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miraculous-scarabeau-au · 2 months ago

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Miraculous Scarabeau

Chapter 2 (of Season 1)

Nino peeked into the classroom, hoping that this was the right place. This was his first time having this teacher and frankly he may have heard some mixed things about her teaching style. Though he couldn’t really remember what, just because he was more focused on finding a seat. He made his way to the back of the classroom, catching snippets of Miss Bustier saying something along the lines of ‘open seating with some exceptions’ to some of the other students, which was fine by him!

He adjusted his headphones that were around his neck and slid them over his ears. He turned them on and while trying to make sure that they were connected to his phone so he could listen to the radio, he heard someone say, “Nino!”

He turned around to see Miss Bustier give a gentle smile and gestured to the front row. “How about you sit in the front row this year?” she suggested. Translation: please don’t hide in the back and listen to music like you did last year. He should’ve known that his last teacher would’ve made notes about him and his headphones.

Nino resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he moved past one of his larger classmates. “Excuse me, dude,” he said, dropping his orange backpack in one of the front row seats, close to the door. If he couldn’t have music, he could have an immediate escape route for when the bell rang. Speaking of the escape route, he spotted a girl with bluenette pigtails trip through the door with a white box that went flying out of her grasp. “You good?” he asked as the girl picked herself up.

“Yep, just another day in life,” she said as she watched the teacher help pick up the box. “Merci, Miss Bustier! Hopefully the macaroons didn’t break.” She turned to see who was all in her class and her face fell when she saw a blonde girl and her friend sitting in the seat behind where Nino was. “Chloe.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The girl casually pointed at the seat she was in. “That’s my seat.”

Chloe was about to start protesting when Miss Bustier stepped in. “Chloe, I actually had some notes from last year and I was going to have you sit in a different spot this year.”

Chloe, Sabrina and Marinette all looked at each other in simultaneous confusion and looked back at her. “What??” they asked.

“Well, just for the semester,” the teacher added, hoping to placate the teens. “You can stay in the front row, but how about we move you over with Nino?”

Now it was Nino’s turn to whip his head over to the conversation. “I’m sorry, say what now?” he asked. There was no way that Miss Bustier was going to sit the mayor’s daughter next to him. Even Chloe was grimacing at the idea of moving away from her friend.

“But, Miss Bustier,” Chloe started to say, clasping her hands together in a pleading manner. “My friend Adrien will be arriving at school and I have to show him around and he has to sit nearby me since I’m his best friend-”

Miss Bustier held up a hand. “Chloe, I appreciate that you want to help a friend especially since it’s his first day here, but your friend Adrien isn’t even on the roster for this class. I’m sorry, but I want you and Sabrina to not sit together for this semester. Both of your grades were barely passing last year and I want you two to thrive and not be distracted.”

Chloe didn’t bother hiding her disdained as she rolled her eyes and just slid into the next seat down. “Fine, whatever. I can survive one single semester.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Nino asked, raising his hand. “Like...I could move into the seat behind this one? Or even the next seat over?” Miss Bustier only raised an eyebrow as the teen sighed. “Fine….one semester.” He slumped over his desk. “…….well this stinks.”

“Tell me about it.” Chloe pulled out her phone, checking her messages with a frown. “He should’ve been here by now…”

Nino just decided to ignore her, watching as Marinette was going by delivering different flavored macaroons to different students. It was a miracle that they didn’t end up broken with the spill that she took a few minutes ago. He also watched as Sabrina moved over to the front row so Chloe and Sabrina could still talk without craning their necks too far back or forwards. There was a girl that he didn’t recognize before who was sharing the spot next to Sabrina, but she got up to move, probably not a huge fan of whatever she heard from the last few seconds, or she just wanted some space to herself. Don’t blame her because he would like the same as well. She simply slid into the spot behind their seat.

Marinette definitely hesitated before offering the treats to the last three students: him, Chloe and Sabrina. “Would you like a macaroon?” she asked in a flat tone.

Surprisingly, Sabrina timidly took one with a small thanks, glancing over at Chloe, who didn’t look up from her phone. Nino held out his hand since he couldn’t quite reach the box they were in. After getting a treat deposited into his palm, he grinned and brought it back over to him. “Thanks!” he said with a grin.

Chloe glanced up briefly and just waved her off. “No thanks, still full from breakfast,” she said, frowning as she was rapidly typing on her phone.

Marinette looked puzzled before going to take find a seat. Nino craned his neck as to see what other spots were available, knowing that they were pretty limited as everyone was starting to get settled into their seats and class was about to start: either sit by the new girl, sit by Sabrina, sit in the way back by another kid that Nino was unfamiliar with, or sit by the one kid that looked like he could break them all like a twig that sat behind the new girl.

Her answer was made for her as the tough-looking kid gestured to his seat beside him, the girl looking relieved as she made her way to Ivan’s left side. They gave each other a nod of respect, likely knowing that not many kids would want to sit with either of them. Nino had him in a previous year and even knowing that he was nice, the guy still sorta scared him since he was bigger than most of them.

Chloe pouted as she had to reluctantly put away her phone as Miss Bustier made her way to the front of the desk to collect the syllabus for the semester. “Where are you, Adrien…?” she murmured as she turned to try and focus on the lesson.

Well, it wasn’t really a lesson, but the first thirty or so minutes was booooriiiiing. She kept glancing at the door, hoping that Adrien would waltz on in and she would prove that they were friends and that everything was bound to be amazing and stuff and just uuuuugh, this morning just sucked! Can’t sit by her best friend, her other friend wasn’t even here yet and she’s sitting by someone she hardly knew!

She nearly sighed in relief when Miss Bustier finally dismissed the class. Sure it was the first day of school so it was going to be a half day, but it still sucked that she was still here for the next few hours.

Some of the students were leaving for PE, her desk mate included. But now she was stuck going to the library with everyone else. After she had shoved whatever she had into her bag, she glanced over at Sabrina, about to ask what they were supposed to do at the library when a loud, “KIM!!” roared out from the back of the room. She looked over to see Ivan hovering over the jock.

“Ivan, what is going on?” Miss Bustier asked.

“It’s Kim! I'm so gonna get…” he started to say before Miss Bustier pointed at the door.

“Ivan, go to the principal's office.”

Chloe kept her in seat as Ivan stomped past the rest of the students before directing her attention to Sabrina. They were both staring at each other with wide eyes. “….So, that happened,” she muttered as the two headed out the classroom. “He barely got a word out and Miss Bustier is already sent him to the office. Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

“That was her bad side?” Sabrina asked, raising her eyebrows. “You know Miss Bustier didn’t even punish you for your pranks from last year.”

Chloe grimaced at that; yeah, this year was going to absolutely suck if the teacher is already trying to bust down on any disturbance in her class. “Guess she may have grown a backbone since last year….anyways, why are we going to the library again? Couldn’t even focus in class, much less the syllabus.”

“Yearly project, gotta do a presentation, have to pick your own topic and no it’s not a group project. She wants us to pick a topic by the end of the week, details on how long the presentation is supposed to be and other requirements are in the syllabus,” she summarized, adjusting her glasses. “Any messages from Adrien?” she asked.

She glanced at her phone and shook her head. “Nope. Guess his dad dragged him back to his mansion. That man is utterly ridiculous.”

The two went into the library, the blonde breaking off from her friend to try and find a topic. Maybe her library card from last year still worked? Probably not, but it was worth a try. She wandered into the fiction section, trying to find anything that caught her eye. Sure they were supposed to find a topic, but she did want to check out something entertaining.

She paused at the graphic novel section of the library, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before grabbing one of the Knightowl comics. It was one she already read, of course, but she honestly needed something fun to read, quickly walking towards the nonfiction section with it shoved under her arm. Nothing wrong with reading an oldie but a goodie, after all. She resisted the urge to groan loudly because being in the library and she really didn’t want to do schoolwork today.

“How am I supposed to pick a topic anyways?” she muttered as she went to fish out the packet from her bag. “Like, does this even really matter?” she said, wondering if she could ask Sabrina to pick out a topic, but she remembered that Miss Bustier would probably be aware that it wasn’t a topic that she had picked out. Her ears pricked up as she heard some talking the next aisle over.

“So, you’re new here, right?” That was Marinette’s voice. “What, uh, what topic were you thinking of doing?”

“Probably how the history of journalism evolved or about the superheroes of the world. I’ve been reading a lot of Majestia stuff and it’s been making me wonder about, like, superheroes in our neck of the woods, y’know? What about you?”

Chloe could see some parts of the two teens talking, spotting Marinette shrugging a bit. “Maybe how fashion has changed over the years? I’ve been following Gabriel Agreste’s work and I wanted to try and focus on that this year.”

The blonde girl scoffed quietly, mentally crossing those items off her list of topics. Ok sure she could try and do one of those topics, but she didn’t want to come across as a nerd if she did something like superheroes, and frankly while she was a fan of fashion, she really didn’t want to read about the history of it. Also, ew, history assignments.

She listened as the girls kept talking as they left, heading towards the center of the library where all the tables were located. “You have until the end of the week anyways,” she quietly reminded herself. She started walking down the aisle, hoping that some topic would catch her eye when the entire room shook, causing her to fall over.

She stumbled to her feet as the shaking subsided, running to try and find Sabrina. Paris never got earthquakes and even if it somehow wasn’t one, she refused to stay here.Luckily, her friend had the same idea as she came running into her from the next aisle over, clinging onto her once they were reunited. Chloe gave her friend a tight squeeze, listening as other students were moving towards the center of the room, going to investigate the cameras. The two pulled away, holding hands as they went to join to see what the commotion is. She didn’t even care that she dropped whatever book she was holding.

The security cameras showed some sort of stone monster thing right outside the school building, yelling out as it went stomping towards the city.

“It’s a real life supervillain! Which means there’s gonna be a superhero not far behind! I’m not gonna miss this!” the new girl said, Chloe watching as she ran towards the library’s exit.

Sabrina muttered to herself, her fingers digging into Chloe’s hand, “that girl’s crazy…”

Chloe nodded numbly before tugging her friend along as she headed towards the same direction. “Let’s just get home. I doubt they’ll let us stay here if that...that thing is running around. T-think your dad will be able to give us a ride?” she asked, Sabrina nodded from the corner of her eye.

“Hopefully? I mean….I hope he’s ok if he gets caught in….whatever that was,” the redhead said.

The next hour felt like it was dragging on for several: the phone call to her dad to have someone pick the two of them up, the limo drive to drop Sabrina off at her place before arriving back at the hotel. There were so many detours and urges by other officers to just park the limo and go inside the nearest building until it was safe from whatever was marching through the streets.

She felt exhausted as she dropped her bag on the floor of her room, leaning against the closed door. She didn’t know how long it’s been since she had left the school’s campus, but she was glad to be home. Chloe started to put some of her things away when she paused, noticing a little black jewelry box with odd red markings on the top. Just sitting there on her vanity dresser.

“Sophie didn’t say anything about a delivery,” she said, trying to recall if the maid had said something. Then again, with how the last…..several minutes of going up to the room has been, it was possible it had slipped the teenager’s mind. “Maybe it’s a gift from daddy,” she concluded, knowing fully well it certainly wouldn’t be from her mother. The woman barely remembered Chloe’s name when they were even in the same room together.

But still, this being a ‘happy first day of school’ present from her father seemed much more likely. She picked up the jewelry box, frowning as she was trying to figure out what brand it was. Maybe it was a popular brand from China or Japan? The markings did sorta scream ‘Asian’ in some capacity at least…maybe the brand name was inside-

But when she opened up the lid a green light emitted from inside, Chloe shielded her eyes a bit with her free hand. She dropped the box as soon as the light started floating, scrambling away because what else does one do after the weird day she was having??

She slapped her cheeks a few times as the light transformed into a small turtle looking thing floating in the air. “It has to be a really bad dream. That’s all this is! A bad dream!” she muttered to herself as the thing came floating over to her.

The creature bowed their head slightly in greeting. “Hello, my name is Wayzz.”

She stared at the creature, her voice struggling to find itself before she just gave a meek wave. “H-hi.” At least no one she knew was watching otherwise they might’ve assumed that she was a completely different person.

“I am a kwami and you and one other have been chosen to protect this city,” he continued floating over to the jewelry box. Chloe got up onto her feet, not sure when she landed on her butt (probably when she was scrambling away) and approached the box. Inside was a black-wired bracelet with the main adornment being a flat six-sided jewelry with what looks to be five triangle pieces in the middle. She picked it up, looking it over. She looked over to the kwami (whatever that meant), who nodded to the jewelry. “Go ahead, put it on.”

It was easy to slip on, almost like it was made of elastic or something easy to pry apart that she couldn’t think of. The girl gasped as the bracelet changed from a drab piece of jewelry, to a gold-chained bracelet with the main jewel turning into a six-sided emerald in the middle. “That’s….ok if this is a dream, it just swung right back into being amazing~” she squealed. She giggled as she looked at the new jewelry in amazement. She almost wondered if she should change the color so it could match her outfits but gold went with everything and anything so she’ll probably keep it as is.

“Chloe Bourgeois, this will be a dangerous mission for you and your partner. There’s a great evil already striking the city; you may have already seen the actions in play already.”

Chloe frowned, looking to the creature. “You...you mean that thing from the school? I...have to go beat that with….you mentioned a partner or something?”

“The Ladybug Miraculous holder, and you have been chosen to hold the Turtle Miraculous,” he explained. “Our role is to help protect him and others from harm. There are limits for what we can do, especially since you are much younger than the previous holders.”

She scoffed at that. “Please, I’m the mayor’s daughter, what sorta limits could possibly hinder me?” she asked. She watched as Wayzz’s face looked mildly amused. “What?” she asked.

“For starters, due to your age, you can’t use your powers as often as you would as an adult,” he stated as he started flying around the room, taking in the living space. “In this case if you use Shell-ter, that is, my ability, you have five minutes before you transform back to your civilian self. Of course we need to locate the akuma and purify it to help the victim and-”

Transform?

Transform???

“I can transform??” she squeaked, completely derailing whatever Wayzz was saying. Oh this was absolutely like Knightowl, except, y’know, Knightowl didn’t have a lil guy telling him exposition stuff when he started out so it’s fiiiiine. “Like, uh, how?? Should I do it now?? Is there like a reverse button if I have to bail?”

“The phrase is ‘Wayzz, Shell On’,” he instructed, looking pleased with himself. Maybe he was just excited to tag along also, but they had no time to lose if they have to go stop that guy from terrorizing the town.

“Wayzz, Shell On!”

Nino exhaled in exhaustion as he and the others were wrapping up their gym class. The teacher was distracted almost the entire time, talking to someone on the phone in a hush tone but was telling everyone to run laps in a clear attempt to distract them, much to Nino’s delight because then he could listen to the Radio Nova station without Professor D'Argencourt yelling about him bringing his headphones to class.

Of course during one of the laps when the group just walked instead of running,Max had whispered to him and some of the others that there was some sort of monster roaming about the city and they didn’t know where it was heading and how no one could stop it.

He doubted it was real, like maybe it was some movie thing and the Mayor didn’t inform anyone about the thing and everyone was freaking out over nothing. Still, it seemed like that the teacher was keeping the class there until they were given the all clear to be taken home since the rest of the school day was canceled.

Or maybe he was hoping it wasn’t real as while he was walking away from the goal post with Alix, the ground shook beneath them all, sending whoever was still standing sprawling to the ground. He landed on his chest, aware of the shoulder bag he had that got awkwardly wedged between him and the ground.

“KIIIIIIIMMM!” a roar bellowed from above. He scrambled to look behind him to see a giant stone….giant standing where the top of the stadium would be. Some of the students were starting to run past him and Kim. “Who’s the wuss now?” the creature bellowed once more, jumping down to the field.

Kim was only a few feet away and he started to run past Nino. Nino’s feet were struggling to find purchase as he tried to get up as well, but it was like the world was suddenly made of ice and slow motion because there was no way he was getting away in time. Even if it clear that the monster was only there for his classmate, he was probably collateral damage if he wasn’t able to get away in time.

The jock that was running with him tripped and fell, reaching out to grab anything that could get him moving again, which, unfortunately was Nino’s ankle who was starting to barely past him. The two boys stared at each other in absolute terror and in Kim’s face was also a look of apologetic as he realized that he just dragged another kid along for the ride of doom.

This was it. They were going to die to a supervillain and it wasn’t even in New York, the place famous for superheroes.

His conversation with the older gentleman was starting to play back in his head, wondering if that was a sign that he was going to die today. Nino screwed his eyes shut as the giant behind Kim was reaching out for them, waiting for the impending doom. Crushed by giant hand. Maybe squeezed to death like a dying chew toy.

He thought he heard footsteps approaching, but there was no way someone came back to try and rescue their sorry butts. Maybe a teacher, but he was doubtful of that.

“Back off!” a voice yelled, the sound of metal hitting stone echoing in his ears. Nino hesitantly opened his eyes to see a girl swatting the hand away with a green shield that was attached to her arm.

The girl had curly blonde hair in a high ponytail, with green spandex with gold running down the sides and down along the side of the green knee high boots. He adjusted his glasses to see that the spandex looked a lot like scales than anything, and the girl turned around to look at them with a green and red mask, Nino noticing that her outfit reminded him of a turtle of all things.

“Go already! I’ll cover you!” she barked, holding up her shield just in time to block the slam of the giant’s fist. She gave another look back and yelled, “GO ALREADY!”

Kim was the first to react, scrambling up and pulling Nino along by his bicep, the boy stumbling as he was making sure that the jock didn’t dislocate his arm. They ran to the entrance that they came through when they had first arrived, pausing as they spotted a girl that clearly wasn’t in their gym class there, recording on her phone.

“Hey, uh, you…know what’s happening?” Kim asked, risking a look over to where the fight was happening. Nino looked over as well, watching as the girl nimbly dodged away from a backhanded swipe, surprising him since, well, turtles weren’t known for being fast after all.

“I dunno!” she chirped, looking back at them with a wide grin. “So I was at the school library with the rest of the class and this guy just came outta nowhere and just started stomping his way here! I’ve been following him on my bike and I saw that every time he got hit, he just got bigger! I never expected to see a superhero-villain attack on our first day of school, much less in Paris! You have to go over to America for that! Oh, right, I’m Alya! I don’t know if you guys caught that during homeroom or whatever, but y’know, first day and all that. No one wants to listen and all.”

Nino frowned, having turned to observe the fight during the explanation of what happened earlier. Turtle Girl, or, whoever she was, was doing nothing but dodge or block whatever attack came her way with the shield. It was definitely an impressive shield, considering that the giant was probably nearly three times her height and probably just as heavy. “Has he been using just...one hand to fight?” he asked, squinting. “I thought he would’ve at least thrown a punch or something with the other hand he’s been clinching.”

Kim peered over as well, before shrugging. “The guy’s massive so maybe he’s just...thought he needed one hand to finish the fight or whatever,” he shrugged.

Alya was about to comment before Turtle Girl had came flying into the concrete wall close to where the three were standing. “Whoa!” she gasped, her hand shaking as she kept recording the footage. The heroine pushed herself out of the wall that made the dent, dusting herself off with a grimace. “That was intense…” More like that was painful. He was certain that he could feel whatever bruise was forming by that impact.

Kim, turning his attention to where the giant was, quickly grab the other two teens back as a goal post was launched towards them, the superheroine getting in front of them and throwing her shield the impending object like a frisbee. The shield hit it, though it really didn’t do much outside of making it land a few feet to the left of where they were at. “Good hit!” he cheered.

Alya quickly came over, with Nino and Kim trying to pull her back because was she crazy?? “You’re a superhero, right? Well, superheroine, but still, you have some sorta power right? Can’t you just….use it?”

The girl rolled her eyes but frowned. “Unless you want me to waste my one chance, I can’t really use it. I’ve been trying to hold him off so my partner would show up, but I guess it’s up to me,” she said, turning around on her heel.

“His right hand!” Nino said, the heroine looking back at him. “He’s clenching his right hand so maybe that’s a weak spot? I mean, it work in video games so, I mean…” He could feel his mouth starting to go dry because he didn’t know this person, but she was definitely confident and pretty and nope, stop, no love at first sight nonsense…..but she has been risking herself to save the three of them and...well, he supposed he liked bravery like that.

She looked back at the monster, a widening smirk on her face. “So that’s where you are…” she said, rushing over to grab her shield. As soon as it was in her hands, it started glowing a light green as she started running towards the giant. “Gonna need you to let go of that thing, big guy! Shell-ter!” she said, aiming the shield at his hand.

Nino looked confused because nothing was happening for a couple of seconds, only for the giant’s hand to look like it was being pried open by something. A ball? Though it was confusing what he was trying to comprehend, the heroine slid underneath where the prying hand was, catching whatever fell through. Is that how physics work when it came to weird superpowers? Or maybe this was just a weird dream where Paris just woke up with superheroes.

She leapt up and easily tore it like it was paper and...maybe it was?

Or some sorta magic paper since some purple object went flying out and the giant just turned back into a person. An actual person.

“Holy smokes, is that Ivan??” Kim asked, rushing over to check on him. “Ivan! Yo man, what happened??”

Alya and Nino trailed after him while Kim and Ivan were chatting, trying to piece together what happened in the last several minutes. “Miss Turtle! That was amazing! Can you answer a few questions? Like what’s your name, how did you get your powers, and can you tell us anything about this partner of yours? You mentioned that you were waiting for him, right?”

The heroine looked surprised but then immediately looked pleased with herself at the sudden attention. “Well, you see, I am, ah….I suppose I haven’t really thought of a good name, but in my defense, I did have to help save the city so superhero names are sorta minor in that department, but I’ll keep you posted,” she said, giving a small wink.

Now that the excitement was over, he could feel himself becoming paralyzed with some sort of fear. Maybe he just didn’t want to make himself to be a goofball to person that saved his life. Speaking of her, she raised her fist up to him. “You helped save the city too, y’know? So, thanks.” He grinned and gave her a fist bump.

“Pound it!” he said. He looked startled as a loud beep broke through the noise, the green-clad girl looking at her wrist. “What was that??”

She looked worried as a there were two triangles on her wrist. “Uh, superhero stuff, it’s fine, but I gotta go! Can’t do a full interview but byyyye~!” she said, running off. Well, more like she parkour her way out of the stadium, leaping higher than Nino would’ve thought possible. And she was gone in an instant.

Kim and Ivan just shrugged as they couldn’t really figure out what happened to cause the sudden transformation and had started making their way out of the stadium. Alya, meanwhile, was looking up some sort of tutorial on how to make a blog, complete with how to use HTML coding, and Nino just followed after them.

When they finally left the building, they saw that Professor D’Argencourt was explaining to the police that the monster was inside with some of the students being trapped there. But thanks to Alya’s video footage, they found out about the new superhero and were starting to eye Ivan since….well, he did sorta cause a lot of damage on his way here, but since the everyone could testify that Ivan doesn’t remember what happened or what had caused the transformation, they were going to let it go (though it was with a silent threat of ‘for now’).

The class was instructed to stay put while waiting for their respective guardians to arrive, which, made sense since arriving home by police car isn’t exactly the greatest method given the events of today. There were just two students that clearly weren’t supposed to be there: Alya...and Chloe.

Kim was the one who spotted the blonde girl first, waving her over to join the rest of the group. The girl seemed oddly flustered, trying to word how and why she was even there. Nino and Kim could get why Alya was there because she wanted to record the action of Stoneheart (the adults had called him that) vs Turtle Girl (name pending). Chloe was the girl who would rather not deal with dirty work because it would chip a perfectly manicured nail.

“Well, uh, you see, I was...worried about you!” she stated, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Because the monster and all that was making his way here and all! I just...couldn’t go inside because the noises of that fight scared me. You guys were either brave or very lucky to have survived!”

Nino watched as his classmate’s ears turned a bit red as he said, “you were worried about me?” Oh he was down baaaaad. Oh well, at least Chloe seemed content about everyone being around and not arrested.

His mom was one of the first parents to arrive, maybe second after the Mayor because last anyone had heard, Chloe had made it home, but the idea of her sneaking out to make it to the stadium was surprising.

But all’s well that ends well, right?

Nino had fallen asleep on the way home, glad that nothing in his bag was broken, including his headphones. Once he made it inside, he told his mom he was going to his room to take another short nap, much to his mom’s chagrin since she was going to finish making dinner soon. After dropping his school bag on his bed, he saw a black jewelry box on one of his stereo speakers.

“That….wasn’t there this morning,” he said, picking it up. He definitely would’ve remembered having something so out of place in his room. He gingerly opened the box, a red light emitting from the box and floating upwards. The light turned into a...bug? At least he thought it was a bug. It was red and had a black spot on its forehead. “What...are you?” he asked. “A genie?”

The creature shook their head. “I am Tikki and I am your kwami, Nino,” she informed him, floating around the room. “It’s strange, I don’t sense the akuma, but I know that I could earlier from within the Miraculous. But we didn’t purify it...that’s not good.”

“Miracu-what? Purify??” he asked, peering inside the box to see two red earrings with five dots on each one. “Uh….my mom already threatened to ground me once for the time I did pierce my ears,” he warned Tikki as he started to set it down. “And…”

‘ I’ve been trying to hold him off so my partner would show up, but I guess it’s up to me’ rang through his head as he stared at the earrings.

“I….I’m her partner?” he asked quietly. How could he have known? He was stuck on the other side of the city and the means to help save the city was sitting in his room waiting for him.

His free hand clenched tightly into a fist before he exhaled and put on the earrings. “No time like the present…what do I do?”

#((SO THIS IS A VERY LONG ASS CHAPTER))#chloe bourgeois #nino lahiffe #kwami swap #turtle!chloe #wayzz #tikki #mlb fanfic #mlb au #miraculous scarabeau au #((or at least....longer than I normally write it but I'm also ok with that?))

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sourtomatola · 2 years ago

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This one was so fun to write!

#fnaf moon #moondrop #fnaf sun #sundrop #thing on your swing #fnaf eclipse #A midsummer nightmare #dark fae au #spin off from thing on your swing #this chapter is quite a bit longer than my normal chapters as well #dark fae eclipse

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court-two-knee · 7 months ago

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I love how many times Brandon Sanderson will write “shallan’s husband” instead of Adolin cause I feel like it’s done in such a cute way. Like that’s not just Adolin that’s HUSBAND ADOLIN.

#stormlight archive #I love them #also I’m reading wind and truth spoilers if past chapter 13 :#Adolin hugging Kal longer than shallan and shallans like yeah that’s normal lmaoooo

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jamandjazz · 11 months ago

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I am absolutely dying to see more of your WSMS notes!! Pls share (if ur comfortable ofc) I’m already obsessed with the little pieces of analysis!!

Dw man the second I get another one done I’ll post it 🫡

#once I finish writing the chapter I’ll add more in depth notes too #rn tho I have school so it’s taking me way longer than stuff like this normally does #the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #wsms

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spideyhexx · 1 year ago

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a more detailed billy series you say???

yes! This which I’ve had the idea for a long while now but school got in the way of starting it but I still plan on it :)

#asks #the series is technically all drafted out #I just need to write it lmao but it’ll be a bit longer hopefully and in more chapters than what I normally post!

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rainbow-arrow · 9 months ago

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my next wato update is going to be nearly the same word count as my thesis, so i'm feeling normal emotions

#let's go #sorry it's like. three times longer than a normal chapter

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rawjutsu · 10 days ago

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chapter five.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

you wake up sticky.

your furred ears twitch, the soft insides a little too warm. your skin feels too hot, too tight, like you’ve been sweating out something that doesn’t want to leave you. and for a second, you think maybe it was a dream—that your heat hit, but you made it through alone.

but then you move.

and everything aches.

between your legs. in your lower back. your neck, your thighs, the delicate skin beneath your breasts. even your tailbone, where your soft little puff tail flicks involuntarily.

you shift under the blankets and feel the soreness bloom, spreading through you like bruises in the shape of him. satoru. his mouth, his hands, his cock. the way he held you open with a possessive growl low in his throat. the way he looked at you when you begged him not to stop, pupils blown wide and slitted like a predator locked on his prey.

your chest tightens.

the sheets still smell like him—musky and warm and faintly like ozone, that unique wild-laced scent that always seemed to curl behind your sinuses and short-circuit your thoughts.

you drag yourself out of bed, muscles protesting with every step, legs trembling faintly with the leftover echo of instinct. the pads of your feet are sore—probably from all the heat-induced pacing you don’t remember doing. you make your way to the bathroom. there’s a toothbrush already on the counter—his. it’s electric and stupidly expensive-looking. blue, of course. probably one of three he owns, because he’s satoru and he lives like a hot idiot dragon who collects luxury essentials and then loses them immediately.

you stare at it for a beat longer than you should, your ears drooping slightly, then wordlessly reach for yours.

you’re mid-rinse when you hear footsteps.

you freeze, mouth full of mint foam. your ears perk straight up.

then his voice, rough with sleep, from just outside the doorway: “morning.”

you glance at him in the mirror.

he’s shirtless. of course he’s shirtless. hair sticking up like he lost a fight with the pillow. eyes bleary, but still that impossible glacier blue. his spotted tail flicks once behind him, betraying the calm facade. his sweatpants hang low on his hips—too low—and for one stupid second, all you can think about is what it felt like to grind against him yesterday. how he grabbed your waist. how he swore under his breath when you clenched around his fingers.

you spit. rinse. force your face to stay neutral.

but he’s already looking at you.

not just at you—at what you’re wearing. one of his shirts. big and soft and worn at the collar, slipping off your shoulder with every tiny movement. the hem just barely covers the curve of your thighs, your little tail poking out beneath it.

you hadn’t even realized you grabbed it.

he raises a brow, eyes trailing over you slowly, but doesn’t say anything. just reaches for his toothbrush and starts brushing, like this is normal. like the air between you isn’t charged with leftover pheromones and tension, thick enough to choke on.

you leave before you can do something stupid.

you’d think fucking your roommate at your most vulnerable—at the peak of your heat—would make things a little awkward between you.

but it wasn’t.

at first, anyway.

it was just… mental warfare.

not that you two made some silent pact to never talk about it again or anything. you did talk about it. sorta.

“so—um—thanks, you know. for… that.” you blushed furiously, handing him his freshly washed bedsheets (and a couple shirts you stole). okay, maybe you kept one.

“right…” satoru trailed off, looking like he was debating between jumping out a window or saying something stupid.

he chose the latter.

“so, does this mean you’re like… in love with me or something?”

you scowled and smacked at him while he cackled, baring sharp little canines, dancing out of reach.

“no! i just—” you shrugged lamely, at a total loss. “i don’t know.”

“uh huh, suuure.” satoru made a face like he didn’t believe you for a second, then lifted the folded bedsheets as evidence against you.

you huffed. “oh yeah? what about you, huh? you were awfully quick to offer your services,” you said, aggressively air-quoting “help.”

satoru gasped like you’d just insulted his ancestors. “i was just trying to help my poor little roommate! but sure, let’s villainize the guy who volunteered his dick out of the kindness of his heart.”

“says the guy who literally said if he fucked me, he wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“says the one who begged for my cock or else she’d die,” he shot back, scoffing.

“yeah, well, here i am. alive. guess i didn’t need your magical dick after all,” you said, ears twitching in frustration.

he paused. then grinned. “you think my dick’s magical?”

you groaned, spun on your heel, and stormed off to your room. the door slammed. his laughter echoed down the hall—a rumbling sound low in his chest that made your nose twitch in spite of yourself.

so, yeah. you two talked about it. sorta.

then life just… went on.

you went back to work, finally relaxed, finally not on the verge of spontaneously combusting. your scent glands finally calmed, your mood stopped swinging like a pendulum, and you stopped gnawing at everything that wasn’t nailed down. satoru moved back into his own apartment—said living with nanami was like staying with a grumpy grandma who judged his cereal choices.

one morning, you bumped into the blonde himself in the hallway. he looked you over, head to toe, as if looking for any signs of mauling. then just said, “good.” and walked off.

so things were… normal.

kinda.

except, they weren’t really.

there’d been a few lowkey moments between the two of you lately. stuff that hadn’t really happened before. barely-there things—so small they could’ve meant nothing to anyone else.

but you noticed.

like when satoru’s hand brushed your lower back as he reached past you. not intentional. not not intentional, either. you were just making coffee, standing a little too close, and he leaned in to grab something—his hand lingering just a second too long, his tail curling slightly in interest before he caught himself.

or when your landlord stopped by to lecture you about the electric bill again.

you were both trying not to laugh. and across the room, your eyes met—just for a second. you grinned. he grinned back.

it felt like… something.

or when he came home late from work and tossed you that weird instant ramen you always get. no comment, no explanation—just a lazy underhand throw before he headed to bed. you hadn’t even realized he remembered.

they probably didn’t mean anything.

but you lingered on them anyway.

and in the quiet moments—the ones where your brain had nothing better to do—you kept thinking about him.

about satoru’s desperate eyes when he offered to help. the way you flinched when his rough tongue flicked your clit, sharper and stronger than any human tongue. how he growled into your cunt like he was starved, pinning your hips with brutal strength only a snow leopard hybrid could manage.

the way his veiny hand stroked his cock, fist flying, his cum spilling across your stomach in thick, hot ropes.

he was huge. thick. long. exactly the kind of thing that shouldn’t be stuck in your head mid-shift, but there you were—ringing up a customer while your ears twitched like radar dishes, thighs clenched.

the worst part? you weren’t the only one acting weird.

sure, satoru was still loud and annoying and said unhinged shit daily. but there were moments.

moments where he looked at you too long after a joke. where his smile faltered, jaw tight, whiskers twitching. moments when you’d step out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and his eyes would drag across you before he forced himself to look away, tail lashing behind him.

you knew he thought about it. there was no way he didn’t.

but what now? just ignore it until the next time your heat hit? or—god forbid—until his rut?

you choked a little on your water at the thought.

because if that was him holding back, you didn’t want to imagine what he’d be like when he completely lost control.

(no matter how badly your stupid brain wanted to.)

you were frustrated. but mostly with yourself.

why were you thinking about this so much?

why did remembering the way he whispered “please” in your ear make your heart race more than the orgasm itself?

…that was the part you didn’t want to unpack.

you yawned as you unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, tossing your keys in the bowl and dropping your bag with a heavy thud. your shift had been long, your feet were killing you, and you were this close to collapsing on the couch when—

“hey,” satoru called from the kitchen. “i’m hungry.”

you blinked, confused. “okay?”

he appeared around the corner, keys in hand. “wanna hit up the convenience store on the corner?”

you groaned, every inch of your body aching at the thought of going back out. “satoru, i just got home and it’s almost midnight. can’t you go yourself?”

but he just waved you off, grabbed your arm, and tugged you out the door before you could argue.

the streets were quiet. your footsteps tapped against the cracked pavement while the neon sign of the shop ahead buzzed like a dying cicada.

satoru walked close—closer than usual. your hands kept brushing. your nose twitched, ears flicking in his direction, catching the faint scent of unease on him.

“so like… i’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

your ears perked. “ask what?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes locked on the flickering sign. “about the whole… heat thing. you doing okay?”

you nodded a little too quickly. but he didn’t drop it—just kept staring, unreadable.

“i just—i dunno,” he muttered. “i feel like maybe we should talk about it. not in, like, a fighting way. i just... i don’t want you thinking i took advantage of you.”

your heart stuttered. you bit your lip, caught off guard by how genuinely serious he sounded.

“i guess i made it seem that way, huh?” you mumbled. you chewed on the inside of your cheek before adding, “you didn’t take advantage, satoru. you really did help me. i don’t even know what the hell was going on with my body, but i wasn’t lying when i said it freaked out when you weren’t around.”

you looked down at the concrete, too flustered to meet his eyes.

“but when you… helped... it felt like i wasn’t on fire anymore. like, for the first time, i could breathe.”

when you finally looked up, he was smiling softly. no teasing. just something raw and sweet. his tail curled slightly around his leg.

“i meant what i said too,” he murmured. “that it was hell being away from you.”

you stopped walking, startled, and satoru did too. you stared at each other under the glow of the flickering convenience store lights.

“satoru…” you started.

but before the words could leave your mouth, a hand landed on your shoulder. and it wasn’t his.

“oh hey, if it isn’t my favorite little bunny waitress.”

you jumped, your ears flattening instinctively, turning quickly. satoru went rigid beside you—shoulders tight.

the guy was a regular at the sushi place—something like fuchi or oro or tochi? you couldn’t remember. big, broad-shouldered grizzly hybrid with choppy black hair and a scar that ran down his lip. scary as hell at first, but you’d gotten used to his… vibe after serving him so many times.

“oh, hi,” you said, giving him a polite bow.

“nice seeing you outta that uniform,” he said, eyes dragging over you like he owned the sidewalk. “though i gotta say, that little skirt you wear’s the highlight of my night.”

you laughed lighly. “pretty sure the highlight of your night is our happy hour specials.”

he snorted. “can’t argue there. see you around.”

he walked off, and just like that, he was gone.

you barely thought about him again as you turned to ask satoru what snack he wanted—

only to find him staring at you. hard. blank-faced. his tail was twitching, rapid and sharp.

the back of your neck prickled. you tried to lighten the mood. “you good?”

“peachy,” he said, tight smile on his face. “let’s get our stuff and go.”

he walked into the store without waiting for a response.

back at home, the walk having been tense and silent, you were putting your melon soda into the fridge when you turned and—

satoru was right there, leaning against the counter, tail swishing low and agitated behind him. his ears were upright, twitching—like he was trying to look casual but couldn’t quite.

“so,” he said, eyes a little too sharp, “who was that?”

you blinked. “huh? oh, he’s just some regular at the restaurant. pretty harmless.”

“mmm. the kind of ‘harmless’ who likes seeing you in tiny skirts and nothing else?”

you stared at him. “what?”

“you heard me.” he was smirking—but his fangs were showing, and there wasn’t a single ounce of humor in his voice.

“what are you talking about?” you snapped. your ears twitched defensively, flattening a little. “i don’t even know his full name!”

“nothing,” he shrugged, tail flicking hard. “just think it’s funny how you’re suddenly so friendly with other guys after, i dunno, crying for my dick a few days ago.”

your jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

you stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. you were trying to scent the air for clarity, for calm, but it was full of him—sharp snow and clean cotton and something hot, something feral, underneath it all.

“who the hell do you think you are?”

his eyes darkened, pupils dilating fast. “i think i’m the fucking guy whose face you came all over—and now i get to watch you flirt with someone else right in front of me.”

your ears flattened fully against your scalp. “you’re such an idiot. i can’t believe i actually thought for a second that maybe—” you stopped, biting your tongue before the truth could spill.

satoru’s voice dropped lower, like a growl pressed into syllables. “that maybe what?”

you blinked away tears and shoved past him, brushing against his chest. you didn’t miss how he flinched—like your scent was setting him off.

you cried silently in the shower. the hot water wrinkled your fingertips while your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. you felt stupid. stupid for thinking maybe—maybe this was more than just instinct and pheromones. that maybe he felt it too.

you missed when life was simpler. when your biggest worry was whether the harvest would last the winter. when your only daily stress was the exact angle of the sun on the carrot beds. when there wasn’t a snow-haired man with a stupidly fluffy tail and predator instincts pacing your thoughts like a caged animal.

you debated going home. but that wasn’t an option. not really.

maybe it was time to move out.

you sighed, turned off the water, and stepped out, towel wrapped tight around your body—and nearly walked straight into satoru.

he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, tail low and still. his ears flicked forward when he saw your face.

“move,” you croaked, voice hoarse. your ears were drooping, betraying everything you didn’t say.

“no,” he said gently.

you sighed, exhausted. “satoru, please just—”

he reached out and cupped your face in both hands. his palms were warm—almost too warm.

your eyes fluttered up to meet his.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured. “for being an ass.”

you tried to pull away. “sorry doesn’t fix this.”

his grip tightened just a little. “please.”

you froze. that word. the way he said it. the need in it.

“i don’t know why i said that shit—well, i do, but it’ll sound dumb if i try to explain.”

“try anyway.”

he was quiet for a moment. his ears drooped, tail curling close to his calf.

“something comes over me when i’m around you. like—like my whole body’s tuned into yours and nothing else. and when you’re gone, it’s like my senses won’t shut up. it hurts.”

his laugh was low and self-deprecating.

“that day, when i said being away from you was hell, i wasn’t exaggerating. when you let me help you through your heat, it took everything in me not to—fuck, not to lose it. because my instincts? they’re not soft. they’re not gentle. they’re made for biting and pinning and claiming.”

you stared at him, stunned.

“i’ve never felt like this before,” he admitted. “and i know our relationship is messy as hell, but when you come home smelling like someone else, even just a little—it makes me feel like i’m gonna snap.”

and he didn’t need to finish.

because you were already kissing him.

soft at first. confessional. honest.

you pulled back just a little. “you’re stupid.”

“i know,” he whispered, kissing you again.

it got hotter fast—his hands gripping your towel-wrapped waist, pulling you flush against him. you whimpered when his canines tugged at your bottom lip. he growled, chest rumbling deep in his throat, fingers digging into your plush hips like he could mold them into memory.

then—he jerked back abruptly, panting. his tail lashed behind him like a whip.

you flinched, startled. “what—?”

his pupils were blown wide, his breath ragged. “maybe we shouldn’t do that. not right now.”

“oh.” you wrapped your arms around yourself, your ears drooping.

“it’s not you,” he rushed. “it’s just—shit, i think your heat pushed my rut forward. and this... definitely isn’t helping.”

“oh.”

you chewed your lip. your stomach fluttered with nerves. “i could help you.”

his gaze snapped to yours, pupils near-black. “no. absolutely not.”

his voice was low. commanding. there was a dangerous edge to it that made your knees weak.

“bunny,” he said, deadly serious, “i’d hurt you. i don’t think i’d be able to control myself during a rut—i’d tear you to shreds.”

a shudder slid down your spine at the threat veiled in warning. your ears pinned flat. the heat pooling between your thighs deepened. you should be scared—maybe you were—but not enough.

satoru’s nostrils flared. he caught your scent in an instant. and he leapt back like he’d been electrocuted.

“okay. no. seriously, don’t do that.”

your eyes went wide. “s-sorry.”

your heart was racing. you were trembling slightly. but… not entirely from fear.

“just, um—could we kiss some more?” you asked quietly, voice small, eyes dropping to the floor. you felt so stupid asking. so bunny-coded it hurt.

but satoru was on you before you could blink. he kissed you hard, his lips crashing into yours with the kind of force that made your knees buckle. his hands were everywhere—pushing your towel up, gripping your waist, your stomach, your thighs. you whimpered into his mouth and he groaned, the sound gravelly and raw.

he fisted your hair, tilting your head back. his nose buried into your throat and he licked.

you gasped. your whole body jolted.

he hissed—your scent was too much. a drug. a trigger.

then—he bit.

not hard. not enough to draw blood. but enough to sting. enough to make your body go rigid in shock.

your eyes went wide. every part of your prey instincts screamed: freeze. run. hide.

satoru jerked back instantly. his chest was heaving. his eyes were dark and wild.

“oh, fuck.” his voice was raw, full of panic. “i—i think i need to get a motel. for the next couple days.”

you nodded numbly, brushing your fingers against the graze on your neck. it wasn’t even bleeding. but it felt like a brand.

“don’t come out of your room tonight,” he said sharply. “better yet—lock the door.”

he laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “i’m not sure i trust myself.”

“i trust you, satoru,” you whispered. your voice wavered—but you meant it.

his eyes softened, just a fraction. his jaw unclenched. he leaned in again, slowly this time, like he was afraid to scare you.

he kissed you—gentle. chaste.

you could still feel him trembling.

“goodnight, little bunny.”

#fresh out the oven𓂃 ࣪⋆🧁˚ ༘#snow leopard hybrid gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk blurb #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo blurb #gojo fanfic #gojo smut #bunny reader #bunny hybrid reader

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shouyuus · 7 months ago

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─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

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cressidagrey · 3 months ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 11: December 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, discussion of allergies.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

EXCLUSIVE: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON LEGACY, LOVE, AND LIFE BEYOND THE TRACK

Max Verstappen has nothing left to prove. At just 26, the Dutch driver has secured his third consecutive Formula 1 World Championship, cementing his place among the sport’s greats. A record-breaking season. The most dominant year of his career.

Sitting down with us in the aftermath of his 2023 season, Verstappen is more reflective than ever—about racing, his future, and, unexpectedly, love.

“I’m just really happy with where I am,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a rare, easy smile. “It’s been an incredible year, not just on the track but personally too.”

For a driver known for his laser focus and relentless pursuit of perfection, the mention of his personal life is intriguing. Verstappen has always been fiercely private, but for the first time, he opens up—just a little—about the woman who has been by his side through it all.

“She’s been amazing,” he says with a rare softness. “Just always there, supporting me. It makes a difference, having that stability, someone who understands what this life is like but also makes it feel normal. Racing is intense, it takes so much out of you, and having someone who understands that, who knows when to push and when to just be there… it makes a difference.”

There’s a softness in his voice that is unexpected, a rare glimpse into a side of Verstappen few get to see. While he doesn’t reveal her name, it’s clear she holds a special place in his life.

“I’ve been learning French,” he reveals, smiling. “It’s… a work in progress. But I hear it a lot at home now, so I’m trying. I think it’s important to make an effort, to meet someone halfway.”

The mention of home is deliberate—he’s no longer just passing through Monaco, but truly settling in. For a driver who once lived and breathed racing with little room for anything else, that shift is telling.

And when asked about his future outside of F1, his answer is telling: “Marriage with her? Yes, definitely,” he said with the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants. “One day, I want a family. I want kids. I think that’s something really special.”

Still, don’t mistake contentment for complacency. If anything, Verstappen seems more driven than ever. “I love what I do,” he says simply. “And I love coming home after, too.”

As Verstappen looks ahead to 2024, his goals remain the same: keep winning, keep pushing, keep proving that his dominance is no accident. But for the first time, it seems like he’s racing toward something more than just trophies. And perhaps, that’s what truly makes a champion.

Comments:

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN. LEARNING FRENCH. FOR HIS GIRLFRIEND. WE HAVE WON.

@/RedBullRacingUpdates: “I hear it a lot at home now” HOLD ON. HOME?????? HE LIVES WITH HER?????

@/MonacoGossip: So Max has a girlfriend. He’s learning French. He hears it a lot at home. CONCLUSIONS ARE BEING DRAWN.

@/PitLanePrincess: No bc WHO is she. WHO is this woman who has Max Verstappen learning a whole new language.

@/SoftMaxxie: “She makes it feel normal” I’M SORRY BUT THAT’S SO CUTE I NEED A MOMENT

@DR3Stan: Max is really out here being domesticated and thriving.

@/CharlesFanatic: French. Girlfriend. Monaco apartment. squints at every French-speaking woman in the paddock

@/TheGridTea: The way he just casually dropped that he’s LEARNING FRENCH for her like that’s a normal thing. Max, sir, you are in love.

@/CheckeredHeart: Not me downloading Duolingo because if Max Verstappen can learn French for love, so can I.

@/OversteerQueen: The fact that he didn’t even realize he was basically confirming he lives with her… Max, babe, you’re so in love.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: I need to go through Max’s entire Instagram with a fine-tooth comb IMMEDIATELY. There must be something.

@/F1Troll: Duolingo about to see a spike in Dutch users trying to figure out what Max is learning.

@/DR3Honeybadger: “I hear it a lot at home” SO YOU’RE SAYING HE GOES HOME TO HER. MAX VERSTAPPEN GOES HOME TO HIS GIRLFRIEND.

@/BoxBoxBox: Max Verstappen being all “oh yeah, my girlfriend this, my girlfriend that” like we KNOW who she is. SIR, WHO??

@/FormulaHeartbreak: I thought I was prepared for soft domestic Max but I WAS NOT.

@/TifosiDrama: Charles Leclerc’s face when he realizes his biggest rival is learning his language for his mystery girlfriend.

@/SidepodShenanigans: Forget the championship, I need an in-depth investigation into WHO this woman is and how she has Max Verstappen willingly studying.

@/ChecoFan88: We’re never getting her identity confirmed, are we? Max is just going to keep saying “my girlfriend” like it’s a classified government secret.

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID “MARRIAGE WITH HER? YES, DEFINITELY.” HELLO??? WHO IS SHE???

@/LandoNorrisFanclub: I need someone to look at me the way Max Verstappen looks at his mystery girlfriend that none of us have ever seen.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen, the man who once said all he needed was sim racing and his cats, is out here talking about marriage and kids. Character development.

@/Formula1Fanatic: Max in 2021: “I don’t need friends, I have sim racing.” Max in 2023: “I want kids, a home, and a life beyond the paddock.” What did this woman DO TO HIM???

@LightsOutMax: This man used to refuse to even acknowledge personal questions and now he’s out here basically writing wedding vows. Love really changes people.

@/PaddockPrincess: If Max Verstappen, king of emotional repression, is out here openly talking about love and marriage… yeah, she’s the one.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1Spotted: Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀

@/F1Updates: oh we’re COOKING today. someone get the conspiracy board out. it’s time.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Charles is gonna be an uncle????? 🍼

@/mclarenny: Wait wait wait Isabelle has a boyfriend??? Did i miss a chapter???

@/verstappensupremacy: me, knowing damn well who her boyfriend is, sipping my tea calmly 😌🍵

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is, i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/f1insiderz: to be clear: no confirmation of anything, she was spotted in a boutique, could be a gift, could be for someone else, could be NOTHING (we’re still gonna lose our minds though)

@/chequeredflag: me trying to stay calm: it’s probably just a present also me: ISABELLE LECLERC BABY ERA CONFIRMED 😭

@/charlesincrisis: charles: what a peaceful day

twitter: ur sister might be pregnant

charles: 🧍🏻‍♂️

@/reasonableracer: guys: take a breath. Victoria Verstappen is literally pregnant. And CHRISTMAS IS IN 24 DAYS. Maybe Isabelle is just buying baby clothes for HER FRIEND’S BABY.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHY ISABELLE WAS JUST SPOTTED BUYING BABY CLOTHES??

Charles: WHAT???

Arthur: LOOK AT THIS. [attaches screenshot of a Twitter post: “Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀”]

Lorenzo: Isabelle. Tell me this is a joke.

Isabelle: Calm down. It’s not a big deal.

Arthur: NOT A BIG DEAL??? WHY ARE YOU BUYING BABY CLOTHES???

Isabelle: Because they’re cute??

Charles: …What?

Lorenzo: Isabelle, that’s not an answer.

Isabelle: I just like them, okay?

Charles: Wait. Is there something you need to tell us?

Arthur: OH MY GOD. ARE YOU PREGNANT?

Isabelle: No.

Arthur: Then WHY are you buying baby clothes??

Isabelle: First of all, a friend of mine is pregnant, so I bought some as a gift. Secondly, I like baby clothes! I have a whole box of them at home!

Charles: A WHOLE BOX???

Arthur: ISABELLE. THAT MAKES IT WORSE.

Lorenzo: WHY DO YOU HAVE A BOX OF BABY CLOTHES WITH NO BABY??

Isabelle: Because I’ve been collecting them for years!

Charles: …Years??

Arthur: But… for what?

Isabelle: For when I have a baby one day??

Lorenzo: One day?? Isabelle, you don’t even have a boyfriend.

Charles: Yeah. Who exactly are you planning this baby with?

Isabelle: Excuse me??

Arthur: I mean… it’s a little weird, right? Collecting baby clothes for years when there’s no sign of a baby happening anytime soon?

Charles: It’s just… I don’t know, kind of pointless?

Isabelle: Wow. Okay.

Arthur: We’re just saying—

Isabelle: No, I get it. It’s weird because I have them. If someone else did, it’d be sweet. But because it’s me, it’s just sad and pathetic, right?

Lorenzo: We didn’t say that.

Isabelle: You didn’t have to.

Arthur: Come on, don’t be like that.

Isabelle: No, really. It’s fine. I’ll make sure to run all my future life choices by you three first so I don’t embarrass the Leclerc name.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So… my brothers are currently having an absolute meltdown.

Emilie: What did you do? Actually, wait—what do they think you did?

Isabelle: Oh, nothing major. Just bought some baby clothes.

Emilie: …Are you pregnant?

Isabelle: NO!

Emilie: Okay, just checking! So why are they freaking out?

Isabelle: Because I told them I have a box of baby clothes at home, and now they think I’m insane.

Emilie: Pffft. That’s not insane. That’s just you.

Isabelle: THANK YOU.

Emilie: Seriously, I don’t know why they’re acting so shocked. You were the girl who had a wedding binder at thirteen and a full baby name list by fifteen.

Isabelle: It was color-coded.

Emilie: Of course it was. Because you plan ahead. It’s not weird—it’s just you being Belle.

Isabelle: It’s just a small box of things I’ve collected over the years…

Emilie: Honestly, I don’t get why they’re so weird about it. Like, I don’t want kids, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s strange that you do.

Isabelle: You don’t?

Emilie: I will personally never deal with sticky fingers or 3 AM crying, but you? You’re gonna be an amazing mom one day. And when that happens, I will spoil your kids rotten.

Isabelle: You’re the best.

Emilie: I know. Now, do you need me to help you pick out more baby clothes? Because I will fully commit to this.

Isabelle: I might have seen a few more things today that were cute.

Emilie: I’m in.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1Updates: LMAO, not pregnant, just buying Christmas presents for literally anyone with a baby. I can’t.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Sadly Charles is not gonna be an uncle 😭 Isabelle literally went on to Instagram to shut down these rumours

@/mclarenny: It’s honestly insane that we need a full IG story to clear up the rumors. Just let her buy a few baby clothes in peace…

@/verstappensupremacy: The fact she had to make that statement is just... wild. Why do we live in a world where women can't even buy baby clothes without everyone assuming they’re pregnant?

@/leclercslens: Honestly, it’s not even funny. If she was pregnant, it’s her news to share, and people jumping to conclusions is gross. Let her live her life!

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is, i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/chequeredflag: Imagine buying a gift for a baby and then having to do a whole Instagram story just because people have assumptions😭

***

The winter sun slanted low through the living room windows, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floors.

Isabelle sat cross-legged on the carpet, the lid of the old storage box propped up against the coffee table.

Inside: soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted booties, delicate little cardigans wrapped in tissue paper.

A tiny quilt she had picked up at a market in Paris three years ago, too lovely to leave behind.

She hadn’t meant to pull it all out today.

It had just... happened.

Maybe because the fight with her brothers was still lingering under her skin, the words they hadn’t said loud enough to name — weird, sad, pathetic — scratching at her confidence like sandpaper.

Isabelle carefully unfolded a tiny pair of socks, brushing her thumb lightly over the soft fabric.

She hadn’t even heard the door open.

"Hey," Max’s voice came, warm and familiar from behind her. "You’re back early."

She turned, startled — and froze.

Max stood just inside the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair tousled, still a little flushed from training.

His eyes dropped to the scene in front of her. The open box. The tiny clothes.

Isabelle’s stomach twisted painfully.

"I—" she stammered, already rushing to shove the lid back on, to stuff the pieces away. "It’s nothing. I was just... cleaning. I should put this away."

But before she could, Max was there, crouching down beside her, one hand gently catching her wrist.

"Hey," he said, voice low. "You don’t have to hide it."

She looked at him helplessly, the shame still hot and heavy in her chest. "I know it’s weird," she muttered. "You don’t have to pretend."

Max just shook his head, slow and certain.

"It’s not weird," he said simply. "It’s you."

He reached into the box without hesitation, pulling out a tiny, soft grey onesie embroidered with a little fox.

He smiled — a small, real smile that made her chest ache.

"This is adorable," he said, running his thumb lightly over the fabric. "You’ve had all this ready. Just waiting."

Isabelle swallowed hard. "It’s stupid," she whispered. "I don’t even know if—when—"

Max set the onesie carefully on her knee, and took her face in his hands.

"You’re going to be an incredible mother someday," he said, steady and sure, like it was a fact written in the stars. "And it’s not stupid to dream about it."

Tears stung behind her eyes, burning hot and fast.

"I’m not in a rush," she said quickly, panicked, because the last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped. "I’m not—this isn’t pressure, I swear—"

Max’s thumb brushed under her eye, catching the first tear before it could fall.

"I know," he said. "I know you’re not rushing. And I’m not scared."

He smiled again — small, crooked, devastating. "I want that with you. One day. When you’re ready. When we’re ready."

Isabelle let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.

Max kissed her forehead, lingering there for a long moment, like he could press all his promises into her skin.

“I hope they have your heart,” he murmured.

“I hope they have your eyes,” Isabelle whispered, half-laughing through the emotion that suddenly welled up in her chest.

They stood there for a long moment — Max with his arm around her, Isabelle resting against his shoulder, the box of tiny dreams between them.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel silly for hoping.

Didn’t feel foolish for wanting.

She just felt… safe.

Held.

Seen.

***

The meeting was supposed to be quick.

Just a light debrief before the holidays — finalize a few schedules, exchange terrible Secret Santa gifts, maybe sneak out early and pretend they were already on break.

It wasn’t supposed to turn into... whatever this was.

GP, casually flipping through his notes, glanced at Max and said, "You sorted your Christmas break yet, mate?"

Max shrugged. "Mostly."

Then, without warning, he pulled a folder from his backpack and slid it across the table like it was nothing.

"Also, this is for you."

GP raised an eyebrow, visibly suspicious. "What's this?"

Max leaned back lazily, arms stretched over the chair next to him. "Kitchen plans," he said. "Merry Christmas."

Checo, half-listening at first, glanced up. Kitchen plans?

GP cracked open the folder, frowning. Max was utterly relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Belle helped draw it up. Should make it easier," Max added, casual as anything.

Checo’s brain stalled on one word.

Belle.

Belle?

Across the table, Checo slowly straightened, feeling a weird knot twist in his chest.

Surely Max didn’t mean—

No.

No way.

"Belle," Checo repeated carefully, watching Max’s face.

Max nodded once, calm and easy. "Yeah."

Checo looked at the folder again.

Then at Max.

Then back at the folder.

Slow horror dawned in the pit of his stomach.

"Belle like..." Checo said, the words dragging themselves out against his will, "Isabelle Leclerc?"

Max’s answering nod was small but smug. Proud, even.

"Yeah."

Checo stared at him.

Dead silent.

The realization hitting him like a slow-motion car crash.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," Checo said aloud, more for his own sanity than anyone else's.

Not a question. A statement. A grim acknowledgment.

Max’s smirk widened, barely restrained.

"Yes," he said again, almost cheerfully.

Checo just sat there for a long moment, frozen in place, wondering at what point in life he had taken the wrong turn that led him to this exact situation.

Charles was going to kill him just for knowing this information.

Max might survive because Max was Max. But Checo? Checo had a family to think about.

He valued peace. He valued survival.

Very, very carefully, Checo set his coffee down.

"You know what?" he said, pushing his chair back with slow, deliberate movements. "I don't want to know more."

Max tilted his head, amused. "You sure?"

"Completely sure," Checo said firmly, standing up like he needed physical distance from the absolute disaster this could become. "I value my life. I value my continued existence. I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever crime scene this turns into."

Max just chuckled under his breath, spinning his pen between his fingers like the smug bastard he was.

Meanwhile, GP was still utterly oblivious, flipping through the kitchen plans like he’d been handed the Holy Grail.

"This is under budget," GP muttered, awed. "How the hell—?"

"She’s good at what she does," Max said simply, stealing a sip of his Red Bull like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

Checo rubbed a hand over his face.

He needed a drink.

Maybe several.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," he muttered again, mostly to himself. "And now she’s designing kitchens for your engineer. I’m just... I’m going to mind my own business. Completely. Forever."

Max gave him a bright, insufferable thumbs-up.

"Happy holidays," Checo muttered darkly, clutching his coffee like it might save him from the nightmare he was now complicit in. He turned and walked straight out of the meeting room, not daring to look back.

Some things, he decided grimly, were above his pay grade.

Max Verstappen dating a Leclerc was absolutely one of them.

He didn’t want to know more.

He didn’t want to witness more.

And if anyone asked later, Checo would simply say he had no idea, no involvement, no memory of any of it.

Survival first.

Questions never.

***

The kitchen was filled with the soft clatter of dishes and the hum of the coffee machine.

Belle leaned against the counter, scrolling absently through emails on her phone, half-listening to the quiet patter of the cats chasing each other down the hallway.

She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do next.

Quitting had been the right choice — she didn’t doubt that. But for the first time in years, she felt... unmoored.

No title to hide behind.

No company name to make herself sound important.

Just her.

Her phone buzzed, startling her slightly.

Unknown number.

Frowning, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Isabelle Leclerc?"

The voice was vaguely familiar. Polished. Professional.

"This is Daniel Moreau — you worked with us last year on the Chevalier renovation in Beaulieu?"

Her heart lifted in instant recognition. The Moreau project — one of the few she’d truly loved. A quiet, modern transformation of a historic villa. One where the client had listened. Trusted her.

"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, straightening.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," Daniel said warmly. "I just... I was hoping to get in touch with you directly."

Isabelle blinked. "With me?"

"Yes. I know you were working with Atelier Renard before, but I heard you’ve gone independent?"

She hesitated.

Independent.

Was that what she was now?

"I—" She cleared her throat. "Yes. I’m no longer with them."

"Good," he said, without missing a beat. "Because between you and me, I wasn’t impressed with the rest of their work. You were the reason we kept moving forward…Frankly, we want to work with you. Not the firm. You were the reason the project went so smoothly last time."

Isabelle felt something flicker in her chest — a cautious, disbelieving warmth.

"We’ve bought another property," Daniel continued. "Another historic site. Needs sensitive handling. We were hoping you might be willing to take it on."

Her heart was hammering now.

They wanted her.

Not the company behind her name.

Not the brand.

Her.

"I—I'd love to hear more," she said, keeping her voice steady somehow.

They talked for a few minutes — broad sketches of timelines, budgets, expectations. Nothing binding yet. But real. Solid. Tangible.

When she finally hung up, she stood there for a long moment, the silence of the apartment pressing in around her.

And then it hit her.

She could do this.

Freelancing wasn’t just a fantasy.

It wasn’t some reckless, impossible dream.

She had clients who trusted her.

She had projects she could be proud of.

She didn’t have to disappear into someone else’s firm again.

She could build something of her own.

The realization settled into her bones, slow and sure and so much bigger than she'd expected.

From down the hall, she heard the cats yowl — something crashing into a wall — and a muttered curse from Max, who was apparently trying (and failing) to play referee.

Isabelle laughed under her breath, feeling something unfurl inside her she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Real, solid hope.

Maybe she didn’t need a title to be important.

Maybe she just needed to bet on herself — finally, properly — and not be afraid of being seen.

***

Max wandered out of the hallway, barefoot, hair still damp from a quick shower after wrestling two hyperactive cats off the curtains. He found Isabelle standing by the kitchen counter, barefoot too, scrolling through her phone with that look he knew well — half-distracted, half-scheming.

She looked up when she heard him.

And immediately, he knew.

Something had shifted.

Something good.

He crossed the room lazily, leaned one hip against the counter, and stole a sip of her coffee before she could swat him away.

"Alright?" he asked, pretending to be casual.

Isabelle bit her lip — that tiny, telltale smile she couldn't hide when she was excited.

"I got a call," she said.

Max tilted his head, setting down the cup. "Yeah?"

"Daniel Moreau. From the Chevalier project,” she said, voice careful, like she was still half-afraid to jinx it. "You know — the villa renovation project I did this year?"

Max frowned, sorting through his mental archive — and then remembered.

The client she’d actually liked. The one who sent her a handwritten thank you note. The one she had called reasonable, which for Belle was practically sainthood.

She’d talked about that project differently. Like it had meant something.

"He wants me to take on a new property," she said, almost breathless. "Not with the firm. With me. Freelance."

Max’s chest tightened in a way he hadn’t expected.

Pride.

He grinned, wide and stupid, and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off the ground for half a second before she squealed and shoved at his shoulders.

"Max!" she laughed, breathless.

He set her down carefully, brushing her hair out of her face.

"You’re a menace," she accused, cheeks pink, smiling anyway.

He just smirked. "And you’re brilliant."

Isabelle ducked her head, embarrassed, but Max didn’t let go. He never would.

"You’re doing it," he said, quieter now. "On your own."

She nodded, biting her lip again.

"It feels... real. Like maybe I can actually do it."

Max dropped a kiss on her forehead, easy and sure. "You’re going to be brilliant, schatje. You always were."

Then, grinning wickedly, he added, "Although I guess this means you’re quitting your career as my trophy wife after, what, three weeks?"

Isabelle snorted. "You’re the one who said I should be a trophy wife while I figured things out."

"You were terrible at it," Max teased. "No gold digger instincts. No dramatic shopping sprees. You kept refusing to use the black card."

"I bought the cats toys," she said defensively.

"For like two hundred euros," Max deadpanned. "Pathetic effort."

Isabelle laughed properly then, tipping forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

Max wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

"You’re the worst trophy wife," he said affectionately. "But you’re the best everything else."

She hummed quietly against him, the kind of sound that always made something in him settle.

And just like that — without even thinking about it — a plan started forming in his head.

"You’re going to need space," he said, thoughtful.

Belle blinked. "Space?"

"A proper office," Max said casually, already picturing it. "One of the guest bedrooms. We’ll clear it out this week. Desk, shelving, everything you want. Set it up properly."

She stared at him, stunned.

"You—you don’t have to—"

He cut her off with a soft snort. "You're not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle. You're not hiding your work anymore."

She bit her lip, eyes shining.

"You’re building something," Max said, voice low and certain. "And you’re doing it here. With me."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: EMILIE

Emilie: Oh god. What did the cats destroy?

Emilie: Is Max in jail for killing your brothers? Do I need bail money?

Isabelle: No?? Not this time

Isabelle: This is GOOD news!

Emilie: 👀 I’m listening

Isabelle: Do you remember the Chevalier project??

Isabelle: The villa in Beaulieu with the modern restoration?

Isabelle: The client I actually liked??

Emilie: omg yes

Emilie: The miracle project.

Emilie: The one with the client who sent you a thank-you basket instead of screaming about grout.

Isabelle: YES

Isabelle: He called me.

Emilie: Wait what??

Isabelle: He called me directly. Me. not the firm.

Isabelle: He and his husband bought another property

Isabelle: A historic one and they want me to lead it

Isabelle: me-me

Isabelle: not me-through-someone-else

Isabelle: not “representing a firm”

Isabelle: just me

Isabelle: freelance

Emilie: OH MY GOD BELLE

Emilie: HOLY SHIT

Emilie: YOU’RE DOING IT

Isabelle: I think I am??

Isabelle: I think I actually am 😭

Emilie: I’m so proud I could throw up

Isabelle: thank you

Isabelle: I literally hung up the phone and just stood in the kitchen like. blinking. processing.

Isabelle: Max is already planning to convert a guest room into an office

Isabelle: he was like “you’re not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle”

Isabelle: like it wasn’t even a question

Isabelle: I think I almost cried??

Emilie: you deserve every bit of this

Emilie: the job

Emilie: the space

Emilie: the love

Isabelle: 😭😭😭

Emilie: now

Emilie: send me photos of this imaginary office

Emilie: we're making mood boards

Emilie: this is not a drill

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: Belle, you’re getting the gifts sorted, right?

Arthur: And can you find a tree?

Arthur: The one last year was kinda sad.

Charles: Maybe get the ornaments too?

Charles: Some of them broke last year when Arthur dropped the box.

Arthur: NOT MY FAULT

Charles: Was totally your fault.

Arthur: Ok but Belle dropped it first and I just caught it badly.

Arthur: Not 100% my fault.

Isabelle: I can get a tree.

Isabelle: But I thought we were all doing gifts separately this year?

Lorenzo: It’s easier if you just coordinate it.

Charles: Yeah like last year.

Arthur: You have the spreadsheets.

Charles: Exactly.

Lorenzo: I’ll send you money for my part.

Arthur: Same ***

Max knew Isabelle liked things to be done properly.

He just hadn’t realized how much of Christmas rested entirely on her shoulders—until he saw it for himself.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching as she moved through the room in a practiced, exhausted sort of rhythm. No music playing, no humming, no bright Christmas energy — just quiet determination.

The dining table was buried under piles of wrapping paper, tissue, and scotch tape.

The counters were cluttered with cookie tins she had baked and labeled herself— and he knew she had stayed up until two in the morning last night finishing them.

"Belle," Max said quietly. "When was the last time you sat down?"

She didn’t answer right away, too busy fiddling with the tags on a stack of presents. Her movements were brisk, mechanical, like she was running on autopilot.

"I’m almost done," she mumbled.

Max pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room to her. "That's not what I asked."

Isabelle finally looked up at him, and he caught it then — the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

"I have to finish," she said, voice soft but firm. "There’s still the place settings for dinner, and I have to make sure the boys’ gifts are packed up, and if I don’t do the grocery shopping today, no one will—"

She cut herself off with a frustrated little breath, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Max felt something sharp and angry twist in his chest — but not at her.

At them.

At the way her family didn’t even seem to notice how much she did. How much she gave.

"Why does it all fall on you?" he asked, gentler now.

Isabelle shrugged. A small, defeated motion.

"Because if I don’t do it," she whispered, "nobody will."

And Max realized, all at once, that Christmas wasn’t a magical time for Isabelle.

It was work. It was duty. It was trying to make sure everyone else felt special, even if it meant breaking herself in the process.

He reached out and tugged the ribbon from her hands, letting it drop onto the table.

"Enough," he said quietly.

"But—"

"Belle." His voice left no room for argument. "Enough."

Her lip wobbled, just a little, and Max swore he felt his heart crack.

He pulled her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and just held her.

Held her like he could carry the exhaustion for her, even if only for a moment.

"You don’t have to do everything," he murmured. "You shouldn’t have to."

"I just… I want it to be nice," she whispered into his shirt. "For them."

Max kissed the top of her head, fierce and aching with love, unable to come up with an answer to that.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: You know what’s actually insane?

Emilie: That you’re obsessed with my best friend?

Max: That Isabelle plans EVERYTHING and no one even notices.

Emilie: Oh. That. Yeah, it’s infuriating.

Max: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, their mom— they just assume things magically happen.

Emilie: The best part? If she ever didn’t plan something, they’d all just stand around confused like, “Oh, I thought you handled it.”

Max: And she’d probably still feel bad and fix it for them.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: How has she not quit being the family event planner?

Emilie: Because she’s too nice. And apparently, someone has to be the responsible one.

Max: No, but really. Why is she the one who always has to book everything?

Emilie: Because if she doesn’t, nobody will.

Max: They’d just show up at an airport with no flights booked.

Emilie: Or try to go to a fully booked restaurant like, “Oh, you need reservations?”

Max: It’s actually painful to think about.

Emilie: The best was when Arthur’s girlfriend was like, “It’s so cute how he planned our anniversary dinner.”

Max: No. Don’t tell me—

Emilie: ISABELLE BOOKED IT.

Max: I refuse to believe this.

Emilie: She even picked out the gift.

Max: Arthur better be eternally grateful.

Emilie: Oh, no. He just went, “Oh yeah, great,” and moved on with his life.

Max: …I need a moment.

Emilie: I KNOW.

Max: Does anyone EVER actually thank her??

Emilie: Not really. They just assume she enjoys it.

Max: What if she doesn’t?

Emilie: Then she suffers in silence because if she stops, everything falls apart.

Max: I actually hate this.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Pascale: Good afternoon my loves!

Pascale: Isabelle, have you finalized the menu for Christmas Eve yet?

Lorenzo: And did you book the restaurant for Christmas Day lunch?

Arthur: Also, did you grab the tree yet?

Pascale: Don’t forget to wrap the presents nicely this year.

Pascale: Remember last year? Arthur’s wrapping was a disaster.

Arthur: HEY

Arthur: you gave me like five minutes and no tape!!

Pascale: Also, Isabelle, can you remind everyone about the dress code for Christmas Eve?

Pascale: I want a nice family photo this year. No jeans.

Pascale: I want it to feel festive, but tasteful.

Arthur: CAN I WEAR A CHRISTMAS SWEATER WITH A DINOSAUR

Charles: Maman will actually murder you.

Lorenzo: And you’re getting gifts for the cousins, right? Maman said you handled it best last year.

Pascale: And don’t forget to bake some of those little cinnamon cookies your brothers love!

Isabelle: Sure.

Isabelle: I’ll handle it.

***

The smell hit him first.

Warm, rich, spicy — the kind of scent that wrapped around your senses and pulled you straight into childhood memories.

Max inhaled without thinking… and then frowned.

Cinnamon.

He stepped into the kitchen, fully expecting to find Isabelle humming or maybe sneakily sampling cookies fresh from the oven.

Instead, he found her hunched over the counter, moving carefully as she arranged rows of golden-brown cookies onto a cooling rack. Her sleeves were pushed up, her hair pinned back messily. There was flour on her cheek.

And a deep, angry rash beginning to creep up the side of her wrist.

Max's heart dropped.

"Belle," he said sharply, striding over. "What are you doing?"

She jumped, startled, nearly dropping the spatula.

"Max! You scared me."

He caught her hand before she could hide it behind her back. The rash was worse up close — red and inflamed, already beginning to welt. He knew the signs; Isabelle was allergic to cinnamon. Had been since she was a kid.

"You're having a reaction," he said, keeping his voice steady even as his blood simmered with frustration. "Why are you—?"

She gave a small, guilty shrug, trying to tug her hand back.

"It's just a little," she muttered. "It’s fine. I washed my hands a lot. I’ll take something after."

"Belle."

"They like them," she said, almost defensively. "Arthur, Lorenzo and Charles always ask for them. I didn’t want to disappoint them."

Max stared at her, the cookies cooling between them, the kitchen warm and bright but the air between them unbearably heavy.

"You’re allergic," he said, low and rough. "You're hurting yourself. For cookies."

"For my brothers," she corrected softly. "They don't even realize I can't eat them."

The words slipped out, unguarded, and Max felt them land like a punch to the chest.

They didn't even realize.

She baked them every year anyway.

Because she loved them. Because she thought that was what love meant — giving and giving, even when it cost her.

He closed his eyes, the fury, hot and immediate.

All the work, all the care, all the quiet sacrifices—things her family didn’t even see unless they went undone.

Max opened his eyes and pulled a bowl away from her, setting it firmly on the counter.

"No," he said.

Isabelle blinked up at him, startled. "No?"

"No more," Max repeated. "You’re not doing this. Not for them. Not when it hurts you."

"But—"

Max cupped her face, ignoring the faint cinnamon dust on her cheek.

"I love how much you care," he said, voice low, steady. "I love how much you want things to be perfect for everyone. But you deserve someone who thinks about you, too."

He saw the way her throat bobbed, the way her lashes fluttered like she was trying not to cry.

"You don’t have to earn their love, Belle," Max whispered. "You don’t have to set yourself on fire just to keep them warm."

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

The oven beeped in the background, forgotten.

Finally, Isabelle sagged into him, her forehead pressing into his chest, her hands fisting lightly in his sweater.

Max wrapped his arms around her, holding her together because he knew she’d spent so long holding everyone else.

****

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Your best friend is insane.

Emilie: I assume this isn’t about the fact she alphabetizes her spice rack?

Max: No.

Max: She’s baking cinnamon cookies.

Max: FOR HER BROTHERS.

Max: SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CINNAMON.

Emilie: Oh god.

Emilie: Again???

Max: AGAIN???

Max: THIS HAPPENS EVERY YEAR???

Emilie: Max, breathe.

Emilie: Yes.

Emilie: She does it every year because Arthur and Charles expect it and she doesn’t want to “ruin Christmas.”

Max: THIS ISN’T FUCKING NORMAL.

Max: SHE’S HAVING A REACTION.

Max: FROM COOKIES.

Max: THAT SHE IS MAKING FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T EVEN NOTICE.

Emilie: Yeah.

Emilie: Welcome to the Leclerc family dynamic.

Emilie: You’re catching up.

Max: No.

Max: Absolutely not.

Max: I’m burning the cinnamon.

Max: I’m throwing the cookies out the window.

Max: I’m locking her in a room with antihistamines and telling Arthur to choke on store-bought biscuits.

Max: How has nobody told her she doesn’t have to kill herself for them?

Emilie: Because she thinks love is earning your place.

Emilie: Not just existing and being enough.

Emilie:She’s never really had anyone who told her otherwise.

Max: She does now.

Emilie: Good.

Emilie: Because she deserves better.

Emilie: And if you ever need backup setting fire to the cinnamon cookies, I’m free.

Max: Might take you up on that.

***

Group Chat: Santa’s Elves

(Members: Max, Victoria, Tom and Sophie)

Victoria: okay troops

Victoria: Christmas dinner plan is a GO

Victoria: assignments incoming

Tom: I’m ready

Tom: already bought festive beer Tom: and the good wine Tom: you’re welcome

Sophie: 😂 Love the enthusiasm, Tom

Max: what’s my job? Max: …please nothing that involves cooking

Victoria: relax Victoria: you’re on babysitting duty Victoria: keep the kids alive while we finish food

Max: Easy Max: i’m their favorite anyway 😎

Sophie: Confirmed.

Sophie: The boys like Max better than Tom and me combined.

Tom: 😑 i’m buying more wine to cope

Victoria: Mom is doing the main course (queen)

Victoria: I’m doing the cheeseboard and table set up

Victoria: Tom’s on drinks duty

Victoria: Max is kid-wrangling + ordering dessert from that bakery we like

Max: got it

Max: will order tomorrow morning

Max: anything specific?

Sophie: something chocolate. always chocolate.

Victoria: and something pretty for Instagram pls

Victoria: priorities

Tom: if it looks good but tastes bad that’s your fault, Vic

Victoria: you’re on thin ice

Max: if you two fight the kids are judging

Sophie: The kids already judge

Sophie: you should hear the Luka critique Tom’s hot chocolate skills

Tom: As long as Max doesn’t set anything on fire we’re good this christmas

Max: no promises 🔥

***

Max’s suitcase was by the door, neat and ready, like always.

She sat on the edge of the couch, fingers curled around a mug of tea she wasn’t drinking, pretending the ache in her chest was just from the cold — not from the knowledge that he was leaving, and she was staying.

They had never made a big thing out of it. They had agreed months ago: Christmas with their own families.

She hadn’t wanted to impose. And truthfully, she hadn’t thought she was allowed to want anything else.

Max crossed the room, zipping up his jacket, his steps slow like he didn’t want to leave either.

"You sure you’ll be okay?" he asked softly, crouching in front of her, his hand coming to rest on her knee.

Isabelle smiled, small and careful.

"Yeah," she lied. "It’s just a few days."

Max’s gaze didn’t move from her face. He was too good at reading her now — too good at seeing the spaces between what she said and what she meant.

"You’re dreading it."

It wasn’t a question.

She let out a quiet breath and looked down into her tea.

"They mean well," she said, which wasn’t really true. "They just... expect things. And it’s always a lot. No matter how much I do, it never feels like enough."

Max reached for her hand. He held it carefully, like it might crumble if he wasn’t gentle.

"You don’t have to do it all," he said. "You can say no."

Her throat tightened. "Not with them. You know that."

He didn’t argue.

Just brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

"You want me to stay?"

The words were so quiet she almost missed them.

Her eyes shot up to his, wide and startled. "What?"

Max smiled — soft, knowing. "I’d stay. If you asked."

And oh, she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

But she couldn’t be the reason he missed his family.

The one that actually showed up. The one that divided the work. The one that loved him without conditions.

"You should go," she whispered. "They’ll be waiting."

Max nodded, though his hand didn’t let go of hers right away.

"You text me," he said firmly. "Whenever you need to. If it gets too much. If you just want to vent. Anything."

Isabelle nodded. "I will."

Max leaned in, kissed her forehead — slow and lingering — then pressed his mouth to her temple, like he was trying to pass all his steadiness into her through the skin.

"You come to me the moment you need a break, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

And then he was gone — suitcase in hand, footsteps echoing down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

She sat in the quiet, tea still untouched, the weight of the upcoming holiday settling back over her like a too-heavy coat.

A few days.

She could survive a few days.

Even if it meant smiling through disappointment.

Even if it meant being everyone’s glue while no one held her together.

She stared at the blinking Christmas lights, silent and still, and braced herself.

***

The pet carrier sat on the passenger seat, tiny but somehow loud, the small bundle inside meowing indignantly every few seconds.

"I know, I know," Isabelle murmured, glancing over as she pulled into the underground parking. "Almost there, little one. Just hold on."

The breeder had handed her the kitten that morning, wrapped up in a soft blanket, small and wriggling and so full of attitude that Isabelle had immediately thought, Yes. You’re perfect for us.

A Bengal — fiery little spirit, spotted coat shining under the winter sun, with eyes so impossibly blue they hardly looked real.

Max was going to lose his mind.

She smiled to herself as she carried the carrier carefully up the elevator to the apartment. The plan was simple: keep the kitten separated from Sassy and Jimmy for a few days. Let her adjust. Let them adjust.

Slow introductions, every guide said. Boundaries.

She set the carrier down in the guest bedroom, heart pounding with excitement.

"You have a few days to settle in before Max gets back," Isabelle whispered, unlocking the carrier door. "Nice and quiet. No stress."

The kitten immediately barreled out of the carrier, straight into her lap, climbing up Isabelle’s chest like she was a mountain to be conquered.

Isabelle laughed, steadying her with gentle hands.

"You’re trouble already," she murmured fondly.

She sat with the kitten for a while, letting her explore the little setup — litter box, toys, cozy blankets. Everything ready.

Then came the problem.

The door.

She had just cracked it open to slip out quietly when two familiar blurs appeared: Jimmy first, then Sassy, both clearly having heard the new sounds and smells.

Sassy sat elegantly just outside the threshold, blinking slowly. Jimmy practically vibrated with excitement, already chirping.

"Not yet," Isabelle whispered. "You’re supposed to meet her later, carefully, slowly—"

The kitten, of course, had other plans.

Before Isabelle could stop her, she wobbled toward the door on still-clumsy legs, let out one fierce little meow, and plopped herself directly in front of Sassy.

For a split second, Isabelle panicked, heart racing.

And then—

Sassy lowered her head slowly, gave the kitten a long, inspecting sniff... and purred.

Isabelle blinked.

Jimmy, emboldened, bounded forward and nudged the kitten with his nose.

The kitten immediately batted at Jimmy’s ear, clearly delighted, and Jimmy flopped onto his side with a happy trill, inviting her to climb all over him.

Isabelle stood frozen, watching her careful, responsible plan unravel in real time — and somehow turn into magic.

The kitten was already nuzzling into Sassy’s side, purring like a tiny engine.

Jimmy rolled onto his back, paws waving playfully in the air.

There was no hissing. No swatting. No stress.

Just acceptance.

Immediate, unquestioning.

A soft lump rose in Isabelle’s throat.

They already loved her.

No slow introductions needed. No hesitation.

Just home.

Isabelle knelt down carefully, heart full to bursting, and whispered:

"Well. That was easy."

The kitten squeaked and headbutted her hand.

Jimmy chirped again.

Sassy blinked at her like, obviously.

Isabelle laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Within minutes, the kitten was curled up between Sassy and Jimmy, purring so loudly her tiny body vibrated.

Belle pressed her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by how right it all felt.

Max was going to lose his mind. In the best way.

She snapped a quick photo — Jimmy snoring, the kitten sprawled across his paw, Sassy watching them both with regal approval — and saved it carefully.

Not sending it yet.

Wanting Max to be surprised in person.

This — this little chaotic, purring pile of love — was the Christmas she wanted to give him.

Home.

Family.

Peace.

Exactly what he deserved.

Exactly what they deserved.

***

The house was warm with the scent of cinnamon and pine, the soft hum of holiday music playing in the background. Wrapping paper littered the floor as Victoria’s two-year-old son toddled between family members, showing off his new toy car, while her boyfriend sat on the couch, trying (and failing) to assemble a playset.

Max sat beside his mother, watching the scene unfold, a rare moment of quiet as the chaos of Christmas morning settled. He reached into the pile of gifts beside him and pulled out a simple, tasteful gift bag.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Victoria. “This is from Isabelle.”

Victoria looked up from where she was helping her son unwrap another gift. “Isabelle got me something?”

Max shrugged like it was no big deal. “Well, technically for the baby.”

Victoria’s expression softened, and she took the bag, carefully peeling back the tissue paper. Inside was a collection of delicate baby clothes—soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted socks, and an elegant, hand-stitched blanket in muted pastels. She pulled out a small note tucked inside.

For your little girl, with love – Belle.

Victoria stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head with a fond smile. “Max.”

“What?”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of something knowing. “You know I love her, right?”

Max exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I figured.”

“No, I mean it,” Victoria pressed. “She’s… she’s perfect for you.”

Their mother, who had been watching quietly, nodded in agreement. “She is.”

Victoria placed the baby blanket back in the bag, then met Max’s eyes again. “You should marry her.”

Max blinked, feeling his heart stutter for just a second. He didn’t say anything at first, just rolled the thought over in his mind—something he had already done a lot lately.

His silence didn’t go unnoticed. Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “Oh my God. You have been thinking about it.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the couch. “I mean… yeah.”

Victoria lit up like a Christmas tree. “Max!”

Their mother smiled knowingly. “You love her.” It wasn’t a question.

Max ran a hand through his hair, a little overwhelmed but not denying it. “I do.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Victoria pressed.

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing, really. I just—I want to do it right.”

Victoria hummed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want her to feel like it’s rushed. Or that I’m just asking because things are good now, but I haven’t thought about what comes after.” He hesitated. “I know what comes after. And I still want it.”

Victoria’s expression softened even more. “That’s kind of the whole point of marriage, Max.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I don’t want her to doubt it, even for a second.”

Victoria gave him a long look, then smiled. “She won’t.”

Max exhaled, rubbing at the tension in the back of his neck. “She might. Her family—”

“Is a mess,” Victoria finished for him. “Yeah, I know. But that’s exactly why she’ll believe you. You’re showing her something different. Stability. Love. Someone who actually puts her first.”

Max swallowed, something tight in his throat. “Yeah.”

Victoria smirked. “Also, I’d pay good money to see Charles’ face when you tell him.”

Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’ll be… something.”

“You should do it at a race weekend. Really put him on the back foot.”

“Victoria.”

“What? It’d be funny.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. His sister had a point, even if she was enjoying the idea of Charles' reaction a little too much.

After a moment, Victoria nudged him with her foot. “So? You gonna do it?”

Max sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I am.”

***

Christmas with the Leclercs had always been... complicated.

Isabelle wasn’t naïve enough to expect magic anymore.

Not after years of being an afterthought.

Not after years of achievements brushed aside in favor of louder, brighter celebrations for her brothers.

Still— Some small, stubborn part of her had hoped this year would be different.

She had spent days picking out gifts — careful, thoughtful gifts — ones that showed she knew them, that she cared. A rare edition of sneakers from a brand Arthur loved. A custom wine set for Lorenzo. A framed photo restoration for her mother. A new golf carry bag for Charles, with his initials embroidered onto it.

Things that mattered.

And in return?

A wall calendar from her mother. (Dogs in silly costumes. Not even horses. Not even cats. Nothing she liked. The tag read simply: "For your office, so you can keep better track of things. Love, Maman.")

A gift card to a random electronics store she never shopped at from Lorenzo.

A keychain shaped like a tire from Charles. ("Because you’re a Leclerc too, Isabelle, you’re part of the racing spirit, right?")

And then from Arthur, the piece de resistance: A crop top. Tight. Neon pink. (“Saw it on sale and thought — this is way more fun than all the beige you wear!”)

Gifts that said: We don’t know you. We didn’t try.

Isabelle kept her smile pinned in place all through the day, all through the polite clinking of glasses and the endless, thoughtless chatter.

She had smiled, folded it carefully, and said thank you.

Because that’s what she always did.

Be the good gril. The grateful quiet sister. Regardless of how much it hurt.

Still, as soon as she could go…

Belle went home.

The door clicked shut behind her with a final, hollow sound.

The apartment was silent except for the soft pad of paws across hardwood.

The kitten darted toward her first, meowing indignantly. Jimmy and Sassy followed, blinking sleepily from their place curled up on the couch.

Isabelle dropped her keys on the counter.

Kicked off her shoes.

She made it three steps toward the living room before her legs gave out.

She sank to the floor — cold against the wood — and buried her face in her hands.

The tears came fast. Hot. Helpless.

Not just for today.

For all the Christmases before it.

For all the years spent trying to earn a place she should’ve already had.

She didn't sob.

No messy gasps for air.

Just silent, shaking tears that soaked her palms and blurred the world around her.

The kitten crept onto her lap first, purring loudly, headbutting her arm. Jimmy slunk in next, nudging her side with his nose.

Sassy stretched lazily, then trotted over and curled against her knees.

They didn't ask for anything.

They just stayed.

Isabelle curled into the weight of them — warm and grounding — clutching the kitten to her chest like a lifeline.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his fur. "I'm sorry for expecting anything different."

The cats purred louder, blanketing her in their soft, unbothered love.

Somewhere deep down, she knew Max would be home in a few days. He would take one look at her, see right through her smile, and pull her into his arms without asking any questions.

He always did.

But for now— It was just her. And them.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

***

The days stretched out, slow and heavy.

Max wouldn’t be home until the 27th.

That left her in the quiet.

No clinking glasses. No forced smiles. No careful pretending.

Just her.

And the kitten, curled against her chest more often than not. And Jimmy, draped dramatically over her lap. And Sassy, perched like a soft guardian nearby.

She didn't even turn on the TV. The blinking Christmas lights stayed unplugged. The gifts — the ugly, hollow things — sat untouched on the kitchen counter, still half-wrapped.

Isabelle moved through the apartment like a ghost.

Feeding the cats. Watering the plants. Existing.

And the thing was... it didn't feel like peace.

It felt like grief.

Grief for the girl who had tried so hard.

Grief for all the years she had believed that if she just did a little more — gave a little more — loved a little louder — she would finally be enough.

She found herself curled on the couch one night, knees to her chest, staring out at the glittering lights of Monaco beyond the glass balcony doors.

The kitten kneaded her sweater, purring obliviously.

Jimmy snored softly against her feet.

And somewhere deep inside, a small, painful thought broke free:

"I can't do this anymore."She whispered it aloud, her voice cracking."I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Her chest tightened, her throat closing.

"I can't keep loving people who don't love me back the way I need."

The admission shattered something inside her.

It was terrifying — it felt like giving up.

But it also felt... honest.

Real.

Necessary.

She wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands, breathing hard.

The kitten headbutted her chin, making her laugh — a raw, broken sound.

"I need help," she whispered into the empty apartment. "I need... someone to help me figure out how to stop doing this to myself."

The kitten purred louder.

Sassy hopped up onto the back of the couch and flopped across her shoulders with a regal little grunt.

Jimmy rolled onto his back and batted at her ankle.

Not demanding. Not needing her to earn anything.

Just there.

Isabelle closed her eyes, letting the tears fall without fighting them anymore.

And when she opened them again — when she sat up, cradling the kitten against her chest — she wasn’t thinking about the next Christmas, or the next gathering, or the next thing she had to survive.

She was thinking about tomorrow.

One day.

One step.

Maybe she could call a therapist. Maybe she could start small — just talking. Maybe she could start choosing herself for once.

She wasn’t sure yet.

But for the first time, she wasn’t thinking "how do I fix them?" She was thinking "how do I heal me?"

***

The second he opened the door, Max knew something was wrong.

The apartment was dark. Too quiet, except for the soft, broken sounds he couldn't place at first.

He dropped his bag without thinking, heart thudding painfully against his ribs, and moved quickly down the hall.

And there she was.

Isabelle.

Curled up in a tight ball on the couch, knees to her chest, face buried in a pillow.

Crying.

Not loud, racking sobs.

Not the kind of tears she could hide behind a tight smile and a polite "I'm fine."

The real ones. The ones she never let anyone else see.

Max's chest cracked wide open.

He crossed the room in two strides, crouching beside her without hesitation.

"Belle," he said, voice breaking. "I'm here. I'm here, Schatje."

She lifted her head slowly, her face blotchy and pale, her eyes swollen from crying.

And then, hoarse and desperate, she whispered:

"I need therapy."

Max swallowed hard.

"I need a therapist," she said again, voice trembling. "I can't—I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Max didn’t say anything.

He just gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest like she was something breakable, precious.

She clutched at his hoodie like a drowning girl grabbing a lifeline.

"I can’t fix it," she whispered against him. "No matter how good I try to be, it’s never enough. I’m so tired, Max. I’m so tired."

Max kissed her hair, his hands moving gently up and down her back, trying to soothe, to anchor.

"You don't have to fix anything," he murmured. "Not for them. Not for anyone. I'm so proud of you for saying it out loud, Belle. I'm so proud of you."

She sobbed then — real, gasping sobs — and he just held her tighter, rocking her gently like she was something he could shelter from the whole fucking world.

It was minutes, maybe longer, before the crying started to ease, the shaking in her body slowing to small, exhausted tremors.

Only then did he notice the movement out of the corner of his eye.

A tiny, curious kitten stood perched on the arm of the couch, blinking at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes.

Spotted, fierce-looking, all attitude in a body that barely fit in his hand.

She meowed loudly, clearly offended at being ignored.

Max blinked, stunned.

"Belle," he said softly, half-laughing through the ache in his chest. "Is that—?"

Isabelle sniffled, curling closer into him.

"Your Christmas present," she whispered. "I got her for you."

Max smiled, the kind of smile that hurt because it was too full, too much.

The kitten — tiny menace that she was — marched straight onto his lap without hesitation, climbed up his arm, and flopped against his chest like she belonged there.

Jimmy and Sassy appeared a second later, trotting over with soft chirps, their tails high and proud. Like they were presenting the newest member of the family for inspection.

Max pressed another kiss to Isabelle’s hair and looked down at the kitten sprawled across him.

"She’s perfect," he said simply.

Isabelle let out a broken little laugh — the smallest flicker of something lighter — and Max kissed her again, over and over, soft and steady.

"You’re not alone anymore," he whispered against her temple. "You don't have to carry it by yourself. We’ll find you someone good. We’ll do it together."

She nodded against him, the tiniest, exhausted nod.

And Max stayed right there — one arm around Isabelle, one hand cradling the tiny, fierce little kitten — anchoring them both.

Because they were his family.

And he was never letting them go.

***

The world slowed down after Christmas.

Not in the way it had when she was alone — heavy, suffocating — but in a quieter, gentler way.

Because Max stayed.

He didn’t try to fix her with grand gestures.

He didn’t try to force her to smile or pretend she was okay.

He just took care of her.

Small, steady things.

Waking up early to make coffee before she even stumbled out of bed.

Filling the fridge with all her favorite food without asking.

Curling up with her on the couch, half-watching bad movies while the new kitten climbed all over them, fearless and bright.

They spent an entire afternoon sprawled on the living room floor, arguing over names.

"Sassy and Jimmy are named after Monaco clubs," Max pointed out, gently prying the kitten off his sleeve for the tenth time. "It’s tradition now."

Isabelle smiled — a real one, small and unsteady but there.

"Lilly, then," she said after a while, watching the kitten attack Jimmy’s tail with wild enthusiasm. "After Lilly’s."

Max grinned, reaching out to scratch behind the kitten’s ear.

She immediately tried to bite his finger.

"Perfect," he said. "A little chaos queen."

"Lilly it is," Isabelle said softly, scooping the tiny, purring bundle into her arms.

Lilly. Sassy. Jimmy.

Home.

***

Four days after Christmas, Emilie showed up.

She barely made it two steps inside the apartment before pulling Isabelle into a hug so fierce it knocked the breath out of her.

"You should’ve called me," Emilie muttered into her hair.

"I’m okay," Isabelle said, though it came out thin.

Emilie pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes sharp. "You shouldn’t have to be."

Max gave them space, drifting into the kitchen with Jimmy and Lilly trailing at his heels. (Sassy remained queenly on the back of the couch, surveying her kingdom.)

Emilie spotted the pile of gifts Isabelle had dropped on the counter — the ridiculous calendar, the generic gift card, the keychain, the pink crop top — and went still.

She picked up the crop top between two fingers, like it might bite her.

"This," Emilie said slowly, "is an insult."

Isabelle laughed, but it cracked around the edges.

Emilie turned, her eyes blazing now.

"They don't deserve you."

The words landed harder than Isabelle expected.

Not because they were cruel.

Because they were true.

She opened her mouth to deflect — to say it wasn’t that bad, that they didn’t mean to hurt her — but Emilie just shook her head.

"No. None of that. You gave them everything, Belle. Thoughtful gifts. Time. Care. And they couldn’t even be bothered to see you."

Isabelle felt her throat tighten painfully.

"You’re not asking for too much," Emilie said fiercely. "You’ve never asked for too much. You just wanted to matter."

The tears came fast and hot, blurring the kitchen into light and shadow.

Emilie stepped closer, squeezing her shoulders.

"You do matter," she said. "Just not to people who only know how to take."

Behind them, Max hovered silently, a plate of cookies in his hand, his eyes soft and steady.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t add anything.

He just stayed.

Exactly what she needed.

Exactly what she deserved.

Later, after Emilie left with promises of vengeance and an ominous "Just say the word and I will rain hellfire on all of them," Isabelle curled up on the couch with Max, Jimmy, Sassy, and little Lilly wriggling between them.

Max pulled a blanket over both of them, tucking her into his side without a word.

Isabelle let herself lean into him, breathing him in — warmth and safety and home.

Maybe the family she was born into would never see her the way she wished.

But the one she was building?

The one that showed up — not because they had to, but because they wanted to?

That family was hers.

And she was enough for them.

Exactly as she was.

***

1K notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 4 months ago

Text

needy pt.1

chapter summary: You're Scott's younger sister and for months you've been secretly dating Logan. How much longer can you and him keep the secret?

word count: 8.3k+ (19.3k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: don't ask how or why this is so long, it was meant to be be less than 10k words but it just kept going. i was having a lot of fun writing this, and if people want to see a continuation or some other part of the story with these two, don't be afraid to ask! for now, enjoy cause there are like 3 smut scenes

there are two parts! tumblr has a word limit so i had to split it up!

warnings/tags: smut, unprotected piv, slight exhibitionism, slight pain kink, creampie, age gap (that's obvi), oral (f!receiving), slight praise kink, fingering, secret relationship, jealously, some possessiveness, peter maximoff being a little shit, fluff, slight angst

❀ part 2 ❀

“That’s it sweetheart.” Logan drawled, his body hovering over yours while slowly thrusting into you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nail indents healing immediately.

Logan let out a low, rough chuckle against your throat. "Feisty, huh?" His voice was thick with heat, lips dragging along your pulse as he thrust deeper. "Go on, doll, mark me up all you want. Ain't like it'll stick—but I like feelin' you try."

Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his waist. "Shut up and move, Logan."

His smirk was all teeth. "Bossy." But he gave you what you wanted, picking up the pace, the bed rocking under both of you.

Knock. Knock.

Your body stiffened instantly. Logan froze too, just for a second, before his head snapped toward the door.

"Y/N?"

Scott.

Your stomach flipped. Logan's grip on your hip tightened. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," you hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused despite the situation.

Scott knocked again. "You in there?"

You scrambled for an excuse, trying to keep your voice normal. "Uh—yeah! What do you want?"

Logan leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Think he knows his baby sister's gettin' fucked dumb by the big bad Wolverine?"

You smacked his shoulder. "You're not helping."

Scott sighed on the other side of the door. "Jean said you weren’t in your room, and you missed training this morning. You okay?"

Shit. "Yeah! I'm fine! I just—I was asleep."

Logan stifled a laugh against your neck. "Not a total lie," he murmured, nipping at your jaw.

You shoved at his chest. "Stop it," you mouthed.

Scott hesitated. "You sure?"

Logan's hips rolled, and you barely bit back a moan. "Positive," you choked out. "Just… tired. Can we talk later?"

A pause. Then: "Alright. Just checkin'." His footsteps retreated down the hall.

Logan didn’t wait. The second Scott’s footsteps faded down the hall, he was back on you—mouth hot, breath rough, hands greedy.

"You shoulda heard yourself," he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. "Tryin’ to sound all innocent when I got you stuffed full like this."

Your nails dug into his back again, legs still locked tight around his waist. "And whose fault is that?"

His smirk was downright filthy. "Mine. And I ain't even a little sorry."

He moved again—slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping against his shoulder. You bit down on his skin, just to keep quiet, and he groaned low in his chest. "Fuck, doll, do that again."

You did, dragging your teeth over his collarbone, then licking over the mark like an apology. His pace stuttered for half a second before he pressed you deeper into the mattress, forearm braced next to your head.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" His voice was a growl now, rough as gravel. "You're gonna be real sorry 'bout that."

And then he set a punishing rhythm—hips slamming into yours, his body pressed so tight to you that you could feel the heat of him everywhere.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Every drag, every thrust had you unraveling under him, nails clawing at his arms, his back, his shoulders—anything to ground yourself.

"Logan," you gasped.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Yeah, sweetheart, I know. I got you."

His breath was hot against your skin, his weight solid, grounding. But there was nothing slow or sweet about the way he moved now—his hips drove into yours with an intensity that made your nails sink even deeper into his back.

"Fuck, Logan," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, rough and dark. "S'what I like to hear," he muttered, dragging his teeth along the side of your throat. "All those little noises—only I get to hear ‘em, huh?"

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking just enough to make him grunt. "Maybe if you'd shut up and—oh, shit—keep going—"

Logan didn't need more encouragement. He pressed you further into the mattress, keeping you pinned beneath him, his pace relentless. Every roll of his hips sent a sharp, toe-curling heat through you, your pulse thudding loud in your ears.

Then—his mouth was at your ear again. "You still think Scott bought that bullshit excuse?"

Your stomach tightened, pleasure warring with panic. "Shut up," you hissed.

His smirk was pure sin. "Nah. Kinda fun knowin’ he was just outside while I had you like this—"

"Logan," you warned, biting back a moan.

He just hummed like the idea amused him. "Bet he'd lose his fuckin�� mind if he knew, huh? His sweet, innocent baby sister—" His hips slammed into yours, forcing out a sharp, breathless gasp. "—gettin' wrecked by the guy he hates most."

You slapped a hand over his mouth again, eyes flashing. "Do you want us to get caught?"

Logan just huffed against your palm, but his eyes burned with something darker. Amused. Possessive. A challenge.

Then, just as quickly, he shifted, dragging your hand away and pinning it above your head, his fingers laced through yours. "Nah, I like keepin’ you all to myself," he murmured against your lips before claiming them in a kiss—deep, messy, all tongue and teeth and heat.

The knock at the door had long since faded into silence, but the risk still lingered—your brother was right there, just down the hall. The thought alone made something coil tighter in your gut.

"Logan," you whispered, half warning, half plea.

"Shh," he muttered, his free hand slipping down your body, gripping tight at your waist as he drove into you again. "Just focus on me, sweetheart. Nothin’ else matters."

And for now, with his body pressing you deeper into the sheets, his breath ragged against your skin, and his hands branding you in ways that would never fade—he was right.

---

Dinner was already a disaster, and you hadn’t even sat down yet. Scott was in full big-brother mode, still eyeing you like he wasn’t convinced by your excuse from earlier. Jean had that look too—like she could hear your heart rate spike every time Scott brought it up. And Rogue? She was the worst of them all, smirking every time you so much as shifted in your seat.

“So,” Scott started, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You sure you’re okay?”

You grabbed a plate, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah, Scott. Just tired. I overslept.”

Scott frowned, clearly skeptical. “You never oversleep.”

Rogue snorted into her drink. “Maybe she had a long night,” she said innocently, then flicked her gaze toward you with way too much amusement.

Your stomach dropped. You shot her a glare, but she just smirked over the rim of her cup.

“Long night doing what?” Scott asked.

Jean sighed. “Scott.”

“No, seriously. She missed training. That’s not like her.”

“Maybe she was busy,” Rogue said, taking a slow sip. “Real busy.”

You swore you were going to kill her. Right here. At the dinner table.

Scott’s frown deepened. “Doing what?”

Before Rogue could dig your grave any deeper, Logan walked in like he owned the place, rolling his shoulders and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He barely spared you a glance, but you knew he was enjoying this way too much.

“Doin’ what, Summers?” Logan popped the cap off the bottle and took a swig, looking entirely unbothered.

Scott gestured toward you. “She missed training this morning. Said she was sleeping, but she never oversleeps.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess she needed it.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Logan leaned against the counter, looking unimpressed. “What’s weird is you interrogatin’ her like she committed a crime.”

Rogue let out a cough that sounded a hell of a lot like a laugh.

Jean, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, finally spoke up. “Scott, drop it. If she says she was tired, she was tired.”

Scott exhaled sharply, clearly still unconvinced but finally letting it go. “Fine.” He grabbed his plate and moved to sit down.

Logan smirked over the rim of his beer before taking another sip. You didn’t even have to look at him to know exactly what was going through his head.

As soon as Scott turned away, Rogue leaned over and muttered under her breath, “You’re lucky Jean shut him up.”

You kicked her under the table. She just grinned.

---

Later that night you were in your bedroom reading a book when someone knocked on your door. “It’s open!” you called out. You knew it wouldn’t be Logan, not when it was only 9 pm.

Rogue plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out and giving you a shit-eating grin.

"So," she drawled, nudging your shoulder. "How's your nap?"

You groaned, already regretting not locking your door. "Not you too."

"Oh, especially me," she said, grinning. "C'mon, sugar, I deserve some details after helpin’ cover your ass at dinner."

You shot her a glare. "You almost got me caught."

"Please," she scoffed. "Scott's dense as hell when it comes to you. If Jean weren’t there, he’d still be tryin’ to figure out what was ‘off’ about you today." She smirked. "Meanwhile, I know exactly what was off."

You grabbed a pillow and smacked her with it. Rogue just laughed. "Hey, I ain't judgin’! I just think it’s funny how not subtle you two are."

You gave her a look. "We are subtle."

"Uh-huh. Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "So subtle that I had to watch Logan barely contain his smug-ass smirk at dinner. You realize you got played, right? Scott started pushin’, and Logan shut it down in, like, two sentences."

You frowned. "That wasn’t playing me—that was helping me."

Rogue snorted. "Girl, Logan lives for this. He’s gettin’ off on the fact that he’s sneakin’ around with Scott Summers' baby sister."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You hated that she was probably right.

Rogue grinned. "Bet he’s got a real nice ego boost right now."

You sighed, flopping back against your pillows. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," she said cheerfully. "But you do love makin’ bad decisions."

"Logan is not a bad decision." She raised an eyebrow. You crossed your arms. "He’s not."

Rogue just smirked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sugar."

You groaned. "Are you done?"

"Not even close," she said, kicking her feet up on your bed. "But I’ll give you a break—for now."

"Gee, thanks."

She chuckled, then eyed you for a moment before her smirk softened just a little. "You really like him, huh?"

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. I do."

Rogue nodded, like she already knew. "Then I guess I’ll keep coverin’ for you."

You smiled. "Thanks."

"Don’t thank me yet," she said, grinning. "If you two do get caught, I wanna be front row for Scott’s meltdown."

---

A few nights later, you barely made it two steps into your room before a rough hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside. The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

“Jesus—Logan!” You turned, ready to shove him off, but the moment you saw the look in his eyes, your stomach flipped.

His hands were already on your waist, pushing you back until your spine hit the door. His body was flush against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all day,” he muttered, voice low, rough. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place like he needed to. “Sittin’ across from me at dinner, actin’ all innocent, while I’m still thinkin’ ‘bout the way you came on my cock the other night.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking. “Logan—”

“Could barely keep my hands to myself,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “You think Scott noticed how damn quiet I was?”

You swallowed hard, hands clutching at his arms. “You were quiet?”

Logan chuckled against your skin. “See? You weren’t payin’ attention either.” He pressed closer, one thigh slotting between yours, and you felt him—hot, hard, ready.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His lips brushed your ear, teasing. “Tell me what you want.”

A sharp knock made you both freeze. Again? Your stomach dropped as Logan exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Y/N?” Scott’s voice.

You shut your eyes, biting back a groan. Logan’s forehead dropped against your shoulder, his whole body tense.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he whispered.

You shoved at his chest, mouthing move. He just smirked, staying right where he was.

Scott knocked again. “You in there?”

Logan's smirk widened, eyes gleaming with something smug. You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Open up.”

Panic shot through you. Logan just raised an eyebrow, amused. You shoved at his chest harder, whispering, “hide.”

He grinned. “No.”

Your glare was sharp. “Logan.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes before finally stepping back. “Fine.” He moved toward your closet, muttering, “This is fuckin’ humiliatin’,” under his breath.

You didn’t have time to argue. The moment he was out of sight, you exhaled hard and cracked the door open.

Scott frowned down at you. “Why’d that take so long?”

You forced a casual shrug. “I was getting ready for bed.”

Scott squinted at you, then looked over your shoulder, like he expected to find some kind of evidence of your lies. “You sure?”

Your heart pounded. “Yes, Scott,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Why are you here?”

Scott still looked unconvinced, but finally said, “I wanted to see if you wanted to train in the morning. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh… sure?”

“Cool. Early morning session. Don’t be late.” He gave you another suspicious look before stepping back. “Night, Y/N.”

You gave him the fakest smile you could muster. “Night.”

The second the door shut, Logan was out of the closet, shaking his head. “You owe me for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, poor you. Hiding for thirty seconds.”

He stepped close again, hands sliding back onto your waist. “Not the hidin’ part that pissed me off,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “It’s the part where I didn’t get to finish what I started.”

Heat curled in your stomach. “Then finish it,” you whispered.

Logan’s grip tightened, fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the door, his body flush against yours. Heat radiated off him in waves, thick and consuming.

"Thought you'd never ask," he murmured, his voice all gravel and dark amusement. His lips traced a slow path along your jaw before dragging down to your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, desperate to hold onto something as his hands moved—one sliding up your side, under your shirt, rough fingers splaying against bare skin. You sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed his thigh between yours, the pressure making your head spin.

"Logan—"

"You were teasin' me all damn day," he muttered against your skin. "All wide eyes and sweet little smiles like you weren’t sittin’ there with my fuckin’ marks still on you."

Your breath hitched. His teeth caught on the spot where your shoulder met your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp. "Not my fault you left them," you whispered, your own hands slipping under his shirt, tracing over the hard muscle of his stomach.

Logan chuckled—low, dangerous. "Oh, it was on purpose, sweetheart. Wanted you rememberin' exactly where my mouth was."

His lips skimmed your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin as he worked his way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. His hands were firm, fingers digging into your waist, holding you against him like he needed you there.

"You should've finished before Scott interrupted," you muttered, breathless, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Logan chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. "Sweetheart, you really think I’m the kinda guy to rush this?" His teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "Nah. You started this game, now you gotta deal with the consequences."

His hands moved—one slipping beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, rough and warm. The other slid lower, down the curve of your hip, before gripping the back of your thigh and hauling it up against his side. The movement sent you pressing closer, heat meeting heat, and you gasped.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low growl. "Been hard all damn day because of you."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him even closer. "Then do something about it."

His smirk was pure arrogance. "Oh, you got some fire tonight, huh?" His hand on your thigh tightened, his other sliding higher beneath your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. "I like that."

Before you could snap back, he kissed you—hard. No hesitation, no teasing. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was claiming you, like he'd been waiting for this all day. And maybe he had.

Your back hit the door harder as he pressed into you, deepening the kiss, swallowing the quiet moan that slipped from your throat. His hands were everywhere—roaming, gripping, pulling.

Then, with no warning, he lifted you. You gasped against his lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he turned, carrying you toward the bed like you weighed nothing.

"You just gonna manhandle me now?" you teased, breathless.

Logan smirked, dropping you onto the mattress with a bounce. "Damn right I am."

Before you could recover, he was on you—hands braced on either side of your head, knee pressing between your thighs. His lips were back on yours, insistent, hungry. He kissed like he fought—relentless, determined, and utterly in control.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and the growl he let out sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, dragging it up, his knuckles grazing heated skin as he peeled it over your head. The second it was gone, his mouth was everywhere—kissing, nipping, sucking at the newly exposed skin like he had something to prove.

"Logan—" Your voice hitched as his teeth scraped over your collarbone.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, lips moving lower. "Let me enjoy this."

His hands found the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with far too much ease, his lips still moving, still teasing. You barely had time to process the cool air against your skin before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open.

He looked up at you, eyes dark, heated, hungry. "You are gonna be real quiet for me, right?" His voice was nothing but rough gravel and amusement. "Wouldn't want your brother to come knockin' again."

You should've had a smart-ass response ready, but the moment his mouth was on you, your brain short-circuited. A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, a teasing flick before he sealed his lips around you and sucked. Your fingers shot to his hair, tangling in the thick mess, your back arching off the bed before you even realized it.

"Logan—"

He growled against you, the vibration sending a shock straight through your system. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth away just enough to speak. His lips were slick, his voice dark with amusement.

You clenched your jaw, the reminder making your face burn—but not enough to stop you from tugging his hair, shoving him back down where he belonged. Logan chuckled, but didn’t argue.

He buried himself between your thighs again, tongue pressing, curling, teasing. Every flick sent heat pooling deep in your stomach, every slow, deliberate movement dragging you higher and higher, the tension coiling tight.

Your breathing turned uneven, fingers clutching at the sheets. "Logan," you gasped, your thighs threatening to clamp shut.

He didn’t let you. His hands flexed, holding you open as he devoured you, his pace slow and maddening, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"You’re close," he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. He pressed a kiss right where you needed him most, almost gentle. "I can feel it."

You bit down hard on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But Logan had other plans. He sucked, hard and sudden, and your whole body jerked.

A sharp cry broke from your throat, your hands flying to muffle yourself as heat crashed through you. The tension snapped, pleasure rolling through you in shuddering waves, your body trembling beneath his hold.

He groaned against you, like he was savoring every second, like he lived for this.

Only when you finally slumped back against the sheets, breathless and spent, did he pull away, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, his voice thick with heat and satisfaction. "You taste so fuckin’ sweet when you come for me."

Your face burned, but you still shot him a glare. "Cocky."

Logan smirked. "Damn right."

Then he was on you again, lips crashing against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His body pressed flush against yours, his jeans rough against your bare skin, and—

Yeah. He was still hard as hell.

"You got yours," you murmured against his mouth, reaching between you. "Now let me return the favor."

His breath stuttered as your fingers brushed against the hard length straining behind his zipper, but before you could do anything else, his hand caught your wrist.

"Not yet." His voice was rough, strained. "I need to be inside you first."

Your stomach flipped. He reached down, making quick work of his belt, his jeans, shoving them down just enough. You caught the briefest glimpse of him before he was lining himself up, the heat of him pressing against you.

"Fuck," he groaned as he pushed inside, slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

Your mouth parted, a soft, breathless moan slipping free at the feeling of him—full, deep, overwhelming in the best way.

Logan shuddered. "You feel so fuckin’ good, doll," he rasped against your ear.

Then he moved. A slow, deliberate pull before thrusting back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. Every movement sent sparks through your system, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in soft gasps.

Logan groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuckin’ hell, I missed this."

You clung to him, your body tightening around him in response. His pace faltered for half a second before he growled—and snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry tore from your throat, and Logan grinned. "That’s what I thought."

Then he really started moving. Deep, rough thrusts, dragging you higher and higher, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight again, building faster this time.

"Logan—"

"I got you," he muttered, voice wrecked. "Come on, sweetheart, let go for me."

You did. The pleasure crashed through you, your body trembling as you came around him, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan.

Logan groaned, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he followed you over the edge.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just tangled together, catching your breath.

"You’re heavy," you muttered, pushing weakly at his chest.

Logan huffed a laugh but finally rolled onto his side, dragging you with him.

"You love it," he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You snorted. "You wish."

He just grinned, pulling you closer.

---

You and Logan rarely have date nights. It was hard to find a quiet, empty space in the mansion that you knew no one was going to go into.

Let alone Scott letting you go out at night, even if you were 25.

But, tonight, you had a way around that. Rogue had already gone out with Bobby to the carnival that was in town which gave you a perfect excuse to leave the mansion.

You walked to the front door and barely put your hand on the doorknob when Scott’s voice rang out.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You froze, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral before turning around. "Carnival. Rogue and Bobby already went, so I figured I’d go check it out."

Scott crossed his arms, eyeing you suspiciously. "Since when do you like carnivals?"

You shrugged. "Since now." Scott frowned like he was trying to figure out what was off. You didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions. "You gonna let me go, or are we really about to have a whole interrogation over funnel cakes and rigged games?"

Before Scott could answer, Logan came strolling down the hallway, clearly on his way somewhere—until Scott turned to him.

"Logan, drive her."

Logan blinked. "What?"

Scott gestured toward you. "She’s going to the carnival. Drive her."

Your stomach flipped. You had to fight to keep the surprise off your face. This was perfect.

Logan’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight twitch of amusement in his eyes. "Why?"

Scott gave Logan a flat look. "Because I don’t want her going alone."

"I can handle myself," you said quickly.

Scott ignored you, still looking at Logan. "Just drop her off and make sure she actually goes inside. Then pick her up when she’s ready to leave."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I’m twenty-five, Scott. Not fifteen."

"And yet, you’re still my little sister," he shot back.

Logan sighed like this whole conversation was exhausting. "Fine. C’mon, kid," he said, jerking his head toward the door.

You clenched your jaw at the nickname, knowing exactly why he used it in front of Scott. But you didn’t argue. Instead, you grabbed your jacket and walked past them, ignoring the smug look Scott gave you like he’d just ensured your safety for the night.

The second you and Logan stepped outside, he let out a low chuckle. "Well, ain’t this convenient?"

You shot him a look. "Don’t be smug."

"Too late."

---

The drive was quiet at first, just the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Logan shifting gears. You knew Scott had probably expected Logan to drop you off, watch you go inside, then leave. But instead, Logan was taking the scenic route, driving further away from the carnival.

"You know, if Scott ever finds out about us, he’s gonna kill you," you said, watching the streetlights blur past.

Logan smirked, eyes still on the road. "Nah. He’s gonna try."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed you.

After a few minutes, Logan pulled into a small lot near a bar you both knew was usually quiet on weekdays. He killed the engine and turned to you. "So, what’s the plan, doll? We head in, grab a drink, then pretend you spent the whole night winnin’ stuffed animals?"

You smirked. "Something like that."

Logan leaned in slightly, eyes darkening. "Or… we could skip the drinks and find somethin’ else to do."

Your breath hitched, heart pounding. "Temptin’."

His smirk widened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just reached for his door handle. "C’mon, let’s make this date look real."

You followed him inside, the warmth of the bar a stark contrast to the cool night air. It wasn’t crowded—just a few regulars, a couple playing pool in the corner, and a bartender who barely looked up as you both walked in.

Logan led you to a booth near the back, out of the way, and slid in across from you.

"So," he drawled, resting his arms on the table, "you gonna let me win you a giant teddy bear later?"

You snorted. "You? Win a carnival game? Please."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You doubtin’ me, sweetheart?"

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips. "I’m just saying… those games take skill. Precision. A soft touch. You’re more of a… smash things and ask questions later kind of guy."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You got a real smart mouth, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you love it."

He smirked. "Damn right I do."

The bartender came by, and you both ordered drinks. Logan, of course, got whiskey. You opted for something lighter. As soon as the bartender walked away, Logan reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"Been wantin’ to do that all day," he muttered.

Your heart flipped. You curled your fingers around Logan’s, warmth spreading from the simple touch. He never did this at the mansion—not where anyone could see. But here, away from prying eyes, he was different.

"Yeah?" you murmured, teasing, but your voice was softer than you intended.

Logan’s thumb traced lazy circles against your skin. "Yeah." His eyes flicked up, locking onto yours, something unreadable in them. "Kinda hate sneakin’ around all the time."

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the weight behind his words. "I know."

He didn’t push, didn’t say anything else—just held your hand, like that was enough for now. And maybe it was.

The bartender dropped off your drinks, barely sparing either of you a glance. Logan finally let go, but not before giving your fingers one last squeeze.

You picked up your drink, taking a sip. "So, you actually gonna win me that teddy bear later, or were you just talking shit?"

Logan smirked, reaching for his whiskey. "Sweetheart, I ain’t losin’ to a rigged game."

"You sound awfully confident for someone who doesn’t exactly scream ‘hand-eye coordination.’"

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"You’re the one dating me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips said he didn’t mind one bit.

The two of you sat there, drinking, talking, stealing quick touches when no one was looking. It felt easy—like it was supposed to be like this all the time.

You didn’t know how long you stayed, but eventually, Logan leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms across the seat. "Time to make this date look real."

You raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we go to the damn carnival, you let me win somethin’, and we make sure Summers doesn’t think you were out doin’ somethin’ reckless."

You smirked. "Technically, I am."

Logan snorted, throwing some cash on the table before standing up. "C’mon, trouble. Let’s get you a prize."

---

The carnival was packed, neon lights casting everything in a bright, chaotic glow. The scent of fried food, sugar, and asphalt filled the air, mixing with the hum of laughter and the occasional shriek from a nearby ride.

You walked beside Logan, your fingers grazing his every few steps, but neither of you reached out. Not here.

"Alright, hotshot," you said, stopping in front of a shooting game. "Let’s see if you’re actually as good as you claim."

Logan stepped up to the booth, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. "You doubtin’ me?"

You crossed your arms, smirking. "I don’t doubt that you’re good at a lot of things, but precision? Patience? Not exactly your strong suit."

Logan just grunted, dropping some cash onto the counter. The guy running the booth handed him a plastic rifle, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"You gotta hit all five targets," the guy drawled, popping gum in his mouth. "You miss one, you lose."

Logan spun the rifle in his hand like it was nothing, raising an eyebrow at you. "Watch and learn, sweetheart."

You huffed a laugh, but then—

Crack.

The first target dropped.

Then the second.

Then the third, fourth, fifth—so fast the guy running the booth barely had time to register it before the last one clattered down.

Logan set the rifle down with a smirk. "Told ya."

You blinked. "Okay. That was… impressive."

"You're damn right it was." He turned to the booth guy, jerking his head toward the line of stuffed animals. "Pick whichever one she wants."

You looked at the rows of plush toys, pretending to think before pointing at the most obnoxious, oversized teddy bear in sight.

Logan’s smirk faltered. "Really?"

"You said I could pick," you reminded him, grinning.

He muttered something under his breath but took the giant bear when the guy handed it over, tossing it at you. "Happy now?"

You hugged the ridiculous thing to your chest. "Very."

Logan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You’re gonna be the death of me, doll."

You grinned, looping your arm through his as you walked. "Yeah, but what a way to go."

---

By the time you got back to the mansion, it was late. The house was mostly quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV in the common room.

Logan parked in the driveway, shutting off the engine. Neither of you moved right away.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "You know we can’t keep this up forever."

Your chest tightened. "I know."

Silence stretched between you for a beat. Then he spoke, "you worth the trouble, sweetheart?" Logan’s voice was softer, rough in a different way.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. "You tell me."

His lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached over, curling a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

It was different from earlier—less teasing, less rushed. Just warm, steady, like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a second before he exhaled and pulled away completely. "Go on. Before Summers comes lookin’."

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the stupidly large teddy bear and climbed out. As you walked inside, you didn’t have to look back to know Logan was watching.

---

"Jesus, sugar. That’s a big teddy bear," Rogue said, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed, smirking.

You flopped onto your bed, the ridiculous oversized bear landing beside you. "Yeah, well, I earned it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you? ‘Cause I got a feelin’ Logan earned it, and you just picked the biggest, most obnoxious thing you could outta spite."

You grinned, not even trying to deny it. "He said I could pick."

Rogue let out a snort and stepped inside, flopping down next to the bear and poking its fluffy face. "So, how was date night with our favorite bad decision?"

"Great, actually," you admitted, hugging a pillow to your chest. "We got drinks, he won me this monstrosity, and Scott still thinks I was eating funnel cake and riding the Ferris wheel all night."

Rogue let out a dramatic sigh. "That boy is so clueless, it’s almost sad." Then she shot you a look. "But you know he’s gonna find out eventually, right?"

Your stomach twisted, but you shrugged. "I know."

She tilted her head. "And?"

"And… we’ll deal with it when we have to."

Rogue studied you for a moment, then smirked. "You’re fallin’ for him."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you grabbed the teddy bear and smacked her in the face with it.

She cackled, shoving it away. "Oh, sugar, you are so screwed."

"Shut up."

"Nah, I love this," she teased. "Big, bad Wolverine gettin’ all soft for little ol’ you. It’s cute."

"He is not—" You stopped yourself, because… yeah. He kind of was. At least with you.

Rogue grinned, smug as hell. "I bet he’s outside your window right now, just sittin’ there, all broody, waitin’ for me to leave so he can sneak in."

You rolled your eyes. "He’s not that predictable."

A faint tap at your window made you both freeze. Rogue's eyes went wide before she burst out laughing, smacking your arm. "No fuckin’ way."

You shot her a glare before pushing off the bed, crossing the room, and pulling the curtain back.

Sure enough, Logan stood outside, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. You cracked the window open just enough to whisper, "Are you serious?"

Logan just smirked. "You gonna let me in, or what?"

Rogue was still laughing behind you. "Oh, sugar, I’m never lettin’ you live this down."

---

“Where’d you get that necklace?” Jean asked, looking over the rim of her coffee mug.

You barely paused as you stirred sugar into your coffee. "Bought it for myself," you said, keeping your tone casual.

Jean hummed, watching you for a second longer before taking a sip. "It’s nice. Simple."

You nodded, fingers brushing over the small silver Earth pendant. "Yeah. Thought so too."

Across the table, Rogue smirked into her cup but said nothing. You could feel her amusement radiating off of her, but you refused to look at her. If you did, you’d probably give yourself away.

Jean, thankfully, didn’t press. She just shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "Well, good for you. You don’t usually wear jewelry."

You forced a small smile. "Guess I’m changing things up."

Rogue let out a quiet snort. You kicked her under the table.

Jean’s gaze flicked between the two of you, like she was debating whether or not to ask what that was about, but before she could, Scott walked in, yawning as he grabbed a cup of coffee.

"You training today?" he asked you, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yeah," you said. "After breakfast."

Scott nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He didn’t seem to notice the way Rogue was still fighting laughter or how Jean kept glancing at your necklace.

You exhaled quietly, focusing on your coffee. Crisis averted. For now.

---

Later that day, you found Logan in the garage, leaning against his bike, arms crossed as he watched you approach.

"You know," you said, stopping in front of him, "Jean noticed the necklace."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You tell her?"

"Nope," you said, rocking back on your heels. "Said I bought it for myself."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Smart girl."

You smirked. "I try."

Logan reached out, hooking a finger under the chain and tugging you closer. "Y’could’ve just told her the truth."

You gave him a look. "Oh, sure. ‘Hey Jean, thanks for noticing! My secret boyfriend who my brother would literally kill bought it for me. Cool, right?’"

Logan smirked. "I’d pay to see the look on Summers’ face if you ever actually said that."

You rolled your eyes. "You just wanna see him lose his shit."

"Maybe," he admitted, voice full of amusement.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You are such a menace."

Logan’s grip on the necklace tightened for a second before he let it go, letting his fingers trail lightly over your collarbone. "You still wearin’ it, though."

Your breath hitched slightly at the touch, but you kept your expression neutral. "Yeah. I like it."

His smirk softened, just a little. "Good."

For a second, you just stood there, his fingers still ghosting over your skin, the garage quiet except for the distant hum of voices from the mansion.

"You gonna let me take you somewhere tonight?" Logan asked, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Somewhere like…?"

Logan shrugged. "Just a ride. No missions, no Scott breathin’ down your neck. Just us."

Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t had much alone time with him outside of stolen moments in your room or hidden corners of the mansion.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. Alright."

Logan’s smirk widened. "Good girl."

Your face heated, but you ignored it, turning on your heel before he could say anything else. "I’ll meet you out here at eleven," you called over your shoulder.

"Don’t be late, sweetheart," he said, and you didn’t have to look back to know he was grinning.

---

The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped off the mansion’s back porch, your pulse quickening with every quiet step. You stuck to the shadows, moving with practiced ease—this wasn’t your first time sneaking out. But it was always a gamble. Always a risk.

Still, that didn’t stop the thrill from curling low in your stomach.

Logan was already waiting by his bike, leaning against it with his arms crossed, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He exhaled, watching you with that familiar smirk—half amused, half something darker.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, flicking the cigar away.

“I said eleven," you shot back, coming to a stop in front of him. "It’s eleven."

Logan glanced at his watch like he didn’t believe you, then shrugged. "Close enough."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed the helmet from the handlebars and held it out. You hesitated for half a second before taking it, slipping it on as Logan swung a leg over the bike.

"Hop on, doll."

You did, settling in behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He was warm, solid beneath your touch, the scent of leather and faint cigar smoke clinging to him.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" you asked, voice slightly muffled behind the visor.

Logan reached down, gripping your thigh just enough to make you feel it. "Nope."

Your stomach flipped. Before you could push for an answer, the engine roared to life beneath you, and then you were moving—tearing down the quiet backroads, the wind rushing past, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow.

You didn’t ask again. You just held on tighter.

---

Logan didn’t stop until you were well outside of town, pulling off onto a secluded dirt path surrounded by thick trees. The headlights cast long shadows against the trunks as he killed the engine. The night settled around you, quiet except for the faint hum of crickets and the cooling tick of the bike.

You pulled off the helmet, shaking out your hair before looking around. "This is either really romantic or the start of a horror movie."

Logan snorted, stepping off the bike. "Guess that depends on your definition of romantic."

You smirked, handing him the helmet as you stood. "So? What’s the plan, tough guy? You bringin’ me out here to bury a body?"

He huffed a laugh. "Nah. Just figured we could use some real privacy for once." He jerked his head toward a break in the trees. "C’mon."

You followed him down a small path, stepping carefully over the uneven ground. After a few minutes, the trees thinned out, revealing a stretch of open sky and a lake shimmering under the moonlight.

Your breath caught for half a second. You hadn't expected this.

Logan glanced at you, catching the look on your face. "Not bad, huh?"

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. "It’s alright, I guess."

He smirked. "Brat."

You grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, you kicked off your shoes and stepped onto the wooden dock that stretched over the water, feeling the worn planks creak under your weight. Logan followed, hands in his pockets as he leaned against one of the wooden posts.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The air was crisp, the reflection of the stars rippling over the water’s surface. It was quiet. Peaceful. Something you didn’t get much of at the mansion.

Then Logan’s voice broke the silence. "You ever think about leavin’?"

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

He kept his eyes on the water. "The mansion. The team. All of it."

You frowned. "Why would I?"

Logan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "Dunno. Just seems like sometimes you’re tryin’ to be somethin’ you ain’t."

You stared at him, caught off guard. "And what exactly do you think I am?"

Logan’s eyes finally met yours, something unreadable in them. "Someone who don’t belong in a cage. No matter how nice they make it look."

Your stomach twisted. You knew what he meant. The mansion was safe, sure. But it was also rules, expectations, eyes always watching. You’d built a life there. A good one. But was it really yours? Or was it just the one Scott expected you to have?

You swallowed, looking away. "And what about you?"

Logan tilted his head slightly. "What about me?"

"Do you ever think about leaving?" You asked.

A pause. "All the damn time."

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. Logan let you take it, his fingers curling around yours automatically.

"You don’t have to stay, you know," you murmured. "If you really wanted to go."

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, doll. I do."

Your throat tightened. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t staying for the team.

He was staying for you.

For a moment, you just stood there, his hand warm in yours, the lake stretching out endless and quiet beneath the stars.

Then, finally, Logan smirked. "This is gettin’ a little too sentimental. You wanna go for a swim or somethin’?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "It’s freezing."

"So?"

You rolled your eyes. "You go first, tough guy."

Logan didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket, and before you could even process what was happening—

Splash.

You gasped as water sprayed onto the dock, the surface rippling wildly where Logan had disappeared. You stared at the disturbance for half a second before Logan popped back up, slicking his hair back with both hands. "Water’s fine."

"You’re a liar," you laughed.

Logan grinned, then suddenly shot out an arm—grabbing your ankle.

"Logan—!"

Too late.

You yelped as he yanked, throwing you completely off balance. The last thing you saw before you hit the water was his smug, grinning face. The cold was a shock—freezing against your skin, stealing the breath from your lungs as you surfaced, gasping.

"You asshole!" you sputtered, shoving wet hair out of your face.

Logan just laughed, the deep sound echoing across the water. "You deserved it," he said, treading water.

"You’re dead," you threatened, lunging at him.

Logan dodged easily, still grinning. "Gotta catch me first, doll."

Oh, it was on now.

You lunged again, cutting through the water as fast as you could, but Logan was quick—too quick. He moved just out of reach every time, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

"That the best you got?" he taunted, backstroking away like he had all the time in the world.

You narrowed your eyes. "You realize I have powers, right?"

Logan’s smirk widened. "Then use ‘em, sweetheart. Let’s see what you got."

Oh, he was asking for it. You didn’t hesitate. You focused, letting energy pulse through your limbs, giving yourself a boost as you surged forward. Logan’s eyes barely had time to widen before you tackled him, sending both of you under the water.

Bubbles rushed around you, the muffled sound of movement filling your ears as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging him down with you. You knew he could hold his breath longer than you, but you weren’t planning on letting this turn into a real fight.

Instead, you twisted, using the momentum to flip him over so you were the one pinning him, hands braced against his shoulders. Even underwater, his smirk was there—amused, challenging.

You rolled your eyes and pushed off, breaking the surface first.

A second later, Logan popped up in front of you, shaking water from his hair. "Not bad," he admitted, voice rougher than usual from the cold. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

"Yeah, well, you underestimate me a lot," you shot back, treading water.

Logan’s smirk softened just a little. "Never."

Your breath hitched, pulse stuttering for a second, but before you could dwell on it, Logan moved—closing the distance between you in one smooth motion. His hands found your waist under the water, steady, warm despite the chill.

"You’re shivering," he murmured.

You rolled your eyes. "Because you threw me in a freezing lake, dumbass."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but instead of teasing you again, he just pulled you closer. The warmth of him was instant, the solid weight of his body pressing against yours. His hands slid up, fingers tracing along your ribs, your back. You swallowed, heartbeat thudding as his lips brushed against your temple, then down to the edge of your jaw.

"You wanna get out?" he murmured, voice low.

You nodded, but neither of you moved. Instead, Logan dipped his head, lips ghosting over yours, slow and teasing, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. Like he wanted you to.

But you didn’t. You closed the space, pressing your mouth against his, your fingers slipping into his wet hair as he kissed you back—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world.

The water rocked around you, your bodies drifting, the night air cool against your skin. It was dangerous, reckless—standing there like this, kissing in the open where anyone could find you.

But you didn’t care.

Not tonight.

Eventually, Logan pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you warmed up."

His smirk was back, but there was something else in his eyes now—something softer, something real.

You exhaled, nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

Logan didn’t let you go as he led you back toward the shore, his grip firm, steady. Like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

a few things - one, reader's powers are energy manipulation. two, i think it's in the next part, but reader has a degree in something nature/environmental related. it's not heavily described though. anyways, enjoy part 2!

❀ part 2 ❀

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine smut #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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