#anyway. charles being carried >>>>

[xxplastic-cubexx]

they always just carryin him around like a bag of apples

(X-Men #19)

[sojourner-between-worlds]

Continuity errors really are the bane of any long-running tv series huh

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[oscpstri]

not my team | formula fun

ft. hadjar, leclerc, albon, lawson, colapinto x fem journalist!reader

formula 1 drivers know the drill: when you're given a pen and merch, you sign it. but would they still sign it if it wasn't their merch?

INCLUDES: profanity, idk man its just cute, short bcs tiktok style duh

NOTE: got this from vcarb admin giving isack an inter jersey during the finals. didn't include all the drivers because too many, just went with the first vcarb vid i saw and based it off that.

( formula fun | mics up )

★ ISACK HADJAR

You run up from behind Isack— phone recording in one hand and the other clutching onto a white shirt and a marker.

"Isack!" you call out. He walks slower when he hears your voice, turning just in time to see you next to him. His smile appears even larger when he notices the phone in your hand, already knowing that you were probably up to no good.

You stick the shirt and marker out to him, nodding once. "Could you sign this please?"

"Sure." He takes the shirt from your hands, opening the marker with ease. Until—

"This—" He stops in his tracks, making you giggle from behind the camera. He makes eye contact with the phone then to you comically, dramatically dropping the shirt and the marker.

He picks it back up after a few seconds, holding it up to the camera. The color of the shirt definitely resembled VCARB team gear which was why the rookie didn't question further. But when he actually looked at the shirt, the silver arrow of the Mercedes logo smacked him right in the face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks in his thick accent, not even bothering to look at the device anymore and just asking you straight up. You laugh even harder at this, not able to look at the Frenchman directly in the eyes.

"Woops?"

★ CHARLES LECLERC

Charles was notorious for signing things that he didn't need to. Just give him a marker and something else and he'll be so caught off guard that you wonder how he hasn't accidentally signed a marriage contract yet.

So when you saw him at the Ferrari hospitality during media day signing a box-load of hats, you knew it was the perfect time to strike.

He was almost done with autographing the signature red Ferrari hats and you were off to the side, ready with your phone already recording in one hand and a driver's hat in the other. As he was down to his final one, you quickly walk up to him.

"Charles, could you sign this for me?" You ask, immediately placing the hat in front of him. And just like you thought he would, he signed it without thinking and only then realized the odd color of the driver's hat once he lifted his marker up.

He freezes in his seat, eyes scanning the papaya colored hat and the number 81 embroidered on the brim. He looks up at you with wide eyes, blinking comically like he was a kid that just got caught stealing candy.

He remains quiet as you take the hat from his hands, looking at it impressively with a smile. "Thanks!"

He buries his face in his hands, chuckling in disbelief. He looks back at you after a few seconds, mouth still carrying a smile like he couldn't accept the fact that you had just tricked him like that.

"I can't believe you just did that." You smile at him, laughing at his reaction.

"I have an Oscar Piastri hat signed by his father. Wow, this one's gonna sell."

★ ALEX ALBON

Alex immediately clocks you walking up to him as he made his way down the paddock. A grin appears on his face as he practically side-eyes you, already anticipating the worst.

"Could you sign this for me?"

You stick the hat and marker out for Alex to sign, urging him to take it. He only looks at it with a knowing look on his face. Damn Alex Albon and being chronically online.

"You've seen this before haven't you?"

He nods at your question, a giggle leaving his mouth as you groan in exasperation. He still takes the hat and marker anyway, popping the cap off and signing on the brim of the hat.

"Charles told me about what you did. Hilarious by the way." Alex gives you the marker and the hat back, still smiling ear to ear.

"Thanks." You look at the autographed Mercedes hat then back at Alex. "I'll give this back to George. Say his idol signed it for him."

Alex nods once at this before looking back up with a shimmer in his eyes. "Or you could give it to Lando."

You look at the man like he just solved world hunger. A grin broke out on your face as the both of you nod in agreement.

"I should have you help me out more on these pranks."

★ LIAM LAWSON

"Oh god." Liam groans as he sees you walk up to him, phone held up as you recorded the interaction. "What do you want?"

You look at him with faux sadness, sticking your bottom lip out dramatically. "I'm hurt."

Liam tilts his head at this, shaking his head in disbelief at your antics.

"Sign this for me, will you?" You toss him the team shirt, marker following suit. He catches it effortlessly, going to remove the cap from the marker.

You catch his eyebrows furrowing at the color of the shirt before he finally lays it flat on the table. He sees the familiar logo of his senior team and his shoulders drop, hand falling onto his lap as he looks at you with a flat stare. You swore his expression screamed: "I'm not paid enough for this."

"This isn't even my team." He nods his head towards the shirt. You zoom the camera in to the Red Bull logo before zooming back out to capture the New Zealander's face.

You feign innocence, shrugging like you didn't know any better. "Red Bull, Racing Bulls. Tomato, tomahto. Same same."

Liam continues to look at you in exasperation, a smile of disbelief on his face. He was absolutely done with your pranks. You bite back your smile, eyes still carrying a mischievous glint.

"Wait. You are Max Verstappen, right?"

★ FRANCO COLAPINTO

You couldn't really sneak up on Franco, because as soon as he saw you, he immediately lit up and started yapping away. He never even noticed the phone you held up, nor the hat and marker you had in your hand.

"And did you know that—"

"Franco," you cut him off. "Could you sign this?"

He quickly glances at the things in your hand before taking them without a question. He continues on what he was talking about, not taking his eyes off of you while his hands pop off the cap of the marker. He seems to find the brim of the hat immediately, marker making contact with the surface. But before he could continue on signing, he instinctively looks down and only then notices the black hat he was holding.

His hand immediately retracts, blinking and staring at the hat like it would somehow tell him why this was all happening. He then looks back up at you with his eyebrows furrowed, a confused look on his face.

"This is... Haas?"

You laugh at his confusion. The poor guy still didn't get it until you told him, his concern going away as he then joined in and laughed with you.

"But I— There's a dot on it from the marker." He shows you the crime scene, a tiny white dot from the marker was left on the brim where he initially made contact. It wasn't noticeable and you definitely didn't mind. He did though.

"Don't worry. It's mine."

He looks up at you with knit eyebrows, a worried expression on his face. "Are you sure? I can get you a brand new one."

You shake your head at his offer, putting your hand out so you could take back your things. "It's fine, Franco."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." You chuckle at his worry, reassuring him that it was fine.

"I'm still getting you a new one."

Sure enough, Franco came up to you in the paddock next week with a fresh Haas hat— the exact same one as your crash test dummy. Except this time, it was signed by the driver who actually owned the number on it.

[dannyriccsystem]

HII HELLO UM CONGRATS ON 1K!!! could i get 41, 46 & 47 with charles leclerc? thanks twin love ur work🤟🤟

HOW MANY SECRETS CAN YOU KEEP?

1K SPECIAL - CL16

Panty stealing + Overstimulation + Femdom

SUMMARY: You catch Charles snooping through your things, and you decide to teach him a proper lesson…

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: Handjob, overstimulation, Submissive Pervert!Charles, panty sniffing, smut, this was filthy omfg

FEATURING: Charles Leclerc x Reader

NOTE: First Charles fic? I actually can’t believe it. I love Charles :(

IT STARTED AS A ONE TIME THING. That’s how most bad habits begin—little accidents that turn into a sort of addiction. Charles didn’t mean to, but when he was gathering your clothes to take down to the laundry room, he pocketed a pair of underwear that fell out. It was unintentional, and he meant to put them in with the rest of the clothes, but it totally slipped his mind.

Later, when he was missing you bad, he just happened to stumble across them again. He pulled them out innocently, but the smell hit his nose as something feral churned within him. He brought them to his nose, desperately inhaling the scent that lingered: Your delicious pussy.

He didn’t mean to, he swears, but he found himself stroking his own cock, your panties wrapped tight around his shaft. He threw them in the wash after coating them in his sticky cum, promising to never commit such a filthy act again.

But he did anyway.

The next few times just… Happened, you know? You guys finished up, and when he went to gather a towel to clean you up, he just kept scooping the panties up and stuffing them into the pockets of his sweatpants, using them once again—long after you had fallen asleep, full and satisfied. Charles couldn’t believe how oblivious you were. You’d ask him if he knew where your underwear disappeared to, he’d deny it, and then a day later they’d appear in your drawers like nothing happened. You didn’t have a clue.

Or, at least he thought that.

You were fully aware of what he was doing. You knew because one day you happened to wake up after he had essentially fucked you to sleep, your ears immediately met with his stifled groans and whimpers as he jacked off into your lacy undergarments. You found it amusing, so you let him carry on, wondering how far he’d take it.

A lot further than you expected, that’s for sure.

It was nice having Charles play the dominant role, but eventually it got to be tiring always being the one out of control. So, you decided to confront him about his little… Thievery.

You opened your bedroom door, poking your head inside. There he was, shuffling through your underwear drawer like he was looking for a specific pair. You leaned against the frame, your arms crossed over your chest. He had yet to notice you until you cleared your throat.

The racer froze.

“Whatcha doin?” You smirked. Charles slowly spun around, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to spawn in some excuse.

“I, uh…” He cleared his own throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just putting your clothes away.”

“What clothes?”

“The ones I washed…”

You blinked, shaking your head. “I did the laundry, Charlie,” You purred, swaying your hips as you walked towards him. “I know what you’ve been doing, I’m not stupid.”

“What… What do you mean, mon ange?” His breath was light. Charles looked down at you, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He was slowly beginning to crack.

“You know what I mean.” You grabbed him by the collar, pushing him back against the bed. He fell back to sit on the edge, tilting his head back to look up at you. “You’ve been stealing my panties,” You began as you climbed onto his lap, trailing your fingers up his chest. “Jerking off with them.”

He swallowed thickly, scooting back further with your guidance. Charles had his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He wanted to say something—come up with a witty remark and turn things around—but he couldn’t. Not when you were climbing over the bed like an animal in heat, kissing his neck so sensually.

“I think you deserve to be punished.” You nipped at his earlobe. Your delicate hands pawed at his pants, palming his erection and drawing out a whine from his pillowy lips, wet from his own saliva after he darted his tongue out nervously.

“Please-” He shuddered, eyes squeezed shut.

“Please what?”

You watched as his head tilted forward, eyes opening just to stare at his growing erection with heavy eyelids. “Please punish me.”

You giggled, tugging on his hair. You forced his head back, making him lock eyes with you. “Good boy.”

You freed his aching cock so mercifully, your soft palms dragging up and down the underside of his pretty cock. The tip was leaking pre-cum, painted a soft rosy red from the strain against his clothing. He groaned, gripping the sheets and trying to restrain himself from fucking his dick against your hand. Be cool, Charles.

“Yeah, you like that?” You hummed in a sweet honeyed tone that nearly made him bust prematurely.

“Yes,” He whimpered, his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows knitted together. You giggled at the sight, pressing a kiss to his forehead as a form of appraisal. He shuddered upon contact.

You wrapped your hands around him now, applying just slight pressure on the base. You ran the thumb of your other finger across the tip, and Charles let out the most delicious little cry. His hips jerked upwards, desperate for friction.

“You’re so pretty, Charles.” You tilted his chin up. “Look at me, pretty boy.”

You started to stroke him, and every muscle in his body twitched. His moans were beautiful, making your own arousal grow. You then applied your other hand to the equation, which only made Charles get louder. He was close. You could tell—his breath got caught in his throat, and his loud cries turned into breathy little whines.

And then he came. His cum shot out from the tip, coating your hands in the sticky white substance, as well as his own stomach, which was now visible as his shirt rode up. You hummed, tutting with disappointment.

“You’re supposed to tell me when you’re gonna come, Char.” You sat up on your knees, shimmying out of your pajama pants. He eyed your pajamas, eyelids heavy as he came down from his previous orgasm. “Let’s try again.”

You slid your panties off, and brought them to his nose. He greedily inhaled your scent, a shaky hand grabbing the garment to further press it against his nose. You let go, and he continued to hold on for dear life.

You started to stroke him again, nails raking the sensitive skin. His sounds were muffled this time, teeth gripping the skimpy fabric. He rutted into your hands, desperate to come again. You smirked, whispering praises of encouragement.

“You gonna come, Charles? Use your words, baby.” You sped up, and so did his noisy cries.

“I’m coming, mon ange-! Please, let me come!”

“Good boy. Come for me, yes,” And with your approval, he released yet another spurt of his seed. He slumped back against the headboard, eyes shut. His consciousness was slowly slipping away. Charles gasped and panted for breath.

“Please, no more…”

“You did so good, Charles.” You wiped your hands on his thighs, kissing his cheeks and nose gently. You peppered him with loving kisses. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

[5sospenguinqueen]

Needle Little Love | Charles Leclerc x Ferrari! Reader

Summary: When you’re announced as Ferrari’s newest driver, fans love the budding friendship between you and Charles, especially when he adopts your penchant for crochet puns. Netflix expose that there’s more to the story. 

Warnings: Slightly suggestive content. Swearing. Fluff

2023-2024 timeline. Pinterest pics.

Requested: Yes by @rebelwrites. Find the full request here

A/N: There's a blurb halfway down

F1 Masterlist

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its_ynln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and others 

its_ynln chronicles of yarnia 🧶

1,609 comments 

francisca.cgomes okay but i’m gonna need that top in all colours please

→ its_ynln let me get your measurements at zandvoort 

user1 what is charles doing here

→ its_ynln i’m plagued by his brother and we both like to go zoom?

→ arthur_leclerc just for that, i’m not coming to your celebration party in zandvoort. i’ll go party with charles

→ its_ynln don’t want you there anyway 

→ oscarpiastri @/charles_leclerc the girls are fighting again 

→ user2 i love how they’re just assuming she’ll win 

lilymhe i love my pillow! thank you thank you thank you 🌼

→ alex_albon she literally carries it everywhere and i’m not allowed to touch it 

user3 we love how racing is just her side hobby 

jackdoohan day 116 of asking you to make me my own dinosaur 

→ its_ynln i can make a voodoo doll of you if you don’t stop pestering me

→ jackdoohan i’ll be glad when you’re gone

→ user4 gone where! 

→ user5 well she is currently leading the f2 championship, and they won't let her back 

user6 drop the patterns please, babe

user7 i love how half the people here are because of her crochet, not because she drives

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f1 just posted

liked by ferraridriveracademy, oscarpiastri and others 

f1 welcome to the team @/its_ynln we look forward to seeing you on the grid in the new year 

5,533 comments

its_ynln what can i say, it’s knot just another hobby

→ user8 babe, stick to crochet. stand up comedy is not for you 

ferraridriveracademy take good care of our girl 

→ scuderiaferrari thanks for letting us have her

charles_leclerc welcome to the team 😄

→ user9 why is this the blandest welcome ever 

→ user10 someone feels threatened

→ arthur_leclerc *trying to contain his excitement

francisca.cgomes this is the best news ever. will you teach me to crochet?

→ pierregasly because stealing my girlfriend over summer break wasn’t bad enough?

→ its_ynln are you still salty that she let me touch her boobs

→ user11 i know it was to measure her chest for clothes but still.. 

scuderiaferrari are we going to have to pr train you? @/its_ynln

→ liamlawson30 yes

→ alex_albon yes 

→ jackdoohan yes

→ its_ynln why am i being attacked by twice the amount of people now? 

arthur_leclerc thank god she’s not my problem anymore 

→ its_ynln i’ll always be your problem, little leclerc 

→ oscarpiastri oh fuck, she’s my problem now

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and others  

charles_leclerc winter break spent somewhere sunny  

2,316 comments

scuderiaferrari come back, we miss you 

user1 um, whose hand is he reaching for in that first pic 

→ user2 idk but we should be saying thank you for dressing him in that shirt 

its_ynln is your skin ferrari red yet 

→ charles_leclerc no, i keep getting slathered in sun cream :(

→ arthur_leclerc factor 50? 

→ user3 i love that she’s bullying him before she’s even been his teammate on track

user4 this shirt looks similar to one yn posted a few weeks ago??

→ user5 and the hat!!

→ user6 omg how cute would it be if charles was asking her to crochet him some clothes 

→ user7 we love a supportive teammate

landonorris rocking the bucket hat, mate. think i can get one in papaya? 

→ charles_leclerc i’ll hook you up

oscarpiastri i miss you, dad

→ its_ynln i’m not babysitting next year. just putting that out there ahead of time 

→ charles_leclerc not even if i ask nicely?

→ its_ynln maybe if you let me win

→ charles_leclerc 🤔🤨

user8 why are we skipping past the sneaky soft launch?

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

2024

“You know, we both have driver’s rooms for this sort of thing,” you breathed, giggling when Charles’ facial hair tickled your neck. 

His mouth sucked gently on the pulse point thrumming beneath his tongue, tracing kisses from your ear down to your collarbone. The stack of worn tyres cushioned your back as he pressed your harder against them when you reached around to pinch his backside. 

“Oi, I’m talking to you.” 

“I’m sorry, mon ange, but you looked so good when you were giving that interview. And you kept laughing-”

“Oh, so it’s not that I’m so irresistible that you couldn't wait until we were safely in the garage. It’s that you were jealous.” You raised an eyebrow at him, unable to fight the smile at his rougish grin. 

“You are irresistible,” he murmured, hands snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Why else would I be making out with you in an alley behind the motorhome?”

“Because you’re a horndog.” 

You and Charles had been dating for the past year, having met after he caught you winding up his younger brother one race weekend. Ferrari had been eyeing you up all year, asking the Monagesque what he thought of you, prompting him to pay closer attention. Prior to you signing your contract, you’d had to disclose your relationship to Fred Vasseur. Whilst the senior members of the team were aware of your more-than-teammates status, the majority of the paddock were in the dark. Both of you wished to keep the relationship under wraps until your rookie year in F1 had passed, reducing speculation that Charles was the only reason you got your seat. Sneaking around the motorhome was a lot safer than making out behind tyre stacks, but Charles didn’t care at this moment in time. 

“You going to be nice and let me win today?” He teased, nibbling at your lower lip. 

“I think you mean, am I going to let you massage my feet after I win? I won here last year.”

“Yes, yes, bow down to you.”

“Well, I do like you on your knees.” 

Grinning, Charles captured your lips with his once more. Tongue swiping against your bottom lip, he groaned against you when your tongue met his. Hands snaking into his hair, you tugged gently on the soft strands, enjoying the whimper you pulled from his lips. He tilted his hips, pressing himself against you. 

“The things you do to me.”

A loud cough - more of a throat clearing - tore the two of you apart. Wide eyed and panting, you both turned in horror to look at the misfortune person who stumbled across you. Fred Vasseur stood at the end of the alleyway, shaking his head at his two drivers. It was bad enough watching them make heart eyes at each other during data reviews but this. Behind him stood a cameraman and a mic guy, mouths agape at their luck. Drive to Survive would be flooded with viewers once they teased this. Breaking News: Ferrari drivers caught locking lips in secret tryst. 

“I’ve got Netflix following me around today.” Fred said bluntly, staring you both down. 

“Oh crap.”

“Yeah.” 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

next day

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by its_ynln, arthur_leclerc and others

charles_leclerc you could say we’re a close knit bunch

4,416 comments

its_ynln i fell for you hook, yarn and stitcher 

user8 not charles adopting her crochet puns 

jackdoohan so he gets a toothless keychain and i still don’t get my dinosaur? 

→ liamlawson30 that’s because he’s sleeping with her

→ jackdoohan if that’s the price...

scuderiaferrari finally. we were getting sick and tired of archiving all the pics we took of you both being cute. now we can post! 

→ arthur_leclerc please don’t. it’s bad enough seeing it in person for the past two years. i don’t want it on my timeline

→ user9 two years! they’ve been together two years! 

alex_albon can’t believe you posted a photo of her in a nice dress and didn't even give her photo creds

→ its_ynln he’s intimidated by my raw talent 

→ oscarpiastri i watched you flip over the handles of your bike the other day 

→ its_ynln raw talent

→ charlesleclerc @/its_ynln when was this? why didn’t you tell me? are you okay? 

georgrussell63 did she beat you?

→ charles_leclerc i let her win

→ landonorris yeah, you’ve been saying that all season, mate

→ its_ynln you got a nice consolation price out of it tho

→ arthur_leclerc ew!

user10 i love that charles has posted this and yn hasn’t mentioned anything about him lol 

→ user11 her entire insta is the two sides of her personality; car and yarn. can't have a man ruining the aesthetic

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

A huge thank you to @rebelwrites for the request. I hope this lives up to expectations

Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my Masterlist :)

[fangirlfuel]

Everything You’re Not

(Is Everything I Want)

---

At first, you didn’t notice it. The glances. The whispers. The comments buried in harmless conversations.

You were just the girl who loved Charles , the one who never missed a FaceTime call, who stayed up during red-eye flights just to catch a glimpse of him crossing the finish line through a blurry stream. You made him laugh when he was tired, gave him space when he was under pressure, and believed in him when the headlines didn’t.

But the more races you went to, the more it chipped away at you.

It wasn’t just the glamor. It was the quiet way you were not like them , the other girlfriends, fiancées, models, heiresses. You weren’t wearing Balenciaga. You didn’t know how to walk in sky-high heels across gravel without wobbling. You weren’t friends with designers or stylists or team principals’ wives.

You were the girl who bought Zara on sale. Who still checked your bank account before saying yes to weekend plans. Who couldn’t afford to fly to every race unless Charles offered, and when he did, your stomach twisted into guilt.

You weren’t used to being taken care of. You were used to being enough on your own.

But suddenly… you weren’t.

Not in this world.

Not when the cameras loved every other woman’s angles. Not when Twitter compared your outfit to someone else's Dior. Not when fans whispered things like, She’s cute, but she’s not WAG material.

You hated that you cared. But God, you did.

—

You didn’t bring it up to Charles. Not at first. He was already under so much pressure, the car, the strategy, the championship, the media. You didn’t want to add your fragile self-worth into the mix.

But he noticed anyway. Of course he did.

He noticed the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you shrank beside him at races instead of holding his hand like you used to. He noticed how you suddenly insisted on staying home. On watching from your tiny apartment with the curtains drawn. He noticed your silence more than anything.

And eventually, he asked.

Not as Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s star. Monaco’s golden boy.

Just as your boyfriend. The man who adored you.

—

He flew to see you right after the Barcelona race, skipped the fancy gala, the yacht party, all of it. Just knocked on your door in a hoodie and jeans, carrying a bag of groceries because he knew you wouldn’t have eaten.

You opened the door and tried to pretend everything was fine.

He stepped in and kissed your forehead.

“You’re lying,” he said softly. “Even your hug felt different.”

You froze.

“I’m just tired.. ”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “Tired feels different. This is something else.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not like them, Charles,” you said suddenly, voice cracking. “And I think the whole world knows it.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard.

“The girls in the paddock. The ones on Instagram. The ones who can afford to be at every race. Who wear designer without trying. Who look like they belong in your world. I don’t. I feel like some….out-of-place tagalong who’s embarrassing you.”

His entire face fell.

You laughed bitterly, tears burning behind your eyes.

“Even when I do show up, I get compared to everyone else. I don’t want to ask you to fly me places. I don’t want to be the reason people say you could do better.”

Charles reached for you before your voice gave out.

“You are never an embarrassment,” he said fiercely, hands cupping your face. “You hear me? Never. Not for one second.”

You looked down.

“I’m just… not enough, Charles. Not for this life. Not for you.”

“Stop.”

His voice broke a little. Like he couldn’t believe you’d ever say that about yourself.

“You don’t have to wear Dior for me to love you. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself. You’re not less than because you don’t live out of a suitcase or spend ten thousand euros on a purse.”

He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer.

“You are the only person in my life who makes me feel like Charles. Not the driver. Not the brand. Just me.”

Your bottom lip trembled.

He continued, voice low and unshakable.

“You think I want someone who treats me like a trophy? You think I’d trade the way you hold my hand when I’m anxious for someone who knows how to pose for a photo? No. Never. Because you are the person I come home to !, not Monaco. You.”

You let yourself cry then, your walls cracking wide open in his arms.

“I hate that I care what people say,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to fight this alone anymore.”

You nodded against his chest.

“And for the record,” he added softly, tipping your chin up, “when you walk into the paddock? You are the most beautiful woman there.”

You scoffed through a watery smile.

“I mean it,” he said. “You walk in like you don’t even know you steal the spotlight. It kills me. Half the team has a crush on you.”

“Liar,” you mumbled, blushing.

He grinned, kissing you slow and sure.

“I love you. Not for how you look in front of a camera. Not for what you wear. Not for how rich you are.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek.

“I love you for being you. For grounding me. For making me laugh. For never treating me like I’m more than human.”

You felt your chest finally loosen, the heaviness lifting.

“You don’t have to be like anyone else, amour. I didn’t fall in love with them. I fell in love with you.”

You nodded, breath hitching.

“I’ll still get insecure sometimes,” you whispered.

“And I’ll remind you,” he said, holding you tighter. “As many times as you need.”

You melted into him.

For the first time in a long time… you felt like you belonged.

————

PS.

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #1 for @elodieunderglass

When I was young, back in the early 1980s, I rode horses for a living. Show jumpers. This is a story about me being an asshole to a prince and almost causing an international incident. I would like to preface this by saying that I regret reinforcing the 'ugly American' stereotype. I regret being rude, as I was a guest in the country. So...I'm sorry, England, your royalty is and always has been trash, but it was wrong of me to be rude. Anyway. I was 14 years old, and riding in the Royal Windsor Horse Show in England. It was my first international show, my first time ever leaving America. There was a Protocol Officer provided by the American embassy, to teach us how to bow and curtsey, how to address various members of the royal family we might encounter, since they were personally handing out the prizes. I was an utter nightmare at 14. I was a brat. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Plymouth Rock, I hated every form of authority, I had just discovered punk rock...I was a horrid creature who should have been confined in a barrel, not let out onto the world's stage. The Protocol Officer reminded me of my mother, which was not a good thing. She was bitchy and superior, and it was clear that she idolized the royals. Worshipped them. Wanted to be them. I loathed her on sight, and immediately tuned out everything she said, while mocking her mercilessly. I was like that. So, I rode in the Open Jumping, and we won! There was a full ceremony, with a band playing God Save The Queen, fancy soldiers saluting, the whole nine yards. Then, the royals arrived. Prince Charles was going to hand out the prizes. He was there with a whole entourage...assistants? secretaries? royal ass wipers? Who knows. The lackeys followed him around like baby ducks as he approached. One of them carried bouquets of flowers for him to hand us, plus the ribbons and medals. First, he handed the goodies to the third and second place winners, then he approached me. There was a big crowd, and I resolved to be on my best behavior. Truly. I was going to be so good, and a credit to my country. I listened to the other winners say "Thank you, your Grace. It is a great honor." Right. I could do that. And he approached me and said "That was a very nice ride...for a 14 year old." And all of my hatred and resentment sprung loose. This chinless, brainless, inbred parasite who couldn't even ride a complete polo match without falling off his horse at least once (and sometimes more) dared to condescend to me? About my riding? Fuck that noise. He handed me the bouquet and ribbon, and put the medal around my neck. And I looked him in the eyes, smirked, and said: "Thanks, Chuck. Y'know, if you keep your heels down, maybe you won't fall off your ponies so often." Chuckles looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. His entourage fluttered and moaned. The end result was a Sternly Worded Letter sent to the embassy, a screaming match with the Protocol Officer, and a real question as to whether I'd ever be allowed out of America again. ............................................................................................................................ If you like my posts, please check out my pinned post. We are going through truly horrific times, and really need help. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[nolossforwords]

The Secret History Theory: The Wasp at Bunny's Funeral

okay so when I read The Secret History for the first time, one of the images that stood out to me most was the wasp at Bunny's funeral. There's a wasp buzzing near Richard, Charles, and Camilla at the service, which Charles ends up smashing with a prayer book. Donna Tartt makes such a point of describing this moment, particular the buzzing sound of the wasp, that I felt it had to carry some significance but I was puzzled as to what. There's a line afterwards about Bunny being good at k*lling flies and bugs, but I didn't think that was just it. I had two initial theories...

This is just another moment that illustrates the characters' comfort with m*rder and violence, even with a small and relatively harmless creature (ie, the wasp poses a minute threat but not extreme and they k*ll it anyway, slightly disrupting the service).

This is a pun or a play on words with wasp/WASP - as in, wasp the insect vs the abbreviation of White Anglo Saxon Protestant, which all textual evidence seems to indicate Bunny is. They've k*lled a wasp...after just k*lling a WASP. (Hopefully it goes without saying that this observation is not an insult to anyone's religious or ethnic background - just going on the book.)

But neither of these felt as powerful as other symbols or recurring themes in the book. But then, recently, I was listening to TSH audio book, narrated by Tartt. During Richard's first few days at Hampden, he offers many lush descriptions of the college's scenery - the dorms, the students, the twilight. And suddenly I was struck by the line, "Trees creaking with apples, fallen apples red on the grass beneath, the heavy sweet smell of apples rotting on the ground and the steady thrumming of wasps around them." And then it clicked -

Richard and the Greek class are rotting. The wasp is there to show they're just like the fruit: once ripe and promising but now they're fallen, corrupted, and the consequences of their actions are destroying them like fruit rots. It's almost too fitting for the old saying about bad apples. The wasp is there as a callback and a symbol...but this time, it's moral decay to which it is drawn.

Maybe other people grasped this sooner than I did, but just wanted to share! Always love revisiting this novel and wondering what new questions and answers I'm going to stumble upon each time.

[sthilarions]

I’m sick and haven’t the energy to develop this thought right now, but: Charles has Edwin magically lojacked. A tracker tattoo, tiny pale blue runes tightly laced together on his upper bicep. The tattoo is only a few inches wide but took nearly a full day, due to the delicacy of the work, and the quick-spoiling magical ink.

(Charles was worried about it hurting - he knows Edwin’s pain tolerance means he’d barely even notice a normal tattoo, but this ink is potent - but Edwin assured him it was totally fine, and didn’t flinch or twitch or react at all, during. He did, however, vehemently insist that Charles not get his own tattoo, when Charles suggested it a few years later, and Charles has some uncomfortable suspicions about why.)

When Crystal learns about the tattoo, she assumes it’s because of the same thing they’re using it for when she learns about it: Edwin has a habit of getting himself kidnapped. She thinks lojacking your partner feels a bit of an extreme response, given that surely there’s only so often even Edwin can be kidnapped, but, well, Charles can be kinda overprotective. And they explain that the tracking can only be activated by Edwin himself, which makes her worry less about it being a red flag situation.

That’s not the reason, though.

It became less of a problem, over the decades, though it still is sometimes, but in the early years it was a near-constant issue:

Edwin’s a bolter.

When he gets stressed, or upset, or scared, he runs. Faster than Charles can keep up. And, early on, he was stressed, and upset, and scared, pretty much all the time.

If it were just normal running it might be fine, but he’s got magic, too, mirrors that he started being able to run through long before he learned how to reliably get back, mirrors that he doesn’t always check before diving in. Even now when he should be able to find his way back he’ll sometimes panic and bolt too fast to look through the mirror he’s going to only to fall through and find it’s inaccessible from the other side - a mirror placed high on a wall or ceiling, or too damaged for two-way travel, or under saltwater.

So Charles has had to hunt Edwin down on other continents, in deserts and grassy plains, in haunted mansions, in London warehouses and backstreets. Found Edwin on the sea floor in the Mediterranean, once, having gone through the mirror in the captain’s cabin of a sunken ship.

Knelt down next to him, where he was sitting, on a mostly-rotted floor. “Hey, Edwin.” He was worried his voice might not carry, here, a couple miles under the surface, but ghost voices don’t depend on breath, anyway, and Edwin seemed to hear him just fine.

Edwin glanced sideways at him, then back to where he had been looking before. “Corallium rubrum,” he said. “Mediterranean red coral, also known as Precious Coral. Valued for its vivid red color throughout history, but has suffered from intensive harvesting in recent decades. There are hardly any sizable colonies left at depths of less than 50 meters.”

“Right,” Charles said, and shifted to look at the coral, settling from a kneel to a cross-legged sit, a few feet from Edwin. “It’s really pretty. They doing anything to try to bring them back?”

“A little,” Edwin answered. “They are extremely long-lived, so it is difficult to determine yet whether those efforts will be successful.”

The delicate, feathery white bits on the coral flickered and shifted constantly, which Charles hadn’t known coral could do, and he sat there, with Edwin, watching. The fragmented skeleton in the corner swayed a bit in the current. Finally he scooted towards Edwin and gently bumped their shoulders together. “You think you’ll be ready to go back soon?”

Edwin leaned against him, and nodded, and let out a heavy breath, which made the water swirl and the coral’s feathery bits twitch. “How did you get here? Are you - I know you don’t like deep water - “

Charles shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine, mate. This isn’t the sort of water that bugs me. ‘Sides, it’s not like I was gonna just leave you down here, yeah?”

Edwin nodded again, and pressed harder into Charles’s shoulder for a moment before bracing a hand against it to stand up. “Well,” he said, turning away from the coral to face Charles. “Let’s be off. How did you get here? Please tell me you didn’t use that favor from Turner just for this.”

Charles looked sideways at the skeleton as he used Edwin’s hand to heave himself up. “Of course not.”

“You did! Charles, do you have any idea…”

And Charles let Edwin’s scolding voice wash over him with the current, and grinned back at him, and led him home.

[alexiswritingstuff]

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

Logan masterlist.

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed. 

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer. 

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in. 

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.” 

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.” 

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles. 

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss. 

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired. 

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,” 

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.” 

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.” 

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it. 

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.” 

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further. 

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

[httpsserene]

httpsserene’s 1K Special | Track Limits

summary: tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting, thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. imagine me laughing maniacally. enjoy reading, loves xxx

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learning curve — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 & 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 charles leclerc x max verstappen x fem!black!reader 2.7k words. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. fingering. hand and finger kink. guided masturbation. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. dialogue heavy. max is a brat tamer.

max stated, “when you get your nails done today, don’t get a new set. keep them natural; you can get polish but keep them short and rounded with no sharp edges.”

you stared at max with a lukewarm expression. it’s seven in-the-fucking morning, and he’s woken you up from your extremely comfortable position tucked into charles’ chest to tell you that you’re getting your nails done and exactly how he wants them done. he must have lost his mind overnight.

“d’you think,” you croaked out, voice unused from sleep, “that getting my nails done will distract me from realizing that my thighs have healed from the friction burn?”

the dutchman opened his mouth to speak but you held up a hand to shush him, and continued scratchily, “‘cause it hasn’t worked. ‘n i don’t even have an appointment to get my nails done? ‘s not happening today.”

“i made one,” he responded with a self-satisfied smile, “it’s in an hour.”

“WHAT THE HELL, MAX?!” you exclaimed, fighting through the layers of blankets tangled around you to make your way out of bed to rush through getting yourself ready. charles, still asleep, snuffled unhappily at the commotion and rolled over facing away from the two of you.

max chuckled mutely as he watches you stumble off the bed towards to en-suite bath, “use my black card–i’m sure it’ll cover the late fee.”

slamming the bathroom door shut, your yell carries through the door, “I WAS GOING TO USE IT ANYWAYS!”

thanks to years of lounging in bed to the last possible second before you needed to get ready, you were exactly on time to your appointment. it’s a boujee “self-care salon” that you don’t usually go to, but it’s pretty much impossible to mess up a soak-off and basic manicure. actually, max is paying so there’s really no harm in treating yourself. you go from a basic manicure to the most luxurious mani-pedi package they offer, there’s even a hand, arm, foot, and calf massage included. you leave a healthy tip too; it’s not like you can run up max verstappen’s black card, he won’t even notice.

by the time you get home, you’ve completely forgotten about being mad at max for terrorizing you this morning. but, you’re quickly reminded of why when he jumps you as soon as you walk in the front door, tugging you in by your hands as he examines your nails.

“sheesh,” you gasp, “can i close the door first?” 

charles, more awake but still disgruntled (he considers any-time before noon too early to be awake, appears from around the corner and walks to shut the door behind you. he wordlessly shimmies your keys and bag out of your hands, and presses a kiss to your cheek, “bonjour, mon coeur.”

“good morning, charlie,” you murmur sweetly, ignoring max’s general incompetence, “may i…” you shift awkwardly on your feet, “can i have a real kiss, please?”

the brunet’s discontented gaze turned to liquid gold warming your body with the amount of love that poured through just one glance. he leans in to kiss you but yelps, flinching away from you at a pinch on his arm from max.

the older man grunts, “bedroom first. then you can make out with each other to your hearts content.”

your legs have turned to mush from deep kisses, so you’re thankful to be seated on top of charles’ lap on your vanity chair. the monegasque has one hand fisted in the curls at the nape of your neck, moving your head to just the angle he likes as he continues to explore past the seam of your lips. he doesn’t allow you to pull away for more than half a second to catch your breath, all of your hums, moans, and whimpers of delight are caught in his mouth. the lust fogs your brain as he nips and tugs at your bottom lip, the soft skin surrounding your lips raw already from his stubble. the weight of his large hand resting on the small of your back combined with the overwhelming sensations has you shifting your hips rocking back and forth on charles’ thigh, yet you haven’t consciously noticed you actions yet. you haven’t noticed how max has been calling your name to get your attention for a while now.

“liefje, come here,” max’s voice has a commanding edge to it, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention, “you’ve been patient like i’ve mentioned. so, i think it’s time you experience more than one of our thighs, hm?”

you squirm of charles’ lap, prying his hands off your waist when he tries to tighten his grasp, and eagerly make your way over to the foot of the bed where max is sitting–has he been watching the whole time? the monegasque huffs loudly to inform the two of you of how displeased he is at you discarding him quickly at the promise of something more. the younger man stands up and doesn’t manage to take more than one step in your direction before max halts him.

“and where do you think you’re going?” max asks condescendingly, he pulls you down to sit in between his legs, his chest to your back, so you can face charles, “only good boys get to participate. and if i can remember…two days ago, you decided to be a brat.”

the brat in question reddens, “yes! i was…being mean–but, you said that i don’t get to come, not that i don’t get to touch her?”

max shrugs dismissively, and he starts to undress you–pulling off your shirt to leave you in your bra, while he motions for you to tug off your jeans.

“mon chat–this is unfair,” charles whines, “let me touch her!”

“you want to touch her?” max asks, charles nods eagerly in response, “say you were a brat and apologize, and then maybe i’ll let you touch her.”

the brunet gapes at his boyfriend, stumbling over his words for a few seconds, before he turns to look at you, expecting you to help him out. you curl up, dropping your gaze to your lap and pulling max’s hand around you to play with it while he sorts out charles. the monegasque, too stubborn to do anything but disagree with max, clenches his jaw and fists, before he steps and back and sits in your vanity chair again. he crosses his arms across his chest, and turns his head up at max to emphasize his attitude.

“mmm,” the blonde’s chest rumbles behind you, he dips his head to press a kiss to your temple, “he’ll learn how to act once he realizes he won’t be able to finger your pussy, pretty girl.”

you and charles both jolt with matching gasps of surprise at the reveal of today’s sexual exploration. a meek whimper escapes you and max coos sweetly, “do you want to this, liefje?”

you nod shakily, ignoring the flush of heat to your cheeks and the way you press your thighs together a little tighter. 

“words, baby.”

“y-yes, maxy.”

“remember the rules: any time you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop or take a break.”

“y-yeah,” you say airly, “ok.”

“good girl.”

max tilts your head to the side and lavishes kisses along your neck. your breath catches at the unexpected attention, you can only rest limply against max as he sucks marks into your skin. he nips teasingly at your pulse point and you tighten your grasp on his hand to prevent yourself from moaning embarrassingly loud. you let your head fall backwards to give max complete access to the length of your throat, and in the motion you make eye contact with charles. his green eyes are piercing–you can see the envy, yet you can’t tell if he wishes he was max in this moment, or if he wishes he was you.

the dutchman moves lower and focuses on bruising up your collarbone, tugging and biting at the thin skin and you’ve quickly lost your ability to regulate your volume. every exhale transforms into a moan and max’s free hand gets more exploratory as a result. his lips are wet and flushed red when he pulls himself away from the expanse of your newly bruised neck, playing absently with the strap of your bra and whispers next to your ear, “may i take this off, liefje?”

“yeah, yes, yes–take it off,” you rush out, turning shy at the sound of max’s amusement, “you can take it off, please?”

the use of manners quiets the man’s laughter easily; something about the way you use ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ unhesitantly in bed causes his brain to misfire. he rids you of the bra, tossing it at charles, who catches it and stares at max in disdain.

the older man smirks, and brings both of his hands to your chest to ghost the pads of his thumbs against your nipples. the barely there touch had your back arching, pushing your breasts more firmly into his grasp to seek more of the sensation. his chest rumbles behinds you and he steadfastly applies more pressure as he toys with the buds–your moans are more like sharp whines now, and whenever he throws in an occasional pinch you shriek, as your vision already blurs from this level of pleasure. you’ll cum before he gets his hand inside your panties.

you clumsy pull at his right hand, trying to tug it away from your breast to direct him further south, but max tuts disapprovingly and you cease your motions as soon as the sound registers.

“actually, liefje–you won’t need my hand for this part, only my voice.”

you tilt your head towards him to stare in confusion, and max brings his hand up to caress your cheek, “i’m going to teach you how to finger yourself, if that’s okay?”

you gulp, the pressure in your tummy only building, “more than okay.”

max nods, and presses a kiss on your jawline.

“be good for me and touch yourself over your panties, pretty girl.”

you squirm anxiously, but do as he ordered. you drag your hand down past your navel and in between your thighs, trying to keep them as closed as possible without having yourself spread out obscenely. max, obviously, doesn’t allow that to slide, and spreads your legs for you, draping them along the outside of his, his knees pressing outwards to prevent you from slamming your thighs shut. you whimper shamefully, but continue to drag two fingers along the seam of your cunt over your thin panties, the fabric beginning to darken as you start to leak.

“nice and slow until you start to get wet for me, yeah?”

“‘m already wet, maxy,” you murmur, biting your lip to suppress a whimper.

(“merde,” charles groans from across the room, throwing his head backwards.)

max brings his hand down to tug your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cooler air of the room, and moans at how your glistenting already, “shit–always so wet for me. keep dragging your fingers up and down, liefje.”

max’s hand continues to rest on your navel after he tucked your panties away, and you quickly bore of the slide of your fingers, huffing silently and nudging your nose against his jaw for the next direction, “once your fingers are nice and wet, you’re going to take just one–and gently press inside, yeah? you should be nice and relaxed, okay–if your pretty hole doesn’t open up easily just keep rubbing at yourself and then try again.”

you nod jerkily, and your first attempt at breaching your inner walls fails. you chickened out–after your felt yourself opening up, the pressure was odd. however, with max’s reassurance, you took another pass over your cunt and then tried again. and this time, your finger easily slid within in you–a shocked gasp pushed from your chest at the intrusion. 

“you’re okay,” max murmurs, rubbing at your side and navel calmly, “take your time, get used to the feeling, and when your ready you can start moving that finger, liefje.”

it’s odd–the feeling of something inside you. a little uncomfortable, but not painful like you thought it would be. the strange feeling passes quickly, especially when you draw your finger out and press deeper–it feels good? you think, it feels good at least. max watches the array of emotion pass over your face, and once he sees the previous apprehension dissipate, he instructs you to slide in another finger. the addition for another finger is easier for you this time, even though the pressure is multiplied–as if once you learned that this wouldn’t be painful you were a lot more receptive to the intrusion. 

and when your second finger pops in, the stretch feels good. you sigh breathily, and without further instruction, you begin to slowly thrust your fingers. max leans back and allows you to awkwardly fumble through your own motions, allowing you to figure out what brings you pleasure and what doesn’t. you mimic what you’ve heard girls talk about before, curling your fingers, scissoring them wide, pressing them upwards–and it feels fucking euphoric. your moans begin to ring through the room, and your hips buck dowards to meet your palm, pushing in your fingers deep.

“hm–you see why you needed your nails cut now, pretty girl,” max teases. his words go unheard by you, you’re more focused on trying to find the one spot everybody raves about–you want your vision to flash white, your toes to curl, your eyes to roll, your back to arch, your chest to heave–but you can’t find it. you whine in displeasure, kicking your foot out angrily, and begin to more vigorously thrust your fingers to no avail. 

“let me give you a hand, pretty.”

max gently removes your hand, a sob falling from your lips at the newfound emptiness, but quickly soothes you with the press of two of his fingers inside of you. you and max moan in unison–max at the feeling of  just how tight and dripping wet you are and you at the size of his fingers. max patiently waits for you to adjust, before he begins to absolutely ravage your pussy. his fingers are unforgiving; his rhythm is consistent, the pads of his fingers press firmly along your walls, and he finds your sweet spot after his second attempt of searching.

you shriek, legs trying and failing to slam shut at the overload of pleasure—max coos, ‘good girl’s’ and ‘so pretty’s’ falling from his lips freely. it’s a testament to how talented he is with is fingers that as soon as his thumb falls to press at the bud of your clit–you cum.

it surprises you, max, and charles (from across the room). it’s so overwhelming you cry–forget a toe-curling orgasm, you’e pretty sure you’ve just forgotten your name. your hips are frantically thrusting forward freely, and maxx continues to rub his hand over yout clit until you start bucking away from him in discomfort. you’ve soaked the bed, again. the dutchman tenderly pulls his fingers from the pulsing warmth of your cunt, and calls charles to the bed.

the younger man rushes forward, kneeling on the bed next to max. wordlessly, the blonde shoves his fingers covered in your essence into his mouth, smirking wide at how charles’ eyes widen, exposing his blown out pupils, before they drop to a half-lidded gaze as he thoroughly slurps max’s fingers clean.

when charles pulls away from max’s hand, panting heavily like he was the one who was just brought to a mind-blowing orgasm, max drops that same saliva-covered hand to grope at the bulge in charles’ pants.

the monegasque moans highly, hips thrusting forward to press deeper in to max’s hand–but he pulls it away cruelly.

“you better go take a cold shower charles, since you still can’t come for a while,” max orders nonchalantly, “you might want to put some music on while you’re in there. i would hate for you to get hard again when you hear me make her squirt.”

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of really excellent analysis on Charles' reaction to Edwin's confession, but there's a huge aspect that I haven't seen talked about at all yet. And that is, namely:

Charles Rowland is a people-pleaser.

Doesn't seem like there's a connection there, does it? Have a seat, my friends. Let me break this down.

The show lays the groundwork for this aspect of Charles' personality early. It's one of the very first things we learn about him, in fact. He's kind and agreeable and helpful, and he's always, always smiling. When Crystal insults him, he laughs it off. When Crystal and Edwin fight, he scrambles to diffuse the situation. He calls himself "a good sort of a chap," and it's important to him that he is.

In episode 3, we find out why. At home, love was always conditional for him. He spent his entire life trying to please his father, and he confesses to Crystal that no matter how nice he was, or how good at sports, it was never enough. That's how Charles sees the world. If he can make people happy, he might actually be good enough for them to love him.

Not only didn't he earn his father's affection, he didn't even manage, in his own eyes, to clear the low bar of being good enough to earn the privilege of not being hurt. And his mother, he says, was "quiet." From the flashback we see, she never stepped in for him or defended him. However hard he was trying, it wasn't enough to get her to intervene on his behalf.

So who else does he have? His "friends"? The ones who literally murder him when he steps in to stop them from doing a terrible thing? The act he put on wasn't enough to win them over in the end, either. However friendly he was, however personable, they turned on him and left him for dead.

Then he meets Edwin.

And when he meets Edwin, he's at his absolute lowest. He's not smiling and putting on a show, for once. He's in a corner of an attic cowering while he slowly freezes to death. But here comes Edwin, offering him kindness, and company, and comfort.

All these things that Charles has spent his whole life chasing, trying to be good enough to earn? Edwin just gives them to him.

Of course he stays with this boy. Edwin is there when he's lost in the dark, shining a light to guide the way. Edwin has seen him unsmiling and afraid, not a shred of his usual act in place, and Edwin has offered him kindness anyway.

So they begin their time together. And what are the things Charles will pick up on almost immediately?

Edwin says right away that he's spent ages in hell. He's plainly had an awful time. He doesn't know how to handle people anymore, but Charles, he knows how to be amiable, how to smile, how to offer levity when things get grim.

So he does. He falls back into what he thinks Edwin needs, the way he always tried to be what his father wanted to see. In the very first episode, he tells Crystal, "I try to be extra happy for all of us, don't I? And I do a pretty good job."

He doesn't ever discuss his own trauma because these boys are terrible at communication, but more than that. He doesn't ever bring it up because he's busy being the support he thinks Edwin needs.

And importantly, Charles doesn't have the self-reflection skills to realize that's what he's doing. Crystal clocks him with shocking accuracy, three episodes in. "He's been hiding it from you," she tells Edwin. "Probably been hiding it from himself." She's spot-on here: when Charles doesn't want to examine his own emotions, or can't face them, he shoves them down under a smile and he carries on pretending.

But that's not the only thing Charles will have picked up on from Edwin.

It's blindingly obvious that Edwin is bad at people. He's terribly repressed. He's from a culture in which emotional honesty and physical affection were not valued or encouraged. But more than any of that, Edwin has his sexual awakening during the events of the show. Before then, he is absolutely clueless about his own wants.

So we have a situation where a consummate people-pleaser who has spent his entire life learning that he has to earn affection finds his way into a friendship with the first person who ever saw him with his mask down and gave him kindness anyway.

Of course he stays with this boy. Of course he wants to keep this.

And what's the best way Charles knows to win someone over? Well, by being what he thinks they want.

So, out come the smiles, for Edwin's sake as much as his own. But more importantly, out comes whatever Charles thinks he needs to perform, in order to keep what is the single most important relationship in his entire life and afterlife.

At this point, Edwin has shown zero romantic or sexual interest, not just in Charles, but in anyone at all. He doesn't especially seem inclined to dating, or to romance, or even to physical affection.

So Charles takes his cues from Edwin, and the cues are very firmly, for thirty years: this boy doesn't have a glimmer of interest in him, not that way.

Fast-forward to the events of the show. Fast-forward to a staircase in hell, where they are being chased by a literal demon. Suddenly his best mate, who he has spent thirty years with, who is his most important person in the world, is saying that he's in love with him.

Of course he needs a minute. Of course he has to sort that through. Any feelings he has for Edwin are things that he has spent literal decades firmly ignoring in the scramble to try and earn affection by being what he thinks Edwin needs him to be.

Because Charles is a people-pleaser at heart. And he may be dreadful at self-reflection, but he is aces at hiding things from himself.

[fluff-lover]

Healing Touch | Chapter 2: Broken Hearts

Logan Howlet x fem!Reader

Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.

The one thing you can’t heal? It’s a broken heart. Sadly, that’s exactly what Logan needs: in love with a woman who doesn't love him back, and only having pieces of a broken past, Logan needs all the help he can get. He’s too stubborn to ask, but you make it your mission to be there for him.

Masterlist

Being in love with someone who is in love with someone else is hard enough, but living in the same house? That's straight up masochism.

Jean made it clear, she would never leave Scott, and Logan knew better than to try and get between them. He loved her too much to cause her trouble anyway. He wanted her to be happy. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch them carry on a happy, healthy relationship. To wake up every morning to an empty bed, knowing the woman he loved was just a few doors away, in the arms of another man… it was too much sometimes, his only comfort being at the end of a bottle. 

He knew that if he wanted to move on from Jean, he needed to leave the mansion. There was no way he would stop loving her if he kept seeing her everyday. But on the other hand he couldn’t leave, not now that he finally felt like home, not when he felt he owed his life to Charles and his cause. There were other people in his life he cared about. His Rouge, Hank, Ororo… you…

Leaving wasn’t an option.

You knew exactly what he was going through, because you felt the same way about him. 

Falling in love with Logan was easy. He was handsome, strong, brave, he was kind to you and protective of the students. He kept training you to fight and was always ready to lend a hand whenever you needed something. 

Some nights when he couldn’t fall asleep you would stay with him and you would watch tv or walk around the garden, maybe even go out for a drink. Most of the time you would sit on a bench in the garden and just enjoy the evening sky. 

At the beginning he was very quiet and getting him to open up to you took time, but eventually you reached a point where you could stay up all night talking about anything and everything, as long as it wasn’t too personal. Soon you two formed a beautiful friendship. You wanted more, but Ororo warned you about his infatuation with Jean. 

You didn’t know what hurt the most: watching him in love with someone else, or watching him get his heart broken. 

If he gave you a chance you would love him unconditionally. That is if he even let himself be loved. He was so firmly convinced he didn’t deserve love, you doubted he would fully open up to someone. Even if Jean were to leave Scott for him, would Logan stay? Would he accept her love? Jean said it herself: the good guy sticks around. 

Logan didn’t know how to love, or how to BE loved. Simple things like wrapping your arm around his as you walked together, or giving him a little gift felt like defusing a bomb. He didn’t know what to do with himself, he didn’t know how to act when he received any form of affection. It put him on edge. 

One time he mentioned he lost his lighter, so you went out and got him a new one. It was such a silly little thing, yet it threw him off completely. He stared at the lighter that rested on his big palm as if it was a foreigner object. All while you watched him awkwardly. 

“You don’t like it?” You asked nervously.

“I do.” He mumbled before clearing his throat. “Thanks.” Then he put it in his pocket and walked away, leaving you standing there confused.

Logan didn’t talk to you for three days after that. Not because he was mad at you, he just couldn’t remember the last time someone gifted him something and he didn’t know what to do. You were convinced he hated it, but you were far from right: you had no idea how much he actually appreciated it, loved it even. Every night when Logan stepped outside to a balcony to smoke a cigar, he would run his thumb across the engraving and think of you. The hopeful look in your eyes etched in his memory. You were such a sweet thing, he didn’t know why you bother spending time with him, let alone buy him a present.

You let him have his space, and by the fourth day he came by your room to ask you if you wanted a ride for your next trip to the hospital. The way your face lit up made Logan promise himself he would do better for you, that he would be a better friend because you deserved it.

And then shit hit the fan.

It was a Saturday night and most teachers were hanging out in the common area, talking and sharing snacks. You and Logan were sitting next to each other having a couple of beers and sharing a bowl of nachos, when Jean and Scott walked in, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“How was date night?” Ororo asked with a cheeky smile. Jean smiled widely and showed her hand, a beautiful ring resting on her finger.

“We’re engaged!” She announced while Scott smiled proudly. The room erupted in cheers.

“Congratulations!” “About time!” “You finally popped the question, Summers!” “You guys are so cute together!” There was no doubt Jean and Scott were the “IT” couple in the mansion. Everyone took turns to congratulate and hug the couple, yourself included. You were happy for them, you knew they loved each other very much and wished them a long, happy life together. But you also dreaded how this announcement would affect Logan.

Just as you predicted, he was hurt by it, and while everyone celebrated the couple, you saw him get up and leave the room in a hurry.

You shared a concerned look with Hank and Ororo. You knew what they were thinking: if anyone could comfort him, it was you.

When you walked out the room Logan was nowhere to be seen. The first place you checked was his room, but he either wasn’t there, or he was refusing to open the door. After pondering for a moment, you decided to check outside. 

Logan sat on a bench. Your bench. The one you two would sit together whenever he had a nightmare, when he wanted a smoke, or simply be with you.

When you found him, he had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and your heart broke for him. You approached him quietly, but his voice made you stop. 

“Go away.” He grumbled.

You sighed and stood there for a moment, debating whether you should leave or push your luck a little bit more.

“It’s a free country.” You finally said before sitting down next to him. Logan groaned and straightened on the bench. He knew he wasn’t getting rid of you: you were an annoyingly good friend.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. What could you possibly say? Instead you threw a leg over the bench, so you were fully facing him, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Pulling him gently towards you, you pressed his side against your chest. Logan instantly leaned on you and rested his head on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” You whispered, your cheek pressed against the back of his head. “I know what it feels like to be in love with someone who loves someone else.” You said, leaving out the part where he was the one causing you this pain.

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he was comforted like this. For the first time ever he didn’t fight it. His strong front cracked and he let himself melt against you, too tired and weary to keep fighting his feelings.

“Tell me what I can do to help.” You whispered and felt Logan shake his head against your shoulder.

“This. Just this.” He replied in a low, gravelly voice.

You sat there like this for a while in complete silence, forgotten to the rest of the world, the moon being your only witness. Your hand rubbed soothing circles on Logan’s back, and if it wasn’t because you were so worried about him you would’ve tried to soak in the feeling of him in your arms.

“You know… The one thing I wish I could heal the most is the one thing my powers can’t heal.” You pulled back and Logan straightened again, this time looking back at you. 

“What’s that?” He asked.

You placed your hand on his cheek lovingly and smiled sadly.

“A broken heart.” You whispered.

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. He knew that if there was any way you could take his pain away, you would do it. You were so selfless, always wanting to help people around you.

“You really are an angel, aren’t you? Is there any time of the day you’re not ridiculously kind?” He joked.

“I see you still have your sense of humor, that’s good.” You joked back. “You gonna be okay?”

Logan nodded his head.

“I’ll live.” He answered. “Could use a drink, tho.”

“Alright, let’s go!” You said before getting up from the bench and offering him your hand.

“Where are we going?” He asked, confused.

“To get you a drink and get me some ice cream.” You replied with a wide smile. 

Logan chuckled and shook his head.

“Let’s go get you that ice cream then, Angel.” He said as he took your hand and stood up.

[fastandcarlos]

Sweet Gestures That He Does » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

Max is the perfect gentleman; he’s always doing the little things that so many others forget. If a door is there to be opened, he gets it for you, when the two of you are out walking, he never lets you walk on the side of the traffic, if you have something heavy to carry, he always takes it from your grasp. Although to him his actions don’t count for much, for you, they’re incredibly significant as he makes sure that you feel safe and protected in his company. What always amazes you though, is that he never fails to treat you as his priority.

» Lando Norris

It doesn’t matter the time or place, Lando loves to treat you as his passenger princess and take you from place to place. If you need picking up from work, he’s there, if it suddenly starts to rain, he’s there to give you a lift, he doesn’t care…even if you call at 2am. Lando adores chaperoning you around and letting everyone see you be driven around by him. When he pulls up, he presses the horn to let you know that he’s arrived, and secretly he loves being able to embarrass you a little, especially when you’re stood with your colleagues too.

» Carlos Sainz

Food is the way to your heart, and Carlos definitely makes the most of that. He loves to cook for you whenever he gets the time and make sure that you’re eating plenty of good food. If you’ve got an important meeting, there’s a healthy breakfast there waiting, if you’ve had a tough day, your favourite comfort food is on the side for when you get home, Carlos has all occasions covered. Sometimes, you feel bad that he cooks so much for you, but it’s a job that he adores, especially knowing that what he does always puts a smile on your face too.

» George Russell

Being around George often feels a bit like a dream, and without him even knowing it, being around him often makes you feel as if you’re on cloud nine. You always appreciate George’s ability to take you away from the stress of your day and relieve you of any problems, without even doing anything. The way he looks at you, and holds onto you, is enough for you to relax for a while and feel as if everything is alright in the world. Half the time George doesn’t even spot that he’s doing anything, but it always feels nice to know that he’s helping you feel better.

» Pierre Gasly

The little gifts Pierre buys you are always gratefully received by you, he constantly manages to find the perfect thing for you. If he’s in a shop and sees your favourite chocolate bar, he gets it, or if he sees a pretty bouquet of flowers, he buys them, just because. To Pierre, the gestures are nothing, that’s just what a boyfriend does, but to you, they’re everything as it shows you time and time again that you’re always on Pierre’s mind and that he always somehow ends up remembering all of your favourite things and bringing them home to you.

» Charles LeClerc

Very few people in the world get to touch Charles’ hair, but you are one of the select few who does. Charles is happy to let you play with his hair as he knows how happy it makes you, even if you do leave it in a mess. Most of all though, he likes to let you play with his hair when he knows that you’re having trouble falling asleep. It’s a small gesture, at least to Charles anyway, but to you it always means a lot that he lets you mess up his perfect hair just because it makes him happy to know that you’re finally resting.

» Lewis Hamilton

Since the day you met Lewis, you always knew that Roscoe was a huge part of his life, and so when he started cuddling up to you more than he did Roscoe, and let you lay beside him a little more, it meant a great deal to you. Roscoe still liked to receive a lot of Lewis’ attention, but most of the time you tended to slightly overshadow Roscoe in Lewis’ world as you got more comfortable with each other. You never wanted to forget about Roscoe, but it was secretly very satisfying to know that you had taken over the number one spot in Lewis’ life.

» Alex Albon

Sometimes it was just a simple hello, but you always appreciated how Alex would always send you texts whenever he was away from home. It was an incredibly small gesture, but when you were sometimes on the other side of the world, it was a huge relief for you just to get a simple message and know that Alex was alright. He loved to say good morning and good night, even if it was the middle of the day for you, giving you as many regular updates as he could as Alex knew just how reassuring each message was for you.

» Yuki Tsunoda

If there’s one thing that Yuki is good at, it’s his ability to make you laugh. What you love about Yuki is that he doesn’t care how silly he looks, as long as it cheers you up. It’s not a physical gesture, but Yuki is more than happy to clown around in order to put a smile on your face. Whether it’s a joke, doing a silly dance, or tickling you until you’re pleading with him to stop, as long as you’re laughing, Yuki will do absolutely whatever it takes in order to be the person that makes your heart skip a beat.

» Logan Sargeant

One of your favourite times was when Logan came home, most of the time because he never managed to forget you during his adventures. After each trip, Logan would return with something that he had bought you, the perfect thing that caught his eye when he was shopping in the city. Logan loved how you always kept hold of the things he bought and treasured their sentimental value. Even if it was only a small gesture for him, knowing that he searched every week (despite how busy he was) to find the something that you’d love meant a lot to you.

» Daniel Ricciardo

You never underestimated the importance of work for Daniel, however, it didn’t matter how busy he was, Daniel was still always making you the priority above all else. Even if it meant he was late, Daniel would still send you a text if you needed him, or call you late into the night, no matter how tired it would leave him the next day. You often reassured Daniel that you understood how hectic things were for him, but he never let that stop him prioritizing you, making sure that you always felt loved and never second best to him and his car.

» Oscar Piastri

You weren’t exactly the most social person in the world, social media wasn’t a skill of yours, but luckily for you, it was for Oscar. One of his favourite things to do was photograph you, catching you off guard, lost in the moment, and always managing to snap you when you looked your absolute best. Oscar left you inundated with photos that you could share online, but what you didn’t know, was how many of those photos Oscar also ended up keeping for himself, looking at them and reminding himself of all your great memories whenever he found himself missing you.

» Lance Stroll

The two of you were very unknown amongst the F1 fans, Lance understood that you didn’t exactly want to be in the limelight, but that didn’t stop him showing you that he always thinking of you. When the camera caught him, he would often wink down the lens, whilst people thought that was his way of impressing the fans, only the two of you were aware that that was his secret sign to you. He would always do something just to show you that he was thinking about you, even if you weren’t able to be there to support him in person.

» Esteban Ocon

If there was one thing that Esteban was good at, it was hyping you up, and understanding the interests that you had. The two of you didn’t exactly share similar hobbies, but that didn’t stop Esteban being interested in the things that you liked and joining in with them whenever he had some free time on his hands. He loved them because you loved them, even if sometimes he found himself bored doing your hobbies with you, he would never say anything to you because he knew how much you loved being able to do your favourite thing with your favourite person for company.

» Zhou Guanyu

It didn’t matter how tired he was, how busy he was, or sometimes how smelly he was too, Guanyu would still always be happy to give you the biggest hug in the world. You were a massive cuddler, and Guanyu was more than happy to oblige and give you what you wanted. All you had to do was look at Guanyu with a sheepish smile and he knew exactly what it was that you wanted. He didn’t care if he had to stop what was doing, nothing could top being able to be by your side and cuddling up to you anyway.

» Kevin Magnussen

It was quite a simple gesture, but you loved the different pet names that Kevin used for you. He had different terms of endearment for you depending on how you were feeling, he knew the name to use to cheer you up, or the name to use when he was in your bad books and was trying to make things right again. Even your closest friends often commented on how cute the two of you were together, and although they loved to tease you both about it, you knew deep down they wished they could be as sweet as you two.

» Nico Hulkenberg

The way that Nico treated you was something that many people noticed, everyone went above and beyond for their partner, but Nico especially somehow still seemed to exceed that which many of the other drivers were in awe of. Every day that was some sort of gesture that blew you away, whether it was a surprise date night, or flight tickets for you to be able to fly out to him wherever the grand prix was being held, Nico constantly looked for new ways to impress you and leave everyone else very jealous, wishing they had a boyfriend as amazing as him.

» Valtteri Bottas

If there was one thing that made you love Valtteri, it was the amount of time that he spent on you and making you happy. He made time for you wherever possible, and when you did have the time, Valtteri would be looking for something fun and memorable that you could do together. It didn’t have to be anything grand, even just a bike ride in the mountains was enough for you, but what you appreciated the most was the planning that Valtteri put into your dates together, making sure that they were absolutely perfect for you both to enjoy.

» Sergio Perez

Sergio always impressed you with his gestures, but the moments when you appreciated them the most were those times when your stress levels were at an all time high. He was incredibly observant and always knew when the right time was for him to step in, to stop you rambling and stop you from tipping yourself over the edge. He didn’t have to do much, all you really needed was to know that he was there for you, listening to him whisper into your ear to distract you and reassure you that you didn’t need to worry with him there with you.

» Fernando Alonso

One thing that you were always very appreciative of was how amazing a dad Fernando was. You knew better than most how tired he could get, especially after returning from a race, but that never stopped him stepping up to the plate and taking on every responsibility. As soon as something didn’t quite seem right, he would be up on his feet, assuring you not to worry. Even if you had more energy then him, when he was home it was your turn to relax as Fernando paid you back with sweet gestures for being both parents whenever he was away from home.

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Go Home - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 2667>

What. A. Fucking. Day. 

You were running around the Ferrari hospitality, with practically no energy after being up all night. The fact that you had even made it into work was an absolute miracle, but you thought that doing something with yourself might help you take your mind off of how you were feeling. 

It was safe to say that it didn't. If anything, it just made it worse. Your body felt more fatigued the more you moved, and plenty of people had noticed. They all asked if you were feeling OK, and you always responded with a meek 'yeah, yeah, just feeling a little under the weather.'

One of the many people to notice this was Charles. He had seen that you weren't your usual, perky self, and that concerned him slightly. After seeing you around for a few hours, not getting noticeably better, Charles took it upon himself to approach you. 

You had just walked out of Fred's office after delivering some papers, and he was stood in the corridor, seemingly waiting to go in. "Hey Charles," you greeted, sending him a small yet weak smile. You didn't want him to be the next person to ask how you were feeling, but you could sense it coming anyway.

"Hey, you OK? You're not looking too good..." he sheepishly said, not wanting to upset you, but still wanting to show that he cared about your current condition. 

"Oh thanks, Charles," you rolled your eyes, walking away from him. Instantly, you felt bad that you had reacted like that, knowing he was just trying to be nice and knowing that your attitude was uncalled for.

But, you really weren't feeling like making kind smalltalk with someone. You weren't in any mood to turn around and apologise either, so you just figured you would say sorry to him when you were feeling better. 

Shortly after, you heard footsteps behind you in the corridor. Charles knew you didn't mean it and it was just because you were feeling shitty, so he didn't take it to heart. If anything, it made him even more worried for you and whether you should actually be at work or not. 

"Y/N, hey, no, wait," he called after you, speeding up so he could catch up to you. "You really don't look too good, are you sure you don't need anything? I've got some extra time if you want some help with some stuff." he said, hoping that you'd allow him to take some of the load off of you so that you could relax for a bit. 

"No, no," you declined, thinking that he had something better to be doing with his time. He was just as busy as you were, if not more. Plus, you didn't want to give him whatever it was you had just in case it would hinder his racing ability. 

"Are you sure? I really don't mind, it'd be-" he started, but you cut him off with a sigh. 

"Charles, I've got it, OK? I do appreciate the offer, really, but you're just as busy as I am." you interjected, turning around and walking off from him again. Charles huffed to himself, unsure of what to do. 

He was certain that you running around and working yourself to the bone wasn't what was going to help your illness, but he also knew that you were stubborn as a mule and it'd take a hell of a lot of convincing to get you to change your mind.

For the time being, he resigned himself to the fact that you were going to carry on working. He'd keep an eye on you for the rest of the day, and if you got any worse, he would simply have to force you to go home. 

An hour or so later, Charles spotted you in the cafeteria, pushing your food around your plate with your fork. His heart dropped slightly as he saw your face. You had paled in colour, your nose and cheeks contrasting against your skin as they were as red as your polo that you had on. 

He leant against the wall with his arms crossed for a short while, his eyes glued on you. Your shoulders were hunched, one of your arms wrapped around your stomach. He spotted the subconscious, self-soothing gesture, and his hard expression softened. 

You really didn't look good, not at all. Definitely not good enough to be staying at work and slaving away for the rest of the day. Slowly, Charles stepped towards your table, the other people around knowing that it'd take a miracle to convince you to chill it out. 

"Hey, can I sit?" he quietly said, gesturing to one of the chairs at your otherwise empty table. You craned your neck to look up at him, leaning back and taking your arm away from your stomach. 

"Yeah, course," you nodded, watching as he pulled out the chair next to you and sat down on it. With one elbow on the table, Charles rested his chin on his hand. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, the question obviously leading. It was with an expectant answer, an answer consisting of you telling him how horrendous you felt and how you needed to go home. 

However, you replied with a simple, "I'm fine." Charles groaned, running a hand through his chocolate locks. 

"You're not fine, OK? Look at you, you look dead on your feet," he said, frustration seeping through his words. He never understood why you were always so stubborn, especially when it came to your own wellbeing. 

Going home was clearly the best option for you and your health, but you refused to just give up your pride and perfect work-attendance record and go home. "I'm just feeling a bit rough, it's nothing serious," you tried to reassure him, knowing he wasn't going to back down on the matter easily. 

"Nothing serious? You're pale as a ghost, you clearly have 0 energy, and it is just obvious that you feel absolutely awful!" he snapped, unable to keep his temper in check. He wasn't snapping out of anger, and you knew that. 

He was snapping out of pure consideration for you and comfort. Deep down, he knew that you were hurting and in no condition to be there, but that didn't stop his temperament from clocking out for a moment. 

He saw the dejected look on your face, the softness creeping back into his features. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Getting mad at you wouldn't make you listen to him, he knew that, but he still wanted to try and convince you.

"Please, just go back to the hotel. I'm worried about you, you know?" Charles said, hoping that by revealing his feelings, it might incline you to listen to him. "I'll make sure all of your work is done, I promise. You won't have to worry about a thing."

"But I've got so much to do, and I don't want to force someone else to work that I can-" 

"No, don't tell me you can do it. You can't do it. And I won't let you," Charles cut you off, squeezing your hand. "I'll take you back, make sure you're comfy, and I will have it all taken care of." he repeated.

For once, you were actually considering doing what he said. Your body was crying out for you just to retire to your bed for the remainder of the day and just rest. Sleep off the sickness and come back to work your usual self. 

There was the problem of your work, but you truly did trust that Charles would have it taken care of. He wasn't the kind of guy to make promises that he couldn't keep, and he would make sure your work got done on time and as it was supposed to be done. 

He took your silence as a yes, since you'd usually give him attitude if you were refusing his requests. He hated seeing you like this: tired, sick and downright dejected. A small part of him was screaming at him to just wrap you up in his arms and take care of you until you were back to your usual self.

In some ways, you being like this hurt him too. He didn't like it when you pushed yourself this far and risked your own health and wellbeing just for the sake of a job. Yes, he did admire it, but his dislike for it heavily out-weighed his recognition of the trait. 

"When was the last time you ate something? And don't bother lying to me," he sternly asked, and you knew it wasn't time to try and fool him with a clearly false answer.

"Yesterday. Well, more specifically, last night." you quietly told him, his eyes searching your face for any hint of deception. Yet, he found nothing but sincerity, and the pointed look in his eyes mellowed out once again. 

"And what did you have?"

"Just some soup and crackers from room service," you told him, and the sigh he let out was audible and slightly disappointed. 

"Jesus Christ... you're running on fumes," he mumbled, "How much did you sleep last night?" Charles asked, even though he could tell it wasn't much from your sluggish posture and dark under eye circles. 

"I can't tell you how much exactly but it wasn't much at all," you told him, now actually looking forward to going to bed for the rest of the day. 

"Come on, we're going. I will sort everything," he reassured, standing from his seat and offering a hand out to you. You took his hand, letting him help you up. Charles felt a small pang of satisfaction ripple through him when you allowed him to assist you. 

Silently, he led you out of the paddock and to the parking lot, where he navigated you over to his car and sat you down in it. You were slightly worried about getting fired for just randomly leaving, but if Charles asked Fred, pretty much anything was possible. 

The car ride was wordless while he manoeuvred through the streets, until he pulled up in a spare parking space near the hotel. Charles helped you out of the car and all the way up to your room. 

Now that he was close up to you, he saw how gaunt your expression was. He really didn't want to just leave you here to fend for yourself, since he didn't think you had the strength or energy to do so properly. 

"Can I come in with you?" he asked once you had reached the door to your room. You nodded, unlocking the door and gesturing him inside. To say that you had been in such a state, the room was in fairly good order. 

You hadn't made the bed, which was understandable given how bad your morning must have been, but the rest of the room was relatively clean. "You sit, I'll get you something to change into," he told you, walking up to the wardrobe. 

Opening it, it was mostly just your teamwear since you were only there for work and wouldn't have the time for much tourism. Rifling through your clothes, he found a soft pair of shorts and one of your Ferrari hoodies that he thought looked comfy enough. 

Turning around, he saw you already shuffled under the covers and sinking into the pillows. "You comfy?" he smiled, the sight of you lead there making his heart beat a little quicker. He really didn't want to leave you here - he wanted to stay by your side where he could make sure you were OK.

"Arms up," he softly said, helping you to sit up. "Can I?" he requested, asking for your permission as his hands hovered over the buttons of your polo. You nodded, and he quickly unbuttoned them and pulled the shirt off over your head.

If he wasn't focused on how sick you were, he would be practically salivating at how stunning you were, but now wasn't the time for that, and he understood. You were vulnerable, and he would be pretty damn pissed with himself if he allowed himself to think like that.

Pulling the hoodie on over your body, he reached a hand around your neck to pull your ponytail out. "I'll let you do those yourself," he gently chuckled, placing the shorts next to you and facing away from you around to give you some privacy. 

Charles heard the sound of a zipper and the rustling of fabric, finally followed by the sound of you shimmying back under the covers. "Do you need anything else?" he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. 

"No, no, I should be good," you told him, and Charles wasn't buying it for a second. It was at that point where the part of him that was compelling him to stay by your side and take care of you, protect you, love you won out. 

"You do realise that I'm not going anywhere?" 

"Charles, no, you're busy and-"

"Sweetheart, no. You need me, they'll be able to do it, I'm sure," he told you, and when you didn't argue back, he really grew concerned. Even when you were sick, you were normally able to bite back and give him some sass back. 

The fact that you had just accepted your fate worried him, even if he was relieved that he wouldn't have to try and convince you again. "I'll get you a water and some medicine, and then I'll sit here for the rest of the day or until you get better. Whichever happens first," he told you. 

Charles didn't miss the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, and he was glad that he could bring a bit of brightness to your day. Disappearing into the bathroom, he filled up a glass with water and rummaged around in the cabinets for some paracetamol. 

"Now you're going to take these, and then you're going to sit back and rest and let me dote on you."  he said with a slightly teasing tone, handing you the two small, white pills and watched as you popped them into your mouth before lifting the glass of water to your lips and encouraging you to take a sip. 

Once you had drank around half of the glass, Charles left it on the bedside table. "I want you to try and get some sleep, OK?" he said.

"Yeah, sure," you agreed, snuggling down into the covers. He hated having you just lie there when he felt that you needed his physical support as well as his emotional support. Just getting to hold you would surely make you feel better, and him too.

"Hey sweetheart?"

"Yeah? You OK?" you asked, and he couldn't help but grin. Even when you were feeling horrendous, you were still making sure he was OK. 

"I'm fine, yeah. Can I just... can I hold you? Or hug you? Or anything? I just feel so useless," he mumbled, instantly feeling like an idiot. But, before he could get ahead of himself, you responded. 

"Be my guest," you told him. Charles moved under the covers and then next to you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, gently tugging you towards him to that you could rest your head on his chest. 

You could hear the steady pound of his heartbeat, and it was a very soothing sound. Charles let out a sigh of contentment, glad that he was able to provide some semblance of comfort. He felt your weight against him as you relaxed, meaning he was doing his job right. 

Despite you feeling no where near 100%, he was glad that he could be the person who you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with and the person that would take care of you. You trusted him, and that was more than enough.

Plus, he'd be happy with cuddles anyday, whether you were sick or not.  

A/N - Hey loves! Hoping you're all doing well! I do have a little thing for the 5 year anniversary of Charles' 2019 Monza win, but it is nothing special. It is just a lil ol' something that I whipped up. Not really a story, but hey. It'll do. Have a wonderful day/night!💖

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