What, is she- D-Did I kill her? Is she dead!?” Logan felt his heart sink as he kept walking towards the man. “No — She’s actually just fine,” Hank spoke as y/n walked through the lab doors.

She had a medical gown on and looked healthier than ever.

Logan ran over to the girl and picked her up to hug her tightly as he cried in her neck. “I’m so sorry!” He sobbed as his fingers gripped her body, not wanting to let her go.

“It’s not your fault, Logan. Things happen, and I don’t want to hear otherwise,” she said, seeing his mouth open to argue. “You saved my life. That’s all you need to think about,”

Logan was lost for words as he placed y/n down. He couldn’t argue, and she looked alive. She was alive.

The man grabbed the girl's face a bit rough as he pulled her into a long and passionate kiss that was followed with apologies. Y/n’s soft hands grabbed his cheeks as well, pulling him in closer.

“No thanks to me, I guess,” Hank said as the two laughed in between their kiss. “Thank you, Hank,” Y/n pulled away from Logan and looked at the man who barely had to do anything.

“I’m completely joking. I barely had to do anything anyways,” Hank said which confused Logan. “What are you talking about?” Logan asked as he placed his hand over y/n’s wounds that he couldn’t feel. He thought the gown was in the way until he lifted the gown up to see no marks. Just her in a pair of medical tights.

“She regenerates, Logan. Just like you! — So perfect for each other,” Hank rubbed his hands together in excitement. “It only took awhile I’m guessing because this was the first time her skin was broken that bad,”

“I’m so sorry about that, y/n,” Logan instantly felt bad again. “No apologizing. I’m here now,” y/n softly grabbed Logan’s face again. “With me,” he added before kissing her again, but this time more passionately.

After that day, Logan and y/n built their relationship. He wasn’t so sure at first, but he couldn’t ignore the feelings he had grown for her. All the times he wanted to tell her this wouldn’t work, those pretty eyes would make him forget was he was going to tell her.

Logan has only had one nightmare after the night he almost killed y/n. He was furious when he saw Jean. She killed Scott, she killed Charles and almost had y/n killed.

He soon realized that women were never for him. He just grew feelings from the competition between him and Scott, but now that he’s gone, Logan couldn’t forgive and forget what she’s done.

It took a while for Logan to let Y/n lay in the same bed as him, but after she snuck into his room one night and he woke up to her wrapped around him peacefully — he couldn’t deny it anymore.

[hurtblossom]

Back to black cl16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader

Summary: She goes back to black

Warning: angst, alcohol, tears, the use of "I"

Amy Winehouse Back to black

Masterlist

The apartment was eerily quiet as I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the packed suitcase by the door. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Charles stood by the window, his back to me, his shoulders tense as if he was holding back everything he wanted to say. Or maybe everything he didn’t.

"It's over, Y/N," he finally said, his voice hollow. "This… we can't keep doing this to each other."

I knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. My heart ached as I fought to keep the tears at bay. “You’re going back to her, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond right away, but the silence was all the answer I needed. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes were filled with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, maybe. But it didn’t matter anymore.

"We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times," I whispered, the lyrics of the song that had been haunting me for days spilling out before I could stop them.

Charles took a step toward me, but I held up my hand, stopping him. "Just go," I said, my voice trembling. “Go back to her.”

And he did. Without another word, he picked up his jacket and walked out of the door, leaving me alone in the darkness. I sat there, frozen, until I heard the sound of his car driving away. Only then did I allow myself to cry, the tears falling freely as I curled up on the bed, clutching the pillow that still smelled like him.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Months passed, but the pain didn’t lessen. I moved through life like a ghost, going through the motions but never truly feeling anything. The apartment felt like a tomb, filled with memories of him, of us. I had tried to get rid of them, to pack away the photos, the little trinkets we had collected over the years. But it didn’t help. Everywhere I looked, I saw him.

"I kept my head high, and my tears dry," I whispered to myself one night, sitting on the floor of the living room with a bottle of wine in my hand. The song played softly in the background, echoing my thoughts. But the truth was, I didn’t feel strong. I felt empty, like the part of me that had loved Charles so deeply had been ripped out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

People told me to move on, to find someone else, but how could I? "You go back to her, and I go back to black," I sang softly, feeling the weight of those words more than ever. Black was all I had now—black nights, black days, a black heart.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The first time I saw Charles again after the breakup, it was like being stabbed in the chest. We were at a charity event, and I had been dreading the possibility of running into him, but there he was, across the room, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever. And she was with him. The girl he had left me for. The one he had gone back to.

My heart clenched painfully as I watched them together. They looked… happy. He looked happy. I wanted to tear my eyes away, to leave, but I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot, my mind replaying every moment we had shared, every promise he had made.

"He left no time to regret, kept his dick wet with his same old safe bet," the lyrics played in my mind, and I had to fight back the urge to scream. I knew it wasn’t fair to think of him that way, but the anger, the pain, it was all-consuming.

He noticed me then, his eyes locking onto mine from across the room. For a brief moment, everything else faded away. It was just us, just Charles and Y/N, as if nothing had changed. But then she touched his arm, and he looked away, a flicker of guilt passing over his face.

I couldn’t stay. I turned on my heel and walked out of the event, the weight of the past dragging me down with every step. I ended up back at my apartment, the only place where I could let the tears fall without judgment. But even then, the emptiness remained, like a gaping hole in my chest.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

I had tried to move on. I really had. But nothing worked. Not the late nights out with friends, not the meaningless dates, not the distractions I filled my life with. I was still in love with him, still drowning in the sea of what we used to be.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, I did something I promised myself I would never do—I called him. The phone rang once, twice, and then he answered.

“Y/N?” His voice was filled with surprise, maybe even a little concern. It was the first time we had spoken since that night, and hearing his voice again was like a punch to the gut.

"I go back to us," I whispered, not knowing what else to say. The lyrics of the song played in the background, a painful reminder of everything I was trying to escape.

“Y/N, why are you calling?” His tone was cautious, and I hated it. I hated that he felt like he had to walk on eggshells around me.

“I miss you,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I miss us, Charles. I can’t… I can’t let go.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, I let myself hope. Hope that he would say he missed me too, that he was wrong to leave, that we could try again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, but firm.

“Y/N, I’m with her now. You need to let go.”

And just like that, the hope shattered, leaving me with nothing but the cold, hard truth. He wasn’t coming back. He had moved on, and I was still stuck in the past.

“I know,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I just… I just needed to hear it.”

“Take care, Y/N,” he said softly, and then the line went dead.

I dropped the phone, my body shaking with sobs as I curled up on the couch. "We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times," I repeated, the words a bitter comfort.

Charles was gone. He had made his choice, and it wasn’t me. And now, all I had left was the darkness, the endless black that had become my life. I didn’t know how to move forward, how to find the light again. All I knew was that I was still in love with him, and that love was destroying me.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The holidays came and went, but they felt meaningless. I went through the motions, smiled when I was supposed to, but inside, I was still lost. My friends and family noticed the change in me, the way I had retreated into myself, but they didn’t know how to help. How could they, when I didn’t even know how to help myself?

Charles and Alexandra were everywhere—on social media, in the news, at events. Every time I saw a picture of them together, it was like another piece of my heart was ripped away. They were happy, and I was still drowning.

I tried to find solace in the things that used to bring me joy, but nothing worked. The world felt colorless, empty. I was stuck in a loop, going back to the memories of us, back to the pain, back to the black.

"He left no time to regret," I sang softly to myself one night, sitting by the window with a glass of wine in hand. "We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times."

And that was the truth. I had died a hundred times since Charles left, and every time I tried to pick up the pieces, they slipped through my fingers, leaving me more broken than before.

As the year came to a close, I realized that I had to find a way to move on, to let go of the love that was tearing me apart. But how could I, when every fiber of my being still belonged to him?

"I go back to black," I whispered into the darkness, the words hanging heavy in the air. I didn’t know how to move forward, but I knew one thing—I couldn’t keep going back to him. Not anymore.

So I stood up, walked to the mirror, and stared at the reflection of the woman I had become—hollow, broken, but still standing. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself. I would find a way to heal, to move on, even if it meant starting from scratch. Even if it meant walking away from the only love I had ever known.

Because I deserved more than the blackness that had consumed me. I deserved a life filled with color, with light, with love—love that wasn’t tied to the past, but to the future.

And maybe, just maybe, one day I would find that love. But until then, I would keep moving forward, one step at a time, until the black was nothing more than a distant memory.

lando's version

let me know if i should do a second part xx

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - 'HELL'

A/N: And here I am, still writing and I am here for it. I am actually trying a lot here.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: mentions of blood and torture

Summary: Y/N shares how she escaped 'hell'.

Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story includes mentions of abuse.

Words: 4300+

Important note: Again, Logan is a tall MF, because they fucked up in the movies. Also, Hugh Jackman!Wolverine.

A TOUCH OF HOPE MASTERLIST | Chapter One

LOGAN HOWLETT - 'HELL'

Y/N was lying on the grass, enjoying the warm sunlight rays. Her right hand was in the air as she tried to make the force come out in a ball-shaped form. She finally made some progress.

Charles helped her train in his office. He aimed to teach her to make a protective shield around another person. Two weeks in, she made some progress. But the goal was still far away. On the other hand, she did learn something new. 

The ball-shaped forcefields were bewitching. Y/N could admire her power up close. It was a thin blue layer of radiant energy with a hint of silver sparkles. Beautiful. She hoped to get better and become useful. Now, she had the chance after all those years. It brought tears to her eyes for many reasons. 

If only I could get you out. 

The nightmares appeared every night. They changed, playing twisted games in her sleep. It was hard to close her eyes. Her past, her present, it all got mixed. They were suffocating her. And his face kept coming back to her. 

“How’s it going with her training?” Hank asked the Professor. He was standing at the window, watching Y/N in the distance from the office. 

Some of the teachers, the X-Men, were present, discussing the newest addition. The last one who entered the conversation was Logan, smoking his cigar. One look from the Professor, and he extinguished it against his palm. He gritted his teeth when he felt the burning sensation on his palm.

“She’s making progress,” said Charles with a smile. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

Storm walked to a window, watching the kids enjoy the sunny afternoon outside. And there, far away, she noticed Y/N practising her little forcefields. “Her ability is convenient, powerful. She would be great on missions.” 

“That is the plan. I want Y/N to be able to protect other people, too. She can create the forcefield around herself and in smaller forms. It might take us more time before she reaches her goal,” said Charles. 

“I don’t like her,” Scott confessed to them. “There’s something off about her.” Everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“What, that she doesn’t want to let anyone in because she doesn’t trust easily?” Storm glared at her friend. 

“She’s not telling us something.” 

“Would you tell your life story to a group of strangers you know for two weeks?” Kitty added. “If there is something off about her, the Professor would tell us.” 

Charles sighed and turned to his friends. “There is something I need you all to know.” 

“He, there it is,” Scott grinned. 

That single sentence got everyone’s attention. Charles wheeled into the middle of the room, eyes looking at every person present. Logan frowned. Storm was intrigued, and others kept their faces neutral. 

“Years ago, when I had been searching for more mutants, I managed to find Y/N. At that time, she was a teen who happened to discover her mutation. The plan was to bring her here. I wanted to send Hank to get her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Logan asked. 

The Professor sighed. “She kept slipping off.” 

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, confused. 

“When I wanted to find her location, she was nowhere to be found. Not as a mutant or a human,” Charles explained. “I thought she died. And then, months later, I stumbled upon her again. As I tried to reach her, she slipped again.”

“Oh, right,” Hank said. “I remember you thought there was something wrong with Cerebro.” 

“The Cerebro was fine. Until this day, I have no idea how it kept happening.” 

“So, she’s a telepath?” Bobby asked. 

Charles shook his head. “There was a time when I believed she was. It would make perfect sense. Only strong telepaths can shut their minds. That would explain why I couldn’t reach her.” 

“So, when you saw her the first time since Logan brought her, you knew who she was. You didn’t need to read her mind?” Storm chimed in. Her eyes kept staring at the Professor.

“That is true. However,” Charles turned to face Logan. “The fact that you found her was a mere coincidence. You two happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 

He didn’t comment on it, only shook his head in disbelief. “Is that all, Charles? Or is there more to this story?” He suspected that the Professor wasn’t telling them the whole truth. 

“This is all you need to know, now.” 

Groans echoed around the office. That answer didn’t bring enough satisfaction. What was he not telling them? Logan was ready to push his buttons. He needed to know more. Everyone deserved the truth. With a sigh, he stood back. “Why so mysterious?” 

“I will tell you more once I have more answers,” said Charles calmly. “For now, all we need to do is to help her train. She wants to be better. She suffered enough, and she wants to turn her life upside down.” 

“She asked you not to read her mind,” Jean raised a brow. 

“I don’t need to read her mind. We talk a lot when I teach her. I promised not to look in. When I met her, it all came screaming at me. All you need to know is I trust her.”

Scott scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it?”

The meeting ended shortly after that. Everyone dispersed around the school. Logan’s legs brought him outside, his eyes quickly finding the young woman far away, resting on the grass. 

For the last two weeks, he didn’t talk to her much or see her for that matter. He observed from afar. Logan noticed how she started to open up to some of his friends. She tried to get to know each member of the school. Storm, Kitty and Rogue spent most of their time with her. With them, she was able to laugh freely and smile. Damn, that smile. He wanted to see it more.

He frowned. Why did he think that?

He saved her ass, and now she felt like a magnet. He tried to resist, but it was hard. Would it be that bad to know her more? He brought her here, where he promised she’d be safe. And from what he had learnt, Charles knew about her existence for a long time. 

Sighing, he moved forward. He took out the cigar that he hadn’t finished and smoked on his way to her. His eyes lingered on her body, eyeing her from head to toe. Compared to their first unexpected meeting, she seemed relaxed and happy. The bruises were gone. Only faint scratch marks remained.

Her hand was still in the air, creating small forcefields. The need to talk to her got stronger.  As if she were a water that would extinguish Logan’s thirst. Fuck, he wanted to know her more. 

“Hey, kid. How’s the trainin’ going?” he asked when he was close enough for her to hear him. 

Y/N turned her head to the side, eyes locking with his. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said with a fleeting smile. “I am trying to figure out how to make a forcefield around another person,” she explained. 

“Any luck?” he leaned against the nearest tree. He held the cigar with his fingers.

“No,” she sat up. “I got better at creating it in the shape of a ball. It still does glitch. But it’s a step forward. If only I knew how to project it around another person.” 

“It cannot be that hard,” he raised a brow. “It looks so easy.” 

She laughed at that. “If only. It requires a lot of concentration and energy. I can protect a person if they are next to me. I can wrap us into the forcefield. That’s about it.” 

A gentle smile appeared on Logan’s face. “Like you did when I took you out of that dive bar.” 

Her eyes widen. “Oh yeah,” she nodded. “I forgot about that. It was wild. I remember fragments of that day. Shit, the last days before you brought me here are kind of hazy.” She stood up from the grass and wiped off her lower back and ass. 

Logan’s eyes followed her every move. “Wanna walk with me?” the question was out before he could think about it. Even he was surprised he had asked that.

“Sure,” she nodded. “I wanted to explore the estate a little more.” 

Side by side, they walked away from the school and the noise. The estate reminded her of a gigantic park filled with trees, surrounded by nature and peace. She noticed there were well-trodden pathways. The students must have walked around the place many times.

“How did you get to that bar anyway?” he had to ask. 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I kept walking until my feet brought me there. All I knew was to get as far away as possible.” 

He took a deep breath. “What happened to you?” 

Y/N bit her lower lip and looked somewhere away. “Um,” she hesitated. Was it wise to share it already? “I escaped a lab. I was a guinea pig for five years,” she admitted. 

“What?” It was hard to believe what she said. Why was he so surprised? He had his suspicion about this before.

“Yeah,” her eyes were focused on the ground, ashamed of the story. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill me. Five years to keep a mutant for an experiment is a long time. Before you ask, I have no idea how I managed to survive the torture and imprisonment for that long. Those years are a blur.” 

“Shit,” he sighed. “Sounds like a hell of a life.”

Y/N lifted her head, scanning Logan’s face. “The Professor didn’t say anything to you?” When he shook his head, she was impressed. “And here I thought you would already know about everything.” 

“It’s your story to tell, Y/N. It’s up to you if you want to share it with us,” said Logan. 

Out of nowhere, she started to giggle. Logan didn’t understand what was funny. “You know, you don’t seem that kind of a guy who does this a lot. But it’s nice.” 

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. He took another drag of the cigar. And Y/N laughed a little more. “When did you discover your mutation?” 

The smile disappeared. “I was around fifteen when it happened,” Y/N replied. “And it started a life full of misery and darkness.” One of her hands reached for a tree, mapping its texture with her fingertips. After all those years locked up in a lab, she never thought she would feel nature under her hands again. 

Logan didn’t question further. He noticed it was a heavy topic for her. She wasn’t ready to give him the details. Somehow, Logan felt he was the only person, except Charles, who got information about her past. 

“What is your mutation?” It was her turn to ask questions. She wanted to know more about Logan. Even though his rough exterior told the story of a withdrawn, grumpy man, he had the softest eyes. Were they green? They seemed like it. 

They stopped walking. Logan turned to her and brought his hand to his chest. When he closed it, three metal blades slid out of his skin. 

Y/N’s mouth opened. “Shit,” she cursed. “Does it hurt?” 

“Every time. I’m used to it by now,” Logan said. “They are made of adamantium.”

“Adamantium?” 

“One of the strongest metals on Earth.” 

Her fingers reached to the claws. Logan’s eyes followed her moves. She wanted to touch them. Before she could, she put her hand away. “Sorry, it’s just fascinating.” 

Logan’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, that’s a first,” he commented. “No one said anything like that before.” 

“I’m sorry,” she took a step back. “I didn’t want to overstep. Never had much opportunity to admire other mutations.” 

“It’s fine.” The claws retracted into his skin. Y/N’s eyes noticed the wounds instantly close and disappear. Her hands quickly reached for his hand, fingers caressing the spots where the lesions would be. 

Logan couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. It’s been a while since he felt such a gentle touch on his skin. Her hands were soft and delicate. He cleared his throat. “I heal quickly. In a matter of seconds,” he explained before she could ask. 

Her eyes lingered on his hand until she realised what she was doing. “Oh, sorry,” she let him go and hid her hands behind her back. “That was rude. I am so sorry.” 

She made him feel things he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It made him flustered. “That’s okay, kid.” 

The intense moment ended, and they moved forward. Y/N’s face was burning hot, embarrassed by what she did. Her mind focused on the trees and the pleasant weather around them. The air was warm even though it was autumn. The leaves were sparkling with a range of colours, coming from green to yellow. Some of them were red. It was her favourite season of the year.

“I’ve heard you save mutant children,” she changed the topic as they approached the school grounds. 

“Charles finds them, and some of us would collect them,” he explained. “I was on a mission to get a child that needed our help. Unfortunately, it was a failure. The facility was a trap. I was glad I got out. Later that night, I stumbled upon you.” 

Y/N pressed a hand against her chest. “What facility?”

“The one hidden in Salem,” he replied. “Why?” 

Y/N felt as if her soul left her body. All colour drained from her face. “Oh god,” she brushed her fingers into her hair. “It’s my fault,” and then she hid her face in her palms. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he turned his body to her. “What are you sayin’ there, kid?” 

It took her three deep breaths to look him in the eye. He wasn’t angry. It looked like he was concerned. “I was locked there, in the lab, for some time. I escaped a few days before we met.” Panic bubbled inside of her. “I know who you were looking for. I know the kid.” 

That night, that moment, it all came rushing back. It was like a movie, reflecting in front of her eyes. She felt it all: the pain, the horror happening in front of her eyes. She knew the child. He helped her escape. And she couldn’t take him with her. His screams echoed inside her mind. 

Logan gripped her shoulders. “Y/N, look at me.” He said her name for the first time. That did the trick, and she looked up, eyes meeting his. “There you go. Take a deep breath.” He could see she was listening.

“I have to tell you what happened,” she whispered. “You need to know. It’s my fault you went to a trap.”

Logan brought her inside the school. His hands rested on her shoulders as he walked with her through the hallway. When something happened, all the teachers would gather around immediately. Professor X would call them to his office. 

He helped Y/N take a seat on an armchair. A bottle of water appeared in front of her. It was levitating in the air. It was Jean’s doing. 

“What’s going on?” Hank was the last one coming inside, closing the door behind him. He had a white lab coat on him, and his glasses were on the tip of his nose.

“This better be good,” Scott scoffed. His hands were wrapped around Jean’s shoulders, holding her close. 

“Stop being a dick, dude,” Remy scowled. “Keep your mind shut.”

Y/N glared at Scott. He was the only person who didn’t sit right with her. That’s why, most of the time, she would ignore him. Luckily, he was sweet to Jean. 

She grabbed the floating water bottle and took a sip. “Logan told me about the failed mission,” Y/N started to talk. Her voice was low and timid. “He told me he went there to get out a child. He went to a facility that was in Salem - the same place where they held me.” 

Charles tilted his head, listening carefully. His face remained neutral. No one could read what he thought.

“I know the kid,” she told them. “His whole body can stretch as he wishes.” 

“Elasticity,” Hank stated.

“How did you escape?” Kitty’s voice interrupted the stream of Y/N’s thoughts. 

“There were five of us locked in that lab. We were in cells designed to suppress our mutations. It made sure we wouldn’t harm anyone or try to escape. That changed when they brought in JJ.” 

“JJ?” Logan questioned that name. 

“Jerome Junior,” she explained. “For an eleven-year-old, he was cunning. Because he was the youngest, he had the most energy. The rest of us were barely holding on. 

“Never underestimate a child. That’s the greatest advice I’ve learnt in there. I don’t know what happened or how he did it, but the doors to our cells opened. Somehow, he was able to get us out. That’s when hell on Earth started. To get out, we destroyed the place.” 

Y/N could feel the smell of chemicals and fire around her. As if she was back there, trying to get out of prison. 

The pain in her body was excruciating. After all those years of experiments and torture, she was almost free.

There were bodies on the floor - killed guards and scientists as well as two other mutants who shared the hell with her. They got them before she could put a forcefield out to protect them. So much blood was on her hands and face. When she looked down, there were red puddles. The smell was nauseating. 

“Let’s go,” one of the mutants shouted. The man was bleeding from his thigh and arm. 

“Where’s JJ?” Y/N asked, looking for the kid. She lost him during the fight. “I’m not leaving him here.” 

“We don’t have time to get the kid. They’ll kill us if we don’t leave!”

She was turning around, trying to find a way to get to him. “I said I am not leaving!” 

“Fuck this, I’m out,” said the mutant and fled the scene without anyone else. 

Limping, Y/N ran out of the destroyed lab and walked through the hallways until she found a swarm of guards holding the child. Guns pressed against the boy’s head as they put a collar on his neck. It beeped once, and a tiny light turned green.

JJ’s eyes found Y/N standing on the other side of the room. He did one last thing before they packed him into a truck - he shook his head. It was a sign for her to leave. Her vision blurred as tears hit her eyes. The boy got them out, and she couldn’t save him. 

“I tried to get him, save him, but they took him away,” her voice broke. She let the tears fall. “He was eleven, for fuck’s sake. He somehow got us out. I wanted to do the same thing for him, and I couldn’t.” 

“How do you know it was him?” Jean asked. 

Y/N thought back, trying to get to the point when she realised he opened the cells. “I remember him stretching his fingers. He must have found a trigger on the table that opened the doors.”

Ororo reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You did your best. You tried.” 

“It’s not enough,” she shook her head. “Even now, I feel like a traitor.” The story was not over. “When I left the building, I wandered for a few days,” she continued. “I got some old clothes and hid everywhere - in the woods, old buildings. Without energy, I happened to injure myself more. I even took a fall before I found the dive bar. My body was in pain, my head a mess, and I don’t remember much when Logan got me out.” 

Silence spread around them. They all let the information sink in.

“When I came to the facility,” Logan started to talk. The attention was on him. “Many soldiers were guarding the place like their own eyes. They were ready to kill anyone who approached the building. I managed to get in but never got far away,” said Logan. “The place was a mess. As if a bomb exploded inside.” 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Kitty spoke up. “Why would they keep the place highly secured if it got damaged and took the child away? Think about it. Maybe they’ll use it as a cover-up. No one would think that the lab was still active.” 

“Kitty’s right,” said Bobby. “In the end, there are only two options. Either they did take him away, or he’s there, well hidden from the world.”

“They did it to evoke confusion,” Jean added to the conversation. 

“Scott, Jean, try to find as much information as possible about the facility in Salem. We’ll be better prepared to take him out of there,” Charles gave instructions.

Y/N jumped on her feet, letting the water bottle drop on the floor. “I’ll go with you.” All eyes were back on her.”I have to get him out.”

“You need to train more,” said Scott strictly. His hands fell off Jean. “You’ve been here for what two weeks? Forget about it. You’re not going on this mission.” 

“Mind your tone, Scotty,” Logan warned him with a snarl. 

“She doesn’t know how to fight or use her ability. She’s a newbie, a trainee. I will not put anyone’s life in danger because of her,” he pushed himself from Jean and approached Y/N. “If we go to get the boy, she’s staying here. Period.” 

Logan was close behind Y/N, ready to step in. But she stood her ground, not afraid of the Cyclops.

Jean reached for Scott’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Scott.”

Y/N approached Scott with one long step, glaring at him. “I survived a lot of things in my life. You don’t know what I am capable of, so don’t underestimate me, Cyclops. And don’t be a dick. I’ve never been rude to you, never did anything to you. So don’t raise your voice at me. I am not afraid of you.” 

“Oh yeah?” he challenged her. “You better start talking about your past life then. We know nothing about you.” 

Her fists clenched hard until her knuckles were white. There was a lot of anger building inside of her. And it showed. The forcefield started to glitch around her. 

“You can’t even control your power, Y/N,” Scott mocked her. “Look what you are doing.” 

“Y/N, please, calm down,” said Charles calmly. “Same goes for you, Scott.” 

She closed her eyes and took a step back, relaxing her posture. She knew better than to get riled up. When her blood pressure lowered, she looked at Scott again, shaking her head in disbelief. What a dick!

Turning on her heel, Y/N left the office without another word. Her walk was brisk, taking long steps to be outside as soon as possible. Of course, there would be a person who would make her freedom difficult. 

I will get you out. 

She wrapped her arms around herself and walked through the driveway to the estate’s main gate. She didn’t want to leave. She needed to walk and think. 

Y/N wanted to get little JJ out of that hellhole before it was too late. Fear crawled through her back, tapping on her head. What if they kill him before they get there? He saved her life. He helped her escape. It’s her turn to return the favour and secure him a better life here in a school for mutants. 

There was another thing that drove her to save the boy. But she didn’t want to open that door. After all those years, it was painful to think about it. 

Fucking bitch! How could you?! Cries were echoing in her mind. Psycho! Murderer! 

“Y/N,” she heard Logan’s voice behind her. That made her halt and sigh. “You okay?” 

She pressed the bridge of her nose. “Yes,” she said. 

“You are full of shit, ya know that?” he laughed. “Just admit that you are pissed.”

She spun around. Her eyes could kill. “I’ll get JJ with or without help. I don’t give a shit what you say. I will be the one who will get him out of that place.” 

“I know,” Logan nodded, understanding. “I won’t be the one who’ll stop you. If I were you, I’d do the same thing. And I would  punch Scott in the face.” 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “You have your way with words, Logan.” 

“I was thinking about becoming a motivational speaker,” he shrugged and smiled at her when he made her laugh again. “Bobby was right. We only have two options, and we must prepare before we leave to get the kid. I was there. I saw how many guards were securing the facility. One or two people won’t do it. We need a strategy.” 

“All I want is to help, get him out of there so he can have a better life than I ever had. I don’t want him to experience that much torture. I need…” she started to choke on words. “I need…” Tears escaped her eyes as she felt the pain inside her soul. Was this a panic attack? Her heart was beating fast. The world was crumbling down. 

Logan was quick enough to close the distance. His hands found her shoulders. “We will get him out. You hear me, bub? I can’t tell you when. We must prepare for the mission and gather information. We won’t make it far without a strategy.” 

She gripped his flannel shirt tightly, holding for dear life. “I worry he’ll be dead.”

He shook his head. “You said he was cunning. He’ll find a way to survive.” Without thinking, he pressed her body against his, holding her. “While we are planning, you’ll be training your power and how to fight.” 

She closed her teary eyes. As much as the hug was unexpected, it was comforting. “Promise me I’ll go with you.” 

Logan nodded twice. “I promise.”

[lichenes]

Hii! Can I please request a Charles Rowland x fem/afab! Reader (and if you don't write fem, then gn!) With an established relationship, maybe some fluffy (and/or spicy) moments between the two?

Thanks very much and don't forget to hydrate!

Hi lovely! Of course :D I’ve been planning on writing something for Charles for a long time so I’m glad you requested it <3

CW: suggestive stuff at the end, kissin, fluff!!

wc: 646

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

You mesmerised him.

Your life was pretty uneventful before your death. “Love?” And after? You met him. Charles was the definition of a love sick puppy when you were around him. “Oi?” Crystal would always say that he seemed to glow when you were in the room and his posture was a lot more confident when next to you. 

“Yes?” You answered him suddenly being pulled out of deep thought. “Whacha soooo focused on that you can’t answer your boyfriend?” You looked at him with whimsy behind your irises. “Just thinking ‘bout you, handsome.” You winked at him playfully. 

He smiled at your corniness and gave you a bear hug, his backpack falling off his shoulder. Charles pecked your cheek and stated his true intentions. “I’m going to visit Thomas with Edwin and Crystal, will you be joining us, lovely?” You pretended to give it a thought for a minute and then said yes earning an excited clap from him and a surprise kiss. You were a bit startled and he revelled in it, smiling into the kiss.

You were the youngest ghost (having died in the 2010’s) of the Dead Boy Detectives, Edwin refused to change the name of the group though and you were content with just that. You joined it because Edwin saw you as useful and Charles was just utterly bewitched by you. He confessed to you one day when Edwin pretended to feel poorly and let you two go on an adventure by yourselves. 

“Charles, what are you doing?” You said overlooking the view sported by the cliff you were both standing over. He hesitated for a moment. “Something… something really brave.” That was when he first kissed you. It was a long and passionate kiss making you both breathless. When he pulled away he looked at you, searching for any sign of discomfort and was met with another kiss far more hungry and primal than before. When you two disconnected he smiled wider than ever. “Oh that’s brills…”

From then on your afterlife was much more tranquil than you could have ever imagined. Your days were spent solving mysteries and revelling in the surges of dopamine you felt whenever Charles was around you. 

He’s very touchy-feely with you, always holding your hand or having his arm around your shoulders. Whenever some ghost would bother you he wouldn’t be far to help you get out of the situation. As the brawns of the group he would tear the ghost a new one if they ever got too close for your comfort. 

He doesn’t show jealousy often, he doesn’t have to be jealous, you love him and only him after all, he tells himself. “Sweetcheeks?” He says pondering the stupidity of what he’s about to ask. “What’s up?” You look up from your book smiling at him, your eyes filled with joy. “Actually… it was nothing…” He said, satisfied with the albeit short conversation. Charles giggled and blew you a kiss which you theatrically caught and put your hand to your heart. 

“Hey, Edwin and the gang are out, d’you wanna…” Said Charles leaning against the doorframe of the room you were sitting in. He looked you up and down and met your eyes. You walked up to him which made him crane his neck downwards. You put your hands around his neck and got close to his face. “Hmm… I’m not sure…” His eyes became half lidded as your hand made its way into his hair and tugged lightly. A small groan escaped his lips. And just when you were about to meet your lips-

“I don’t feel like it!” You said and walked back to your previous sitting spot, clearly teasing him. He strutted up to you, taking his jacket off and crouched down next to you. “Pretty please?” You chuckled, your ruse foiled. “Okaaaay, if you ask so nicely.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

masterlist

[coloursflyaway]

Hi there, I’m not sure if you taking dbda prompts anymore, but I’ve recently fallen in love with your hurt comfort fanfics and your writing style in general. If you want to, I think it would be heartbreakingly amazing if you were to write something where Charles sees his father again (either like his father comes into the agency looking for help, not knowing that Charles works there or like they go to visit him and Charles’s mum) and the kind of anger and hurt it brings up in Charles and then Edwin ✨comforts✨ him

You don’t have to, but know I would read the hell out of this if you did :)))

Hi anon ♥

Thank you so much for the prompt, I am sorry this took forever and a day, but here you go!

I went into a slightly different direction, but I always wondered what would happen if Charles told Edwin about watching his parents in the mirror, so I thought I would combine those things.

It’s something Charles never thought he would be able to share with Edwin, and yet, somehow, here they are.

At least they are in the agency, he reasons with himself as he touches a fingertip to the mirror, willing it to change its image. By now, it should be second nature – he has done this countless times before, after all – and yet, he feels strangely nervous, like it might go wrong, show a different house, a different living room, a different set of people watching TV. Like the act of showing Edwin could somehow make it not work.

But then, the mirror ripples and the agency fades; instead, there are Christmas lights and his mum wrapped in a burgundy blanket, a glass of wine in her hand as she flicks through the channels with the other. His dad, next to her, is reading something, and just like it does every time, Charles’ heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

For years, he hasn’t been able to make out just what he feels for his father, thirty-odd years away from his scolding, his belt, his words of kindness strewn in between. He still isn’t certain, but it is clearer: there is anger, there is pain, there is love, nonetheless.

“So, this is what you did when you asked me to give you a few minutes alone?”, Edwin asks next to him. Careful, as if he was handling fine china; Charles loves and hates it at the same time. “I never even suspected.”

“Well, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it?”, Charles replies, half a laugh tacked onto his voice, so Edwin won’t be able to tell how strangely difficult this is for him. Shouldn’t Edwin next to him make it better, less confusing?

After all, while those people in the mirror are his parents, it’s Edwin, who is his family.

“I suppose”, Edwin concedes, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I just- you could have told me, Charles. I might not have understood, but I never would have judged you for it.”

And maybe, Charles knew that on some level, yet hearing the words breaks something open in him, something that feels ancient and yet new.

“I-”, he starts, watching his father put down the book and say something to his mother, who gives him a tired, well-worn smile. Not dismissive, but only half-listening anyway, like it is a conversation they have had a thousand times. “It’s just-”

And all of a sudden, he is crying.

Tears spilling down his cheeks that feel like they have been waiting within him so long they must have died with him, thick and hot in the muted way only ghosts can feel, dripping down Charles’ chin and evaporating before they touch the ground, his shoulder’s shaking as he tries to suppress sobs that rival earthquakes.

“It’s just-”, he tries again, and hears the moment Edwin realises what is happening instead of seeing it: the world is clouded by a new shower of tears.

“Charles”, Edwin gasps and then there are arms around him, thin and yet the most secure thing Charles has ever felt, pulling him against Edwin’s chest, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, the other pressing firm against his spine. “Oh, Charles… if I had known… you didn’t have to show me, I didn’t want you to-”

“No, it’s-”, Charles tries and fails to get out, hiding his face against Edwin’s shoulder. This, at least, he knows, is real; this is forever. “It’s-”

“Shh, it’s fine”, Edwin tells him, slender fingers brushing through Charles’ curls in a way they never have before, and Charles loathes it, loathes himself and his father and the tangled mess of emotions in his chest for stealing this from him. This should have been a tender moment, just them and the intimacy they are slowly building between them. “I shouldn’t have asked, I should have known there was a reason why you did not share this with me before. I am sorry, Charles, I truly am.”

“It’s not that”, Charles finally forces from his lips, words half drowned in sobs; Edwin hugs him harder, and Charles knows that he could fall apart in Edwin’s arms so, so easily. “I should hate him, I want to, but I can’t.”

And that’s… it.

There are a hundred other things as well – fear for his mother’s safety, the pain of missing her, the ache he sometimes feels when thinking about his old room – but then there is the image of his father, smiling at him across the dinner table overlayed with him snapping the belt against his palm, violence in his eyes and the line of his mouth and the muscles bulging in his arm. The same man, and yet unrecognisable.

“Oh, Charles”, Edwin breathes into his hair, so soft, another first touch stolen. “It’s alright, it’s okay. I understand. And I don’t think any less of you for it.”

Another sob, wrenched from somewhere deep, deep within Charles, and he clings to Edwin like he’s the only thing left keeping him upright.

“And if it helps”, Edwin adds a moment later, fingers still stroking slowly through Charles’ curls, “I’ll hate him enough for the both of us.”

And perhaps, he is.

[chilahh16]

" This is where I leave you."

People say that the hardest thing in love is seeing the love of your life happy with another. They're not so wrong. However, they also failed to tell others that leaving the very person that has became your world, the very air you breath, and the reason for sunshine in the morning is painstakingly arduous and painful.

If only she was given a heads-up, she would have held on tightly as the foundation of their love crumble as every season pass.

Y/n L/n did not know when everything started to change. When the colors so vivid started to dim and the love as red as his dream car faded. She can still remember the very first time she held his hand, the first hugs, kiss, and the first of everything. She and Charles loved each other as if the love they have is the only right thing there is. Maybe it is at one point. Because looking back, she came to realize that she had become a liability to him.

As Charles Leclerc continue to soar in the world of racing, Y/n felt that she has been holding him down - stopping him from reaching his true potential. They are two worlds completely differing each other. As he stands and bask in the spotlight, she found peace in the shadows. They walk in fame and peace, separately, and that's when the support she had been giving was not enough, no more. That even when their love clings on to the hope that this can be overcome just like the other times it did, it seemed that their love has its limit. From the whispers of people to the unending hungry stares of women wanting a piece of him, as though he is a prize in a game, caused cracks in their hardened relationship that stood proudly with time.

Y/n loved him too much that she stood by him. Through the ups and downs, the laughter and tears, and to the most painful of times. She was beside him when Jules passed; she became his rock and comfort. Even that was not enough for the world is cruel. It did not give their love time to blossom beautifully, it withered and died unwittingly.

Now, 6 years later, everything has changed so as everyone. But it seemed he did not. Looking as the blazing red car seamlessly turn and sped off to the finish line, proved her theory. His dream still stand firm and she was grateful she was there to witness as he stands victorious in his home race. Maybe everything did not change, because if it is, then it wouldn't hurt this much. The memories of the past still fresh in her mind - his tear stained face, the broken sobs and the tight arms that envelop her, haunted her for years and it was at this moment that she felt its full force. A wave of nausea hit her as she stands looking up at her past love. She could no longer stop the tears as she sobbed and held her chest as he proudly give honor to Jules and Herve above.

'He did it Jules, Herve. He conquered Monaco and they love him back.'

Hence, she turned her back one last time. Just like she did all those years ago. How she broke his heart and left him to pick up the pieces. But leaving him today hurts so much more as she made peace with the truth. This will be the end of their story. Every step away from him tore her further as finally she lets go of the past, of him.

"How can you be so selfish?"

Y/n stood stuck as the ever familiar voice laced with a thick accent reverberated in her ears. It couldn't be right?

"How dare you come here and leave again." It was no question as his voice is laced with venom.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." was the only thing that came to y/n's lips as her hands found comfort in them. She cannot face him. Could not. Would not.

"Did you really think it was that easy. Do you take me as a fool to just forgive you?" Charles growled as he view the figure of the woman he had loved in the past.

"Look at me and tell me why you did it." he yelled as he felt his heart constrict.

Charles Leclerc thought that he was over the past. That he had buried everything to the deepest parts of his memories. That he had already forgotten the shape of her face, her infectious smile, and everything good about her. How selfish can she be coming today and showing her face to him like nothing happened? How dare she cry as he triumph? How dare his heart skip a beat upon seeing her.

The man that he became is someone he does not even recognize. The podiums, the wins, the praises, everything felt like a buzz in his ears. He could not feel himself again. Upon picking up the pieces of him that was left after her ruthless goodbye, he has learned to close his heart. Every relationship after her was for a naught when every peaceful nights, her face is the one he sees as was every waking dawn. He tried to move on, to forget everything about her but it was hard. So hard that no matter the pain she gave, his heart still beats for her only.

And seeing her today, just proved it. He did not care about the win at all, he knows that he made his father and godfather proud. It was because of them that he was able to race but, it was she that became his driving force to continue. And when she left, the world stopped.

"Look at me." he pressed as he held his anger. Afraid that he would lash out in front of millions.

But he did not care. He wanted to know what happened. Why she left as if he was no more than a stranger. He give no mind to the eyes that follow his and her every move. To all the rumors and backlash be damned. He needed this after all this years.

Slowly but surely, he found his forest colored orbs trained to the eyes that held warmth from before. He was now met with the face of the person he had laid his heart to.

" Charlie, I'm so sorry..."

" Don't!... don't call me that. You have no right."

" Brother, not here. Please." Arthur begged as he held his older brother. Reminding him that all of Monaco has their eyes trained on them, that the camera has panned to their stature when Charles ran down the podium after the anthem was over. The festive circuit has quieten, nervously awaiting the scene to unfold. People of the world are waiting as the race was aired live.

" No. I need to know, 'Tur." Charles, ever stubborn, state as he stepped closer to Y/n, causing the woman to panic further.

" Arthur's right. Not here, please." Y/n stuttered as she felt every eyes on her frame. Mocking and judging her.

" What do you know about what's right. You left remember. You left me to die. You're. selfish."

" Stop. Please..."

" No! Not until you tell me why you did it."

"Just stop. Please stop."

" Then tell me!"

" I was scared!" Y/n yelled as the tears streamed unending. She has finally done it. If this is the last time, then let it be done with.

" After Jules' death, I came to realize that it could happen to you anytime. No matter how careful you are, there is no guarantee that you would come out unscathed. Every time you drive that car, I pray to God, to every force that is listening to protect you because I cant!"

" When Jules was on his deathbed, no one but me and your family saw how you seem to die with him. Yes, I vowed to be with you always. But if being with you meant that every second of every season you race meant death is upon you, how can I have the strength to be strong and be able to stay."

Charles was left dumbfounded. He did not know. Why didn't you tell him. He would have understood. He was ready to give up everything for her, even the sport he loves.

"I can't have you give up racing because of me. I don't want you to resent me in the long run. If breaking both our hearts mean you'll be able to race and win, then it was worth it." Y/n finished as she hung her head low.

She has finally said it. All those years of torment, of heartache, of everyday wanting to go back and apologize was not for nothing. Both of them can finally move on as the truth was laid bare for everyone to see.

" How..." Charles started, not knowing what to say. The anger that made home to his heart was easily melted by knowing the truth. If only he had known, he would have never stopped looking for her, never stopped trying to win her again.

What was the point of this 'what if's' now that she has clearly moved on. But he is not Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc for nothing. No matter what, he'll try and try up until he triumph. Hence, he steeled himself, ready for what was to come next.

"Why are you worrying of the things that has yet to happen?" he started moving much closer to the woman he has always love.

" Please, don't do that. Just because of what happened before does not mean that it will happen now."

" You can never guarantee that. I cannot have y-"

" Y/n, look at me." Charles softly cradled her face, wiping the unending tears and soothing the chaos that is her mind.

" The things that has yet to happen does not dictate for us to lose hope. To be broken and sad. Why can't we worry about it when it happens? We'll worry about it when it comes. We'll cry when we're there. "

" No, Charles. Listen to me. You will never understand this even when you know everything. It will never change anything. And I have no right to love you." All broken and judged, she laid it for him.

However, Charles pursued. He will never let her go again. Never. Even if she tried every way possible for her to hurt him, he'll stay. Now more than ever.

" Why do you need the right to love me? I will say this once and for all, it's okay. So love me like you did before...or so much more." he reiterated as his forehead kissed hers. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth that emanated from her.

" You do not have to worry about what happened before happening again. I will stay by your side until you beg me not to. I have loved you before, right now and always. So please stay." he pleaded for the world to see.

But he did not care. He only cared for her, for Y/n. Because after all this time, he never forgot. His heart has always yearned for her just like how it beats for her alone. And it burst with love for the woman before him as he gaze onto her eyes. He saw everything there. Everything that she cannot put into words. And who was he to not seal it, again. Hence, he kissed the life out of her. The years of longing, hatred and guilt poured into that one kiss as the world cheered for them.

The flashes of cameras and the deafening cheer echoed in the street of his home as his love is back. He made thanks to the God he had never believed and the string that has yet to snap. Indeed it was true, ' the string may bend and tangle, but it will never break.' That the years apart was no punishment but, a way for them to grow - to see things clearly, to look back and learn that what happened was worth it. Yes, it did break them but, it also taught them that a relationship is partnership, that it really does take two to tango.

But then again, they were but humans, the two of them. Faulty but faithful. Hence, they'll hold tightly this time - never letting go, and remembering the start. Because Pascale was right, we only regret the chances we didn't take.

[natailiatulls07]

please more leclerc!reader with her brothers !!

Let her go

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - Y/n is getting married and her older brothers is learning to let her go

Warning - Herve Leclercs death, poor translation of French

A/n - I know I haven't finished the golden trio but look I've been wanting to post a written fic for a while now and I have seen so many brothers first look tiktoks so thats what you're getting today!! 😚

-

2017

Herve Leclerc was on his last days when he called his three sons to his hospital room. "Papa? Is everything okay?" Lorenzo asked of his dying father.

"My three sons as you know I'm nearing my last day and I only have one thing to ask of you..." The three brother surrounded their fathers bed, Charles and Lorenzo sitting in seats on each side of the bed with Arthur sitting at the feet of the hospital bed. "I want you three to step up and take my place in protecting, caring and loving your sister"

Herve adored his sons equally but he had a different sort of adoration for his youngest. Since her birth, he has always thought of her as an angel. "Of course...we'll do anything you ask of us Papa" Charles answered his fathers orders, alike their father they also felt that level of undying adoration for their younger sister.

-

Charles had sat Y/n down on the plush couch in their Monte Carlo childhood home. "Chérie...Papa died last night" It broke the twenty year old's heart to see his sister find out about their fathers death. He could see her eyes gloss over and fill with salty tears.

He took her into his arms as she started to sob. "He loved you so much, and he said he will watch over us always..." He could feel himself breaking down at his sisters reaction. But Charles knew it was coming.

The twenty year old Monégasques knew it wouldn't be easy for anyone, not for their mother, not for him, Lorenzo, Arthur or her. But they would do what they always did, push through and come out stronger.

-

2023

Waking up today, all three of the Leclerc brothers knew it would be both a hard and joyous day for them. It was the day they would have to give away their sister, the sister they promised to their father they would cherish, protect and love in his place. But today they'd need to give her away to the love of her life.

They were staying in the childhood home, back in their childhood bedrooms. When planning her wedding with her fiancé, Y/n insisted they have it in Monte Carlo. Of course her fiancé agreed, knowing how she wanted to be close to her late father on her wedding day.

Getting out of his bed, Charles made his way down to the kitchen where Pascale and Lorenzo were sat eating breakfast. “Bonjour” He announced his presence before making a start on his coffee.

“So where is the bride?” Turning to look at his mother, Charles wondered how Y/n was feeling this special morning.

There was a audible sigh from Pascale. “Well your sister couldn’t sleep last night so I imagine she is currently still sleeping” Both Lorenzo and Charles had concerned looks on their faces.

Noticing their concern, Pacale continued "She couldn't sleep because she was too excited. Don't worry no cold feet" She knew every single one of her children, Pascale knew all too well that her three sons would be overly worried for their sister.

The two oldest sons just nodded, concern evidently gone.

-

There was a knock on the front door. Charles, who was talking with Arthur on the sofa, got up to answer the door. Behind the door stood, the maid of honour and the rest of the bridal party. "Hello Ladies, how can I help you?" Charles joked before stepping aside letting them in.

"We're here for the special bride, where might she be?" The maid of honour asked as she looked around the open plan kitchen and living room where Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo currently sat. After hearing the question, Pascale quickly pointed up the stairs to which the excited party followed.

After watching the girls running upstairs, Charles moved to sit back down on the couch. As he sat down, all the Leclerc brothers and Pascale could hear was the sounds of excitement.

-

It had been a few hours since the bridal party arrived and everyone had now gotten ready. Standing on the balcony was Arthur, Lorenzo and Charles, all facing away from the balcony doors and more towards the Monte Carlo harbour.

Y/n insisted they do a first look for the brothers, so that’s why she was stood just behind her three older brothers. “Maman are you filming?��� She asked of her mother who stood off to the side filming. Pascale nodded. “Okay, you guys can turn around now”

Turning around, each brother now faced their Y/n. She was dressed in her long white gown, hair done and makeup perfected. Tears welled up in their eyes, they could remember the day she was born and how they watched her grow up into the incredible woman.

“Oh chérie tu es si belle” Arthur was the first pipe up from their stunned state, walking towards her before bring her into a careful hug.

Soon enough Lorenzo followed, hugging his sister. “Je t'aime tellement petite princesse” Even now when she was just about to get married, he still used his nickname for her. The same nickname he has used since her birth.

After stepping aside, Charles was the last one to break his stunned state. “Cha Cha…?” Y/n called out for him, everyone knew he was the closest to her, that he loved her the most.

“Mon rayon de soleil…” Finally he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “Je suis si fier de toi” Through his tears was a soft smile the same smile he had when Y/n started high school, when Y/n graduated and when Y/n was born.

The next question meant so much to Charles, even more than anything else. “Cha Cha…m'accompagner dans l'allée?” She was asking him to take their fathers place and walk her down the aisle before giving her away.

In that moment, he really felt like he had accomplished the one thing his father asked of him and that was to take his father place once he was gone.

Nodding aggressively, Charles crashed Y/n into a hug. “Oui oui oui bien sûr!”

-

[talkdutchtome]

You Should Have Said No  Chapter Four- Fifteen

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . fifteen - taylor swift )

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

series masterlist . . . available here )

12 years ago 

“Surprise!!” the group in front of you call out, making you jump so much you screamed. After a few seconds to steady your breathing, you looked out at the crowd of people standing in your living room; three people stood at the front holding a banner displaying a picture of your face with the words “Happy Fifteenth Birthday Y/N”. Holding the banner was Lila –your best friend, Pierre –your boyfriend, and Charles –one of your closest friends and Lila’s boyfriend. Feeling tears come to your eyes, you struggle to find any words to react to the scene in front of you; you want to thank them profusely , you want to strangle at them for making you jump and scream in front of the whole school, you want to burst into tears that they love and care about you so much to plan a surprise party for you. Eventually you decide to just run to them and hug them, pulling them all into one big group hug. Since you and your best friend Lila met the two boys a little over two years ago the four have you have been inseparable; everything you did you did together. You and Lila would attend all of Pierre’s and Charles’ races, sitting in the stands no matter the weather, holding up signs and cheering them on. All three of them would attend any gallery exhibitions your photography would in, even if it was the poshest, snootiest thing ever they would all be there on their best behaviour ready to support you. And in the crowd of every one of the musicals that Lila performed in sat you, Charles and Pierre; the boys usually bored out of their minds, but it didn’t matter if you didn’t enjoy what the other did, as long as you were always there supporting everything that you all did.  

After a few hours the party had died down and they only people remaining at your house was the four of you. Swinging on sofa hammocks in your garden, you were all drunk from the alcohol that Charles’ managed to persuade his brother to buy for the occasion and talking about nothing but everything all at once. Charles and Pierre spoke about upcoming races, Lila spoke about the holiday she had that was coming up in a few months, and you spoke about your family. They all knew that your family wasn’t a topic you usually chose to speak about, but spurred on by the liquor in the system you told them all about how your family life had been since your mum died three months ago. You told them how your dad barely speaks to you anymore, how he can’t look at you in your eyes because all he sees is her. You told them how lonely you’ve been. You told them how your brother had only been back to the house once since she died. Before now you hadn’t discussed with them the realities of your life since your mum had been gone, you thought they didn’t know how alone you were when you walked through your front door, away from whatever activity you had been doing with them and back into solitude in the shape of a family home. But they did know. They knew you were affected more than you were letting on and they knew that your plans for your birthday were to sit in your room alone and cry, wishing that your mum would come back and fix the broken fragments of your family. So, they planned a party. Each of them asked for money from their parents to throw the best damn party they could, not to distract you from your mum or to make you forget about your sadness but to remind you that alongside that sadness is also happiness. That you still had people in your life that cared and would go above and beyond just to see you smile. Overwhelmed by all the emotion, you started to cry into Pierre’s chest. You were crying for your mum, for the family that you used to have, but you were also crying for the family that you had now, the family who knew how you felt without you even having to tell them; the family who would make up plans and errands that needed to be ran to give you a chance to get out of the house for a few hours.   

Eventually Lila and Charles retired up to the spare bedroom of your house and left you and Pierre in the garden, looking up at the stars. It was that moment where you realised for the very first time that you loved the boy sitting next to you. You loved Pierre Gasly and from the way he was looking up at you, you knew that he loved you to. You weren’t ready to tell him yet; you knew more than anyone that the worst part about love is what comes after it, remembering something your dad told you the day of your mum's funeral- “Love is short, forgetting is long.” 

Present day 

“So Y/N where are we watching qualifying from today? I mean I’m sure you don’t plan to sit in the Alpine garage and I’d rather not sit in the Ferrari garage if it’s all the same to you, it was bad enough speaking to him on the phone the other day.” Lila questioned you as just as you were parking your car at the track, making you laugh at the pettiness of your friend before realising that you didn’t have an answer to her question, making you curse yourself for not thinking about it before.  

“Oh shit I’m not actually sure. I mean I guess if I told Rebecca what happened I’m sure she’d give me somewhere to go but I don’t really want to have that conversation with my boss yet.” You answered getting out of the car. Lila opened her mouth to speak but another voice came through, stopping her.  

“Y/N! Hi, how have you been?” a Dutch voice called out, causing you to turn around to find Max walking towards to you.  

“Hey Max, yeah I'm goo-” you started before being interrupted by Lila, very eager to meet the man who had been looking after her best friend in her absence 

“Oh hi I’m Lila, I’m Y/N’s oldest and bestest friend” the girl said sticking her hand out for the dutchman to shake, looking him up and down, checking him out unashamedly. You laugh at your friend's boldness, never been one for shyness.  

“Hi Lila, nice to meet you” he chuckled awkwardly, slightly taken aback by the forwardness of the red-headed girl stood in front of him. 

“So are you two excited for qualifying today” he asked. You were about to tell him yes wish him luck and then walk away into the building, but Lila got there before you. 

“Yeah, I would be if we actually had somewhere to watch it from” 

“Oh you should come and watch it from the Redbull garage, I’m sure Christian wouldn’t mind.” 

“Ohh yeah that would be great thanks, I bet it would be great for Y/N to sit in a garage that actually wins something for a chance.” 

Lost in Max’s eyes, that you didn’t even know you were looking in, you only realised what had been said between your best friend and the Dutchman until it was too late. Max had already walked away, chuckling to himself at your best friend's snide comment about Pierre. You smacked Lila around the head, not enough to hurt her but enough to convey your annoyance.  

“Now why in the fuck would you say that Lila?” You asked her, genuinely impressed by the stupidity of the girl who was laughing beside you.  

“Because he’s hot and we needed somewhere to go, duh” she said still laughing. You felt your jaw tighten at her words, a pool of jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach.  

Sat in the Redbull garage with Lila talking to Max and his mechanics, you wanted it to feel awkward and unnatural, but it didn’t. It felt comfortable, like it was something you had been doing all your life, like Max had been there all your life. The speed at which he went from someone who you barely knew to someone who you felt complete comfort in unnerved you. 

“So, Y/N, there is going to be a party on Sunday, and I’d like you to come. It’ll be mostly just Redbull but there will be others there. I think Lando and Daniel will be there.” Max asked after a while of being sat there quietly, almost like he was working up the courage to ask you.  

“Oh, Max I’d love to but Lila is going home on Monday, so I’d like to spend the last day with her, sorry” 

Lila smiled to herself, knowing what she needed to do. 

“Monday?” she asked with fake confusion “No Y/N, I’m going home on Sunday straight after the race. I told you this when I got here” She knew lying to you wasn’t particularly fair on you, and course she would have rather had stayed for the entirety of her trip, but whether on Sunday or Monday she would eventually have to go home and she would rather go home a day earlier and give you a reason to go to Max’s party, in the hopes your friendship with Max would grow further and you would have a friend after she had left.  

“Oh, really I could have sworn that you sai-” you started before being interrupted by Max. 

“So, you can come then?” he questioned. You looked up at Lila, completely unsure what to say. You really didn’t want to be alone on Sunday night, but you also weren’t sure if going to Max’s party would be a very good idea. She nodded her head slightly, encouraging you to say yes. 

“Umm yeah sure okay.” your response was met with a huge smile from Max and a squeeze on the arm from Lila, both very glad for your answer.  

The first thing Max did when he got out of the car after getting pole for Sunday’s race was look for you sat in his garage. During the session you had gotten pretty cold and the only thing nearby that you could put on was Max’s jacket, so with a lot of persuasion from Lila, you put it on. You made eye contact with him and seeing that you were wearing his jacket caused him to smile. It was a smile that, in the entire time you had never seen from him before; not when he won either of his world titles, not any of the times you had seen him around the paddock with his ex-girlfriend. It sent a shiver down your spine.  

You were getting ready to leave the garage and head back to the hotel when Max walked in, heading straight towards you.  

“Hey congratulations, you did so well.” you looked up at him smiling and couldn’t help but realise how good he looked after racing. His hair, usually neat and uniform was fluffy and messy. His cheeks were flushed red and his forehead slightly damp with sweat.  

“Thank you! It was a good session, but I think that might just be because I had a good luck charm waiting back here for me.” He responded and you giggled. Lila was stood to the side, almost completely ignored as you and the man stood flirting with each other, without either of you actually realising that was what you were doing.  

“Oh well if I’m your good luck charm then I’ll make sure I’m here tomorrow for the race, can’t have you having a bad race all because I’m not here can we” You spoke, suddenly getting a big enough burst of courage to make a joke. 

“Yeah, you might me right, you kinda have to be here.” he replied causing you to laugh. 

“Anyway, we should get going, thank you for having us both here, it was a good day.” you told him before turning away to leave the garage. 

“Oh wait I forgot this” you said, remembering you were still wearing this jacket.  

“No you keep it, you look better in it then I ever did anyway” he said before you had a chance to take it off. Suddenly, you thought about everything Max had done for you in the last week and you just couldn’t help yourself but to wrap your arms around him and engulf him in a tight hug. He was taken back slightly before he hugged you back, putting one arm around your waist and one on the back of your head, touching your soft hair. You rested your face in the crevice of his neck, enjoying the comfort hugging Max provided. Lila laughed, that was not a hug that two people who were just friends gave each other. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pierre stood outside of the garage, watching the two people hug, this caused her to laugh more. She stuck here middle finger up at Pierre, making eye contact with him to ensure he knew he was the person her gesture was directed at. You pulled away from Max, and it looked like he was going to say something else, but you just waved before walking away from the garage, unsure what to say to the man who made your heart race faster than you had ever felt just from hugging you.  

Back in the hotel, you could tell Lila had something to say and knowing Lila, that meant she was going to say it.  

“I was joking the other day with what I said about Max, but after meeting him I’m deadly serious when I say that you need to get with him.” Your mouth dropped open at her honesty. 

“Lila no don-” 

“No Y/N, shut up let me say this. I know you love Pierre; you always have, and I'll be honest I think you always will. But he cheated on you, no matter what happens now and how you feel about him you can’t be with him again. Max is the perfect gentlemen, he's been treating you well and looking after you, not to mention how stone cold sexy he is. I can see he likes you, and I think you like him to but you just don’t want to admit it. I know you’ll say that it’s too soon after Pierre, but you can’t pick and choose when love comes around and you certainly can’t say no to love because of someone who cared about you so much he went and fucked another girl whilst you were 20 minutes away waiting for him to come home.” She finished her rant and looked up and you, expecting you to argue with her, but you didn’t, you just sat quietly, trying to take in everything she had said. After five minutes, you finally knew what to say. 

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” she looked at you confused and nodding, unsure where you were going with this.  

“After the party had finished and you and Charles had gone up to bed, Pierre and I sat and talked 

under the stars for hours. It was the first time I knew I loved him. From that day onward I knew I wanted to be with him forever, that whatever it would take I would spend the rest of my life with him. I don’t think I can live my life without him, I don’t even know who I am without him.” You told her, trying so hard not to cry. She looked at you with a sympathetic smile before bringing her thumbs up to your eyes to wipe away your tears.  

“Do you remember what my mum said to me when Charles broke up with me?” she asked and you nodded. 

“Well whether 15 or 27, it’s still true, okay?” 

12 years and 6 months ago 

Lila was sprawled over her bed, her head in your lap and her feet in her mum's lap, she was sobbing uncontrollably and had yet to tell either of you why she had called this emergency girls meeting. You stroked her hair, and her mum held her leg. 

“He broke up with me. Charles broke up with me” she managed to get out word by word in the gaps between the sobs.  

“What? No what are you talking about Lila? Why would he do that?” you asked her, completely shocked by your best friend’s words. 

“He said that he changed his mind! That he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.” she revealed again, it was hard to understand what she was saying she was crying so hard. You didn’t want to believe it, you thought that the four of you would be together forever, that you would have a joint wedding and that your children would grow up being best friends just like you all did. You wanted to cry too but held it in, trying to be supportive for your best friend. Lila’s mum just softly smiled longingly before saying 

“When you're 15 and somebody tells you they love you  You're gonna believe them  And when you're 15, you forget to look before you fall  But I've found time can heal most anything” 

TAGLIST

@hiraethrhapsody @ironmaiden1313 @dudenhaaa27 @aundercover @dearlovelys @bicchaan @eugene-emt-roe @faithm120601 @ruleroftheuniverse @idkiwantchocolatee @simxican @reidsworld @icarus-nex @barnestatic @amalialeclerc @stargaryenx @pjofics @girlintheredscarf 

(Sorry if some of the tags don't work! im still learning how to use tumblr so i'm a little clueless)

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Imagine If Magneto's *Private Moment* With You Was Released Into The Internet (Fem! Reader)

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT IG?

Erik sighed. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. On one hand, he really didn't mind, knowing that at some point, this would happen due to his fame in mutant politics, but on the other hand he didn't want you to be shown to the entire world like this in a private scenario.

The things you would have to face in public, what you would have to go through. While being deep in thought about how to deal with the scenario, a door with you running inside crying angrily. The door was slammed closed.

"Did you know? Did you know that someone motherfucking asshole recorded us having sex and released it? It's apparently the hottest sextape released in the century.', you screamed at him as if you were accusing him.

He felt guilty. Of course, he would never show that, but he ended up with a comment catastrophic enough to ruin the rest of his personal life. Not that he meant what he said, but clearly not thinking through.

"Well, I warned you not to try anything new and kinky. You should've listened.", Erik said immediately, regretting what came out of his mouth.

"What?", your voice became small, not being able to believe what he said.

Before he could apologize and explain, and your anger clouded mind lost patience, the ring from your was thrown into the sink, and you turned your heels walked out the door.

****3 Months Later****

"As we recall the recent steamiest s*xtape of magneto and his wife released into internet which gained over 3.8 billion views has been deleted by the cyber crime from all platforms. The culprits had been caught but died in an accident. Was it planned by Magneto? Or was it just an accident? I'm Sarah Moon reporting in six o clock evening news and I'll see you tomorrow."

The TV was switched off.

Y/N sighed. She knew who killed them and knew Erik wouldn't be arrested. She should've known that Erik was not good expressing and should've seen the expression. She regretted throwing the ring he made for her. She regretted what she had done.

"Regretting some past actions, I suppose?", the sarcastic voice spoke up.

Of course, it would Charles Xavier showing up behind her. That annoying British accent.

"For the record, my accent once wooed your husband to my bedroom, so I would take it as a jealousy or compliment coming from you.", Charles replied while sticking his hair back.

"What do you want?", you ask him with annoyance. You didn't want to aggravate your guilt more than it already was.

Charles smiled. That bitch. You knew, well, everyone knew, if they were in trouble and needed to solve the problem quickly, Charles would do the *smile*, and it'll be like it never happened.

"You're not wiping the entire world's memory about this, that's damn near impossible and dangerous.", you replied to his reaction.

"Well, it is for the better. Think about it. Or well, I should say actually, discuss about it.", Charles wheeled back slowly and opened the door.

"What are you-", you were cut off with Erik standing outside the door soaking wet with...............blood.

Silence.

There was no sound. All, the both of you wanted to do was to reach to one another and cry, Apologize, and comfort, but, the ego and guilt in both of you prevented all the bottled emotions and feelings of 3 months.

"Well, I will be leaving and give the both of you sone privacy. I'll be waiting right outside. Let me know when you've decided.", Charles said while wheeling out and closed the door.

"Hi."

That was it to pull the trigger inside you.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEAN BY SAYING HI???!!! YOU COCK-SUCKING, TWAT-WAFFLED SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH-ASS- HATTED CUNT! YOU'RE FUCKING KILLING AGAIN???!!! HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED CLEAN THIS MESS UP?!!!", you blasted at him.

"Listen i-", Erik was cut off.

"NO. YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE DICK! I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE TAPE. OKAY?!", you stated before he could ask.

You started to tear up and your voice broke and became small and vulnerable.

"I don't want you to kill around people. We could've done this together. I don't care what other say about me. Please j-just stop.", you started to cry.

Erik walked near you and hugged you tightly as you hugged him back.

He apologized to you and held you. You felt a something slip in your ring finger. You smiled and cried more realizing how horrible you must have looked.

"Y'know, you smell really bad like some old metal furniture. You need to get showered.", you pushed him away for fun.

"We could shower toge-", Erik got cut off.

"NO. Absolutely not.", you stated while laughing.

[bread-blogs]

Ever think about how much more devastating the last stand could have been if scogean was canon?

I think they could have really done something with the fact that in the beginning Scott and Logan are both grieving Jean in their own way, and yeah I still think Scott would be devastated and distant and unable to teach and Logan would begrudgingly fill in for him while trying to pretend to move on in life. But I think they would have had a moment, something quiet at night where Scott is in their bed and Logan goes to join and it seems like usual that Scott has his back turned and is curled in on himself unresponsive to the world, and maybe Logan takes a long look at him deciding to sit on the edge of their bed with his back also towards Scott as he tells him that he’s still hurting too and he doesn’t think it will ever stop. And I don’t think that would have changed the outcome, not in the slightest.

Scott still goes to meet Jean. He dies. And on that day when he hears Charles call out Scott’s name through his mind he runs fast and he doesn’t stop until he’s there, standing in Jean’s grave site. But she’s not dead, and there’s no way to describe the feeling, because it’s not just relief or love or hope, it’s everything and nothing and too much with something dragging all of that down. There’s little sign that Scott was ever there, only his glasses and a faint smell of him drifting through the wind, but no other traces can be found, so they go back with an unconscious Jean and it should feel like a victory, it shouldn’t feel hollow.

The next part comes as something like a switch flipped, only the light was never going to stay on, it just blinks and fizzles in front of their eyes. Logan is still so caught up in Jean, swept away by her, until it hits him and it hits him hard because he can still feel Scott’s glasses in his pocket and he has to ask the one question he’s afraid of to his core, “where’s Scott?” And it almost snaps Jean out of it and Logan can see her again but she’s in pain. He doesn’t want to believe it. Just a few hours ago he was grieving Jean and now she’s home but the one man who would have welcomed her back so warmly, with sorrow now freed from his heart, is gone. All is left is Logan. And Jean’s not really here.

Now skipping ahead a bit (a lot) to when Logan has to decide whether or not to kill Jean (yes he’ll still do it). He does it for her, because he knows she’s far past out of control and has done the unthinkable. She killed Scott and although he’s always going to guiltily wonder if he thought killing her was just because of that, he has to do it. And it tears something new in him, he had grieved her as a hero before, now he was left with ashes.

He’s lost too much, and yet he continues.

A lot happens throughout the movie that I think sets up the Wolverine well, mostly just the fact that Logan is grieving a lot of people that’s why he ends up basically exiling himself, but the Jean dreams just seem so off to me as they just didn’t have that relationship because Jean was very intent on staying with Scott.

Basically it would have been more emotionally impactful to me if they did actually have more of a relationship past sexual desire, but Scott was in the way of that, just like how Jean is in the way of the two of them, and Logan is also putting a road block in the middle of their relationship. They’re all in each others way so they should just all kiss already.

[icarus-n-flames]

So I’m just sitting trying to will my brain quiet and scrolling twitter when an idea occurred to me all because of these little cat shaped bottles.

The idea was that there is a scenario where the DBDA need a very rare ingredient for a spell. Cat tears. That’s not exactly something you can find and you can’t just make a cat give you their tears no matter how desperate you are. Ofc Edwin is going to get a bottle carefully packed in a nice box delivered to him by the Ghost Post from none other than Cat King.

Then there is the question of WHY he would need Thomas’ tears so I thought of something horrible.

Charles for all his charm sometimes does not say the right thing to critters when he first meets them. “Zip it crow” “Piss off cat” so he probably said the wrong thing to idk a tanuki or kitsune and got himself a fun little withering curse to match his withering words.

They think nothing of it at first because you think a withering curse would be something VISIBLE. That is until Charles starts to seemingly become absent minded. It’s little things at first like forgetting where he placed his favorite mixed tape but Edwin gives him a look because that broke a few weeks ago unfortunately when the blasted cassette player had decided to devour it. He’s misplacing things more and more. Then he walks past the case board one day and points to a case that he has absolutely no recollection of and NOW Edwin is worried.

They do their research and discover the withering curse will slowly drain his memories written on his soul since he is not alive for a body to wither until he is nothing but a faded suggestion of an expressionless boy aimlessly wandering the world.

They can’t find the creature that Charles offended to beg for leniency so they start researching possible alternatives.

It takes so very long because every thing they find says there is no cure for the curse save for the forgiveness of the creature who cursed him so Charles forgets more and more til he’s even forgetting Crystal.

Edwin has to remind him every morning, they tried having Charles read it in his own writing but it just didn’t have the same effect as Edwin calmly explaining, detailing the events in the same voice he used the first night they met. Oddly enough, Edwin never has to tell Charles he’s in love with him. He remembers, though he doesn’t remember how he knows.

“Guess I just always knew you loved me, Edwin. It’s not a memory I could lose, yeh?”

It’s painful, just a bit, but also a comfort.

Then they FINALLY find the cure. It requires so many ingredients, it takes them so long to track them down until they only have “Cats tears” left. Of course Mick doesn’t have it though he says he’ll keep an eye out and Edwin is looking everywhere.

Then like a gift from the heavens or maybe just from a Cat King who might have a crush on him, they secure the tears FINALLY but not before Charles finally forgets that Edwin loved him.

Charles is trying his level best to help through the spell, trying to talk Edwin through his obvious discomforts and sadness when he thinks it’s been but a few days since he was dying in an attic back at school. They need to hurry, Edwin owes it to him to get him out of this but Charles is stopping his frantic hands, slowing him and telling him to just take a BREAK. He can fix him right up in 30 minutes.

“Charles why are you doing this? This is important I can not just “take a break” until this blasted curse is gone.” He’s so wrung out and in his overwhelming worry he thinks Charles isn’t taking this seriously because he hasn’t had 35 years to know when to calm himself. He’s only a few days from that attic and from being a 16 year old boy who died too young.

Charles gives him a pained little look, taking the vial out of Edwin’s hand and sitting it down before grasping his hands tightly in his.

“Because I’m in love with you, I think. So bloody worried about me you just never think about yourself do you?” Because Charles is thinking of a boy who escaped from hell and risked it all to talk him through it all, to be there when the light came so he wasn’t scared. The boy who was already terrified of being caught but still caved under Charles’ smile and let him tag along. He taught Charles the ghost rules and how to keep from falling through the floor or how to touch the world around him without stuttering through it in ways he never even knew how to when he was alive.

He might not remember anything else about the last 35 years they spent together but he knew he loved Edwin Payne and had since he’d died. It was terrifying because he had no idea if Edwin could love him right then, maybe 35 years really only got them friendship.

The horrifying comedy of it all is not lost on Edwin that it took Charles losing 35 years of their life together and but a memory of a week together for him to say what Edwin was certain would take a century if even so soon.

Of course they’re going to get him fixed right up but I just really loved the thought of Charles forgetting Edwin’s love eventually but most certainly not forgetting his own that is so much louder now that there isn’t the weight of 35 years and the fear of that crumbling in his hands. There is just a boy trying his hardest to make Charles whole again with everything he is and he needs to say it before he forgets Edwin entirely.

[zvdvdlvr]

- in which they watch you die

☆ - featuring :: arthur morgan, john marston, dutch van der linde

☆ - warnings :: death, coarse language, death threats, smoking, murder, reader's gender is not specified, pov changes

☆ - k.j.'s diary says... this writing is both short and not my best work. sean maguire, javier escuella, charles smith will be in part two

☆ - ARTHUR MORGAN

my fault, all my goddamn fault was all arthur could think when he watched your body fall in slow motion to the ground.

"arthur!" dutch called over the loud gunfire. arthur was unable to tear his gaze from the warm blood leaving the four bullet holes in your side dripping onto the ground.

he told you to come into the bank, to help him get up to the roof to snipe the guards. he told you to leave the relatively safe position you were in to come help arthur with a job he could do perfectly fine alone. he just wanted you out of there and quite unfortunately, you died because of that.

"get up to the roof, son!" dutch yelled, shoving arthur out to the alley of the saint denis bank.

"'m sorry, y/n. god i am sorry. i ain't- christ. . . i ain't mean to getcha killed. shit, i ain't even know where you were," arthur mumbled. he climbed three ladders before he got to the spot that would do him well.

he killed every guard he saw with a headshot, spilling the oily bastards' brains onto the ground and walls of the glorified 'city of the future'.

not five minutes later the man arthur called his brother was shot in front of him too.

ain't that just the way, arthur thought. the man's jaw was sore from how hard he was clenching it, and his eyes stung like nothing else.

"let's go, damnit!"

the gunslinger was pulled to his feet.

arthur was pushed forward. "we need to get out now so there aren't more dead later," dutch said.

and that was that. . . for now.

☆ - JOHN MARSTON

it was completely preventable, what happened to you. at least from what john heard.

of fucking course he had to be locked up the day you died.

he had looked around when he got back, a wry smile pulling his lips thin. past arthur's shoulders, past sadie's unsmiling face. "where's y/n?" he asked, smile faltering.

sadie swallowed, eying arthur. "uh. . . y/n-"

"is dead," arthur finished. "agent numbnuts, uh, ambushed us. we were all good up until the end, adrenaline. . . adrenaline wore off. y/n fell behind me," arthur explained, avoiding eye contact with john. "they showed me two bullet holes they'd been hidin'. . . y/n died in my arms. talkin' 'bout you." arthur clenched his jaw and sniffed.

sadie looked uncomfortable. she'd gotten close with y/n and she had been crying alongside arthur while y/n spent their last minutes just talking with the pair. it's been so long since i've just talked with someone. ain't know how much i missed it, they had said. miss you asshats already, was one of the last things that had bubbled up from y/n's bloody lips.

"we're sorry, john."

"did- did you bury them?" john's voice wavered dangerously.

sadie nodded. "we can, uh. . . show you."

the rest of the day was a blur. a mix of voices, the slur of a familiar voice. john didn't know what to do.

☆ - DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

"goddamn it, y/n!" dutch yelled. the man's voice was hoarse from lack of sleep and water. his irritation stemmed from plans going wrong, scores being set-ups, and his own gang showing slowly showing their distrust.

"what, dutch?" y/n asked tiredly. they massaged their temple.

their most recent argument was because of y/n tackling dutch to prevent him from being shot in the shoulder. because of this, dutch missfired his bullet and eventually their getaway stagecoach was blown up.

"you have nothing to say?! no apologies!? we could be halfway to tahiti right now, y/n! if it weren't for you-"

y/n scoffed in disbelief and ran a hand down their face. "if it weren't for me saving your life? how much do you even know about tahiti, dutch? i trust you, i have faith in you, i believe in the power of this gang but please. we need to take our time with these pla-"

"don't you tell me what to do!" dutch strode over to y/n who was shaking their head.

y/n- clearly done with the conversation- made their way to their horse. from the faint lamplight, y/n could make out javier and charles both watching the interaction. micah tipped his hat to y/n; micah didn't talk to y/n enough to hate them. john watched dutch and y/n from the fire, already sensing something in his gut.

the anger radiating off of dutch was downright murderous. y/n hadn't even done anything wrong! john gnawed on his lip, one hand unconsciously drifting to his holstered gun.

"we are not done talking about this!" dutch grabbed y/n's arm and yanked hard.

"fuck!" y/n cried, instinctively jerking away from dutch's touch. y/n tore their arm from dutch's hold and, because of all the power that y/n used to get away from dutch, fell forward. a loud snap followed right after y/n collided with the ground.

a morbid choking sound fell from y/n's lips as their head made sharp contact with a rock. y/n felt blood rush to their head because of the odd angle y/n landed in: their head was below their broken legs.

dutch stood, parayzed in his spot. blood flowed out of the side of y/n's head, sliding down the dirt in rivulets. "i'm sorry," he whispered.

"y/n!" javier called, running to where y/n lie. charles followed closely behind, along with john and arthur.

charles set both of their lookout lamps by y/n's head. "be calm, y/n, you're okay," charles soothed, clutching their hand.

javier grasped y/n's other flailing arm, tears springing into his eyes. "you're okay. por favor- please- keep your eyes open," he begged. "mrs. grimshaw will be here soon, yeah? she will get you all fixed up."

arthur shouted for the women to hurry up because he knew y/n probably wouldn't survive this.

charles kept mostly quiet, checking y/n's pulse at random. javier was telling a story, talking about all the beautiful sunsets and sunrises in mexico. john waited off to the side, watching tilly and mrs. grimshaw and abigail share a look before giving arthur a terrible look.

dutch fled. he got on his bright white horse and left. he didn't know how to deal with thaf. he just killed you. you are dead because of him. dutch felt tears roll down his face. he felt the softness of his horse's hair. and he also felt the burning two foot hole in his chest because of the hollow, fearful look in your eyes after hitting your head.

on and on he rode, never stopping and never stalling. with no destination in mind, dutch figured he'd ride till morning then go back to help bury you.

you. you are his new ghost.