#this look of concern on charles' face got me

[schumi-nadal]

Charles: I feel like doing something stupid. Arthur: I’m stupid, do me.

[venomnyx]

HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. ��Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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[pucksandpower]

Suck Him Dry

Day 3 → Oral Fixation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that sinks into your bones. The only light comes from a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains, casting shadows that dance lazily across the ceiling. Charles is breathing softly beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that, on any other night, might lull you back to sleep.

But tonight is different. Your mind is restless, thoughts spinning in circles, too fast and too loud to let you sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shadows. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're stuck inside your own head.

You feel like you’re trapped in a loop, a constant replay of every worry, every doubt, every little thing that could possibly go wrong. It’s exhausting, but there’s no way out. Not tonight, at least.

Beside you, Charles stirs. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't woken him up. But then you feel his hand slide over, warm and reassuring, finding yours in the darkness. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft, rough with sleep, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m just … stuck in my head again.”

Charles hums, a low sound that vibrates through the silence. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“What’s going on in there?” He asks gently, tapping your temple with his finger.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Then he shifts closer, his hand moving to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion. “You need something to get you out of your head,” he says quietly.

You don’t respond. It’s not like you haven’t tried everything already — reading, counting sheep, focusing on your breathing. Nothing works.

Charles seems to understand. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But you have to trust me.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, something tender and a little mischievous. You nod slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he says, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow his lead, letting him guide you until your head is resting against his thigh. He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Charles shifts, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down. You feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the soft fabric of his boxers brushing against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly.

You do as he says, parting your lips. He guides you with gentle pressure, and you take him into your mouth, the familiar taste and feel of him grounding you in a way that nothing else does. You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath through your nose as you begin to suck gently.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it, just like that,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, mon amour.”

You focus on the sound of his voice, the gentle praise in his tone, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. You feel yourself start to relax, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The constant buzzing in your head quiets, replaced by the rhythmic motion of your mouth and the soft, reassuring sounds Charles makes above you.

He strokes your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple in a slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So perfect. Just keep going, mon cœur.”

You hum softly around him, the vibration drawing a soft curse from his lips. He tugs lightly on your hair, guiding you a little deeper. You take him easily, your jaw relaxing as you find a steady rhythm, each motion smooth and deliberate.

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening in your hair again. “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. You’re amazing, you know that?”

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He knows. He always knows. You focus on the feel of him in your mouth, the steady pressure against your tongue, the way he throbs gently with each pass of your lips. It’s comforting, in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

He shifts slightly, his thigh muscles flexing under your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head slightly, your mouth still full. You don’t want to stop. Not yet. You need this — the steady, grounding presence of him, the way he makes everything else disappear.

He chuckles softly, his fingers threading through your hair again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll keep going as long as you need, mon ange.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you’re with him like this, when the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of your mouth and the quiet sounds of his pleasure. You start to feel yourself getting drowsy, the tension in your body melting away completely.

Charles seems to notice. He strokes your hair gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” He murmurs.

You hum softly in response, your eyes fluttering closed. He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let yourself fall asleep, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your eyes close fully. You keep sucking softly, the motion slowing as you start to drift off. Charles hums a soft, soothing tune under his breath, his fingers still moving gently through your hair. You feel yourself slipping into sleep, the last thing you hear is the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

As you fall asleep, still sucking, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body relaxed. And you know, without a doubt, that as long as Charles is here, you’ll always have a way out of your own head.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness returning like a gentle tide washing over you. The world is soft and quiet, the room bathed in the faint blue light of early morning. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unsure of where you are or why you feel so warm and cocooned. Then you realize your mouth is still full, lips stretched around the familiar weight of Charles.

Your head is still resting on his thigh, and you can feel the solid muscle beneath your cheek. The sheets are warm and heavy around you, cocooning you in the lingering scent of Charles — clean and musky, with a hint of something uniquely him that you’ve come to love. His hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers relaxed but still holding onto you, as if even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go.

Blinking your eyes open, you adjust to the dim light. Charles is still asleep, his chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. You can feel his thigh move slightly under your cheek with each inhale, the slow rhythm of his breathing a comforting reminder that he’s here, right here with you. You don’t want to wake him, but you can’t help the way your tongue instinctively moves, brushing against the sensitive underside of him.

He stirs, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep, his grip on your hair tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You can feel him harden in your mouth, his body responding even in sleep. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like this, the way he trusts you so completely, even when he’s not awake.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position under the sheets. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue pressing more firmly against the sensitive spot that makes him shiver. His breathing hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. He’s still asleep, but his body knows you, recognizes your touch and responds to it.

Encouraged, you start to move more deliberately, sucking gently, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and intoxicating, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Heat blooms between your thighs, a low, insistent ache that makes you press your legs together, trying to find some relief.

But you don’t stop, don’t even slow down. If anything, you speed up, eager to taste more of him, to coax him awake with your mouth.

Charles groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in your hair. “Merde,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep. You feel him stir, his body shifting slightly as he wakes. “What …” His voice trails off into a low moan as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you suck harder.

“Fuck, mon amour …” His voice is thick with sleep and something else — something deeper, more primal. You can hear the way his breathing changes, growing faster, more uneven. He’s fully awake now, and you can feel his body tense under yours, his muscles tightening as he tries to hold back.

You don’t let him. You move faster, sucking harder, your tongue working against him with a practiced ease that you know drives him crazy. He groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “God, you’re … you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop …”

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a shiver down his spine. His reaction spurs you on, and you take him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He curses softly in French, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Mon dieu, just like that. You’re doing so good, so fucking good …”

You moan softly around him, the sound muffled by his length filling your mouth. The taste of him, the heat of his skin against your lips, the way he reacts to your every touch — it’s intoxicating, overwhelming. You feel yourself growing wetter, the ache between your thighs intensifying with every passing second.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly as he nears his release. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “Fuck, I’m so close …”

You don’t stop, don’t slow down. You want this — you want to taste him, to feel him lose control in your mouth. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with a renewed fervor. He lets out a strangled moan, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he finally lets go.

He comes with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses, warm and slightly salty, and you swallow eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He groans again, softer this time, his body trembling with the force of his release.

But you don’t stop. Even as he starts to soften in your mouth, you keep going, your lips and tongue working with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. He lets out a surprised gasp, his hand tightening in your hair again.

“Mon amour, what are you …” His voice trails off into a moan as you suck harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of him. “Fuck, I-I can’t …”

You don’t listen. You don’t want to. You want to taste every last drop of him, to drain him of everything he has to offer. You feel a surge of satisfaction as he starts to harden again, his body responding to your insistent touch.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of awe and arousal. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You hum around him, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. You can feel him starting to tremble beneath you, his body on the edge of overstimulation. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You want more — need more.

Charles groans, his hips twitching as he tries to pull away. “I … I can’t, it’s too much …”

But you don’t let him. You wrap your arms around his hips, holding him in place as you suck harder, your tongue pressing against the sensitive spot that you know will drive him crazy. He lets out a choked moan, his body tensing under yours as he teeters on the edge of another release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck …” He’s barely coherent now, his words slurred with pleasure and overstimulation. “Please, I … I can’t. I’m gonna …”

He comes again, harder this time, his body convulsing with the force of his release. You swallow every drop, your lips never leaving him, even as he starts to soften once more. He’s trembling now, his body twitching with aftershocks, but you don’t let up.

Charles gasps, his hand weakly pushing at your shoulder. “Mon amour, please … I can’t — it’s too much …”

But you don’t stop. You suck harder, your tongue working against him with a desperate, insistent rhythm. You’re close now, so close, the taste of him pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your core, a tight coil that’s ready to snap.

He groans, his voice hoarse with pleasure and exhaustion. “Please, I … I need you to stop, I can’t take it …”

But you’re too far gone to listen. You’re on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and you can’t stop, not now. You suck harder, your tongue pressing against him in a way that makes him shudder.

And then you’re there, the tension finally snapping as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You moan around him, your body shaking with the force of it, your mouth never leaving him. You keep sucking, keep licking, riding out your orgasm as you drain him of everything he has to offer.

Charles gasps, his body going limp beneath you as he finally gives in, his head falling back against the pillow. “Merde …” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “You’re … you’re incredible …”

You hum softly in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You finally pull away, your lips releasing him with a soft pop. You rest your head against his thigh, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, a small, contented smile spreading across your lips. “No,” you whisper. “I’m perfect.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers still moving through your hair. “That you are, mon ange. That you are.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely against him. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction, a contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body at peace.

Charles hums softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. “So much.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “I love you too,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[fastandcarlos]

First Newborn Moments : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: the first moments for you both after the emotional arrival of your daughter

No words could describe how you felt as your eyes glanced down to the little girl in your arms, everything that you had ever wanted. Charles was sat by your side, leaning across with wide eyes, studying the features of your daughter in awe. 

“Can you believe it?” You whispered across to Charles, unable to hide the smile on your face. “She’s just so perfect, so small, and beautiful, more than I could’ve ever imagined.” 

Charles nodded in agreement with you, brushing his hand over the top of her head. He didn’t know where to look as he took it all in, her brown eyes, the little dimple in her cheek, the way her mouth was slightly parted as she slept, it was all too much like a dream. 

“I feel like someone’s going to come in soon and wake me up,” Charles spoke, “tell me this is all some sort of dream, I feel so lucky right now to have all of this.” 

“I promise you that it’s all real,” you whispered, resting your head down against Charles’ shoulder. 

It was the moment the two of you had talked about for so long during your pregnancy, wondering how it would be and how overwhelmed you’d feel. Neither of you had prepared yourselves for quite how incredible it would feel though to finally have your daughter with you. 

“Can we swap for a moment?” Charles asked, desperate to have a hold of your daughter too. You nodded, watching as he nervously stretched his arms out to take her. “What do I do?” He grinned as you placed her down, scared for you to let go and let him hold her alone. 

“Just make sure you support her, body and head,” you told him, placing his hands exactly where they needed to be before letting go. “See, you’re a natural.” 

As you moved away, Charles’ eyes were still full of worry, slowly bringing her in towards his chest. “She looks so frail and tiny, like she could break at any moment. I can’t believe I’m actually trusted to take care of such a little human being.” 

Charles had made no secret of the fact that he was scared, terrified of messing up or doing the wrong thing. You’d spent many late nights wide awake talking about his worries together, with you constantly being on hand to reassure him, reminding Charles that you both would be learning for some time, after all, no parent was perfect. 

Your smile was wide as your eyes stayed with Charles, admiring how fondly he looked down at her. “She’s already relaxed in her daddy’s arms; you must be doing something right.” 

“Beginner’s luck,” Charles sniggered, momentarily looking up and across at you. “I can’t wait for everyone to get here later, my brothers are going to crazy when they see how beautiful she is, they’re already slightly obsessed.” 

“She has no idea how lucky she is, does she?” You chuckled, watching as your daughter’s eyes fluttered shut. “She’s got the most loving family in the world, and yet she’s got absolutely no idea who any of us actually are yet.” 

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “I’m going to make sure that she grows up knowing exactly how incredible you are and how hard your body just worked to bring her into this world,” he proudly told you. 

To say things didn’t quite go as well as you expected was an understatement, labour had been nothing short of a nightmare for you both. It had left Charles terrified, constantly wondering what was going to happen as midwives ran around you until your daughter arrived. 

“I wish I could sleep like this,” Charles chuckled, “without a single care in the world.” 

“I feel like I could sleep as well as she is right now, I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Charles’ concerned eyes immediately looked across at you, weakly smiling as he met your eyes. He could tell how sore you were, even if you weren’t going to admit it, wanting to savour every moment that you could of having your daughter there with you. 

A sigh came from Charles as you let go of a yawn, trying your best to disguise it behind your hand. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll wake you if anything happens,” Charles suggested, nodding in the direction of the pillow behind you. “You need to be looking after yourself right now, you’re just as important as this one is.” 

“I’ll get some rest soon, I promise. I mean, we should probably get used to the lack of sleep now, right?” 

A quiet chuckle came from Charles, not wanting to disturb your daughter. His worried eyes still watched you, only relaxing when you propped yourself up and rested in the bed again, stretching your legs out to try and wake your body back up again. 

“I can’t wait to take this one to the paddock, show her all the cool things that her daddy gets up to.” 

Your smile was wide as Charles’ eyes lit up, excited for all the things he had to look forward to with her. “She’s going to be absolutely spoilt by everyone at that paddock, I think you’ll be a forgotten man when we take her, no one will want to pay any attention to you, just to her.” 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Charles proudly shrugged. “Just as long as she knows that no matter how much anyone in that paddock tells her they love her, they don’t love her anywhere near as much as we do.” 

“Trust me, with the way I know you’re going to spoil her, she’s definitely going to be a daddy’s girl,” you teased, resting your hand against Charles’ shoulder. “I can already tell from the look in your eye that our little girl is going to have you absolutely wrapped around her little finger.” 

Charles nodded, there was no doubt about it that your little girl was his new weakness, knowing that he would never be able to say no to her. 

He couldn’t believe what he did to get so lucky, not just to have his daughter, but you as well. It was the sort of thing Charles always dreamt about, but knew would probably never come true. Only for him, it did, and it was better than he could have ever imagined. 

As your daughter settled, Charles leant over once again and pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking you by surprise. “Thank you for everything, for loving me, taking care of me, and giving me the greatest gift in the world. Nothing will ever be good enough to show you how appreciative I am that you’ve just made me a dad.” 

Your smile was wide as you glanced back across at Charles, “you don’t need to thank me Charles. I should be thanking you for being here, right by my side, and getting me through the last nine months. I love you.” 

“I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[willowsnook]

i need you back

Charles leclerc x wolff!reader

request from @dovesboccianoifiori

—--------------------------------------

“I can’t do this anymore, Charles,” you said, tears streaming down your face as you stood by the front door of his Monaco apartment with your suitcases. Your boyfriend stood broken in front of you, eyes begging you not to leave. 

“Please, y/n, it will get better,” he tried to reason, but you laughed, shaking your head. 

“You don’t get it, Charlie, you don’t get it because you’re the prince of Ferrari; everyone loves you. You don’t have people constantly commenting on your appearance, what you say, what you wear, or anything you like on social media. They hate me because they love you,” you finished sadly. “I love you more than you could ever know, but I also love myself.”

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to your cheek. You leaned it to it gently before pressing one last kiss on his lips and leaving. 

You cried the whole way to the airport, feeling like you had ripped your own heart out, but you knew this was for the best. It had been a long time since you were really happy; the hate you consistently got had finally broken you down, and you knew you needed to be alone to build yourself back up. Charles hadn’t done anything wrong, but he also didn’t get it, so it was frustrating when you didn’t feel like you had anyone to talk to about it with. 

This would be good for you.

—------------------------

It had been a couple of months since your breakup with Charles, and though it still stung, you were adapting. You moved back to your family’s estate in Vienna and had connected with a bunch of old friends who were getting you through. 

You hadn’t seen Charles since you left, but according to social media, he wasn’t out in public often. He looked half-alive in the PR videos Ferrari had been posting. He had tried calling you a lot the first month, but now it was silent between you. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” your dad said, knocking on your bedroom door. You were snuggled up in your blankets, watching a movie. 

“Hi, dad,” you greeted softly. His face looked around the room in concern, not used to the messy state it was currently in. 

“Why don’t you come to the race with me this weekend?” He asked. “I think it will be good for you.” 

“I don’t know…,” you trailed off. 

“Come on honey, F1 is yours too,” he said, and you thought about it. You had missed being in the paddock for race weekends these past months. He was right; Charles didn’t own F1, and you were allowed to enjoy it. 

“Okay,” you said, agreeing, and Toto smiled. 

—----------------Belgian GP—--------------------------

The hot sun beat down on you as you stepped into the paddock, dressed in Mercedes colors. You made it a couple of feet before the eyes got to you, making you falter. It felt like everyone was looking at you, and you started to panic.

“Keep moving forward,” a voice said from next to you, pushing you forward. You gave Lewis a grateful smile as he fell into step with you. 

“I thought it would be easier,” you murmured to him. 

“It’s just because it’s your first race back,” he told you. “They’ll move on to the next thing in a few days.”

His words comforted you as you walked with him. Smiling at familiar faces and ignoring the flashes from cameras. Your dad was waiting for you in the garage, and he gave Lewis a nod of appreciation as you approached. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you. “Excited for today?” 

“Yeah,” you told him with a genuine smile. “Is Kimi here?” 

“Yeah, he’s on his side,” your dad said, waving you off. You and Kimi had grown close when he joined as a reserve driver since your dad was obsessed with him, so he was around a lot. You were closer to him in age than George, so your friendship was natural. 

Kimi lit up when he saw you jogging over to you, and you giggled. 

“Hi Kimi,” you sai,d and he wrapped his arms around you, spinning you around. 

“Ciao Bella,” he said, happy to see you. “I’m so glad you are here.” 

“Me too,” you said, smiling. 

“I need to see someone at Williams. Will you come with?” He asked, and you nodded. The two of you set out and you were temporarily distracted from your sadness until you spotted him. 

He came to a stop, mid-conversation with Carlos as he saw you. Carlos followed his line of sight, and his eyes looked pained when he saw you. 

Your heart raced as you locked eyes with Charles. He looked thinner, his usually vibrant green eyes now dull and rimmed with dark circles. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as you both stared at each other across the paddock.

Kimi noticed your sudden tension and followed your gaze. "Ah, merda," he muttered under his breath. He gently touched your lower back, ready to steer you away if needed.

Charles took a hesitant step forward, his expression a mixture of hope and heartbreak. But before he could approach, Carlos grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear. Charles reluctantly nodded, casting one last longing look in your direction before allowing Carlos to lead him away.

You released a shaky breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "Thanks, Kimi," you said softly, and he smiled at you sympathetically. 

Kimi greeted another guy who appeared to be around your age as you made it to Williams. You were racking your brain trying to remember who he was, knowing he was a reserve driver. 

“Franco, this is y/n wolff,” Kimi introduced, and Franco’s eyes widened at your last name. 

“Who knew the daughter of the wolf would be so beautiful?” he said, recovering and bringing your hand up to kiss its back. You laughed as Kimi snorted, and Franco grinned at both of you. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n; Kimi has said a lot about you.”

“You too, Franco,” you said, and the three of you chatted for a bit. You instantly grew to like Franco, and his jokes and laughter made your day a little better. 

It was getting closer to practice, and Kimi had to head back to Mercedes, as he was driving George’s car, but Franco held your arm back. 

“Do you want to just stay here with me?” He asked. “I can keep you company.” 

“Sure,” you said without a second thought. You said goodbye to Kimi and hung around with Franco, interested in seeing what another team’s garage was like. 

Franco kept the conversation going with you, and at one poin,t the two of you looked at the broadcast to see yourselves on the screen. Franco grinned widely as you shied away. 

“Not a fan of the spotlight?” He teased, and you gave him an uneasy look. 

“More so, not a fan of what comes with it,” you said, and he nodded in understanding. 

“Is that why you and Charles broke up?” He asked bluntly before blushing. “Sorr,y that’s none of my business, but Kimi had mentioned it.” 

“It’s okay,” you told him. “But yeah, I was pretty much getting ripped apart every day online so I needed a break.” 

“I know it’s easier said than done,” he stated. “But you shouldn’t even worry about what those people are saying. They are losers, and you are a beautiful girl who shouldn’t pay them attention.” 

“Thanks, Franco,” you said, tears in your eyes. He let you rest your head on his shoulder, and you were thankful that a new friendship was starting to blossom. 

—-------------------------------

You and Franco kept in touch over summer break, and you even met up when you were both in London. He quickly became one of your closest friends; you found it easy to open up to him, and he gave excellent advice. Charles was not pleased about this new development. 

“Would she really move on that quickly from me?” He asked, irritated. Carlos gave him a pointed look from across the table. He was tired of hearing Charles spiral whenever he got wind that you had hung out with Franco. 

“Rebecca said that they are just friends,” Carlos said. “She’s allowed to have friends.”

Charles scoffed, “Of course she can have friends. But why do they have to be involved in F1?” 

“Maybe because her dad is the most popular team principal, and her mom is in charge of the academy?” Carlos reasone,d but Charles wasn’t listening. 

Charles shook his head, his frustration evident. "I just don't understand. We were so happy together. How could she just move on like this?"

Carlos sighed, setting down his coffee cup. "Charles, my friend, you need to let this go. It's been months. Y/N made her decision, and you need to respect that."

"But I love her," Charles insisted, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't just forget about her."

"I'm not saying you should forget," Carlos said gently. "But you need to focus on yourself, on your racing. Obsessing over who she's spending time with isn't healthy."

Charles slumped in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It's just... seeing her at the track, with Franco... it hurts."

Carlos reached across the table, squeezing his friend's shoulder.

—----------------------------------

You were in the Williams garage again for the weekend because it was officially Franco’s first F1 race. Monza was electric, and you couldn’t help but feel excited for Charles as well. You’d been nervous when you arrived, but many people in the Tifosi stopped you, commenting on how much they missed seeing you with Charles. It definitely was a stark contrast to what you were used to seeing online. 

You didn’t stop the happy tears from coming when you watched Charles take the podium, and Franco getting points was the cherry on top. Everyone was going out that night, and Kimi invited you to tag along as his plus one. You threw on a cute red mini-dress and headed to the upscale restaurant with Kimi. Most of the other drivers were there, and you were having a good time until you realized the girl Charles was sitting next to was clearly his plus one. 

You tried to focus on your conversation with Rebecca and Carlos, but your eyes drifted back to Charles and his date. The girl was beautiful, with long dark hair and a dazzling smile. She seemed completely at ease among the drivers and team members, laughing at their jokes and fitting in seamlessly.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, noticing your distraction.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired I guess."

Carlos and Rebecca exchanged a knowing look. "We can leave if you want," Carlos offered kindly.

"No, no. I'm fine," you insisted, taking a large sip of your wine. But then you looked over again to see Charles date. Right as she pressed a kiss on his cheek, it was over. Tears instantly filled your eyes, and you pushed out of your chair, ignoring people calling after you as you moved toward the exit. A sob escaped your mouth as the fresh air hit you, and two arms were quickly around you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Carlos soothed, rubbing your back as you clung to him. 

“It hurts Carlos,” you cried, and his heart broke at the sight of you. 

“I know,” he said. 

Charles had seen you bolt out of the restaurant and was only a few paces behind Carlos on the way out. He saw you in Carlos’ arms and was very confused. 

“Y/n,” he called out your name, and you whirled on him, anger rising through your body. 

“What do you wan,t Charles?” You asked harshly. His brows furrowed at your tone. 

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, and you laughed humorlessly. 

“I’m fine, just go back to your new girlfriend,” you spat out, and he flinched before matching your anger with his own. 

“Oh, so you’re allowed to move on but I’m not?” He sneered, and you stepped towards him angrily. 

“Please enlighten me with who I’m apparently moving on with,” you snapped. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, all I see are you and Franco going out to dinner, you in the Williams garage, you with him in London.” 

“Tell me this, Charles, have you ever seen any pictures of him touching me?” You asked icily. “Pictures of him whispering into my ear like your date tonight? Or of him kissing me?” 

Charles stilled at your words, finally realizing that maybe you and Franco were just friends. But you weren’t done. 

“I can’t believe you would throw this in my face,” you seethed at him. “I still fucking love you Charles! I’m fucking miserable, and you think I just threw our whole relationship away for someone else this quickly. Do you even know me?”

Your voice cracked at the last word, and pain flashed across his face as he took another step towards you. 

Charles reached out to touch your arm; his eyes filled with regret. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

You jerked away from his touch, tears streaming down your face. "Don't. Just don't, Charles.”

Carlos stepped between you, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I think it's time for you to go back inside, Charles," he said firmly.

Charles looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Carlos' expression made him think better of it. He cast one last pained look at you before turning and heading back into the restaurant.

You sagged against Carlos, suddenly feeling drained. "I want to go home," you whispered.

"Of course," Carlos said gently. "I'll call a car for you."

As you waited for the car to arrive, you couldn't help but replay the encounter. The hurt in Charles' face burning in your mind.

—--------------------------------------

Charles was desperate to get you back. He had sent flowers, jewelry, clothes, literally anything that would make you even consider answering one of his many calls. You accepted the gifts but weren’t giving in to him yet; his words from Monza still echoing in your mind. 

You currently were in the Williams hospitality suite, grabbing a coffee with Franco, who had his precious mate. 

“I like your bracelet. Is it new?” Franco asked innocently, and you shot him a look. It was one of the many gifts from Charles that had shown up on your door this past week. 

“Thank you,” you said, not commenting on it further. Franco rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, and you leaned over curiously. He had a bunch of screenshots of comment sections on instagram and twitter on his phone. “I know that you got swept up in all the hate you were getting, but look closer at it; look at how many people reply to those people defending you.”

Hesitantly, you took his phone from hi,m and you scrolled through. He was right; for every one hate comment, there were at least ten telling them off and in support of you. 

Your eyes widened as you continued scrolling through Franco's phone, taking in all the supportive comments. "I... I never noticed these before," you said softly.

Franco gently took his phone back. "That's because you were too focused on the negative. But Y/N, there are so many people out there who adore you. You shouldn't let a few trolls dictate your happiness."

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. "Thank you for showing me this, Franco. It really means a lot."

He smiled warmly. "That's what friends are for."

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text from Charles: "Can we please talk? I miss you so much."

You stared at the message, your heart racing. Franco noticed your expression change and raised an eyebrow. "Charles again?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "He wants to talk.”

“You should meet up with him,” Franco said. “You still love him, and this break isn’t doing you or him any good. You two belong together.”

After thinking about it for a second, you decided that you agreed and texted him back, saying you could meet him in the hotel lobby this evening. 

The rest of the day went by fast, and you soon found yourself waiting on a couch for Charles in the lobby, twiddling your thumbs nervously. 

You saw Charles before he saw you. He walked into the lobby, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His face lit up with a mixture of relief and apprehension as he approached.

"Y/N," he said softly, sitting down beside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

You nodded, your heart racing. "Of course, Charles."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, both of you unsure where to start. Finally, Charles took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For not understanding what you were going through, for not being there for you the way I should have been. And especially for what happened in Monza. I was jealous and hurt, and I lashed out. It was wrong of me."

You felt tears prick at your eyes. "I'm sorry too, Charlie, for running away that night in Monaco. I should have talked to you about my feelings instead of just leaving."

“I need you back y/n,” he begged. “You belong by my side, I can’t take another weekend of seeing you not in Ferrari colors.” 

You let out a small giggle at his request, and he relaxed. He reached for your hand and held it tightly, caressing your skin gently. 

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll come back, if you’ll have me.” 

Charles's face broke out into a grin, and he pulled you into his lap, your cheeks reddening with the embarrassment of being in public. 

“Charlie, we are in public,” you complained, nestled against his chest. 

“I don’t care, mon cheri,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.” 

For the first time in months, you felt a glimmer of hope—hope that things could be different this time. Together, you’d rebuild what was broken, stronger than before.

[applepiewinchesters]

Every Universe (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This was written while I was slightly intoxicated, I regret nothing though and hope you guys enjoy it. It was proofread but I cannot say there will be no grammatical errors. Regardless, please enjoy!! :) Also, takes place in the Deadpool and Wolverine universe.

Word Count: 4,158 (this bitch is long, for me at least)

Warnings: None really unless you count angst and fluff as well as the mention of butt stuff

Finding out that not falling in love with a man being the sole reason you were sent to the void seemed like a pretty patriarchal reason to essentially be damned but who were you to question the TVA.

The day you were sent to the void you’d seen the news, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AFTER ATTACK AT XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS, names such as Jean Grey, Marie D’Ancanto, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Logan Howlett were read out by the heartbroken looking anchor.

Being a mutant yourself, the news stung and left a pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was an attack by an anti-mutant terrorist group, if they were bold enough to attack the home of Charles Xavier, why not a shopping mall next, or another school full of mutant and non-mutant children alike.

Only minutes after the newscast on the tragedy started four rectangular, orange portals opened in front of and behind you. Four men dressed in odd looking military uniforms stalked towards you. You didn’t even have time to attempt to fend them off before they grabbed you, holding you down while you attempted to break free but even with your mutation, they were too strong.

All you remembered was one of them placing some weird stick against your stomach and you screamed as you essentially dissolved into nothing.

When you woke you were found by who you now knew as Blade, and were told you were in the Void, where you would stay until you died or were killed by a fellow member of said Void.

You’d been there for a what you thought was probably a few years when a couple of Deadpool and Wolverine variants were found by Laura in an absolutely fucked Honda Odyssey. She brought them there and Gambit and Blade brought them inside and laid them down. They appeared as if they’d just had a horrific fight or the most violent sexual encounter ever.

The Wolverine variant was the first to wake up, quite literally shooting up into a sitting position while breathing heavily. His claws extended quickly from his knuckles, and he made an almost animalistic sound.

“Easy there killer,” you almost teased, holding up your hands, you’d been the one unfortunate enough to be closest to him when he woke up, so his eyes immediately fixed on you.

Several emotions seemed to flash across his face at once, his look of anger changing to one of shock. His claws disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared just moments ago as you slowly put your hands down, now a little concerned for the man.

“Y/N?”, he asked, his head tilting slightly.

It was your turn to look confused, “Did we know each other?”, you asked.

Sure, you’d heard of Wolverine, of Logan, but you’d never met him personally, you had originally been set to attend Charles Xavier’s school when you were 18 but after an attack on the school the same year your parents had decided against it.

The Logan before you’ s face fell slightly; he seemed almost hurt. It took him a second to respond, “I, uh, I guess not.”

That was when Elektra cut in, explaining to Logan where he was and how she’d found him and Deadpool. While he seemed to only half listen, he got up and found the nearest bottle of Gambit’s booze and started drinking it.

When Deadpool woke up it was a completely different side of weird, you hadn’t had the pleasure of coming across a Deadpool variant, but you’d heard how odd they were, and unfortunately for you, you thought they were exaggerating.

After annoying literally everyone in the room, the Deadpool variant all got you to somehow agree to help him and Wolverine get back to the TVA to save his timeline, as well as a sneak attack on Cassandra Nova. The whole time Logan watched you from the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t completely convince himself it was you. The last time he’d seen you, you were lying dead on the front lawn of the school, killed by a large group of humans, along with almost everyone at the mansion. You were covered in blood and cold by the time he’d gotten there. He’d held onto you until the coroner was nearly begging to take you away.

Logan remembered almost everything about you. Your favorite movie, what food you hated, and even the feel of your hand in his. But when you looked at him with little to no recognition in your eyes, his heart could’ve broken all over again.

You had no idea the conflicting feelings he’d had while you sat only a few feet away. You looked practically the same, maybe older than you were when you’d died in his world, he was older too, maybe you just didn’t want to be with an old man and were pretending not to know him. He was the worst Wolverine after all, he wouldn’t blame you.

But then there were some things you did that reminded him of his version of you, the way your laugh sounded exactly the same, how you sat the same way in your chair, and you even made the same face when you’d taken a drink of Gambit’s whiskey as when you’d sip his occasionally while the two of you sat on the couch in the mansion watching some movie one of the others had put on.

It was you, just, one that apparently hadn’t fallen in love with Logan Howlett. Logan himself couldn’t help but wonder if that had been your reason for being sent here, but thought better of it, deciding he'd probably never have that kind of impact on any kind of world.

After a successful attack on Cassandra and her small army, Deadpool and Wolverine were gone, and you hadn’t expected to ever see them again. Then Cassandra almost destroyed every timeline to exist, and you’d thought for sure those two variants had gotten themselves killed.

But then the TVA came for you and brought you to said Deadpool variants world, which he had successfully and somehow saved with Wolverine’s help. You couldn’t help but notice Logan’s shirt missing this time around. Almost cursing yourself for not trying harder to go to Xavier’s school when you were younger, having a chance to meet your world’s Logan. A man’s abs can do that to a woman.

“Happy to not be in the void and all, but why am I here?”, you asked, eyeing the agents around you and taking in the cracked subway station.

“I thought I’d give a little gift to Wolvie here,” Deadpool replied in an overly enthusiastic manner, throwing an arm around Logan who instantly pushed him away.

“I’m not a gift to give you dumb fuck,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Deadpool ignored your obvious distain and continued, “Well I figured since he lost you in his world and you never falling in love in your world caused his death that you could stay here with us!”.

Your eyes widened and you had to think about what he’d said for a moment, ���I-I got him killed? I got Logan and those other mutants killed?”.

Logan couldn’t focus on the other details once his name left your mouth; he hadn’t heard you say that in almost a decade.

You on the other hand turned to the woman beside you that looked to be in charge.

“Is that the reason I was sent there, because I didn’t fall in love with Logan Howlett and he died because of it?”, you asked, you felt like you could be sick.

The woman sighed, almost regretful, “Yes, it was,” she finally answered you. “Without your help of your mutation those mutants did not survive that attack on the school.”

“Oooooo, trauma plot twist,” Deadpool practically squealed.

“Shut the fuck up!”, you snapped back, making Deadpool whisper a bashful, “Sorry,” and take a step back.

The TVA agents left shortly after, and that was how you found yourself living in a small apartment with Wade, Logan, and the craziest old lady you’d ever met, Blind Al.

Wade and she shared a room as weird as it was, you were given the spare room Blind Al reluctantly let you use, as it was now formerly her grow room, and Logan elected to sleep on the couch.

You settled in somewhat nicely, you still felt awkward in a world that wasn’t yours living with a doofus that you'd grown somewhat fond of and a man you got killed in his other life, but you had new friends, ones that didn’t have a huge chance of dying every day so that was a plus.

Yukio and Ellie had gravitated towards you, you were somewhat close in age, with them being early twenties and you in your somewhat late twenties, they reminded you of your younger sibling’s friends from back home in your previous world.

So, when they invited you to go out a month after you settled in, you couldn’t say no, it would get you out of the house at least, you wouldn’t have to sit and listen to Wade and Logan argue or endure Logan’s kicked puppy look when he thought you weren’t looking.

You felt awful you weren’t the you he thought you were, and you knew it was nothing you could control but after Wade let it slip what had happened to you in Logan’s world you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.

So, to hopefully be able to forget about everything for a few hours you got ready, doing some easy makeup and hair, you put on a cute outfit you’d bought earlier in the week, Yukio had begged you to go shopping after finding out you didn’t own anything for “going out” yet on this world.

You relented and picked out a skirt, top, tights, and boots, it was simple yet cute enough to not be mistaken as any old outfit.

When you’d exited your bedroom in your shared apartment shortly before Yukio and Ellie were due to come get you, Wade looked up from whatever the hell he was doing on his phone, which could be anything from porn to angry birds.

His eyes widened slightly, “Got a date?”, he asked, only slightly feigning shock.

Logan had looked up immediately at the mention of a date, he was sipping a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table. His eyes traveled over your outfit when he thought you were busy glaring at Wade.

“Not that its your business merc but no, I’m going out with Yukio and Ellie,” you stated, tossing a lip balm you had in your hand to your small purse.

“Girls nightttt,” Wade sang, only making you sigh.

As if a divine intervention interrupted there was a knock on the door and when you opened it you found the two girls standing there waiting.

“Hi Wade!”, Yukio exclaimed waving at him.

Wade leaned back in his seat to look around you at Yukio, “Hi Yukio!”.

“Come on,” you told them, moving to leave but a hand on your shoulder made you turn around. It was Wade.

“Now honey,” he began, “don’t take drinks from strangers, don’t go off alone, and don’t hook up with anyone. You know what they say about beer goggles, you’ll be waking up next to the crypt keeper.”

While you rolled your eyes and pushed Wade’s hand off your shoulder although you knew he really did care. Logan on the other hand clenched his jaw. You weren’t his and he knew that, but Wade’s last comment set his teeth on edge.

“I’m a big girl Wade, but thanks,” you told him, turning around and leaving this time without so much as a glimpse Logan’s way.

When the door shut Wade spoke again, “She’s gonna get picked up by every hottie in the club in that outfit. Did you see her legs Peanut?”.

Wade then almost immediately flinched when he felt glass shatter on the back of his head, the alcohol in the now broken bottle staining the back of his My Little Pony shirt.

He didn’t even have to look back to imagine the look on Logan’s face, “Gotcha,” was all Wade replied, picking out a rather large glass shard from the back of his neck.

…

It was hours later when you were so drunk you couldn’t feel the cold outside, but you sure felt good on the inside. The only bad thing was that the other girls wanted to go to another club, and your social battery was just about gone.

You three stumbled out of the club, Yukio and you giggled at something Ellie had yelled at some perv leering at you when you’d walked out. Stopping the other two from turning the opposite way to another club, you spoke rather loudly despite being out of the crowd and loud music.

“I-I think I’m gonna go home! You girls go!” you told them, making Yukio frown.

“Don’t walk home by yourself, call Wade or something,” Ellie commented.

You nodded thoughtfully before gasping, “I’ll call Logan, Wade is doing butt stuff with Vanessa tonight!”.

Your loud comment sent Yukio into a giggling fit and made a guy near you wince, maybe he’d done butt stuff too.

Ellie only nodded, rolling her eyes as you pulled your phone from your purse, scrolling through the very few numbers you’d had, Wade had gotten both you and Logan phones soon after arriving, claiming he needed to be able to send you both funny videos every day. Which were no doubt ignored by Logan.

Pressing on Logan’s contact, you put the phone up to your ear, listening to it ring only once before the call was answered.

“You alright?”, was the first thing out of Logan’s mouth and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’m great!” you replied, “but Ellie doesn’t want me walking home alone and Wade is doing butt stuff so will you come? I’m only a few blocks from home.”

The whole sentence was sort of rushed and you thought maybe Logan hadn’t heard you correctly because the line went silent.

You were about to repeat yourself when Logan stopped you, “I’m coming,” he told you, you could hear him shuffling around and the sound of a door closing, “What’s the name?”.

Despite having been in the club for well over an hour you had to look up and squint at then brightly lit sign, “Uhhhh,” you mumbled into to the phone, before your eyes finally focused, “House of Yes!”.

You could’ve sworn Logan chuckled, “Be there soon,” was all he said before hanging up.

“Escort secured,” you told the two girls, slipping your phone back into your purse. “He’ll be here soon,” you added, attempting to replicate his gravely tone, only succeeding in making yourself cough and sending Yukio into a laughing fit.

It was only 15 minutes of standing around before Logan showed up, you spotted him first, having turned yourself that way to look for him. He was dressed in his usual jeans, button up, and undershirt, along with a leather jacket he’d picked up recently.

He looked good you had to admit, nearly every girl outside, and even some guys turned to look at him when he walked past. He didn’t give them any sort of acknowledgement though, earning some disappointed looks from a few of them when he walked up to you.

What was it Wade said about beer goggles? Logan was hot without alcohol though, so you shook off the thought.

“Ready to go?”, he asked, eyes scanning over you, not to be a perv but to make sure everything was the same as when you left, and it was, save for the way you swayed slightly and the way you smiled at him like you were so happy to see him. He thought he’d never see that again, but he has to remind himself for what felt like that hundredth time that it wasn’t you, not his you at least.

You nodded, turning around to hug both of the girls, telling them to be safe, although you knew Ellie wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit.

“Bye Y/N! Bye Logan!”, Yukio exclaimed, waving at you both before grabbing Ellie’s hand as they turned the opposite way.

“Alright, come on,” Logan said, taking a step away from you and waiting for you to follow him to keep walking, he made sure to keep you closest to the buildings, it wouldn’t be too great to have you fall in the street in front of a car.

It was silent for a couple minutes, you stumbled every so often and Logan’s hand always shot out, ready to catch you, but you always righted yourself, giggling as you did, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound.

You caught him smiling after a couple times, narrowing your eyes, “What’re you smiling at grumpy?”, you asked, voice anything but angry.

“Grumpy?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, it’s what I call you sometimes in my head, Mr. Grumpy is also a good one,” you told him in a very serious tone.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Logan found himself repeating, only making you laugh, which made you stumble, nearly knocking into someone walking the opposite way of you both. Logan instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the almost collision and into his side.

You immediately noticed he was warm, you could feel it even with his multiple layers on, it was growing colder now outside as the days went on and you yourself knew without the alcohol, you’d probably be cold but here he was, a personal heater.

“Are you actually just a werewolf?” you asked him, making him stop walking completely and turn towards you, removing his arm from your shoulders, making you pout a bit.

“I am not a werewolf,” he told you seriously.

You groaned, “Okay but you’re really warm, you have claws, you can run on all fours, and you’ve got those little…,” you trailed off, putting your pointer fingers up on each side of your head, attempting to mimic the little swishes his hair made.

Personally, you had no idea if his hair just did that (because he’s a werewolf), or if he styled it that way. You couldn’t decide which option to like more.

When Logan didn’t seem to understand what you’d said, you reached up, lightly running a finger along one of the swoops of his hair. You jumped a bit when his hand caught your wrist as you were pulling your hand back.

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize but it soon disappeared as he let you go, “Sorry,” he quickly said. “Reflex.”

You shrugged, “No harm done,” you told him, and his eyes softened at the way you brushed off his behavior from years of enduring nothing even remotely close to the gentle way you’d just touched him.

Maybe you didn’t think so badly of him. You always seemed so wary, afraid to make him angry, to say something wrong, like he was a ticking time bomb. It put him on edge and made him want to steer clear of you, he didn’t want to scare you off either.  But now, standing there staring at you while you just smiled at him made him relax a bit.

“Let’s go,” you suddenly said, beginning to walk away from him. He was back at your side in moments, and you found yourself bumping into him every so often, apologizing every time you did.

Finally, he wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you back into the warmth of his side. You smiled when he did, stumbling slightly but he held you up easily, not letting you fall.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you told him when you were only a block from home.

“No problem,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

There were a few moments of silence before you began to giggle suddenly, Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “What?” he asked, hopefully not regretting asking.

“So, you’re not a werewolf?” you asked, looking up at him.

Logan groaned looking away from you, “No, and if you keep asking, you’ll regret it.”

“Ooo what are you gonna do?” you mocked, poking his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart,” he replied, making you stumble at the nickname.

“I would,” you challenged, after righting yourself with the help of Logan’s arm around you.

Logan regarded you for a moment before shaking his head, “You’re drunk, another time.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, “Tell me!”.

“Not a chance,” Logan replied, smirking a bit. He’d been drinking since you left and was buzzed himself, he couldn’t help but smile at your behavior.

The you he’d known had always acted like this, at least when intoxicated. You were whiny, clumsy, and clingy. The way your fingers gripped the back of his jacket to stay up right made his heart ache though and his smile fell.

You noticed his attitude change and became concerned, “You okay?” you asked, attempting to stop walking, but Logan kept you going.

“Fine” he replied, his hold on you loosening slightly, you couldn’t help but notice.

So, you stopped, much to Logan’s dismay, moving to stand in front of him, swaying slightly as you very determinedly looked him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, did I do something?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice, he could almost feel his heart crack just slightly.

“No, it’s…,” Logan began, his tongue getting tied, he was never great at emotions, that’s why he drank so much. You didn’t have to feel anything then.

“I’m listening,” you reassured, resisting the urge to take his hand.

“You’re so much like…like her, like you,” Logan finally said, not really meeting your eye. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t, you even smell the same.”

Logan had rendered you with nothing to say, could you truly comfort him? Reassure him? You felt yourself sobering up a bit at the thought.

It was a few moments of silence before you found your words, “I know this has been shitty for you too, and I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. Honestly sometimes I think you hate the fact that I'm not her, me her, whatever...that you hate me. But then you do things like this and it makes me think otherwise. I guess I just don't know how to...approach you, Logan."

Logan felt his heart drop at the word “friend”, and the thought he made you feel inadequate. God he really was stupid enough to think he might have a chance with this version of you.

But he found himself lifting a hand to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up beneath his fingers, “I could never hate you, not in this universe, not in any, got it? Its my fault, for pushing that onto you, making you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “We’re both just fucked up in our own special way, aren’t we?”.

Logan nodded, dropping his hand, but you caught it in your own, “It’s not your fault either you know, I personally blame whatever bitchass overlord of the universe did this.”

Logan had to keep himself from solely focusing on the way your hand wrapped around his, “But…,” he went to argue.

You put up a hand to stop him, “Enough with the self-pity Howlett, its unbecoming of a man of your nature.”

“My nature?” Logan asked, titling his head at you.

“Yes, the nature of being absurdly attractive,” you admitted, looking away from him as you spoke, attempting to walk away, but he pulled you back, almost into his chest, but he kept you a few inches away, still concerned with scaring you.

“Absurdly?” Logan asked, the smirk returning to his face.

You swallowed hard, “Did I say that? I meant unappealing, completely unsightly.”

Your attempt at saving your future sober self from your drunk self was failing miserably, but Logan gave in after a few seconds, shrugging as he turned, placing his arm around you once more, guiding you towards the apartment building you could finally see in the distance.

“Whatever you say kid,” he told you.

This was the most at home you two had felt in a while, and when you sat next to each other at breakfast in the morning, Logan passing you whatever you needed when you’d asked, Wade gasped dramatically.

“Did you two also engage in butt stuff last night, or is that not your cup of whiskey Wolvie?” Wade asked.

This earned him a fork to the forehead, easily tossed across the table by Logan.

The way you laughed made Logan’s heart skip a beat instead of crack again. For the first time in quite a while he felt hope, and if being here with you meant putting up with Wade’s dumbass mouth, he could make an exception just this once.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I felt like Tumblr was seriously lacking in Logan fluff so here ya go!

[propertyofwicked]

TAKE ME DANCING - LN

based on this request! ✧ my inbox is open for requests (or if u just want a chat!) ✧

warnings - smut! MDNI!! oral (fem receiving), possessive!lando (but also kinda cute - smut is marked ✿)

masterlist the playlist

the pulsating beat of the music reverberated through the club as lando and y/n made their way inside. the flashing lights, the energy, the sheer about of people everywhere was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but feel a little out of place.

this wasn't her scene; y/n would rather be sat in a beer garden, fearing she wouldn’t enjoy the loud music and drunk people bashing into her in a club. but lando - this was his type of place, he seemed to just exude confidence, especially in clubs, and especially when he wore that white shirt, the top few buttons undone.

lando noticed her hesitance, giving her a reassuring smile.

"don't worry, you wanna leave, we leave - ok? ," he said, squeezing her hand gently.

she nodded, trying to keep an open mind as they moved further into the crowd. the dance floor was packed, bodies moving mostly in sync with the pounding rhythm. lando led her to the bar first, using his grip of her hand to pull her closely behind him as they manoeuvred through the crowds of people, smiling occasionally at people he recognised. lando’s hand dropped hers, though not before pulling her close, so he could rest his tanned hands on the bar, leaning forward to catch the attention of the server.

“….and a double malibu coke,” he called out, trying to be heard over the music, before turning to y/n, checking that was what she wanted. she nodded at him quickly.

“and two shots of tequila please!” she added quickly, watching the server nod quickly before settling on lando’s intrigued gaze, “- the quicker im drunk, the quicker i’ll feel comfortable,” she called out, moving her head closer to his so he could hear her.

lando nodded at her, not one to discourage her, though it did concern him when managed to take back both shots without so much as a flinch.

"come on, let's dance!" lando shouted over the music, pulling her towards the dance floor with his free hand, his drink sloshing around in the other as he moved. y/n followed closely, still apprehensive, and still too sober, but lando’s energy was hard to resist.

she moved tentatively at first, unsure of her own movements, her hand reaching to pull her dress down as it rode up her legs. as the drink and music flooded her veins, y/n got into her own rhythm, her hips moving in time with the beat as lando’s hand rested on her hips, his own body moving almost in sync.

lando watched her with a mix of surprise and delight. he had expected her to tolerate the experience at best, and only for his benefit, but here she was, dancing with abandon, lost in the music. he grinned at her, matching the energy and enthusiasm.

“drink?” he asked her, bending down to speak directly in her ear. her hand grabbed the side of his face, keeping it next to hers as she replied with a loud yes, before moving him back to press a sweet kiss to his lips. she was about to follow him back to the bar but a familiar face came bounding towards the two of them.

“y/n in a club? im shocked,” alex called out, “i love your dress,” she added, holding y/n hands out as she stood back to take another look.

“thank you, you look gorgeous,” y/n replied, smiling at the girl.

“is charles here?” lando asked her, not really feeling like joining the girly conversation, to which she simply responded by point at the bar, “perfect - ill be back,” he continued, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead before walking over to greet charles.

he kept glancing back at y/n from the bar, half-expecting her to need a break, or to be looking at him, eyes begging him to come back. but each time he looked, there she was, dancing with alex, having the time of her life. the two men decided to join the girls on the dance floor, their hands full with a drinks for their respective partner.

as the night wore on, she showed no sign of stopping. despite not drinking much, y/n found herself emersed in the music, enchanted by the way lando’s hands stayed firmly on her waist as she danced, her back pressing into his chest with every movement.

there was something about the way she moved that made everything else fade into the background. lando could barely think straight, the desire to have her all to himself surged through him, and he found himself drawn to her like a magnet. and when she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with joy and surprise, he couldn’t help but lean down, his lips brushing against the skin of her cheek before moving to her ear.

“you drive me crazy,” he told her, his voice deep enough to send a shiver down her spine, “you wanna go soon?”

“but im having fun,” she pouted, though he couldn’t see as his face was resting in the crook of her neck, kissing at her skin.

“so am i,” he replied, moving to hold her head in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead softly, before leaning down again to add, “but i think id have more fun with my head between your legs.”

her breath hitched at his words, a flush spreading across her cheeks. the intensity in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he said it so casually. lando’s hands roamed over her body as she pretending to think about his offer, continuing to whisper sweet, sinful promises in her ear.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

it only felt like a few minutes had passed by the time the two were stumbling through the front door of lando’s apartment. y/n remembers saying a quick goodbye to alex, before lando had practically dragged her from the club, though she followed him more than willingly.

lando groaned quietly as soon as his lips pressed on her inner thigh, his fingers pushing the hem of her dress up her body quickly until the fabric pooled on her stomach. his hands ran softly down the sides of her stomach, reaching the band of her underwear, tugging it down her legs, before moving to hold her thighs open for him.

it took one swipe of his tongue on her clit for his brain to grow blank. the grip on her thighs grew firmer, hard enough to leave little marks, nose bumping against her clit as his tongue travelled through her folds.

“you taste so fucking good,” he breathes, his face pulling back to take in the sight in front of him “fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

then, he’s all over her again. lando’s lips wrap around her clit - he can feel himself growing hard at the whines she emitted for him. every flick of his tongue had her back lifting from the bed and her hands tugging at his curls, to which he responded with a quiet moan. the vibrations sent pleasure through her body, her brain turning to mush as she loosened her grip on his curls.

“do that again,” lando grunts, guiding her hands back into his hair, “keep doing that angel.”

his head is spinning, his tongue gliding through her folds before flattening against her clit over and over again. lando’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her heat closer to him. his fingers to brush against her, coating them with her slick and circling her entrance before slipping his middle finger inside. only the first knuckle was enough to have her squirming beneath him, the arm around her waist fighting to keep her pushed down on the bed.

lando feels the way she tightened around him, desperate to feel him as he pushed his finger fully into her, pulling out quickly before adding a second. his tongue moved through her heat again, tasting her slick as he circled her clit, his fingers curling up into her.

“lan - fuck i-” y/n started, her grip on his curls tightening. her hips jutted up, pushing his face further into her heat as she reached her climax. his finger curl open and closed inside of her as her hips rocked against his face, the grip on his hair loosening as each second of her high passed.

“so good,” lando moaned, kissing at her clit. “taste so good. you can do one more, right, angel?”

[urdreamydoodles]

hi! may i request a x-men headcanon where their SO protects them during a battle/fight? i love the idea of these oh so powerful characters being protected

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You protect them during a fight

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Hi everyone. As you have seen the requests are closed, because I need to catch up first before reopening them. I hope you understand. And thank you Anon, I love this prompt.

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan had always been the one protecting you. It was his default mode: putting himself between you and any threat without hesitation. So when you threw yourself in front of him during a fight, claws and bullets flying, he froze for a split second. “What the hell are you doing?!” he growled, his voice a mix of anger and panic. It wasn’t fear for himself—it was fear for you.

- You didn’t answer, focusing on deflecting an incoming blow with whatever weapon you had on hand. The sight of you so fiercely determined to keep him safe left Logan stunned, his heightened senses zeroing in on the rapid beat of your heart. He hated that you were putting yourself in danger, but a small, buried part of him felt something else—pride.

- After the fight, Logan pulled you aside, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You’re outta your damn mind,” he snarled, though his eyes betrayed his worry. “You don’t need to protect me—I’m the one who does that, got it?” You could see the conflict in him, the way his gruff exterior was cracking under the weight of his feelings for you.

- Later that night, Logan found you tending to your own wounds, stubborn as ever. He sat beside you, quiet for once. “Look, I get it,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like seein’ you get hurt for me. But… thanks.” It was rare for Logan to express gratitude so openly, and the way he looked at you then—like you were the strongest person he’d ever met—made your heart ache in the best way.

- From then on, Logan learned to accept that you weren’t someone who would just stand by when he was in danger. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he’d mutter whenever you stepped in to protect him again, though his smirk betrayed his true feelings. He respected you even more for it, knowing you’d fight for him as fiercely as he’d fight for you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was the master of charm and cunning, always finding a way to dodge danger or talk his way out of a fight. So when you charged in to shield him from an energy blast mid-battle, he was caught completely off guard. “Chérie, what you doin’?” he called, his voice tinged with disbelief and worry as he watched you take the brunt of the attack.

- You shrugged it off, focusing on getting him to safety. Remy, who had always prided himself on being in control, felt an unfamiliar pang of vulnerability. The sight of you putting yourself on the line for him stirred something deep within—a mixture of guilt and admiration.

- After the fight, Remy found you leaning against a wall, catching your breath. He approached you with his usual swagger, though his red-on-black eyes betrayed his concern. “Y’know, I’m supposed to be the knight in shining armor, non?” he teased, but his tone was softer than usual. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Don’t go scarin’ me like dat again, yeah?”

- That night, Remy couldn’t help but replay the moment in his mind. It wasn’t often that someone would risk themselves for him, and it made him realize just how much you meant to him. He pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back. “You got a heart as big as the Mississippi, mon amour,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But let me take care o’ you next time.”

- From then on, Remy made it his mission to protect you just as fiercely as you protected him. Still, whenever you stepped in to save him during a fight, he couldn’t help but grin. “Dat’s my love,” he’d say with a wink, his pride in you shining through even in the heat of battle.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt was no stranger to danger, his agility and teleportation making him a formidable opponent in any fight. But when he found himself cornered by an enemy, only to see you teleport—or sprint—into harm’s way to shield him, his golden eyes widened in shock. “Mein Schatz, nein!” he cried, reaching for you instinctively, his heart racing at the sight of you defending him.

- You fought with a determination that left Kurt breathless, your movements precise and unyielding. For once, the usually nimble and quick-witted mutant found himself at a loss for words. The way you protected him, fearless and selfless, struck a chord deep within him.

- After the dust settled, Kurt appeared at your side in an instant, his hands gently checking you for injuries. “Why would you do that for me?” he asked, his voice soft yet trembling with emotion. When you gestured or explained that you’d do anything to keep him safe, his heart swelled with a mixture of love and guilt. “You are too precious to me,” he said, his tail curling around your waist protectively.

- That evening, Kurt refused to leave your side. He wrapped you in his arms, his warmth and the faint scent of brimstone enveloping you. “You are my everything,” he murmured, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back. “But please, promise me you will be careful. I could not bear to lose you.”

- From then on, Kurt saw you not just as his partner but as his equal in every sense. He admired your bravery and strength, though he couldn’t help but worry whenever you put yourself in harm’s way for him. “You are my hero,” he’d tell you with a teasing smile, though the sincerity in his voice made it clear he truly meant it.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott was used to being the leader, the one responsible for keeping everyone safe. So when you leapt in front of him to block an attack during a heated battle, his usually composed demeanor cracked. “What are you doing?!” he shouted, his voice filled with both anger and fear as he fired a concussive blast to finish off the threat.

- Watching you fight to protect him stirred a whirlwind of emotions in Scott. He admired your courage, but the sight of you putting yourself at risk for his sake left him shaken. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said firmly once the fight was over, though his hands were trembling as he reached for you.

- You tried to explain that you couldn’t stand by and watch him get hurt, but Scott’s jaw tightened, his concern overshadowing his usual logical demeanor. “I’m supposed to protect you,” he insisted, though the gratitude in his eyes betrayed his words. He hated feeling vulnerable, but he couldn’t deny how much your actions meant to him.

- Later that night, Scott found you in the med bay, patching up a minor wound. He sat beside you, his hand covering yours. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “But please, don’t scare me like that again.” His lips brushed against your forehead, a rare moment of tenderness from the stoic leader.

- From that moment on, Scott’s respect for you deepened even further. He still tried to protect you whenever he could, but he also learned to trust your strength. “You’re my partner,” he said one day, his hand finding yours. “We protect each other.” His smile was small but genuine, a reflection of the unshakable bond you’d built together.

- Jean was always the empathetic one, attuned to the emotions and thoughts of those she cared about. During a mission gone sideways, an enemy blast was heading straight for her. Before she could react, you threw yourself in the line of fire, your shield or power absorbing the impact. Jean’s green eyes widened, and for a moment, all she could feel was panic. “What were you thinking?!” her voice echoed telepathically and out loud simultaneously, both scolding and filled with fear.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- The battle continued, but Jean’s focus kept flickering back to you. Even as she unleashed telekinetic waves and telepathic strikes, her thoughts were drawn to how recklessly you had acted for her sake. When the fight was over, she rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she checked you over. “You’re okay,” she breathed, relief washing over her like a wave. But then her tone shifted, more serious. “You’re never doing that again.”

- Back at the mansion, Jean sat with you in the med bay, her fingers brushing over your bandaged arm. “You know I can take care of myself,” she said softly. “But the fact that you stepped in… it means everything to me.” Her emotions were a mix of guilt and admiration, and her psychic connection to you buzzed with a warmth that made your heart ache.

- That evening, Jean made sure you rested, though she stayed by your side the entire time. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t think for a second that I’d ever let something happen to you. You’re my everything.” Her confession was quiet but sincere, and the glow of her powers seemed softer, more intimate, in the dim light.

- From then on, Jean’s respect for you deepened even further. While she still tried to shield you during battles, she also began to see you as her equal, someone she could rely on. “You’re my partner in every way,” she told you one day, her telepathic voice brushing against your mind like a gentle caress. “We protect each other, always.”

- Ororo was grace and power incarnate, her calm exterior rarely breaking even in the most chaotic situations. But when a battle turned dire and an enemy aimed for her while her back was turned, you didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself in harm’s way, you used every ounce of your strength to protect her. Lightning crackled in the air as Ororo spun around, her silver eyes wide with shock and fury. “Why would you do that?!” she demanded, her voice carrying the weight of a storm.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Even as the fight raged on, Ororo’s attention kept straying to you, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t felt in years. The idea of you getting hurt for her sake was unbearable, and yet, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming respect she felt for your bravery. When the battle ended, she landed gracefully beside you, her hands glowing faintly as she helped heal your wounds with a soft breeze.

- “You could have been seriously hurt,” Ororo said, her tone softer now but still laced with worry. She cupped your face gently, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean too much to me to take such risks.” Her words were both a reprimand and a confession, her eyes reflecting the depth of her feelings for you.

- That night, Ororo brought you to her greenhouse, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh rain. “I’ve always believed in protecting those I care about,” she said, her voice like a melody. “But you… you’ve shown me that love is a two-way street.” Her fingers intertwined with yours as she smiled, a rare and genuine expression of vulnerability.

- From that moment on, Ororo saw you as her equal, someone she could rely on even in the most dangerous situations. “You’re as fierce as the storm itself,” she told you one day, her voice filled with pride. “And I’ll always be grateful to have you by my side.”

- Rogue had always been careful about keeping people at a distance, her powers making physical contact a constant danger. But when a fight turned south and an enemy got the upper hand, you didn’t hesitate to step in and protect her. You took the blow meant for her, even though it left you gasping for breath. “What the hell are you doin’, sugar?!” Rogue shouted, her Southern accent thick with worry as she fought to keep the attackers at bay.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- After the fight, Rogue knelt beside you, her gloved hands hovering over your injuries. “Why would you do that?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be protectin’ you.” Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the vulnerability in her expression breaking your heart.

- Back at the mansion, Rogue stayed by your side, refusing to leave until she was sure you were okay. “You’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met,” she said with a shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face with her gloved fingers. “But I guess that’s one o’ the reasons I love you.” Her confession was quiet, almost hesitant, but the look in her eyes left no room for doubt.

- That evening, Rogue sat with you on the porch, the night air cool against your skin. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve spent so long keepin’ people at arm’s length, afraid of hurtin’ ‘em. But you… you make me wanna take the risk.” She reached for your hand, her glove the only barrier between your skin and hers, but the connection was still electric.

- From then on, Rogue made it clear that she would do anything to keep you safe, even as she learned to trust your strength. “We’re a team, sugar,” she said one day, her smile warm and genuine. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

- Erik was used to being the protector, his mastery over magnetism making him a force to be reckoned with. So when you stepped in to shield him during a heated battle, deflecting an attack with your own powers or sheer determination, he was caught completely off guard. “Are you mad?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and concern as he pulled you behind him.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Even as he fought off the remaining enemies, Erik couldn’t shake the image of you standing so bravely in front of him. The thought of you risking yourself for his sake stirred emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—fear, admiration, and an aching tenderness.

- After the fight, Erik confronted you, his expression stern but his eyes betraying his worry. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” he asked, his voice low. When you explained your actions, his jaw tightened, and he looked away, struggling to hide the vulnerability in his expression. “You’re remarkable,” he finally admitted, his voice soft. “But reckless.”

- That night, Erik sat with you in his study, the room filled with the soft hum of his powers as he absentmindedly manipulated a small piece of metal. “You remind me of why I fight,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “You make me believe in something greater than myself.” His confession was uncharacteristically open, and the way he looked at you then made your heart race.

- From that moment on, Erik began to see you as his equal, someone he could trust and rely on. While he still tried to protect you during battles, he also respected your strength and determination. “Together, we’re unstoppable,” he told you one day, his hand resting on yours. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

- Charles had always prided himself on being the one who guided and protected others, both physically and mentally. During a heated skirmish, when the enemy targeted him while he was focused on neutralizing their minds, you acted without hesitation. You threw yourself into the fray, using your powers or sheer determination to shield him from harm. When the dust settled, Charles wheeled himself over to you, his face pale. “You could have been seriously injured,” he said softly, though his tone carried a mix of gratitude and concern.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Throughout the aftermath of the fight, Charles kept his composure, but his worry lingered. As the team regrouped, he observed you quietly, his telepathic thoughts touching yours with gentle reassurance. Later, when the others left, he finally addressed you. “Why would you take such a risk for me?” he asked, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer. When you replied that you’d do it again without question, he sighed, a small, bittersweet smile gracing his face.

- Back at the mansion, Charles invited you to his study. “You know,” he began, fingers steepled in thought, “I’ve spent so much time protecting others that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have someone protect me.” There was a vulnerability in his words that surprised you. “Thank you,” he added, his voice quiet but full of emotion.

- Over the following days, Charles couldn’t help but admire your bravery. He found himself drawn to your selflessness and began to see you in a new light. One evening, as the two of you sat by the fire, he finally admitted, “I’ve grown quite attached to you. More than I ever expected.” His confession was gentle but sincere, his psychic presence brushing against your mind like a warm embrace.

- From that point on, Charles became even more protective of you, though he also respected your strength and independence. “We’re stronger together,” he said one day, taking your hand in his. “And I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe—just as you’ve done for me.”

- Bobby had always been the joker of the group, rarely taking anything too seriously. But during a particularly chaotic fight, when an enemy’s attack veered toward him, he was caught off guard. Before he could react, you stepped in, using your quick thinking and courage to protect him. “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?!” he shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he watched you take the brunt of the attack.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- After the battle, Bobby rushed to your side, his usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands hovering over you as if afraid to touch you. When you shrugged it off and made a joke, he blinked, then shook his head. “I should be the one cracking jokes, not you,” he muttered, though his grin was tinged with guilt.

- Back at the mansion, Bobby stayed close, making sure you were patched up and comfortable. “You know,” he said, trying to sound casual, “you’re kind of amazing. Stupidly reckless, but amazing.” He fiddled with an ice construct in his hands, his usual confidence giving way to a rare vulnerability. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

- Over the next few days, Bobby couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done for him. He started showing up more often, finding excuses to be around you. One night, as you were watching a movie together, he finally blurted out, “Okay, so maybe I kinda like you. A lot.” His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, pretending to focus on his popcorn.

- From then on, Bobby made it his mission to keep you safe, though he never stopped teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re my favorite reckless hero,” he said one day, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you pull a stunt like that again.”

- Wanda had always carried the weight of her powers, her ability to reshape reality making her a target in almost every battle. During one such fight, when an enemy’s attack threatened to overwhelm her, you stepped in, using everything you had to protect her. “What are you doing?!” she shouted, her voice breaking as she watched you face the danger meant for her. Her chaos magic surged uncontrollably in response, red energy crackling in the air.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- After the fight, Wanda rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she checked for injuries. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice soft but laced with worry. When you explained that you couldn’t stand by and do nothing, her expression shifted to one of awe and guilt. “You’re incredible,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

- Back at the mansion, Wanda couldn’t seem to leave your side. She sat with you in the quiet of her room, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as she used her magic to soothe your aches. “I’ve always been the one who protects others,” she said softly. “But you… you’ve turned that upside down.” Her eyes met yours, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite put into words.

- As days passed, Wanda’s feelings for you only deepened. She found herself opening up to you in ways she hadn’t with anyone else, sharing her fears and vulnerabilities. One evening, as you both watched the stars from the mansion roof, she took your hand in hers. “You make me feel safe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s not something I’m used to.”

- From then on, Wanda became fiercely protective of you, though she also began to trust in your strength. “We’re a team,” she said one day, her magic swirling around her fingers like a promise. “And I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

- Pietro was always the fastest, the one who could outmaneuver danger in the blink of an eye. So when a fight took a dangerous turn and you leaped in to protect him, he was stunned. “Are you crazy?!” he shouted, zipping over to your side as you deflected an attack meant for him. His silver hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes were wide with disbelief.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Even as the battle continued, Pietro couldn’t stop glancing at you, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with genuine concern. When the fight finally ended, he was by your side in an instant. “You know I can take care of myself, right?” he said, though his voice cracked slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

- Back at the mansion, Pietro couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth in your room, occasionally stopping to check on you. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” he said, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. But when you teased him about being worried, he smirked, the tension breaking for just a moment. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

- Over the next few days, Pietro found himself sticking closer to you than usual. He’d zip in and out of rooms, checking on you, bringing you snacks, or just hanging around. One day, as he sat next to you, he finally said, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” His voice was quieter than usual, and the look in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

- From then on, Pietro became even more protective of you, though he couldn’t resist teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said one day, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Because no one else gets to scare me like that and live to tell the tale.”

- Emma was used to being the one who controlled situations, her sharp wit and psychic prowess leaving little room for vulnerability. During a battle, when an enemy’s attack zeroed in on her, she was caught off guard. Before she could react, you stepped in, using your abilities—or sheer determination—to protect her. “What on earth are you doing?” she snapped, her diamond form shimmering as she deflected the remnants of the attack. But beneath her icy tone, there was a flicker of shock and something softer.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- After the battle, Emma confronted you immediately, her arms crossed and her piercing gaze fixed on you. “Do you make a habit of risking your life for others, or am I just that lucky?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. When you explained your actions, her expression softened for just a moment before she masked it with a smirk. “You’re either foolish or incredibly brave. I can’t decide which.”

- Over the next few days, Emma found herself replaying the moment in her mind. Despite her efforts to maintain her usual aloof demeanor, she couldn’t help but admire your courage. One evening, she invited you to her office under the guise of discussing strategy. “You’re surprisingly impressive,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “But don’t think for a second that I need saving.”

- As time passed, Emma’s walls began to crack, and she found herself drawn to you in ways she hadn’t anticipated. One night, as the two of you shared a rare quiet moment in the garden, she reached out and took your hand. “You make me feel… safe,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

- From then on, Emma became fiercely protective of you, though she expressed it in her own unique way. “You’re mine now,” she said one day, her tone both teasing and possessive. “So don’t think for a second that I’ll let anything happen to you.”

- Laura had always been the protector, her claws and instincts honed for battle. So when you jumped in to shield her during a fight, she was stunned. “What are you doing?!” she growled, her emerald eyes flashing with anger and concern. She quickly dispatched the enemy, then turned to you, her expression a mix of frustration and confusion. “You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered, though her voice was softer than usual.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- After the fight, Laura couldn’t seem to leave your side. She hovered awkwardly, her protective instincts clashing with her feelings of guilt. “You’re reckless,” she said bluntly, her arms crossed as she tried to mask her worry. But when you smiled and told her it was worth it, her tough exterior cracked just a little. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

- Back at the mansion, Laura watched you like a hawk, her keen senses constantly on alert. She didn’t know how to process the fact that someone had risked themselves for her. “I don’t need saving,” she said one day, her voice quieter than usual. “But… thank you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, but the sincerity in her eyes was unmistakable.

- Over time, Laura found herself drawn to your bravery and selflessness. She admired the way you faced danger without hesitation, even if it frustrated her to no end. One evening, as the two of you sat on the mansion roof, she finally opened up. “You mean more to me than I know how to say,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But if you ever do something that reckless again, I’ll kill you myself.”

- From that moment on, Laura became fiercely protective of you, though she respected your independence. “We’re a team,” she said one day, her hand brushing yours. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you get hurt. Not if I can help it.”

- Wade was used to being the one who took the hits, his healing factor allowing him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else. So when you leaped in to protect him during a fight, he was utterly baffled. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out!” he shouted, pulling you behind him. “What are you doing? I’m the one who’s supposed to play human shield here!”

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- After the battle, Wade didn’t stop talking about your “heroic” actions. “Seriously, you’re like my own personal bodyguard! Except way cuter,” he quipped, his tone playful but laced with genuine concern. When you rolled your eyes and told him you couldn’t just stand by, he grinned. “Aw, you care about me! I’m touched. Like, emotionally. And probably physically later if I’m lucky.”

- Despite his jokes, Wade couldn’t hide how much your actions affected him. He started sticking closer to you, his usual chaotic energy tempered by an uncharacteristic protectiveness. “You know,” he said one day, tossing a chimichanga your way, “you’re kind of amazing. And not just because you’re willing to risk your life for a guy who looks like a melted candle.”

- Over time, Wade’s feelings for you grew deeper, though he still struggled to express them without humor. One night, as the two of you sat on a rooftop eating takeout, he finally got serious. “You’re the first person who’s made me feel like I’m worth something,” he said, his voice unusually quiet. “So, thanks for that. And also for being insanely hot.”

- From that point on, Wade became even more devoted to you, though he never stopped teasing you about your heroic antics. “You’re my favorite reckless hero,” he said one day, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “But let’s make a deal: next time, let me take the hits. I heal faster, and you’re way too pretty to mess up.”

[mythicalmaven]

hiya! Could i please have number 1 with charles leclerc from the prompt list please? Extra smutty with a super needy reader please xxx

Racing Pulse - Charles LeClerc (request)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!driver!reader ↳word count: 1,9K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh" ↳warnings: reader is an f1 academy driver, charles and her are friends, thigh riding, voyeurism (kind of? if you count charles letting her use his thigh), masturbation (sort of) ↳summary: The reader is a driver for the f1 academy & finds herself very very sexually frustrated before the race, leading to Charles offering her a way to relief herself.

The roar of engines echoes through the garage, a constant reminder of the race ticking closer with every passing second. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your mind keeps wandering, pulled back to the gnawing frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface. You’re pacing, restless, the usual pre-race jitters replaced by something far more distracting. You’re wound so tight you think you might snap, and it’s only making the tension worse.

Just as you were about to kick against the wall, you catch Charles watching you from across the room. His eyes narrow, noticing your agitation, and before you can look away, he’s already making his way over, concern laced in his steady stride. “You look like you’re about to combust,” he says, his voice pitched low, so only you can hear. “What’s going on?”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off his teasing, but the tension inside you only tightens. "Nothing, nothing," you huff, attempting to sound normal, but the frustration seeps through. "Everything is going peachy."

Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Yeah, totally, that's why you were about to kick a table, huh?" he quips, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A frustrated sigh escapes you, and you run a hand through your hair, the pent-up energy making it impossible to stay still. "Okay, fine," you admit, glancing around to make sure no one else is within earshot. "I'm just... sexually frustrated, alright?"

He blinks, then a laugh bubbles out of him, not mocking but genuinely amused by your candid confession. "Seriously? That’s what’s got you all twisted up?"

You huff again, this time more at yourself than at him. "Yes, Charles. And it’s driving me insane. And no, I’m not joking."

His laughter fades, but the smile remains, a little softer now. "I could help with that, you know," he says, surprising you with the seriousness in his tone.

You furrow your brow, tilting your head to the side. "Do you, though? I mean, this isn’t just some casual frustration. I need... well, you know."

Charles steps closer, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are locked on yours. "Yeah, I know," he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As he looked at you, leaning against the wall, he moved to the table near you, leaning against it with his backside, his hands behind him on the table to hold him up.

You blink, processing his words. "Wouldn't it be weird," you start, hesitating slightly, "You know, most friends don’t just... do that. And besides, we don't even have time to go anywhere private, the race is starting soon"

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Friends are supposed to help each other out, aren’t they?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s pulling you in by your wrist, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if you let me help, you wouldn’t have to go anywhere."

You raise an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. "Charles, how—?"

"Use my thigh," he murmurs, his tone calm but with an edge of something darker. His gaze flickers to the shadows around you, the secluded corner of the garage where the angle and low light provide a surprising amount of privacy. "No one would be able to see from here. And with the noise out there, it’ll just look like we’re talking, getting close to hear each other better."

Your breath catches, the idea sparking something deep within you. The tension that’s been gnawing at you suddenly has an outlet, and the suggestion is as thrilling as it is scandalous.

For a moment, you hesitate, the absurdity of the situation battling with the undeniable pull of desire. But Charles's gaze is steady, reassuring, and there's something in the way he looks at you—like this is just another challenge, another hurdle to overcome together.

You swallow hard, nodding ever so slightly. The moment the decision is made, Charles shifts closer, his hands finding your waist as he guides you to straddle his thigh. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of your suit, and the tension you’ve been battling for hours seems to tighten and ease all at once.

“Just relax,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and husky, the vibration of his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pulls you closer until you’re pressed up against him, the thickness of his thigh positioned perfectly between your legs. “No one can see a thing, I promise.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as his hands settle on your hips. He gives an experimental roll of his thigh, and the friction against your clothed core draws a sharp gasp from your lips. The sensation is maddening, just enough to stoke the fire that’s been smoldering inside you, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel how much you need this.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, but he’s relentless. His hands guide your movements, encouraging you to grind against him, each subtle shift sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The friction is delicious, the pressure just right, and it’s all the more intense because of how forbidden it feels, knowing anyone could walk by at any moment.

“Charles,” you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and disbelief. You feel him lean in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to a seductive rumble. “No one can hear you over the engines. No one’s watching. It’s just us.”

His words are your undoing. You start to move with more purpose, pressing down harder, seeking out that sweet spot that will tip you over the edge. Charles tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that’s both torturous and perfect.

You begin to rock your hips against Charles’s thigh, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The need that’s been gnawing at you for days flares up, making you desperate, and you can’t help but lean your head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his warmth as you move. Each grind sends a wave of heat rushing through you, and you cling to him, trying to suppress the whimpers that threaten to escape.

Charles’s breath hitches slightly, but he stays composed, his hands steady on your hips as he guides your movements. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, lips brushing against your ear. “So needy, so desperate… What’s got you so worked up like this?”

You let out a small, frustrated whine, your voice strained with need. “I-I haven't really had.. any sex lately,” you admit, your words barely a whisper as you press yourself harder against him, trying to find the relief you crave.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Poor thing,” he coos, a teasing edge to his tone. “You know, I could always help you with that… if you want. All you have to do is say the word.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a moan as the pleasure builds, the fabric of your clothes rubbing deliciously against your throbbing core. The wetness between your legs is undeniable now, soaking through your panties, your racing suit and onto his thigh. You know he can feel it too, and the realization only makes you grind down harder, your desperation growing with every passing second.

A small, breathless moan escapes you, and in a desperate attempt to stifle the sound, you lean in and bite down lightly on Charles’s shoulder. His grip on your hips tightens, a soft groan escaping his lips as you continue to grind against him.

“Charles, I need more,” you whimper, the words slipping out in a moment of vulnerability. Your voice is heavy with desperation, your body trembling with the effort to find release.

Charles’s breath is warm against your ear as he leans in closer. “Oh, chérie, I’d give you everything you want, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice like velvet. “But you don’t have time, remember? You have a race to win.”

His words are a cruel tease, and the ache between your legs only intensifies. He continues to guide your movements, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that keeps you on the edge, but never lets you fall over it.

“If we had the time,” Charles murmurs, his tone dark and seductive, “I’d have you spread out in front of me, completely bare. I’d take my time with you, taste every inch of you until you’re begging for more.”

Your breath hitches at his words, the vivid image sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. You can’t help but glance down, your eyes widening slightly when you see the clear outline of his erection straining against his jeans. The sight of him, hard and ready beneath you, only spurs you on, and you quicken your pace, grinding down on him with more urgency.

Charles’s breath grows heavier, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. “God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice laced with need. “I love seeing you like this, so desperate, so willing to take what you need.”

Just as you feel yourself getting close, the heat building to a fever pitch, someone walks past, calling out a quick greeting. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you fight to keep your breathing steady. Charles’s hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he nods in acknowledgment, a casual smile on his face as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Once the person is out of sight, Charles relaxes, letting out a breath he’s been holding. “We have to be careful,” he whispers, his tone a mix of warning and thrill. “Can’t have anyone catching us, can we?”

Without waiting for your response, he resumes the slow, deliberate grind, guiding you back into that maddening rhythm. The brief interruption only heightens the intensity, and you find yourself clinging to him, desperate for release.

“Come on,” Charles whispers, his voice both encouraging and commanding. “Go for it. I want to see you fall apart for me.”

His words, combined with the relentless friction and the feeling of his hard thigh pressing against you, push you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body straining for that sweet release.

“I’m… I’m close,” you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling as the pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

Charles responds by leaning in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck in a barely-there kiss. To anyone watching, it would seem as if he’s simply whispering something to you, but the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race even faster.

“Come for me, mon amour,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “I want to feel you let go.”

The combination of his words, the sensation of his lips on your neck, and the relentless pressure between your legs sends you spiraling over the edge. Your body tenses, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of pleasure radiating out from your core. You bury your face in Charles’s shoulder, biting down on his jacket to muffle the sound, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it.

Charles’s hands hold you steady, guiding you through every pulse and shudder, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. “That’s it,” he whispers, his tone filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Good girl. Let it all out.”

Masterlist

[verstappen-cult]

PLEASEEEEE A LESTAPPEN X READER where reader and Charles are meeting jimmy and sassy for the first time hahahahah I think that would be fun! Thank youuuu

“What are you doing?” You ask Charles, who’s taking a little spray bottle out of his back pocket, as you walk out of the elevator. 

“I read that cats like catnip.”

“You’re not going to spray catnip all over yourself!” You snatch the bottle out of his hands, making him pout at you. “I won’t let them like you more than me.”

“But what if they don’t like us at all?” Charles looks genuinely concerned and you fight the urge to laugh until you start thinking about it. 

Max loves his cats, they’re his whole world. You’ve lost count of how many pictures he’s sent to the group chat just this week, so meeting Jimmy and Sassy is equivalent to meeting his family. And oh God, Charles is right. What are you going to do if they don’t like you? Max warned you that Sassy doesn’t like strangers and it takes her a while to warm up, and that Jimmy tends to perch up on one of the high shelves in the kitchen until he feels secure enough to come down. So, at least you know what to expect at first. But what if they react badly? What if they feel threatened by you and Charles? What if they feel jealous and don’t let you near Max!?

“Okay, I think we can spray some catnip over ourselves.” Charles’ face lights up, immediately taking the bottle from your hands and spraying some of it around himself. “But just a little.”

Charles is spraying you when the door opens revealing a very amused Max. 

“What is that?” He asks with a smirk on his face. 

“Perfume!” You say, taking the bottle and shoving it in your back pocket.

Max looks between you and Charles before stepping aside to let you into his apartment. He gives you two a chaste kiss on the lips before closing the door. 

“What have you got there?” Max points to the bag in your hands. 

“Oh, we bought some toys for the cats!” Charles says excitedly, taking the bag out of your hands and pulling the contents out. “Where are they?”

Max points a finger to the couch. And they’re right there, sitting on top of the cushions and looking warily at you and Charles. 

“Hello, beautiful babies!” Charles squeaks, dragging you to the living room with him.

Sassy jumps off the couch, running to hide under a chair, far enough to still see you without being bothered. Jimmy, on the other hand, stays right where he is as Charles brings his hand closer to him. He doesn’t move, but sniffs his hand for about five seconds before rubbing his head against it. 

Charles looks very pleased as he sits besides Jimmy. and he immediately jumps onto his lap, getting comfortable and asking for more ear scratches with a little purr. 

Sassy, seeing how her brother is reacting, slowly makes her way back to the living room. She’s still unsure, so you grab one of the toys and crouch down, trying to lure her over to you. It takes her a couple of minutes to feel safe enough to shorten the distance, and you stop moving as she sniffs you, rubbing herself against your legs, not wanting to scare her.

You look back at Max with a big smile on your face, but he’s looking between you and Charles with a combination of surprise and confusion on his face. 

“This is weird behavior.” He says, standing in the middle of his living room. He’s frowning and you can’t help but giggle. 

“What can I say?” Jimmy is still purring on Charles' lap and you’re pretty sure he will never move from there again. “I’m irresistible.” He says, shrugging. Which is, you know, kinda true. Who can resist Charles Leclerc? Neither you nor Max could.

You’re too busy playing with Sassy to care about Max's hand on your lower back. If he wants cuddles, he can wait, right now all your attention is on the cats. 

However, when you feel his hand on the back pocket of your jeans, you forget all about the little cat between your legs with her belly up waiting to be patted. 

You and Charles make eye contact.

You’ve been caught.

“I knew it wasn’t perfume!”

[darknight3904]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘋𝘢𝘬𝘰𝘵𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/ 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.8𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Laura is kind of cute. In her own feral, mannerless way. You watch as she downs her second slice of pizza.

"She's just like you." You grin and nudge Logan's side

"No, she's not." Logan shook his head

The two of you turn to watch her take a large bite of her third slice. Charles lets out a joy-filled laugh at whatever is on the TV behind you and Logan.

"How many have you had again?" You tease, you're pretty sure he's eaten at least five now. Logan had always had a big appetite. You presumed it had to do with his healing factor.

"Shut up."

Pizza devoured and stomachs full, you make Laura brush her teeth and teach her how to floss properly while Logan and Charles argue on the other side of the bathroom door. Logan is trying to get the old man ready for bed, but out of context the voices coming through the door would be considered rather concerning.

"No! I can pull my own pants off, Logan!" Charles' voice yells

"Do it then!" Logan growls back

"Not with you looking at me!"

"M' not looking!"

Laura looks up at you, concerned for the two men with quite the dynamic.

"They're fine. Don't worry bout' it." You assure her with a thin smile, "Now, it's time for the mouthwash."

You tuck Laura into bed. Initially, you weren't going to but the memories of the video you had watched with Logan invaded your mind again. Images of an even younger Laura on the operating table so adamantium could be fused to her bones. Empathy got the better of you as you brought the covers up to her chin and whispered goodnight.

You returned to the bathroom, intent on showering to see Logan staring at himself in the mirror.

"You okay?" You ask him

"Charles told me I looked like Eeyore," Logan says staring at his face

"Like...from Winnie the Pooh? The depressed donkey?" You ask, slapping your hand over your mouth to keep him from seeing your smile

"Yes. The depressed donkey." Logan huffs

An unlady-like snort escapes your mouth and your eyes widen when Logan's head snaps to look at you.

"S' not funny." He says a scowl on his handsome face.

"No, no it's not...." You take in his appearance, and for a split second, you see the faintest blush on his face.

"She in bed?" Logan asks

"Tucked her in and everything." You confirm

Logan raises a brow at that statement. He must not approve of your actions. It's not your fault your maternal instincts kicked in, after all, Laura was cute, in her own way.

Logan leaves the bathroom after lecturing you on not getting attached to her. That the Sunseeker was the end goal, not playing house with a kid made from his genes. You nodded your head and pushed him out of the way to get to the shower, tired of smelling like sweat and who knows what else.

The endless hot water felt amazing on your tired body as you indulged in the low-quality soap, shampoo, and conditioner that the hotel had bolted to the wall in plastic pump bottles. A heavy sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut in the steam-filled room. Logan was going to drive you mad one day.

Logan closed his eyes and let the night breeze clear his mind. Sitting here on the balcony would be more relaxing without all the passing traffic, but it was good enough for now. Nearly 34 stories up he could still hear the honking of horns and chattering of people. He cursed his enhanced senses. Despite the late hour, the city didn't want to sleep.

He sipped at the bottle of Jack Daniels he had found in the limo under a seat. Miraculously no bullets had punctured it in their getaway. He knew he should be in bed, he needed sleep for the long drive that awaited him tomorrow. Yet, he found himself unable to crawl into bed. And not just because Charles mumbled in his sleep.

The idea of you was plaguing him like it often did. He wasn't blind, he knew about your little crush. He had clocked it a month after settling in Mexico. The way you'd wait at the front door, the hot meals, the questions, the way you'd agreeably become a human pillow and give him the best scalp massage in the world.

He'd be lying to himself if he didn't feel it as well. At first, he thought it was because he was so isolated from the rest of the world. But, he never found himself noticing another woman, not in the Casino today and certainly not in any of the rides he fulfilled for people. Even the stupid bachelorette parties when girls much younger than you flashed their chests to him. No matter how he tried to forget it all, his mind was filled with nothing but you.

Even now, he was sure you were the cause for his lack of sleep. After you pushed him out of the bathroom saying you needed a shower, all he could picture was you. He thought of the way the soap was probably sliding down your body, dripping down your chest that drove him mad and slinking its way between your thighs.

He ran a heavy hand across his face, cursing his mind. Perhaps if he hadn't lost his cool a year ago he might be in the shower with you right now.

Logan wasn't quite sure why he did that. He chalked it up to fear. Fear of accepting your feelings, fear of his own, fear of losing you one day to one of Charles' seizures. You had spent the last year being so curt with him, with short conversations and stolen glances, it was nothing like what he was used to nor what he really wanted. Despite the past 24 hours being shit, he was glad you were warming up to him again. You'd let him comfort you earlier and laughed at the Eeyore comment, something he'd made up in hopes you'd like it.

After all, he couldn't tell you Charles really said that he looked like a dog's ball sack...that would've just been embarrassing.

Logan wondered what he looked like in your eyes. he knew what you looked like in his. And though he'd never admit it, Logan knew what he looked like when he saw you. Charles once coined it after spending twenty minutes talking about Sketchers.

"You look at her like she's hung the moon and the stars, Logan."

He wondered that if he were able to man up one of these days and tell you how he felt. Logan wondered if he'd be able to keep you forever.

The soft sound of the sliding balcony door roused him from his thoughts.

"Hope you're not too drunk yet." You teased motioning to the big bottle of whisky in his hand.

"Barely had two sips." He says

"Yeah, okay old man. And I'm not gonna blow up like some blood balloon one day from my own damn mutation."

It was a joke, he knew that, but it was also reality. One day your mutation would kill you, as would his.

"You ever wonder how it came to this?" Logan asks as you sit beside him

"Like what?" You hum, taking the bottle from him so you can have a sip.

"Sitting around while our own bodies try to kill us," Logan says

Logan watches you let out a soft sigh and examine your hands which are more bruises that actual normal skin.

"I've always thought they tainted the food, or maybe the water with some chemical." You theorize, "Used something that would suppress the x-gene in us."

"Makes sense." He nods, glancing down and wondering if this very bottle of whiskey would make things even worse for the two of you.

Logan's eyes drift to your form. A long white T-shirt, one of his sits on your frame, you must've found it in the limo, he always carried extra clothes with him. He can't tell if you're wearing shorts, hell, he can't even tell if you've got underwear on. He does know it's making his hotel-issued pajama pants a bit tighter than normal. Your hair is dripping onto the shirt, slowly making it a bit see-through even in the dim light. He wants to-

"Laura crawled into bed with Charles. She must've gotten scared while I was showering." You say, pulling him from his thoughts before he could become too perverted.

"I'll sleep on the floor." He finds himself declaring getting up to go make a nest of pillows and blankets for himself

"What?" You question, following him into your room

Logan grabs a couple of pillows and the extra blanket from the closet and tosses them to the floor. No way in hell was he going to be able to sleep next to you with what was running through his mind right now.

"Logan it's a king-size bed, we can share." You groan

"M' fine on the floor." He said

You glance at him, and then the bed, and then his pillows and blankets.

"Do you really hate me that much?" You breathily ask

Fuck.

Logan is unsure of himself as you climb under the covers next to him and flick the lights off. He's 200 years old and he's never felt this nervous around a woman. Jesus, he was going soft.

"Are you breathing over there?" You ask

"What? Oh. Yeah, I'm uh fine." He stutters.

Silence follows for a minute or two and Logan thinks you've fallen asleep.

"Goodnight, Logan." You quietly say

"Goodnight." He whispers back, turning on his side to pretend you're not there.

Twenty minutes pass from Logan bidding you goodnight and you almost think that he's asleep until he calls your name into the darkness.

"Thought you were asleep." You murmur turning to look at his broad back that's turned to you.

"Can't." Logan sighs

"Me either." You say, bolding reaching out and running a hand down where his spine would be under his shirt.

Logan lets out a deep groan and shifts beside you so he's laying on his back.

"Logan...can I-"

As if he's a mind reader, Logan's big arm reaches over and pulls you into his side. You rest your head on his chest as his hand comes to rest on the curve of your hip.

"Don't wait to ask next time, bub."

"Sorry." You whisper into the darkness, hoping he can't hear the smile on your face.

You awake hours later to a deep grunt from Logan filling your ears, the sun slowly rose, peaking through the curtains. His arms are tight around your waist as he holds you from behind. You rub the sleep from your eyes, it had been nearly 8 hours since you had fallen asleep in Logan's arms.

Another grunt fills your ears. At first, you think he might be having a nightmare, as he often did. But, the sudden press of his hips to your ass said differently. Your face grew hot as he pulled you even tighter to him, hips slowly rocking into your body.

"Logan." You whisper, hoping to wake him before something embarrassing happens, "Logan."

It's when you begin to wiggle out of his iron-clad grip that he stirs.

"S' wrong?" He murmurs looking up at you with sleep-filled eyes

"Nothing...it's just." You glance down, trying not to mention the large bulge that tents the soft hotel logo embroidered pajama pants.

"Fuck." Logan curses, pulling the covers up to hide himself, "Sorry."

"It's alright." You say you're sure your face is a million degrees right now. You had always wondered what he might be like in the bedroom yet here you were flustered like some virgin.

You watch as Logan stirs, you expect him to brush past you and into the bathroom to take care of himself. Yet, you find him standing in front of you, lips pressed to yours for the first time in your life.

You whisper his name like a prayer when he pulls away.

"Tell me you don't want me. Say it, and I'll never try again." He says eyes fixed on yours

You answer his question by pressing your lips to his again, weaving your hands through the greying hair you've come to love over the past year.

You break away and trail gentle kisses up his jawline and to his ear.

"I want you."

Logan lets out a deep groan that has your lower stomach tightening with need.

"You got me."

Logan gently pushes you back into bed, your back meets the soft sheets as he climbs on top of you. His lips meet yours again and this time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip. You let him in and arch your hips up, grinding into his bulge that somehow grows even harder.

You smile when he pulls away from the kiss, a breathy moan stuck on his lips as he glares down at you.

"What're you smiling at?"

"Mmm, nothing." You lie

Logan's hands find the bottom of your, his, shirt, and he tugs gently, asking permission.

"It's alright." You confirm

The soft fabric leaves you and the cooler air meets your bare skin. The first rays of sunshine illuminate you as you shyly cross your arms across your chest. His eyes are so intense, you can't help the shyness that bubbles into your throat.

"Knew you weren't wearing any panties." Logan smirks, his bigger hands coming to pulls yours down "Don't need to hide from me, hon."

You nod and drop your arms, hoping he likes what he sees. You wish it were darker out. Your skin has been marred by your mutation. You wouldn't blame him if he left right now.

"Beautiful." Logan murmurs, a hand coming up to gently squeeze at your breast, thumb gently teasing the nipple.

"You don't have to lie." You scoff

"You really think I'm lying?" Logan shakes his head. He takes your hand in his free one and presses it to his crotch, " Does that feel like a lie?"

You blush hotly, not expecting him to be so bold.

"No." You whisper

"Exactly."

His lips press into your skin, and his beard tickles your skin as he kisses a path down your body, stopping to press a gentle kiss to the top of your mound where a soft tuft of hair sits. Suddenly you wished you had shaved last night in the shower.

"Logan...: You gasp when he slips his tongue further south.

His tongue works like magic as it circles your clit and dips inside you. A loud moan tumbles from your lips when he brings his lips up to suck your clit into his mouth.

"Logan please..." You whimper when he breaks away suddenly

"Gotta be quiet, hon. Don't wanna wake anyone up. " He reminds you

You nod and he dips back down. You bite at the back of your hand, praying that your companions are deep sleepers.

Logan's nose bumps your clit as his tongue works its way inside you. Your hips fly off the bed and his strong arms come up to circle your thighs and lock you in place.

Utterly trapped, you're at his mercy now. Completely.

A small whimper passes through your hand and Logan speaks into your cunt.

"C'mon, hon. I got ya...let go"

The mixture of his deep voice and the way his tongue went back to working its magic has you losing your mind. Your hips thrash against his grip as the dam breaks and your eyes slam shut.

Logan presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh before coming back up to you.

"You okay?" He asks

"Okay?" You laugh, "I've never cum that hard before."

"200 years of experience can be helpful." He brags

You roll your eyes and pull at his shirt, wanting to see him.

Scared skin and ripping muscle become visible to you and you have to keep yourself from staring too much as he also sheds his pants.

"Oh." You gulp as you finally get to see him in all his glory.

"Oh." He parrots with a smirk

A big hand comes up to your face and gently runs along your cheek.

"You still okay with this? I'll stop right now, just say the word." Logan says gently

You shake your head, the prospect of stopping would kill you.

"Words. I wanna hear it" He says

His dominant tone has a fresh wave of arousal wetting your thighs as you look up at him.

"I want to keep going." You say

"Good." He smiled pushing you back down to the bed

A gasp escapes your lips when he enters you. He was big, you knew it, you had seen it just seconds ago, yet it still surprised you as he pushed forward.

"Fuck..." Logan gasped above you, his hands gripping the pillows beside you

"Logan." You sigh

"You alright?" He asks softly

You nod enthusiastically. His hips pull backward and your jaw drops into a silent moan as he enters again. His chest hair tickles your own chest as he pumps in and out. Your eyes are wide and you're certain a bit of drool is on your chin as his hand jumps down to rub at your clit.

He's worked up you can tell, his thrusts become rougher as his hand rubs at your clit.

"Where?" Logan rasps

You weigh your options, you truly do. The chances of you getting pregnant were low, your body was so torn to shit it probably couldn't even carry a kid at this point.

"inside." You whisper "Inside me, Logan"

Logan lets out another quiet groan as he speeds up, the prospect of filling you has his hips losing it.

You cry out as you feel yourself cum again. Logan presses his lips to yours swallowing your moans and his own as he fills you. His hips stutter against yours as you run a hand through his hair.

He gently pulls out and before you know it, he's grabbing you by the waist and hauling you on top of him, your chest pressed to his as you lay directly on him.

"Fuck." He sighs

You smile into his chest, fully content despite how sticky you feel.

"You alright?" You ask him, listening to the way his heart races beneath his.

"Should be the one askin' you that." He says, running a hand down your sweaty back.

"I'm alright." You say pressing your cheek into his skin

"You sure? I didn't hurt you?" Logan asks

You sit up slightly to look at him.

"No, you didn't hurt me, Logan." You smile, pressing an assuring kiss to his lips, "I don't think I've ever had sex that amazing before"

Logan lets out a small snort of laughter.

"Good cuz' we can't do that again for a little bit."

You feel disappointment flood your system but you know what he means. You have a long road trip ahead of you, not to mention you're sure he feels exhausted after all that. You yourself feel boneless after all that. If only the two of you were younger.

"Get some rest," Logan murmurs into your hair "Three hours and we gotta go trade that piece of shit limo for something that will make it to North Dakota."

Much to your disappointment, he stays true to his word and wakes you up around nine. Logan tosses a soft towel toward you which lands directly on your face

"Take a quick shower. M' going to find us a ride. " He says

You nod and watch as he moves to get dressed. The towel he has wrapped around his waist soaks up the drops of water that fall from his hair and run down his tanned skin. Tantalizing body hair lines his skin and disappears under the towel, teasing what is hidden underneath.

"Less ogling, more showering." He huffs, dropping the towel to slip into a clean pair of underwear.

You rise to your feet, wrapped in the towel he gave you, and pad over to the bathroom, pretending not to look. Logan lets out a loud grumble when he catches you staring at his ass.

"Nice ass." You compliment, a smirk dancing on your lips.

"I'll drown you in the toilet."

You let out a bark of laughter and close the door. His jokes remind you of the young man you met at the school so many years ago. It seemed like an entirely different universe sometimes, thinking of who he used to be.

You help Charles with a bath after your own shower. It's embarrassing and difficult but you do it. He curses you out at least twenty times but at least he smells better by the end of it all. Then, you set your sights on Laura who avoids eye contact when you tell her to get in the bathroom.

"There is...a huge knot in your hair." You sigh, staring at the girl's head

Laura remains silent of course and picks at the sleeves of the fluffy bathrobe she put on as you try to blow dry her hair. It takes nearly twenty minutes but you're able to work most of it out with your fingers.

"You've gotta use more conditioner next time." You remind her as you flex your fingers.

Laura nods before climbing back into the bed with Charles to watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with Charles.

Logan would be back soon. You somehow manage to get Charles into his chair so you could get on the road quicker, you knew Logan was getting antsy. Laura munches on a bag of pretzel sticks that you bought from the vending machine a few floors down.

It's all so domestic. You smile to yourself as Laura mimics Charles who sticks a pretzel between his lips and pretends to smoke it for her entertainment.

"Alright, that's enough." You say, "We're gonna wait for Logan down at the valet."

You were getting nervous, he had been gone for nearly two hours now. You were sure he was perfectly fine but that didn't stop you from worrying.

"Laura grab the stuff from the other room."

You shake two pills out into your hands for Charles.

"Take them," You say

"Do I have to?" He asks sadly looking up at you

"You know what happens when you don't." You sigh, not interested in arguing with him

Charles' hand brushes yours just as the door is kicked down. You hear Laura's loud shout before you see them.

"Don't move." You order Charles as you turn to face the men.

"That blood manipulator is here, boss," One says into his radio on his shoulder

For once you thank Logan for his constant drinking. Miniature whiskey bottles litter the room. Lucky for you, they're glass and will work nicely for what you have planned. You thank the Lord for Johnnie Walker and smash one end of it off the bed frame. The sharp edge glints in the sunlight as you tighten your grip determined not to make the first move on these assholes.

A voice on the radio crackles back, "Transigen wants her DNA. Put er' to sleep."

The sharp buzz of something that sounds very painful and full of enough volts to fry a horse hits your ears.

Three men on your left, two on the right. Where's Laura?

One of the ones on your left makes the first move, he's the one with the overkill taser, that looks more like a cattle prod. You easily grab one end, careful to avoid the volts that light up electric blue. All the gear this man is wearing is making him slow. Johnnie Walker finds a home in this mystery man's neck and he lets out a low gurgle.

Five more men enter the room and you focus in on the blood that's flowing down this man's body and into your hands. A sharp pain dances across your brain but you ignore it.

The radio crackles from this dead man's shoulder, "What the fuck are you doing?! Move!"

Your hands come up and you focus on the blood, sharpening it into the form of a knife, sending one into the closest man's neck. He falls to the ground clutching an open wound that will never close.

You're ready to drop the rest of them, the man on the other end of the radio is still shouting at them all.

"Forget them, Where's the kid?" One man asks

The mention of Laura has your eyes scanning for her, she's nowhere to be found but before you can kill the rest of them, Charles acts first.

An unbelievable surge of energy goes through you. The blood you were controlling slips from your grasp and splatters onto the ground. White hot pain flashes in your brain as you try to turn towards Charles. It's like you've been superglued in place. You watch helplessly as Laura inches towards you, dragging herself across the floor towards you.

The appearance of Logan has you relieved as he makes his way towards you, killing each of your assailants one by one with his claws. Laura hands the syringe off to Logan and almost as quickly as it started, it's over.

You fall backward to the ground, and your lungs heave as they welcome the oxygen they were deprived of. Logan's above you, checking you for any injuries as he barks an order at Laura. And then Logan's scooping you up, bridal style, and carrying you out of the room, whispering that everything was fine. Your hand throbs as Logan rushes to the car, Laura pushing Charles hot on his heels. Your own blood, a rare sight is trickling down your arm, staining the sweatshirt you had demanded yesterday.

Logan places you in the front seat and shoves a wad of napkins at you.

"Get it to clot."

He slams the door shut and goes to help Laura with Charles. You focus on your hand, willing the blood to stop. Your head sends a sharp pain down your spine but it eventually tapers off. The cut, becoming pink and sensitive, it'll be healed in the next day or so.

You spend the next hours in silence on the road. At some point Logan's hand had found a way to your thigh, resting there as he drove.

You twisted around to check on Laura and Charles, both of them were asleep. The car clock read 10:30 PM.

"You gonna let me drive?" You ask Logan

"I'm fine." He says

You sigh, of course, he was planning to drive through the night you truly didn't know how he survived on so little sleep.

"The men back at the hotel today, they were planning on taking me alive." You say to him

"They want your genetic code. Probably want to grow more mutants with it, that's what they did with mine." Logan says, glancing in his mirror at a sleeping Laura.

"Living weapons." You sigh, thinking of all the children in that video.

"What they'd do with your power? Can you imagine some full-powered, mindless zombie, controlling people's blood?" Logan shakes his head.

It's not a pretty picture, what his words conjure in your mind. Some nameless child raised up with the idea that their power is invincible.

"Shit, they'd be able to pop the head off the president's shoulders without even blinking," Logan says

"I get it." You glare at him

You're a long way from full strength. You wonder if you'd even be able to, in Logan's words, "Pop someone's head off". Perhaps the effort would kill you and you'd blow a hole in your own mind. Just earlier today you had struggled, there was once a time you would've been able to cut every one of those men down in less than three seconds.

"Nothing's gonna happen to you. Transigen isn't getting one drop of that blood." Logan assures you, "We're gonna drop her in North Dakota and then buy the Sunseeker."

"I want to be able to drive it every once in awhile." You say

"Yeah?" Logan smiles over at you, "You're not gonna crash it into something?"

"We'll be in the middle of the ocean how would I crash?" You roll your eyes

"Remember that time we went Go-Karting as a team and you jumped a barrier and hit Scott so hard he had whiplash for a week?"

"That was once!" You groan, "Is that why you won't let me drive now?"

Logan's deep laugh fills your ears as he shakes his head.

"That's part of the reason. The other half is that it makes me feel useful. Feel like I'm doing something for you."

You sit up, looking over at him.

"Logan, you are useful. You do things for me all the time."

The headlights of a car passing by on the other side of the road illuminate his tired face.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Just today you carried me out of the hotel and to the car. Two weeks ago you bought my favorite candy for movie night even though you hate it."

You glance to the backseat making sure Laura and Charles are still asleep.

You lower your voice just in case they wake up, "You literally gave me two of the best orgasms I've ever had this morning."

Even though it was true, you meant it as a joke, but it caught Logan off guard as his laugh turned into a fit of coughs.

"Logan!" You exclaim when his hands let go of the wheel and one of those damn auto trucks nearly runs you off the road.

"What's going on?" Charles and Laura are awake in the backseat again

Logan slows the car down so you're cruising at 45mph. He turns to you, face serious and brows slightly pinched together in anger.

"No more sex jokes."

Part Three

Whenever I write smut, I feel like it doesn't flow as well as my other normal writing. Oh well. Hope you enjoyed this part.

Tags:

@gigabitemyass @1cam8 @personofsinterest @corruptedcruiser @flamingbisexual08

@arrozconpepitoria

@e-ak

@nikos-a-clown

@evanpetersmood

@loganhowlettsboyfriend

@persiar9

@khaylin27

@veggie-eggrolls

[the-offside-rule]

Patricio O'Ward (Arrow McLaren) - Taste Of Home

Requested: yes

Prompt: Y/n is the youngest Leclerc and is missing home so Pato brings home to her

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Y/n sighed as she leaned back on the couch in the house she now shared with her boyfriend, Pato. It had been an exciting move, leaving behind her life in Monaco to support Pato in his IndyCar career, but tonight, the homesickness gnawed at her more than usual. The city was bustling, yet felt so different from the cozy streets of Monte Carlo, and she missed the warmth of home, the chatter of her brothers, and the comfort of her mother’s cooking. Pato turned his attention away from the TV as he heard his girlfriend moving beside him, noticing the way she was staring blankly at her laptop, her mind far away.

“You okay, mi amor?” Pato asked, his hand strokingher knee. His dark eyes were full of concern. “Yeah, I’m fine." Y/n smiled softly, though her tone betrayed her. "Just missing home tonight, I guess." Pato shifted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "What do you miss most? Besides Charles making fun of you?" Y/n chuckled at that, leaning her head on Pato's shoulder. “Everything, really. Charles, Lorenzo, Arthur. My mom's carbonara, and just being surrounded by family. It was weird being the youngest sometimes, but they always made me feel you know, like I belonged.” Pato's soft smile turned to a flat line, thinking of what he could do.

“Tell me a story,” Pato suggested, wanting to cheer her up. “About you and your brothers.” She thought for a moment, her face softening as memories surfaced. “Okay, I’ve got one. So, when I was about seven, Charles and Arthur thought it’d be funny to teach me how to ride a bike. But they didn’t tell me how to brake properly." Pato laughed. "That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

“Oh, it was." Y/n nodded with a smile. "I rode straight into our neighbor’s garden and crashed into her rose bushes. I was crying, covered in thorns, and instead of comforting me, Charles was laughing so hard he was practically rolling on the floor. Arthur was trying to hide so he wouldn’t get in trouble. But Lorenzo, being the responsible big brother, came and pulled me out of the bushes, all while giving Charles and Arthur a lecture.” Pato shook his head with a grin. “So Charles was always a troublemaker?”

“Always.” Y/n confirmed with a fond laugh. “But he had his moments where he was sweet too. He’s protective, you know? When I went to my first school dance, he grilled the poor boy who asked me to be his date. Charles practically had the poor guy sweating.” Pato laughed louder this time. "Yeah, that sounds like him. Protective older brother mode.” Y/n had loosened up a bit, reminiscing on the past she had in Monaco. “Yep. And Arthur’s no better. Honestly, they all think I need constant watching.” Y/n yawned softly, her tiredness creeping in after a long day at university. “I miss them, though.”

“I know you do.” Pato said, kissing her temple softly. "You should get some rest. It's been a long day, amor." Y/n looked at the time on her laptop. "Yeah, I think I will.” Y/n stood up, stretching. “I’ll head to bed. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.” Pato smiled as she leaned down and placed a delicate kiss onto his lips. “Goodnight, mi amor. I love you.”

“Love you too, Pato.” Y/n smiled before turning and heading for the stairs. As soon as the door closed, Pato pulled out his phone, an idea sparking in his mind. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Charles’ number and sent a message.

Pato Hey man, quick question. Y/n’s feeling really homesick tonight and I was thinking… can you send me your family’s carbonara recipe? I want to surprise her tomorrow.

Pato stared at his phone, unsure if Charles would respond quickly. But within moments, his screen lit up with a reply.

Charles Hey, mate. Of course, I’ll send it over. You trying to impress my sister with your cooking? 😂

Pato Haha, yeah, something like that. She told me she misses your mom’s carbonara, so I thought it might help.

Charles Give me a second, I’ll write it down for you.

A minute later, Charles sent over a series of detailed instructions, with a few extra tips for making sure the dish turned out just right. Pato read through the messages carefully, determined to get it perfect.

Charles And don’t overcook the pasta! I swear, if you serve it mushy, Y/n will never let you live it down.

Pato Haha, I’ll do my best. Thanks, man.

With the recipe in hand, Pato felt a surge of excitement. He could picture Y/n’s face lighting up when she came home to find a taste of Monaco waiting for her.

The next day, after Y/n left for her morning classes, Pato got to work. He drove to the store, carefully selecting only the best ingredients for the pasta dish. He came home, cleaned up a bit and set to work cooking. No one said it would be easy and it certainly wasn't for such a simple dish. He followed Charles’ recipe to the letter, carefully whisking the eggs and cheese together, cooking the pancetta until it was crisp, and boiling the pasta to al dente perfection. His kitchen was soon filled with the comforting smell of home-cooked food, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of himself for pulling it off. Pato had managed to spill sowm egg here and there, a bit of sliced guanciale on the floor (nothing Norbi couldn't help with), but he got there. He had done it. He had to admit, he ate a bowl or two whilst waiting for Y/n to get back.

Just as he was plating the carbonara, he heard the front door open. Y/n walked in, looking exhausted but surprised when she caught the scent wafting through the apartment. “Oh that smells delicious! Pato, what are you cooking?” She asked, setting her bag down. Pato turned to her with a grin, holding up two plates of the golden, creamy pasta. “Surprise! I made your family’s carbonara.” Her eyes widened, and her heart melted instantly. “You what?”

“I called Charles and got the recipe,” Pato explained, walking over to hand her a plate. “I know you’ve been homesick, and I wanted to bring a little bit of home here for you.” Y/n stared at him, her eyes soft with emotion. “Pato this is amazing. You didn’t have to do all this.” She smiled, her hand caressing his cheek. “I wanted to,” Pato said, his voice gentle. “You mean the world to me, Y/n. I want you to feel at home, even here.” She smiled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and took a bite. “This is perfect,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It tastes just like home.” Pato sat down beside her, watching as she ate with a soft smile. “I’m glad you like it.” Y/n leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Pato whispered, feeling a wave of warmth and contentment wash over him. He’d brought a piece of Monaco to Miami, and in that moment, it felt like home; because Y/n was with him.

[jo-com]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ Mine

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Summary: He's yours, and you're his. That's how it should be.

Tw: DARK, implied smut, obsession, manipulation, possessive behavior, branding, angst, jealous charles, some grammatical error, not proofread, google translated french cause i can't speak french and sorry if i wrote it wrong i just started writing again so idk if this is good or not.

words: 1.1k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist (Part 2)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ───

From the start, Charles was nothing more than amazing—he would give you endless adoration and assurance, and overall was the perfect boyfriend. He would worship you like you were some kind of goddess—well,  in his eyes, you were. 

But Over time, his once pure love became a crazy obsession.

The need to always be by your side and not let any other guys come closer to you, talk to you, or even breathe the same air as you intoxicated his mind and clouded his judgment.

And you start to see changes that would never occur in the past—changes that weren't good. Like that time when you and Carlos were just casually talking and catching up—that sight alone was enough to make his once-puppy dog eyes become piercing ones. Burning a hole in both the backs of your heads, from across the room you could see how tensed he was, his jaws clenched and his hands gripped the seat making the texture of the seat all crinkly.

At that time you only shook it off as a "concerned gesture" and never said anything about it to him.

But then it was constantly happening; he would always get riled up whenever someone would just approach you, whether it was a girl, boy, kid, or even animals; he was getting jealous over almost everything. 

You started to worry that things would get even more complicated as they continued. So you stood your ground and got up the courage to voice your concern to him. 

...

"Charlie?" you said softly, entering the room, where he was reading. Your eyes scanned around the room then stopped when you spotted his figure.

There he was, sitting by the fireside with a book in his right hand and the other resting on the armrest. He looked like one of those guys that were sculptured to perfection, but you knew that, underneath that godlike demeanor was one possessive beast that was hard to tame.

Hearing your voice, Charles looked up from your direction and immediately lit up. "Oui? Mon chéri," he responded with his thick French accent. 

You smiled half-heartedly and slowly walked to where he sat. From your action, he could tell that something was bothering you. 

His face scrunched up with a frown as he stared intently at you as you sat down on one of the armrests. 

"Is there something bothering you, Mon cœur?" he asked, lowering down the book he was reading and then slowly snaked up his free hand to rest on your waist.

You let out a deep sigh before answering, "You'll tell me when something's up right?"

He didn’t answer but just tilted his head and stared at you blankly. At that moment there were many questions running through his mind, but one particular thought stood out: Why would you ask something out of the blue when everything has been perfect? not unless someone put thoughts into that pretty little naive head of yours. 

He let out a low chuckle—the grip on your waist tightened as he sucked out a breath—your eyes met his. Seeing the lack of emotion as he stared back at you, sent shivers down your spine, and what scared you even more was when he gave you a calm but menacing smile.

"What makes you think that there's a problem sweetheart?"

You bit your lower lip, holding back the urge to just blurt out your thoughts.

That small gesture was not left unnoticed by Charles. He raised his other hand and touched your lower lip, softly grazing his thumb to where you sunk your teeth. "You know you can tell me anything, right? Mon cœur? he assured.

His expression didn't change; the loving eyes that you once knew were now an emotionless void. With that look, you knew he was getting impatient the longer you stayed silent.

Breaking the silence, you slowly nodded your head and smiled lightly. "Yeah, I know baby, it’s just that you’ve been off lately and you get so riled up easily, mon amour—I know that you mean no harm, but it’s just too much and i-"

“Do you think I like being that way? ”Charles cuts you off.

He gazed at you—eyes filled with rage from what you just said. You squeaked at his burning glare and were quick to look away. The hand that used to rest in your waist was now at the bridge of his nose, pinching it with frustration. 

"You know i wouldn't be that way if not for you, y/n. I am just keeping you safe from all those disgusting men at the paddock, tu ne sais pas de quoi ils sont capables y/n (you don't know what they are capable of)."

You kept your head down and stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything further that might ignite more of his anger. 

Charles stared at your weak state and sighed heavily. 

He stood up, standing in front of you. His hands are cupping both your cheeks, forcing you to stare at him. Charles rubbed your rosy cheeks soothingly, making you lean in on his touch.

"Everything I do is for you, mon chéri, okay?"

You looked at him through your eyelashes and smiled. Charles just wants you to be safe and there's nothing wrong with it, maybe your just overthinking it?.

Charles smiled and kissed your temple; hugging you close to him as if you'd leave once he let's go.

Only a fool would believe that Charles's "just wants you to be safe".

Y/n was a fool

...

Your body jolted at the sensation, your hand moving to your mouth as you bit down the urge to moan out loud.

The two of you were inside a closet room in the pit. Charles decided to pull this stunt the moment he laid eyes on you and Max talking. Like usual, he got riled up and dragged you somewhere secluded to "teach you a lesson".

Tears swell up your eyes, making your vision go blurry. Your other hand was pushing his head away and attempting to stop him from diving into your cunt and eating it like there was no tomorrow. 

"Stop," Charles hissed, grabbing both your wrist and pinning it above your head—restricting your movements.

"What did i tell you about talking to others?"

You gulped down the lump in your throat and shook your head. "I am sorry, mon amour" your eyes pleading for him to stop.

Charles scoffed, gripping your jaw tightly. "espèce de salope (you slut), you just want everyone's attention, don't you?"

"Charlie, no, it's not like that," you begged, your voice shaking as his grip on your jaw tightened.

"Oh, I'll give you attention alright, Chienne (bitch)," he cussed, his accent making his aura more frightening.

...

You lay emotionless on the table, tears falling down your face—your clothes on the ground, your hair a mess, and your body filled with his markings.

In the corner of the room, Charles was fixing his clothes. Acting as if nothing had happened. 

He then went over to you and pulled your body towards him, crassing your hair and kissing your temple. "Je t'aime tellement mon amour."

...

Should i make a part 2?? Btw hope you like this idk if i did it okay i just wanted to write again and like always my request are open!!

[pucksandpower]

Jilted

Charles Leclerc x runaway bride!Reader

Summary: you find out that your groom is a cheating bastard on your wedding day … Charles helps you pick up the pieces

The sun-drenched bridal suite buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror, your reflection a vision in white lace and satin. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through your veins. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but something feels ... off.

“You look absolutely stunning,” your best friend, Mia, gushes as she adjusts your veil. “James won’t know what hit him.”

You force a smile, trying to shake the nagging feeling in your gut. “Thanks, Mia. I just ... I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Mia squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Cold feet are totally normal. Trust me, once you see James waiting for you at the altar, all those doubts will melt away.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. Your mother peeks her head in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

As she enters the room, you notice her clutching her phone, her knuckles white. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

She hesitates, exchanging a worried glance with Mia. “I ... I’m not sure how to say this, honey.”

Your stomach drops. “Mom, what is it? Just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with James’ mother. She... she overheard him talking to someone. A woman.”

The room spins as you struggle to process her words. “What are you saying?”

“It seems ... it seems James has been seeing someone else. For quite some time, apparently.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stumble back, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. “No,” you whisper. “That can’t be true. We’re getting married in an hour!”

Mia rushes to your side, her arm around your waist. “Y/N, breathe. We’ll figure this out.”

But you can’t breathe. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I need ... I need to talk to him.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re bolting from the room, your dress billowing behind you as you race down the hallway. You burst into the groom’s quarters, startling the group of groomsmen inside.

“Where is he?” You demand, your voice trembling.

James’ best man, Tom, steps forward, his face pale. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s bad luck-”

“Where. Is. He?” You repeat, each word dripping with venom.

The bathroom door opens, and there he stands — the man you thought you’d spend forever with. James’ eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

You laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “What’s wrong? How about you tell me, James? Who is she?”

His face crumples, and in that moment, you know it’s true. “Y/N, I can explain-”

“Explain?” You spit. “Explain how you’ve been cheating on me our entire engagement? How you were going to stand up there and lie to my face, in front of everyone we love?”

James reaches for you, but you recoil. “Please, just let me-”

“Don’t touch me!” You scream, tears streaming down your face. “How could you do this to me?”

The room falls silent, save for your ragged breathing. James’ groomsmen shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. You turn to leave, but James grabs your arm.

“Y/N, wait. I love you. We can work this out,” he pleads.

You wrench your arm free, fixing him with a glare that could freeze hell itself. “Love me? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

With that, you’re running again, pushing past concerned guests and ignoring the calls of your name. You burst out of the hotel into the blinding sunlight, your legs carrying you down the street without a destination in mind.

You don’t know how long you run, your white dress now stained with dirt and tears. Eventually, you find yourself in a part of town you don’t recognize, your feet aching and your lungs burning. A neon sign catches your eye — The Dive Hole.

Without thinking, you push open the door to the dingy bar. The few patrons inside turn to stare as you stumble in, a bride in full wedding attire, mascara streaking down your cheeks.

The bartender, a gruff-looking man in his fifties, raises an eyebrow. “Rough day, sweetheart?”

You laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “You could say that.”

As you collapse onto a barstool, the weight of the day finally crashes down on you. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The bartender slides a glass of amber liquid in front of you. “On the house,” he says gruffly. “Looks like you could use it.”

You lift your head, offering him a watery smile. “Got anything stronger?”

***

The world spins as you stumble out of The Dive Hole, your wedding dress now stained with whiskey and regret. The streetlights blur into a hazy glow as you teeter on your heels, struggling to maintain your balance.

“Hey, watch it!” A passerby shouts as you nearly collide with him.

“Sorry,” you slur, waving a hand dismissively. “Just trying to ... to find my happily ever after. Have you seen it? I think I lost it somewhere.”

The man hurries away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty street. “That’s right, run away! Everyone else does!”

As you take another unsteady step, your heel catches in a crack in the pavement. You lurch forward, bracing for impact with the cold, hard ground. But instead of concrete, you find yourself enveloped in warmth.

“Whoa there!” A gentle voice exclaims. “Are you alright?”

You blink, trying to focus on the face of your savior. Kind green eyes peer down at you, filled with concern. The man helps you regain your footing, his hands steady on your arms.

“I’m fine,” you insist, even as the world continues to tilt around you. “Just ... just celebrating. It’s my wedding day, you know.”

The man’s brow furrows as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Celebrating alone? In the middle of the street?”

You nod vigorously, immediately regretting the action as nausea washes over you. “Yep! Best day ever. Who needs a groom anyway, right?”

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, his accent warm and inviting. “And I think maybe you should sit down for a moment. There’s a bench just over there.”

He gently guides you to the nearby bench, helping you settle onto it. You slump against the backrest, your head lolling to the side.

“So, Charles,” you drawl, poking him in the chest. “What brings you out on this fine evening? Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Charles chuckles softly. “Actually, I was just heading home after a late dinner with friends. And then I found a beautiful bride who seems to be having a rough night.”

You snort, gesturing to your ruined dress. “Beautiful? I look like I’ve been through a war. A war of the heart.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles offers, his voice gentle and free of judgment.

For a moment, you consider spilling everything. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too raw. Instead, you shake your head, feeling tears well up in your eyes once more.

“No talking,” you mumble. “Just ... can you sit with me for a bit?”

Charles nods, settling onto the bench beside you. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

You sit in silence for a while, the cool night air slowly clearing your head. Charles remains a steady presence at your side, occasionally glancing at you with concern.

Finally, you break the silence. “I should probably go home. Except ... I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

Charles frowns. “You don’t have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. “Nope. Funny how your whole life can fall apart in a single day, huh?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, seeming to wrestle with a decision. Finally, he speaks. “Look, I know we’ve just met, but ... I have a spare room. You’re welcome to stay there for the night, just to sleep it off and figure things out in the morning.”

You blink at him, surprised by the offer. “You’d do that for a stranger?”

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Well, we’re not exactly strangers now, are we? Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if I left you out here alone.”

You consider his offer. Every logical part of your brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, but something in Charles’ eyes tells you he can be trusted. Plus, you’re not exactly swimming in options at the moment.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Charles.”

He helps you to your feet, steadying you as you sway slightly. “My car’s just around the corner. Think you can make it?”

You nod, determined. “Lead the way, knight in shining armor.”

The ride to Charles’ apartment is mercifully short. You spend most of it with your head against the cool glass of the window, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Charles fills the silence with gentle small talk, his voice soothing in the darkness.

When you arrive, Charles helps you out of the car and into the elevator. As you ascend, the reality of your situation starts to sink in.

“Oh God,” you groan, leaning against the elevator wall. “What am I doing? I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer or something.”

Charles chuckles. “I promise I’m not a serial killer. Just a guy who couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.”

The elevator doors open, and Charles leads you down the hallway to his apartment. As he fumbles with his keys, you sway on your feet, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you.

“Here we are,” Charles announces, pushing open the door. “Home sweet home.”

You step inside, taking in the stylish but comfortable living room. “Nice place. Very ... un-serial-killer-like.”

Charles laughs. “Thanks, I think. The spare room is just down the hall, but maybe we should get you some water first.”

He guides you to the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water. You accept it gratefully, gulping it down.

“Easy there,” Charles warns. “Small sips or you’ll make yourself sick.”

You nod, slowing down. As you finish the water, a wave of emotion washes over you. The events of the day come crashing back, and before you know it, you’re sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Charles says softly, moving closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Charles stiffens for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup between sobs. “I’m getting your shirt all wet and snotty.”

You feel Charles’ chest rumble with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what washing machines are for.”

He holds you as you cry, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You cling to him, this kind stranger who’s shown you more compassion in one night than your fiancé did in years.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asks gently.

You shake your head, still pressed against his chest. “Not yet. Maybe... maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You stay like that for a while, your sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Charles continues to hold you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

As your breathing evens out, exhaustion begins to overtake you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright.

Charles seems to sense your fatigue. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you down the hallway to the spare room, supporting most of your weight as you stumble along. The room is simple but cozy, with a plush-looking bed that seems to call your name.

“There should be some spare pajamas in the dresser,” Charles says. “They might be a bit big, but they’ll be more comfortable than that dress.”

You nod sleepily, already fumbling with the zipper of your gown. Charles quickly turns away, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it,” he stammers. “Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it. And I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, your eyes already half-closed. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

He smiles softly. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you manage to slip out of your wedding dress and into a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. The bed feels like heaven as you sink into it, your body finally relaxing after the emotional roller coaster of the day.

But as you lie there in the dark, the silence allows your thoughts to creep back in. Memories of James, of the life you thought you’d have, of the future that’s now shattered. Tears begin to fall once more, soaking into the pillow.

Before you know it, you’re padding out to the living room, sniffling quietly. Charles looks up from his spot on the couch, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Every time I close my eyes, I see ... I just ... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Without a word, Charles opens his arms. You practically collapse onto the couch next to him, curling into his side. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

You nod against his chest, fresh tears soaking into his shirt. Charles doesn’t seem to mind, just holds you tighter and begins to hum softly, a soothing melody that washes over you.

As you lie there, surrounded by the warmth and kindness of this virtual stranger, you feel something you haven’t felt all day: safe. The steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of calm.

Your eyelids grow heavy once more, and this time, you don’t fight it. As you drift off to sleep, still wrapped in Charles’ arms and using his shirt as a makeshift tissue, your last coherent thought is a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the unfamiliar curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. For a blissful moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or why your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Then, like a tidal wave, the memories of yesterday crash over you, bringing with them a fresh wave of pain and embarrassment.

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. How did you end up here? Slowly, fragments of the night before come back to you — a kind stranger, an offer of shelter, crying yourself to sleep on the stranger’s couch.

Charles.

His name was Charles.

The smell of coffee and something deliciously savory wafts through the air, making your stomach growl despite the lingering nausea. Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed, wincing at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, and you’re wearing clothes that are decidedly not yours.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself to face your host. You pad quietly down the hallway, following the sounds of movement in the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Charles standing at the stove, his back to you as he hums softly to himself.

You clear your throat softly. “Um, good morning.”

Charles turns, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

You grimace, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Emotionally and physically.”

He chuckles sympathetically. “I bet. Here, sit down. Coffee?”

You nod gratefully, sinking into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Yes, please. And maybe some painkillers if you have them?”

“Coming right up,” Charles says, placing a steaming mug in front of you before rummaging in a drawer for the pills.

As you sip the coffee, relishing the warmth spreading through your body, Charles returns to the stove. “I hope you like omelets. I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for, but I figured eggs are usually a safe bet.”

“Omelets sound perfect,” you say, your stomach rumbling in agreement. “Thank you. For everything. I ... I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

He waves off your thanks, sliding a plate in front of you. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

As Charles settles into the chair across from you with his own plate, a comfortable silence falls between you. You pick at your food, your appetite warring with the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

Finally, Charles breaks the silence. “So ... seems like yesterday is quite a story.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “A very long one.”

Charles’ green eyes meet yours, filled with gentle curiosity. “Care to share?”

You hesitate, pushing your food around your plate. Part of you wants to keep it all locked away, to pretend yesterday never happened. But another part of you is desperate to unburden yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind that turned your life upside down.

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “Well, yesterday was supposed to be my wedding day.”

Charles nods encouragingly. “I gathered as much from the dress. What happened?”

“I found out my fiancé — ex-fiancé now, I guess — has been cheating on me. Throughout our entire engagement.”

Charles winces. “Ouch. That’s ... I’m so sorry.”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as tears prick at your eyes. “Yeah, well. Apparently I’m great at picking them.”

“How did you find out?” Charles asks gently.

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, it was a real soap opera moment. His mother overheard him on the phone with the other woman, literally an hour before the ceremony. She told my mom, who told me, and ... well, you can imagine how that went down.”

Charles shakes his head, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s awful. What did you do?”

“I confronted him, of course. In front of all his groomsmen. It was ... not my finest moment. There was a lot of yelling, some crying, probably some mascara running. And then I just ... ran. In my wedding dress. Like some cliché runaway bride, except I had nowhere to run to.”

You pause, taking a sip of coffee to steady yourself. Charles remains silent, his face a mix of sympathy and something else — anger, maybe?

“I ended up in some bar I’d never been to before,” you continue. “Drank way too much, way too fast. And then I was stumbling around on the street, and ... well, you know the rest.”

Charles nods slowly, processing your story. “Wow. That’s ... that’s a hell of a day.”

You snort. “You can say that again.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Charles says, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand gently. “No one deserves that kind of betrayal.”

His touch is warm and comforting, and you find yourself fighting back tears again. “Thanks. I just ... I feel so stupid. How did I not see it? We were together for five years. We were supposed to spend our lives together. And all this time ...”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts softly. “You’re not stupid. He’s the one who made the choice to betray your trust. That’s on him, not you.”

You nod, not entirely convinced but appreciating his words nonetheless. “I guess. It’s just ... where do I go from here? We had a whole life planned out. A home, careers, maybe kids someday. And now it’s all just ... gone.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

You look at him skeptically. “An opportunity? To what, have my heart ripped out and stomped on?”

He chuckles softly. “No, no. I mean ... look, I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ve been given a chance to rewrite your story. To figure out what you really want, without having to consider someone else’s dreams or expectations.”

His words give you pause. You’d been so focused on what you’d lost, you hadn’t even considered what you might gain. “I ... I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to see it as a positive yet,” Charles assures you. “Healing takes time. But I promise you, this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just the beginning of a new chapter.”

You manage a small smile, the first genuine one since yesterday morning. “Where did you learn to be so wise, huh?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, you know. I moonlight as a philosopher when I’m not rescuing damsels in distress from the streets.”

You laugh, surprised by how good it feels. “My hero,” you tease.

As your laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. You find yourself studying Charles, really looking at him for the first time. He’s handsome, in a boyish sort of way, with kind eyes and an easy smile. There’s something familiar about him, but you can’t quite place it.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’ve shared my tragic backstory. What about you? What’s your deal, Charles?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, you know. Just your average guy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Average guys don’t usually invite strange women in wedding dresses to stay the night. Unless ... oh God, you’re not married, are you? Did I just cause some poor woman to think her husband was cheating?”

Charles laughs, holding up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m very much single. And I promise, inviting strange women in wedding dresses to stay over is not a regular occurrence for me.”

“So what do you do, then? When you’re not playing knight in shining armor?”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face before he answers. “I’m ... in sports. Racing, actually.”

You nod, impressed. “Racing? Like, cars?”

“Formula 1,” he clarifies. “I’m a driver.”

Suddenly, it clicks. The familiarity, the nagging feeling that you’ve seen him before. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God. You’re Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver.”

He grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified. “Oh God. Oh God. I cried all over a world-famous race car driver. I used your shirt as a tissue. This is ... this is so embarrassing.”

Charles reaches across the table, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Hey, none of that. I’m just a person, like anyone else. And I meant what I said — I’m glad I could help.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “You’re sure? Because I’m pretty sure I got mascara and snot all over your probably very expensive shirt.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “I promise, it’s fine. The shirt will survive. I’m more concerned about you. How are you feeling now?”

You consider the question, taking stock of your emotional state. “Honestly? Still pretty awful. But ... maybe a little less awful than before. Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

Charles smiles softly. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. And hey, look at it this way — you’ve got a pretty unique story to tell now.”

You groan, but can’t help laughing. “Oh yeah, because drunk and crying in a wedding dress is exactly how I wanted to meet one of the best F1 drivers in the world.”

“One of the best?” Charles teases, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m clearly the best.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such greatness.”

As you banter back and forth, you feel something shift inside you. The pain is still there, raw and aching, but it’s no longer all-consuming. For the first time since yesterday, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay after all.

***

The roar of engines fills the air as you make your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement of race day palpable. You can’t help but smile, still amazed at how much your life has changed in the past few years. From runaway bride to Formula 1 WAG — it’s a plot twist you never saw coming.

“Mon cœur!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Charles jogging towards you, his race suit tied around his waist. He grins as he reaches you, pulling you into a quick embrace.

“Hey, you,” you say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got time. Besides, I needed my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Flatterer. Go on, get back to work. I’ll be cheering you on from the garage.”

He steals one more kiss before heading back towards his team, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. As you turn to make your way to the Ferrari motorhome, a familiar face in the crowd stops you dead in your tracks.

Your ex-fiancé is standing just a few feet away, gawking at you with wide eyes. For a moment, you’re frozen, unsure how to react. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, since that disastrous almost-wedding day.

Before you can decide whether to acknowledge him or pretend you haven’t seen him, James is moving towards you, a strange mix of emotions playing across his face.

“Y/N?” He says, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Is that really you?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Hello, James.”

He looks you up and down, taking in your sleek outfit and the VIP pass hanging around your neck. “Wow. You look ... different. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my partner,” you say simply, not feeling the need to elaborate.

James’ brow furrows. “Your partner? You mean like ... a business partner?”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, James. My partner. As in, the person I’m in a relationship with.”

His eyes widen comically. “You’re dating someone involved in Formula 1? Who?”

Before you can answer, a small group of fans approaches, their eyes lighting up as they spot you.

“Excuse me,” one of them says excitedly. “You’re Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, right? Could we please get a picture?”

You smile warmly at them. “Of course!”

As you pose for photos with the fans, exchanging a few friendship bracelets as well, you can see James out of the corner of your eye. He’s standing there, mouth agape, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a frying pan.

Once the fans move on, James practically pounces on you. “Charles Leclerc? You’re dating Charles Leclerc? How ... when ... what?”

You sigh, already tired of this conversation. “Yes, Charles and I have been together for a while now. Is there something else you needed?”

He shakes his head, still looking dazed. “I just ... I can’t believe it. How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” you say, not particularly wanting to rehash your past with him. “One I don’t really have time to get into right now.”

James seems to ignore your hint, his eyes narrowing. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t expect me to believe that you’re actually dating one of the best F1 drivers in the world. What’s really going on here?”

You feel a flash of anger at his dismissive tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, no offense,” James continues, oblivious to your growing irritation, “but last I knew, you couldn’t tell the difference between F1 and NASCAR. Now you’re supposedly dating a Ferrari driver? It doesn’t add up.”

You clench your fists, trying to keep your cool. “People change. They grow. They learn new things. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scoffs. “Right. So I’m supposed to believe that in the few years since our ... since we last saw each other, you’ve not only become an F1 expert but also managed to snag one of the most eligible bachelors in the sport? Come on, Y/N. What’s the real story? Are you some kind of ... I don’t know, brand ambassador or something?”

Before you can respond, a warm hand settles on the small of your back. You look up to see Charles standing beside you, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“Everything okay here, mon amour?” He asks, his eyes flicking between you and James.

James’ jaw drops even further, if that’s possible. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You lean into Charles’ side, drawing strength from his presence. “Charles, this is James. My ex-fiancé. James, this is Charles. My boyfriend.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up in recognition, but he recovers quickly, extending a hand to James. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely, though there’s a hint of steel in his voice.

James just stares at the offered hand, then back at you, then at Charles again. “This ... this is a joke, right? Some kind of prank?”

Charles drops his hand, frowning. “I assure you, it’s not a joke. Y/N and I have been together for over two years now.”

James shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. This doesn’t make any sense. Y/N, what are you playing at?”

You feel your patience snap. “I’m not playing at anything. Charles and I are together. We’re happy. I’m sorry if that’s difficult for you to comprehend, but it’s the truth.”

“But ... but how?” James sputters. “How did this even happen?”

Charles tightens his arm around you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, if you must know, I found her wandering the streets in a wedding dress, crying her eyes out because her fiancé was a cheating bastard.”

James blanches, his face turning an interesting shade of purple. “That’s ... that’s not ... you can’t just ...”

“Can’t what?” You challenge, feeling emboldened by Charles’ support. “Can’t move on? Can’t find happiness with someone who actually respects me? Can’t build a life that doesn’t revolve around you?”

A small crowd has started to gather, attracted by the rising voices and the presence of Charles Leclerc. You can see people whispering, phones discreetly pointed in your direction.

James seems to notice the attention too, his eyes darting around nervously. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

“It’s not a game,” you interrupt, your voice firm. “This is my life. A life I’m very happy with, I might add. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Charles has a race to prepare for.”

You start to turn away, but James grabs your arm. “Wait, just ... just tell me the truth. Is this some kind of revenge? Did you set this all up to get back at me?”

Charles tenses beside you, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I suggest you remove your hand,” he says, his voice low and controlled.

James lets go as if burned, taking a step back. “I just ... I don’t understand. How could you … with him?”

You take a deep breath, deciding to end this once and for all. “James, listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. What happened between us was years ago. I’ve moved on. I’ve built a life I love, with a man I love. Your inability to believe that says far more about you than it does about me.”

You turn to Charles, softening your voice. “Come on, love. You need to get back to the team.”

Charles nods, pressing a kiss to your temple before addressing James one last time. “It was ... interesting meeting you. Enjoy the race.”

As you walk away, leaving a stunned James in your wake, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Well, that was ... something.”

Charles chuckles, squeezing your hand. “You handled that beautifully, mon cœur. Though I have to admit, I was tempted to deck him when he grabbed you.”

You lean into him, smiling. “My hero. But I think leaving him standing there like a fish out of water was far more satisfying.”

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you pause, turning to face Charles. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For being there, for backing me up. For ... everything, really.”

Charles cups your face gently, his green eyes full of love. “Always. You know I’ve got your back, just like you’ve always had mine.”

You stretch up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, you know that?”

He grins, that boyish smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Now, how about we go win a race, yeah?”

As you enter the garage hand in hand, the organized chaos of the team preparing for the race enveloping you, you can’t help but marvel at the twists and turns that led you here. From the lowest point of your life to the highest — all because a kind stranger couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before he heads off to his car. As you watch him go, you silently thank whatever twist of fate brought him into your life that night. The road hasn’t always been smooth, but you wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

After all, sometimes the best love stories start with a broken heart and end with a chequered flag.

[themultifanshipper]

I dunno what it is about reading about the grid hooking up with each other but boy am I HERE for it. It just makes my inner whore very feral and happy lol

Any chance I can request a Charlos x reader with 🔵 and 🔴 :)

“Dry spell? That's such bullshit!”

“It is not! I haven't had sex in months thanks to those two always hanging around me looking at any guy who approaches like they're going to murder him”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at Carlos and Charles, who were over by the bar, arguing over what kind of drink to order for you.

“interesting...”

Warnings: driver!reader, smut (obviously), threesome (obviously), sexual tension?, Daniel being a conniving little shit, tiny bit of angst? Tiny bit of fluff? Anyway Charles Top supremacy

Requested from my prompt list

Charles was your childhood friend and Carlos was your teammate. They were protective of you, that was normal. So were all the other drivers. But unfortunately it was becoming detrimental to your sex life.

“They love you. We all do, you're like an annoying little sister to us, and we would do anything to keep you out of harm's way” Daniel reasoned and you snorted into your drink.

“Right, that doesn't stop any of you from crashing into me every now and then”

He chuckled, noting the two other drivers, still bickering like children in front of a seemingly exasperated bartender.

“Oh please! You know if we caused any damage Charles and Carlos would actually murder us” he scoffed.

“Nah, they're soft at heart”

Daniel hummed as he took a swig of his own drink.

“If you're so concerned about your dry spell, why don't you ask one of them to help you out?” he grinned, biting his lip at the face you were making at him. “Oh come on, we both know neither of them would say no to you”

“I am not having sex with either of them, thank you very much!”

“Who's having sex with who?” George appeared beside you in the booth and you groaned.

“See what you've started! Daniel here thinks I should ask Charles or Carlos to have sex with me.”

George raised an eyebrow at the Australian, then frowned at you. “and the problem with that is...?”

“I am not going to ask them for fuck's sake, they're my closest friends! And besides, I don't mix business and pleasure!”

George scoffed playfully at that and you blushed “You shut your goddamn mouth George William Russell!”

He raised his hands in defense while Daniel laughed. “Didn't say a word!”

You knew Carlos and Charles would probably jump at the chance to have you. But you were happy with the relationship you had with them and you wanted to avoid ruining that by creating any jealousy between them.

“Okay, but if you had to choose one of them to sleep with, who would it be?” George asked, inconspicuously sipping his drink through a straw.

“Uhh...” you hesitated, you had to admit both options were appealing. “I think Carlos? Or... no. Yeah actually definitely Carlos, I can't fuck Charles, I've known him since we were like 5 years old, it would be way too weird”

George hummed and Daniel smirked.

“Okay then, let's make a bet. We'll distract your bodyguards so you can go off and have fun. But if you don't end your dry spell tonight, you have to ask Carlos to end it at a later date” he looked entirely too proud of himself with that idea, and when you looked at George he could barley contain the satisfied smirk adorning his own features.

“A bet?” you looked between them incredulously “What are we in highschool?”

Daniel saw Charles and Carlos finally making their way back through the crowd.

“It’s up to you, but now's your chance to slip away and go get some without them looming over you.”

Fuck it, he was right.

You finished what was left in your glass and slipped out of the booth discreetly, in the opposite direction to where the two were coming from.

Daniel's stupid challenge lurked in the back of your mind. It didn't matter if you didn’t get laid tonight, you were NOT going to ask Carlos...

“Where did she go?” Carlos asked when they got back to the table.

“We got her a drink.” Charles whined, eyes scanning the crowd.  “Tequila sunrise, her favourite”

“No.” Carlos growled “her favourite is a Long Island” he sighed and looked at the other two drivers. “This is why we need to find her, to ask her who is right and who knows her better”

George and Daniel exchanged a pointed look, and the latter cleared his throat. “She's gone to have some fun without you two bickering over her”

They scowled at that.

“But she’s not safe on her own-” “We don't bicker over her-”

“She is an adult” George held a finger up, cutting them off “She is capable of making her own decisions and it's not her fault neither of you have the balls to do anything about your obvious feelings for her”

Charles huffed and sat down, and Carlos just put the drinks on the table and stalked off to try and find you in the dense crowd.

You did end up finding a guy.

He seemed nice, was a pretty good dancer, and was staying in a hotel nearby. Unfortunately he wasn't your type at all. Short, pale, blonde and lean.

But he was drunk and gagging for it.

So you went with him anyway, but as soon as you got back to his hotel you realised he was a bit too drunk, and he passed out on the bed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

You snapped a quick picture of the guy and sent it to Daniel with the caption ‘so much for breaking the dry spell 🙄”

...

A few weeks later, you got a podium at your home race.

In a fucking Williams.

Carlos lifted you on his shoulders as the team chanted your name and sprayed you with champagne.

The moment could have lasted forever for all you cared, this was your moment.

You basked in the glory, time speeding up until all you could remember was the taste of champagne and the blurry sea of blue uniforms engulfing you.

Later on, you found yourself once again in a packed club, full of drivers and mechanics winding down after an intense double header.

But this time, you were the guest of honour. Despite Charles being the one to actually win the race, everyone was buying you drinks and congratulating you on your amazing drive.

You were very drunk, and decided to sit down for a bit, which is how you found yourself, once again, sitting in a booth with Daniel Ricciardo, and of course he remembered the text you'd sent him several weeks ago.

“So... still haven't asked Carlos then I'm guessing?” he flashed his signature grin and you groaned, already sick of this conversation.

“You know I haven't, and I'm not planning to. I value our friendship too much”

You were lying to yourself, and Daniel knew it, but before he could say anything else the man himself appeared next to you.

Carlos leaned over the table, grabbed your drink, downed it, and held out his hand to you.

“Come dance with me!”

You didn't really have a say in the matter as he dragged you away and on to the dance floor.

It was packed with people and your bodies were pressed together as the bass of the music made your heart beat faster.

The heat and the alcohol were getting to you, making you quite giddy so you instinctively wrapped your arms around Carlos' neck and grinned at him.

It had been a while since the two of you had danced together in the club, and it made your heart flutter as you remembered what Daniel had said.

Your cheeks heated up, invisible in the club lights, and leaned in closer to whisper/shout in his ear.

“I have something to ask you”

He raised an eyebrow at you in question, eyes twinkling with the flashing club lights.

“What is it hermosa?” his hands tightened slightly where they were positioned on your hips.

“It's really embarrassing” you giggled and he smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Anything you need, I'm here for you”

Your heart swelled at that. You knew Carlos, you knew he would do anything for you.

But before you could say anything another body appeared next to you, a smooth voice cutting through the noise around you.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Charles!” you slurred excitedly.

You let go of Carlos in favour of jumping into Charles’ arms, you hadn't had a chance to see him all evening.

“Congratulations on the win!” you hugged him tight and he chuckled.

“Congratulations to you! A home podium in a Williams, quite an achievement” he smiled and you blushed at the compliment.

“Bravo Charles!” Carlos clapped the Monegasque on the back, and he had a slight edge to his tone that you couldn't quite place.

“Thanks mate!” he said, flashing his beautiful smile at the older man.

Neither of them knew quite what to add to that riveting interaction, so you all just kind of swayed to the music awkwardly until Carlos spoke up in a rather clipped tone.

“So what was it you wanted to ask me about?” he was speaking to you, but the way he said it sounded like he was talking to Charles, as if he wanted the younger man to take some sort of hint.

Charles didn't though, and your eyes widened as they flitted between the two of them.

“I... uhmm” you stammered, trying to find a way to not tell Charles about what it was you needed.

Weirdly though, it wasn't you who said it.

It was Charles.

“It's okay, I know when I'm not wanted.” Charles waved dismissively. “If you want to fuck Carlos that's none of my business...”

He sounded almost sad as he turned around and made his way back through the crowd in the direction of the bar, your breath caught in your throat as you thought of calling him back over.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. How the fuck did Charles know? Were you really that obvious or did somebody tell h-...

Daniel. That fucker.

Carlos laughed, obviously thinking Charles was joking to diffuse the tension, but quickly stopped when he saw the look on your face.

You were so red even the club lights couldn't mask it, and you were avoiding his eyes.

“What- Is that what you wanted to ask me?” he asked.

You nodded shyly and his jaw dropped.

He got closer to you, crowding your space and hooked finger under your chin to force you to meet his gaze, faces only a few centimeters apart.

“Is this why you've been so tense lately? Have you been needing someone to come and fuck you properly, hmm?”

You whimpered in his hold and he grinned wolfishly before leaning in to kiss you.

The feeling of his lips was heaven.

That's the only way you could have described it.

He was so gentle yet demanding as he used the leverage he had on your jaw to open your mouth to him and he just took whatever he wanted.

Your body went numb and you clung to him, his hands moving down to cup your ass in an effort to get you even closer.

As the beat of the music got heavier, so did your movements, your hips rolling with his to the beat until anyone watching would have qualified it as indecent.

You panted into each others mouths desperately as your clawed at each other's clothes, the tension was becoming unbearable and you needed him more than you'd ever needed anything in your life.

But in the back of your mind you couldn't help thinking there was something you were forgetting.

That was confirmed when Carlos rested his forehead against yours and opened his fucking mouth.

“I'll be honest, I was not expecting this tonight.” He chuckled breathlessly “Daniel told me you were fucking Charles so I assumed I was off limits”

You froze, staring at him, and he quickly realised he might have said something he shouldn't.

“Daniel what?”

He stuttered out something unintelligible but you didn't even hear him as you grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd looking for Charles.

As expected, you found him next to the bar, downing shots with Lando who looked rather concerned about the older man’s state.

Just as he handed Charles a glass of water he spotted you and Carlos coming and eyed you suspiciously.

“Charles!” you started, almost stumbling and falling on him in your haste “Did Daniel tell you I wanted to fuck Carlos?!”

Lando’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

“I'm uh- I'm just gonna...” he pointed somewhere behind him and scarpered, probably for the better.

“What?” Charles said, obviously quite drunk.

“What did Daniel tell you about me and Carlos?”

He frowned angrily.

“He said you were going to fuck Carlos”

You exchanged a look with Carlos.

“And I guess what I saw on the dancefloor confirmed it” he said bitterly.

Everything about his demeanor screamed one thing.

“Are you jealous?” you and Carlos asked at the same time.

Charles looked taken aback at the question.

“Yes? Who wouldn't be? Look at you...”

“I don't understand” your head was spinning “why would Daniel tell Carlos I was fucking you, then?”

Charles frowned in confusion and eyed the booth where you'd been originally sitting with Daniel.

He was now chatting away happily with Max and Lando while you were having a crisis.

You bit your lip in thought.

“We could... prove him right” you said slowly.

The two looked at you weirdly for a second before realising what you meant.

“Come with me”

They didn't protest as you pulled them towards the dancefloor, in an area that was close enough to the booth that Daniel would be able to see you if he looked over.

Once you were in place with Carlos behind you and Charles in front, it was easy to get them to move with you to the beat of whatever was playing.

When your ass accidentally made contact with Carlos' crotch he hissed and his hands flew to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

Your head fell onto his shoulder as you moved together, and you looked at Charles through lidded eyes.

The man had a dark look in his eyes as he watched the interaction, and you motioned him over.

“Jealous? Come get me then” you said as seductively as you could given that you had to shout over the music.

It worked on Charles though, and he towered over you, his hands coming to rest around you waist possessively, barely an inch above Carlos' own hands.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his hips hovering close to yours but not yet breaching the barrier of your friendship.

It was then and there that you realised, you never wanted one of them if you couldn't have the other.

You slid your fingers through his belt loops and tugged roughly so that he was finally flush against you.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach. You'd never been this close to Charles despite your many years of friendship and the novelty of the situation was exciting.

As you looked into each other's eyes, your faces got closer and closer.

When his lips brushed yours softly, it was like a fire ignited inside you.

You pulled him in by the back of his neck and he complied with equal fervour, plastering himself against you and whimpering a quiet ‘fuck’ against your lips as he kissed you for the first time.

Carlos’s chest rumbled against your back and you realised he was groaning at the sight, Charles pushing you against him as you made out sloppily.

He quickly glanced over to the booth and the three men were staring at you with wide eyes.

He smirked and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You got what you wanted. Daniel is staring at us like he’s seen a ghost”

You and Charles separated to breathe and you took the opportunity to look at Daniel, but he quickly looked away and pretended he hadn't seen you.

You couldn't have that.

You kissed just under Charles' jaw, making the man shudder as your lips made their way up his neck and over to his ear and you bit it lightly.

Given your closeness, you could feel his body start to tense up and the crotch of his pants was getting tighter.

You didn't know he had an exhibitionist streak but that was certainly information you were going to use to your advantage.

There was just one last thing you needed to do.

You turned around to face Carlos, pulling him down for a scorching kiss.

When you pulled away, you panted into his ear.

“If we're going to do this, I want you to kiss Charles”

He froze and glanced at the Monegasque behind you then looked back at you questioningly. You lifted a brow and bit your lip.

His eyes followed the movement and he gulped.

“Do it, I dare you”

See, being Charles' oldest friend meant that you knew things about him that no one else did.

Such as the fact that he was very much into men and had salivated over Carlos for years.

And oddly, Carlos didn't need much convincing either as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Charles'.

The kiss started out relatively chaste, both being unsure of how the other would react, but soon enough they were making our filthily over your shoulder.

You slipped out from between them, their bodies naturally coming together as their lips, and their hips, moved in tandem.

You slipped away, back to Daniel’s booth and were proud to see him, Max and Lando with their jaws almost on the table at the sight of Charles and Carlos clutching each other and making out desperately out on the dancefloor.

Carlos's hands framed Charles’s face, pulling him into the kiss, and Charles had one hand fisted into the Spaniard's shirt, the other was tangled in his hair.

You leaned over the table, getting the three drivers' attention.

“Tell me Daniel, what were you trying to achieve here tonight?”

He stared at you, eyes flitting back to the crowd every few seconds as he stuttered out an explanation.

“I- I thought that if I told each of them you were fucking the other something would finally happen... Best case scenario you would muster up the balls to ask one of them, worst case scenario one of them would fuck you out of jealousy”

You nodded condescendingly and glanced back at the two figures now practically humping each other in the middle of the crowd, before answering.

“Well let me suggest a new scenario, I'm going to go and fuck them both.”

You straightened up and brushed yourself off before continuing.

“Have a pleasant evening Daniel. Lando. Max.” You nodded at each of them before swiftly turning on your heel and joining Charles and Carlos again to drag them outside in hopes of catching a cab.

In said cab, the windows were steaming up.

Carlos was knuckle deep in you while you took turns making out with them, and it didn't take long for you to start unraveling at the seams.

But just before you did, Charles took a hold of Carlos' wrist and pulled his hand away, taking his wet fingers into his mouth for a taste of you.

He groaned around Carlos' fingers at your sweet taste and the older man felt like he was on fire at the sight of his ex teammate eagerly sucking on his fingers.

You were writhing between them after being denied your orgasm, and you pawed at Carlos' shirt in an effort to get him to put his fingers back in you..

He chuckled at the sight of you so desperate then turned back to Charles.

“I didn't get to have a taste” he pouted mockingly, and Charles mirrored his mischievous smile as he brought his fingers to your weeping folds and pushed three in, the coldness of his rings sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

And once again, as soon as you started getting close, he took his fingers out and shoved them into Carlos's mouth.

“How's that?” he teased and the older man went nuts at getting to taste you, on Charles' fingers.

Once they were clean he wrapped a hand around Carlos' throat and pulled him in for a filthy, noisy kiss.

God, you were going to have to give the taxi driver a very generous tip.

When the three you finally got to the hotel, you couldn't keep your hands off each other all the way up to your room.

And once inside, you were thrown onto the bed and stripped of your clothes very quickly.

“So greedy...” Charles purred “You couldn't choose just one of us. You needed both...” he unbuckled his pants, shirt already long gone, and his cock slapped against his lower abdomen, hard and leaking. “Well now you're going to have both of us, and we're going to fuck you as many times as we want, right Carlos?”

Carlos nodded eagerly from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, lazily stroking himself as he watched you and Charles.

When Charles' kisses started going south, you beckoned Carlos over and took him in your hand, making him hiss, and guided his cock towards your mouth.

He threaded his hands through your hair as you let your tongue run over his sensitive skin. He tried and failed to keep his hips still, so you took him into your mouth as far as you could go and he choked on a groan as his hands tightened in your hair.

“Fuck- my god your mouth...”

You hummed at the praise and Carlos tensed and threw his head back in an effort to keep himself composed.

Meanwhile Charles had sucked a few marks into your skin and was slowly making his way up the inside of your thigh, making you shiver with anticipation.

He licked a bold stripe up your cunt and one of your hands immediately went to grip his hair between your fingers and pull him closer.

He complied eagerly, slurping up your juices as his tongue alternated between going as deep as it could inside you and circling your sensitive clit relentlessly.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to get to the edge, and when Charles slid two fingers inside you wailed around Carlos' cock as you came, clamping down on Charles and rutting against his face desperately.

Charles looked entirely too cocky as he climbed onto the bed, face covered in your wetness, and crawled over to Carlos.

The two men crashed their lips together in a passionate exchange, Carlos moaning at your taste as Charles took control and invaded the older man's space, pushing him to lay down under him.

“Your turn” Charles panted, and gave him one last peck before making his way down Carlos' body.

“Wha- What are you-?”

He barely managed to get his sentence out before Charles had sucked his tip into his mouth and started sinking down... much further down than you'd managed given Carlos' impressive girth.

Well you knew he liked sex but by god, Charles Leclerc was a whore.

After a few bobs of his head, and a few braincells lost for Carlos, he pulled off with a pop.

“She's going to sit on your face while I open you up, okay Carlos?”

Carlos jolted slightly and his head whipped up to look at the man smirking between his legs, his wide eyes filled with confusion.

“You are what?”

Charles giggled “I'm going to fuck you Carlos.”

Carlos just opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water.

“What?” Charles said condescendingly “Did you think you were going to fuck me?”

“I- I don't know” Carlos admitted.

He wasn't entirely unhappy with that arrangement, but he had to admit, all the times where the sexual tension between them had been at it's peak during their years as teammates, he usually imagined it the other way around.

But he was about to get fucked by Charles Leclerc, and the thought almost overwhelmed him.

“Is that okay with you?”

Carlos head flopped back down onto the bed and he groaned.

“fuck”

You and Charles laughed.

“I'll take that as a yes” Charles gently prised his legs apart and kissed along his inner thighs.

You kneeled next to Carlos' head and smiled at him.

“May I?” you questioned, hand coming to stroke the man's cheek tenderly.

Carlos's eyes were glassy and he nodded quickly, but you tutted and leaned down to press a kiss to his chest.

“Words, Carlos”

“Yes! I want you to sit on my face, please hermosa. I need to taste you” he made grabby hands at your hips.

You smirked at his eagerness and swung a leg over his head, so that you were facing Charles, who was waiting for you to get settled before he let his tongue wander over Carlos' taint teasingly.

Once Carlos had grasped your hips and all but slammed you down on his face, Charles licked over his rim and the older man groaned against your cunt, making you buck your hips against his face involuntarily.

Very soon, Charles was several fingers in, and Carlos’ cock was leaking precum onto his own toned stomach.

Charles made a noise of satisfaction and retracted his fingers, deeming the other man ready for him, and helped your trembling body off, to change position.

You decided to get on all fours, Carlos behind you had no trouble sliding into you and your arms buckled at the stretch, so you were left with your ass up and a face full of pillows as he leaned over you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders while he prepared himself mentally for Charles to breach him.

And when he did, Carlos let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard, and that served as encouragement to Charles, who pushed in slowly, inch by inch until you all felt like you were going to burst.

You all just breathed for a second, limbs trembling at the sensation of being joined like this, so intimately, with your closest friends.

Maybe this was the end of that friendship, and the beginning of something else, something more.

“Everyone alright?” Charles asked after a minute, and you and Carlos moaned your assent, making the Monegasque giggle.

He pulled out a fraction, then gave an experimental thrust.

Apparently, Carlos was a very noisy bottom, because every time Charles bottomed out inside him his moans increased in pitch.

Well so did yours, but this wasn't about you.

“I'm not going to last long” Carlos groaned, face contorted in pleasure at the new sensation overtaking his body.

You let out a muffled sound into the pillows that sounded like “me neither” and Charles chuckled.

He threaded his fingers through Carlos' hair and pulled, making him arch his back, and pounded into him, the angle perfect to nail his prostate dead on.

The force of his thrusts was enough to make sure Carlos' cock reached the deepest parts of you, knocking against all your good spots.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take either of you long to come at all, and you did so together. Carlos filling you up while your walls tightened and milked him for all he was worth.

When Charles pulled out of him, Carlos collapsed next to you, and the sight of you with your back arched, and Carlos' cum dribbling out of you was enough to drive Charles over the edge, fisting his cock and streaking your ass and the backs of your thighs in his own cum.

He swiped a finger through the messy mix of juices and brought it to his lips, savouring it while winking at Carlos.

The older man was staring at him with an open mouth, so Charles took that as an invitation to collect some more on his fingers and shove them between Carlos's lips, mirroring his actions from the taxi earlier.

“Jesus Christ”

You'd turned your head to see what on earth was happening, you saw Carlos' eyes roll back into his skull as Charles pressed down on his tongue to make him gag slightly.

You'd always imagined Carlos to be pretty dominant, but Charles was turning him into a lap dog before your very eyes.

“Now then” Charles snapped “are you going to clean her up while I fuck you again?”

Carlos whined and nodded, shimmying down the bed until he was level with your dripping thighs, licking a stripe up the back of one.

“Good boy” Charles purred, positioning himself back over the other man, lining himself up and leaning in close to whisper into his ear.

“And this time, I’m going to fill you  up, Carlos”

Needless to say, it was a long ass night, and the fun was only just beginning.