#and now I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it again without thinking of him

[monicaalexandraaa]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Okay I am so in love with this !!!!! I could not wait until tomorrow to read it! I love how he immediately jumps right in. I totally understand her feeling overwhelmed and a little scared even but he’s really just such a sweetie and it makes the whole situation hilarious and amazing.

“Like proper madly in love with you. I just-I had to tell you before my heart exploded or something because that’s what it feels like right now-like I’m gonna explode if I don’t just tell you how much I love you. And I do you know? Love you. So much.”

I just kept imagining this whole scene in my head of this happening and it’s hysterical and I love it so much😆

“What’s wrong? Someone bothering you?” The way his voice goes deeper and has a rough edge to it has your heart doing a weird flip, he pulls you even closer to his side as his eyes continue to scan the crowd. You watch the way his eyes go darker and you have to shake off the oddly comforting feeling you get knowing this random man named Harry that you’ve known for five minutes looks as if he’s ready to murder anyone who dares to bother you.

He’s ready to go to bat for her and protect her and I’m obsessed. Like pls feel free to have your voice get deeper with that rough edge all the time thank youuuuu🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

“Is that okay?” He asks in a worried tone as he helps you into the car, taking your tote bag from you after you slip the roller ball back into it. “God I’m already fucking this all up aren’t I? I’m sorry I swear-”

And him catching himself at times and immediately apologizing, worried he’s overstepping is soooooooooo sweet😭He’s so obsessed with her but still acknowledges that it’s a lot all at once and is considerate🥹🥹

“It beats for you-it’s yours just like everything else I have. It’s all for you because-because that’s how much I love you.”

I mean c’mon^ so dreamy🥺

I love how direct and honest he is. Even though it’s a lot at first he still makes it so easy for her to get in the groove of it and become comfortable😌it’s such a great mix of fluffy but also funny and entertaining.

YOUR SMUT IS SO GOOD! LIKE SO GOOD! LIKE WOW !

And I loved her little moments of confidence during it like “Okay Harry. Show me how perfectly made for each other we are.”🤩And when she says I love you back🥺🤭SO cute

The ending of this is so perfect. Him waking up off the intense high of it all and she’s been able to find that comfortability and connection with him so she’s worried now but he immediately reassures her. And it’s both of them just really coming to terms with it and how at the same time it feels so right and it’s all so freaking sweet😩

I want to stay right here in this fic😌I shall not leave. I’ll pay rent !!!!!! This was so wonderful🩷🩷

Soulmate Smells: A Harry Styles Soulmate AU 💕

Based on this post right here

CW: Obsessive and possessive Harry, intense feelings of attachment, smut, explicit dirty talk (Harry actually just talks a lot and can’t be bothered to filter himself okay?), lastly some light embarrassment and tiny moment of insecurity.

Tag List: @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @mema10 @angeldavis777 @maudie-duan

Word Count: 8K

A/N: You can all thank @likea-silhouette for this because they wanted more and said they’d never say no to smut so like…yeah enjoy Harry being obsessive but in a fluffy sweet and filthy way💕

Summary: A day at the farmer’s market has you leaving with way more than just some flowers and a few trinkets💕

You hum to yourself as you look at a few necklaces that are being displayed on a table in a booth located right in the middle of the farmer’s market you go to every Sunday. The man working the booth gives you a smile that you politely return before reaching for a small silver chain that has a flower pendant hanging on it, but when you go to look in the mirror and place the chain around your neck to get a look at where the pendant will hit your eyes catch something or more so someone in the reflection.

A man.

A handsome man.

You don’t know this man because surely you’d remember meeting a man with a face like his, a jawline that’s looks perfect for nibbling on while his lips look as if he’s been biting them all day but still soft enough that you imagine they’d feel like plush little pillows when pressed against yours. He has a grin on his face that would make you feel slightly uneasy at how big it is if he didn’t have a dimple popping out making him seem almost boyish and charming, his brown curly hair is a mixture of styled and messy that you can only assume is from him running his hands through it. But it’s his eyes that have your skin buzzing, they are so green and practically have hearts swirling around in them as they stare into yours and it has you deciding it might be time to head home for the day having bought a few little trinkets already.

You swallow down the sudden bundle of nerves you feel brewing in your tummy as you slowly place the necklace back down on the table offering the man working a warm smile before turning and heading further down the row of booths. As you walk past a booth selling flowers you can’t help but stop once you see the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, the main reason you even came to the market was for some new flowers for your kitchen so you bite the inside of your cheek before looking over your shoulder, letting out a small sigh of relief when you don’t see the green eyed man.

With the coast clear of creepy men you reach a hand down to grab them out of the white bucket filled with water but just then you see someone come and stand next to you out of the corner of your eye and soon a ring clad hand with a small faded cross tattoo between the index finger and the thumb beats you to them. A small gasp falls from your lips when they gently brush the tips of their fingers over yours in the process of grabbing the flowers making a tingling sensation run down your spine all the way to your toes.

“Do you like these?” A man with a British accent asks, the roses in his hand. When you look over you feel your eyes go wide and your heart begin to beat a mile a minute when the same pair of green eyes that you saw in the mirror are staring right at you.

“Uh yes they-they’re lovely.” You answer as you slowly back away from the man who only seems to be able to grin while looking at you, just nods quickly before turning and handing the bouquet to the woman working the booth. You take the opportunity to turn and walk towards the exit, not wanting to be visible by the time he’s done paying for his flowers.

“Wait!” You don’t look back as the same British accent is shouting for you, instead you take an abrupt right going past a few random booths on the aisle before making a left and then another immediate left, hoping that was enough to have the green eyed British man the run around as you reach the last row of booths near the exit.

“Thank go-”

“Jesus you walk fast.” You freeze as an out of breath but still very familiar British accent comes from behind you. “I have to-”

“Leave me alone. That’s what you have to do.” You tell him as you turn around so you can face him, and instead of the confused expression you were expecting he’s just grinning and running a hand through his hair as if he didn’t register the words that just came out of your mouth in as harsh of a tone you can manage while also trying not to panic.

“Actually I have to-well I guess I can start by just saying I love you.” You nearly choke on the air you take in to try to calm yourself down as the words fall so casually out of the man’s mouth. “Like proper madly in love with you. I just-I had to tell you before my heart exploded or something because that’s what it feels like right now-like I’m gonna explode if I don’t just tell you how much I love you. And I do you know? Love you. So much.” He goes on to explain as he reaches the hand with the small cross tattoo out towards you, the red and pink rose bouquet it in.

“I don’t know you.” You say slowly hoping maybe it’ll help the words sink in, but to your shock the man just lets out a chuckle as he gives the roses a small little shake making you stare at him as you quickly reach out and take them from him.

“I’m Harry.” He says warmly a smile still on his face as you give him your name in return, taking a step towards you that has you instantly backing up two steps wanting to keep some distance between the two of you. “You’re-you’re my soulmate.” You blink a few times trying to take in the words he just said and Harry takes full advantage of the moment and closes the gap between the two of you, grabbing your hand in both of his so he can bring it up to his lips to place kisses to your knuckles.

“Excuse me.” You watch a pout form on his face as you snatch your hand out of his grasp. “We are not soulmates that’s not-” your words get caught in your throat as Harry falls to his knees right in front of you, grabbing at your hand once again and bringing it up to his lips and then suddenly his nose is running up and down the inside of your wrist and you feel your whole body stiffen when you hear what you swear is the softest, faintest moan come from him as he takes a big inhale.

“Fuck you smell absolutely divine. Like-like oranges dipped in sugar that were left in the forest.” His words have the wheels in your brain turning, he lets out a small pathetic sounding whine when you once again free your hand from of his grasp. You shove the flowers into his face, his hands instantly coming up to grab them so you can dig around in your tote bag, your eyes narrowing when you find the small roller ball floating at the bottom of it. “Please don’t walk away again. I love you so much I can’t-I won’t survive if I have to watch you walk away from me again.” Harry’s voice is borderline begging as you grab the small roller ball from your bag so you can take a look at it.

“Okay just get up and,” you let out a sigh as you look around to see if anyone is paying that much attention to the fairly dramatic scene the two of you are causing in the middle of an aisle at a semi crowded farmer’s market. “Follow me.” You tell him making him let out a sigh of relief as he stands up, still holding your flowers and now supporting an even bigger grin on his face than when you first saw him.

“Okay. I’ll follow you anywhere.” You roll your eyes at how serious he sounds as you turn so you can lead him towards the exit, the roller ball securely held in your hand and you nearly let out a shriek when you feel Harry slide his hand over your lower back before sliding it into the back pocket of your jean shorts pulling you into his side.

“What the hell?” He stops walking making you do the same as he quirks a brow at you, his jaw tightening as he looks around the market, completely oblivious to the way you’re glaring at him.

“What’s wrong? Someone bothering you?” The way his voice goes deeper and has a rough edge to it has your heart doing a weird flip, he pulls you even closer to his side as his eyes continue to scan the crowd. You watch the way his eyes go darker and you have to shake off the oddly comforting feeling you get knowing this random man named Harry that you’ve known for five minutes looks as if he’s ready to murder anyone who dares to bother you.

“Yes. You.” You say annoyed making him look down at you as you roll your eyes and start walking again making him have no other choice but to do the same.

“I’m bothering you? I’m sorry.” His voice is full of regret as the two of you walk through the exit, you stop walking once the two of you reach the edge of the parking lot. “I don’t-god baby bothering you is the last thing I want to do. I’m sorry please forgive me. I’ll be better just tell me what you need from me and I’ll give it to you.” Harry tells you with nothing but pure emotion in his voice, his hand sliding out of your pocket and up to your hip as you turn so you’re now facing him.

“You’re fine I just-I need a moment okay? Do you mind giving me some space?” Harry’s face looks almost pained as he gives you a small nod before he takes a step backwards. “Uhm maybe a little more? Like five steps backwards?”

“But-but then I won’t be able to reach you?”

“Uh yeah-but you’ll still be able to see me.”

“That’s true.” The hand that’s holding the flowers falls down to his side as he lets out a sad sigh. “I’ll miss you.” You have to rub your lips together to hold off the small laugh that wants to bubble up from your chest as you watch Harry’s frown get deeper and deeper with every step he takes backing away from you. He lets out a sad sounding whine when his hand finally has to fall from your hip and land at his side as he takes the last few steps away from you.

“Perfect.” You tell him with a smile that he returns eagerly while giving you a little wave. With a little chuckle you look away from him and down at the bottle in your hand, your eyes squinting when you read the hand written label on it. “Soulmate smells? That’s an odd name.” You mumble to yourself as you try to think back to when you bought it an hour or so ago right when you entered the market. You close your eyes as the memory starts to replay in your mind.

“You like it?” You smile and nod at the man behind the small table of perfume oils. “That’s a special blend.” He tells you as you look at the small bottle, liking how it smells a little like fresh citrus but also a tiny bit sweet all blended with a slightly musky scent.

“It smells amazing.” He smiles and nods as he gently takes the bottle out of your hands, he gives you a look that has you nodding before he rubs a bit of it onto the inside of your wrist.

“It’s a soulmate smell so only you and whomever your soulmate is will be able to smell it the same way.” You just nods as you bring your wrist up to your nose to get a whiff of how it smells on your skin. “It might have them acting a bit-obsessive but that’s because it’s a potent blend but they’ll be fine after a few hours or so.” He explains with a laugh as you just grab the bottle from him and rub a few more dabs of it on your wrist.

“Careful not too much okay? If your soulmate is anywhere near here they’ll be very determined to prove their love to you.” He warns as you hand him your card so you can purchase the perfume from him.

“If they’re my soulmate I’ll feel the same though right?” You ask making the man just laugh and nod his head as he hands you back your card.

“Yes you’ll feel the same-eventually.”

“Holy shit.” You bring a hand up to your forehead as you start to understand why this green eyed British man named Harry is suddenly confessing his love to you, he really is your soulmate. “You’re my soulmate.” You mumble making Harry get a giant goofy looking grin on his face as he starts to walk back over to you.

“Isn’t it great?” He asks once he’s right in front of you. “I’m going to be so good to you baby-I promise.” And for some odd reason you believe him, so in a moment you can only describe as either a brief bout of insanity or genuine curiosity you reach your free hand out and grab his, interlocking your fingers with his.

“I guess this means we should get to know each other?” You question making Harry nod and before you can say anything he is turning and leading you towards a black Range Rover. “Uh where are-”

“My place.”

“Your place?” Harry just nods as he opens the passenger side door for you after placing your roses on top of his center console.

“Is that okay?” He asks in a worried tone as he helps you into the car, taking your tote bag from you after you slip the roller ball back into it. “God I’m already fucking this all up aren’t I? I’m sorry I swear-”

“No-no your place is fine.” You tell him deciding that maybe for right now it’s best he doesn’t know where you live just in case he turns out to be a special brand of crazy you don’t ever want to deal with again. Harry smiles and you feel your cheeks get hot as he leans over and places his lips to your cheek before gently placing your bag in your lap and closing the door. “This is going to be interesting.” You mumble to yourself as Harry rounds the front of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Pick whatever radio station you want sweetheart what’s mine is yours.” He says with a genuine smile as he picks up the roses and puts them on the seat in the back so he can reach over and place a hand on your thigh, as if it’s the most natural thing ever and he’s done it a thousand times. You look down at it and have to bite your bottom lip at how nice the weight and warmth of his hand feels on your skin.

“I love you.” His voice is soft and smooth as he gives your thigh a little squeeze before he pulls out of the parking lot. You place a hand over his and give it a small pat, your silent response since you’re not really sure what to say. He turns his head to look over at you, his bright eyes meeting yours briefly so he can flash you a dimpled grin before turning his attention back to the road as if he knows you’re not ready to say it back but you swear there’s a certain glint in his eyes that tells you he knows you’ll say it eventually, but the fact you’re sitting in his passenger seat is good enough for him right now.

It’s been an hour since you got the “welcome to your future house” tour from Harry and since then you’ve managed to learn quite a bit about him. One of the main things is that he’s in the music industry but that’s all the information he really gave you time to process before he practically dragged you onto his lap after plopping down on the couch and began telling you random facts about himself. Such as his birthday, favorite color which just so happens to be the exact same color of your eyes, where in England he grew up and how he talks to his mom everyday and has a sister he wishes he could spend more time with. In return you gave him the basic rundown on yourself, he quite enjoyed learning your job lets you work remotely because in his mind that means you’ll be able to work from his home, but you ignored that and continued to tell him things you thought he might want to know about you, but it turns out he wants to know everything.

One of the main things you’ve figured out about your soulmate is that he is extremely handsy and he will actually pout if you get too far away from him making it impossible for him to be touching you in some way. You think that maybe it’s just due to the odd reaction he’s having to the perfume you put on almost two hours ago but something deep inside of you thinks that this probably is just a Harry thing. You let out a sigh as you stand in front of the sink in the kitchen, you don’t know how you managed to pry Harry’s hands off you long enough to walk out of the living room but he didn’t seem to mind that much after you fed him the excuse of wanting to get a glass of water. He did mumble something about not taking too long due to how much he’ll miss you but you just ignored it and continued on your way down the hall until you came up on his very white and very clean kitchen.

“I have a soulmate.” You whisper to yourself as you grip the edge of the counter in front of the sink. “He’s a little-odd but he’s nice right? Yeah yeah he’s nice he just-he’s just drugged or like high off the smell thing so-so we can’t judge him too harshly right?” You begin pacing as you talk yourself through the weird mix of emotions you’re starting to feel about the green eyed man that’s currently lounging on his couch being your soulmate. “He’s cute so-that’s a bonus. He’s attentive and uhm he opens doors-that’s rare these days and he has soft hands which is nice because he likes to hold hands-and really any part of the body he can reach and uh-uhm he seems sweet and-”

“You think I’m cute?” Harry’s voice coming from behind you makes you jump but before you can turn around to face him he has his hands gripping your hips pulling you into him until your back is flush with his chest. “And attentive?” He asks as his lips brush against the side of your neck making you let out a soft gasp when you feel one of his hands slide under the hem of your t shirt, resting on the soft skin of your tummy right above the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-yes.” You stutter as Harry’s grip on your hip loosens just enough so he can turn you around allowing him to grin at you as he stares into your eyes.

“Are my hands really that soft?” You don’t hear any hints of him teasing or messing with you hidden in his voice as his hands gently cup the sides of your face. “I use a special rose oil lotion every night before bed.” He explains as the pads of his thumbs softly run over your cheekbones, you let out a quiet chuckle at how genuine he is as he continues to divulge random facts about himself to you.

“Oh that sounds nice.” He smiles as he takes a small step closer to you, completely crowding your space now as he tilts your head upwards just slightly.

“If I don’t kiss you now I-I think my heart is going to give out because your lips look like they taste like heaven and I just need to feel them on mine.” You barely get to bring your hands up to grab onto his worn out t shirt before his lips are crashing into yours, his hold on your face sliding down to the sides of your neck as he walks you backward until you’re pressed up against the door of his refrigerator.

His lips are soft as they move against yours in a kiss that has your heart hammering in your chest and your lungs burning as they beg for air but you don’t want to pull away, not yet because you’ve never felt anything that feels the way Harry’s mouth feels on yours. You pull away making a whine leave Harry as one of his hands travels down to your hip, you let out a small squeal when you feel him grab at your thigh and hike your leg over his hip allowing him to take half a step closer to you. You take a few deep breaths and try to gain some sense of composure but then Harry’s lips are on your jaw, kissing and nipping their way down the side of your neck.

“You drive me fucking crazy baby.” His words are muffled as he presses his lips to the spot below your ear. “So perfect.” He says before he places a kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck. You close your eyes and instinctively tilt your head letting his have more access making him smile against your skin. “So pretty.” His breath is warm against your neck as he drags his lips across your skin as they make their way back up to your jaw. “And all mine.”

Your eyes snap open at his choice of words but before you can even think of arguing his lips are back on yours in a hungry kiss. Harry’s tongue slides into your mouth and you just swallow down his moan as you let him lick into your mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that’s full of want and a deep need, the kind of kiss that leaves you panting as you try to catch your breath when he pulls away.

“Harry we-”

“Say it again.” His voice is low and rough as he rests his forehead against yours, a hand still holding onto the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently at the spot just below your ear. You feel a moan work its way up from deep in your chest as Harry’s hand gives your neck a small squeeze. “Please baby say it again. Say my name again.”

“Harry.” He lets out a groan as his name rolls off your tongue, his hand on your thigh moving to grab one of yours that’s gripping onto his shirt.

“This is what you do to me.” You feel your face get hot as he places your hand over the very prominent bulge in his jeans. “Been ready to burst since the moment I saw you-god you just came out of nowhere and suddenly it was like no one else in the whole world existed besides you and you looked so fucking pretty and-and fuck I fell in love with you right then and there in the middle of that market.” His words are a bit jumbled as you watch him try to maintain some sense of control, but you can tell he’s close to losing the battle he’s fighting with himself because the hand that’s pressing yours against his crotch presses your hand down harder until you’re fully palming him over his jeans.

“You really think you love me?” Your question sets something off in Harry, his eyes turn dark as he pulls back just enough so he can look you right in the eyes with the most serious face you’ve ever seen him make.

“Think?” He questions as his hands cup the sides of your face as he lets out a laugh and shakes his head making you swallow thickly. “No baby I don’t think I love you.” His voice is husky as he leans in so his lips are only a breath away from yours. “I know I do.” And with that his lips are pressing against yours in a kiss that’s no longer hungry and desperate but now just full of passion and a deep emotion and you know it’s Harry’s attempt at trying to make you feel just how much he loves you with every swipe of his tongue against yours.

Without warning Harry grabs your other thigh and hikes it over his hip so he can get a firm grip of your ass making you wrap your arms around his neck for support. You let out a small shocked noise that makes Harry laugh as he backs up, adjusting his hold on you so he’s sure he won’t drop you as he walks you out of the kitchen and down the hallway to a bedroom all while placing quick little kisses to your lips. He smiles at you when he pulls away leaving you feeling breathless as he gently places you onto his bed, your legs hanging off the end as he stands between them so he can lean over you and place a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Feel this?” You feel him grab yours hands and watch as his face softens as he places them on his chest, you feel the steady beating of his heart under your palms. “It beats for you-it’s yours just like everything else I have. It’s all for you because-because that’s how much I love you.” For the first time in your life you can’t think of anything to say, Harry’s eyes are locked on yours and you can not only hear the emotion in his voice but you can feel it in every word that comes out of his mouth. So when all you can do is nod, your way of trying to tell him you understand he gives you a grin in return and drops his hands from holding yours to his chest so he can once again lean over you.

“You get it now don’t you love?” He asks as he places a hand on either side of your head holding himself up. You bring your hands up to cup his face making him turn his head so he can place a kiss to the inside of your palm before his eyes find yours.

“Yes-I think I get it now.” Harry just playfully rolls his eyes as you pull his face down just a little so you can place a quick kiss to his lips.

“That’s not good enough for me baby.” His words have you feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement as he stands up making your hands fall to your sides. “Need to show you how I feel about you.” He tells you as his hands reach for the waistband of your shorts. “Can I do that sweetheart? Show you how perfect we are for each other?” His eyes search yours for any signs of disapproval and when all you do is give him a small nod he begins to unbutton them so he can slide them down until they land on the floor next to his feet.

You watch it all happen as if in slow motion, his hands grab the hem of his t shirt, effortlessly pulling it over his head letting your eyes take in his toned stomach and the scattering of tattoos on his chest and he watches as they travel down to the bulge in his pants. He lets out a groan as you lick your top lip before sinking your teeth into your bottom one while bringing your eyes back up to his face, you watch a smile take over as he reaches down to undo his jeans, his eyes never leaving yours as he works them down to his ankles so he can kick them off. He hovers over you and leans down so his lips are right next to your ear as your hands rest on top of his shoulders.

“Can I see you baby? All of you? Need to get a better look at this body that was made for me.” His voice is laced with a deep rooted desire that has your heart racing and an aching feeling for more of him beginning to grow low in your tummy.

“Okay.” You mumble as your hands begin to slide down his chest, feeling every inch of his toned stomach. “Yes you-you can see all of me Harry.” A soft moan falls from him as his name leaves your mouth, his lips kiss the side of your neck before he stands up making your hands fall to his hips. He watches in awe as you sit up a bit so you can take your shirt off followed by your bra that you just toss to the floor, you feel your cheeks get hot as his eyes take in the new parts of your body that you’re allowing him to see. Without looking at him you reach down to the waistband of your panties and lift your hips so you can start to take them off, Harry’s hands quickly taking over to help you slide them down your legs. You hear his breathing turn more rapid and in a moment of bravery you chance a look at him and you feel your whole body light up when his eyes slowly travel up from your exposed center to the curves of your breasts before finally landing on your face.

“Fuck you’re-you’re so beyond beautiful there’s not even a word to describe just how stunning you are.” You try to bring your hands up to cover your face so he can’t see how embarrassed you are under his intense gaze but Harry isn’t having it. “Don’t hide from me baby I’ve gone long enough without seeing your face.” His hands are gently gripping your wrists so he can move your hands, placing them down at your sides. He gives you a warm smile as he leans over and places a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I gotta be honest with you sweetheart if I don’t come soon I’ll be borderline worthless the moment I feel that pretty pussy wrapped around me and-and I can’t have the first time we fuck or make love-or whatever you want to call it only last a few minutes.” You have to bite back a small laugh as Harry shamelessly admits how truly riled up he is and how close he is to coming undone.

“Do you need me to-”

“I don’t need you to do anything besides enjoy yourself okay?” You just nod and give him a silly smile as he makes quick work of sliding his boxers down, a groan leaving his mouth as he wraps a hand around his hard shaft and gives himself a few slow pumps. “I’m gonna make a mess all over you.” He says with a moan as he holds himself up with one hand so he’s leaning over you. “But don’t worry baby I’ll clean you up real good when I’m done.” His voice is deeper and rougher and you instinctively spread your legs a little wider letting him settle between them as he begins to give himself quicker more determined pumps with his fist.

Your eyes can’t help themselves as they travel down his body until they reach his long thick cock he has his hand tightly wrapped around. The sight making the dull ache in your lower tummy turn more intense as you try to imagine what it’s going to feel like when he’s inside you. You let out a soft moan when Harry runs the tip of his shaft up and down your slick folds, teasing both you and himself making him groan and close his eyes.

“So nice and wet for me already-it’s like your body knows who it belongs to doesn’t it baby? who it was made for.” Your response gets stuck in your throat as Harry lets out a loud moan and you feel the first warm drop of his release land on the front of your already soaked cunt. “Oh god-you look so good covered in me baby-fuck you’re so pretty.” His eyes are glued on your wet center as he spills his release all over your pussy, a soft whine falling from your lips as a few spurts land on your clit.

“If I wasn’t so madly and deeply in love with you I’d be a bit embarrassed at how quickly that happened.” He says with a breathy laugh as he tries to calm his heart down a bit and catch his breath. You just giggle and run a hand through his hair, oddly enjoying how honest he is with you even while the two of you are completely naked and partially covered in his release. “Are you okay my love? Do you need anything or can I eat your perfectly delicious looking cunt really quick before I properly fuck you?” Your eyes go wide at his bluntness and he gives you a dimpled grin before he lowers himself down so he’s on his knees, his hands gently resting on the tops of your thighs.

“I don’t-”

“Sorry baby do you prefer to call it something else? I don’t really like the whole making love thing since we don’t need to make love we already have it so-”

“It’s not that.” Harry quirks a brow as he looks up at you from his spot between your legs, your heart swells when you feel his hands soothingly run up and down your thighs. “I just haven’t uhm no one’s ever-”

“I understand love.” His soft voice and hands gripping your knees stop the rest of your sentence from coming out. “I’m not going to lie I quite like the fact no one else has gotten to get a taste of what’s mine-I have a little bit of a jealously issue so knowing I’m going to be the only one that gets to enjoy this part of you is doing wonders for me.” You don’t get much time to respond before Harry is leaning in and placing open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be gentle baby don’t worry and if you don’t like it tell me or-better yet just give my hair a good tug and I’ll stop.” You barely get finished nodding at him when you feel his tongue lick a hot stripe right up the middle of your cunt.

Your hands reach out and grab the sheets as Harry lets out a deep moan that sends a pleasant vibration through your core. As soon as Harry gets his first taste of your arousal mixed with a bit of his own all promises to be gentle get tossed to the side, not that he’s rough but he begins to lick and suck at you like a man starved and you’re the only thing that satiate him. You let out a moan of his name as he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, your hands daringly reach down and tangle themselves in his hair earning you a groan of pleasure from him.

“You taste so good baby.” His words are muffled but you hear them and you can’t help but feel an odd sort of satisfaction at the fact he enjoys how you taste. When he pushes his tongue and swirls it inside your soaked opening you feel the pressure begin to build in your lower tummy, he hums against you as you pull his hair making the tip of his nose bump your clit. “You like that? Like the way my tongue feels on your pussy baby? Want more?”

“Yes please-feels so good.” You answer with a small moan that has Harry smiling and kissing the inside of your thighs before he goes back to licking his release off your glistening folds. You arch your back and tighten your grip in his hair when he gives your clit a few well timed flicks with his tongue.

“So good-oh Harry that’s so good oh god.” Your words are a rushed mess as you feel the pressure finally snap making you let out a cry of his name as your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Harry moans against you as he tries to get every last drop of your release on his tongue so he can swallow it down, not wanting any of it to go to waste. You release your grip on his hair and bring your hands up to cover your face as you try to catch your breath.

“Shit baby you might just be my new favorite meal.” You let out a chuckle as you move your hands just in time to see Harry lick his lips as he stands up. “How was that? Be honest okay? We’re gonna be together forever so if there’s parts of that you didn’t like just tell me so I can do it better.” He tells you as he hovers over you, his face still a bit shiny with your arousal covering his chin. “I can’t have the love of my life not fully satisfied by the way I eat her pussy.”

“I mean you had me seeing stars by the end of it so I’d say it was good.”

“Good? Just good?”

“Great-sorry it was great Harry I swear.”

“You know I’d honestly rather die than know you found the experience of my head between your legs and my tongue deep in your cunt as just great-I’m looking for maybe amazing? Other worldly? I’d even take fantastic but great? Baby that’s-that’s not good enough for me.” He furrows his brows as he looks you in your eyes and when he starts to lower himself as if he’s about to give you another round with his tongue you reach out and grab hold of his face with your hands.

“It was so amazing they haven’t invented a word to describe how truly wonderful you made me feel.” Harry can’t help but grin at you as you use his own line on him.

“Fuck I love you.” He says with a laugh before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. “I need to be inside you baby-need to feel my big cock spreading your tight little pussy open.” You feel his hips roll into yours letting the tip of his hard cock nudge at your entrance. “Shit baby need it so bad please let me fuck you-please.”

“Okay Harry. Show me how perfectly made for each other we are.” He doesn’t waste anytime before he’s pushing the tip of his thick shaft into your warm wet cunt.

“Oh fuck.” He groans as he slowly pushes into you letting you feel every inch of him. “Oh god baby you-you feel heavenly.” He says with a moan as he closes his eyes once he bottoms out and you’re completely full of him.

“You-you’re so big.” Your words are strained as you claw at Harry’s shoulders making him let out a loud moan as his eyes open up while he pulls out just a bit and slowly pushes back in.

“I know and you’re taking it so well.” He praises before he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Only been inside you for a minute and I’m already addicted to how fucking good you feel-shit baby you’re never allowed to leave this bed.” He grunts as he grabs at the side of your thigh and hikes your leg over his hip. “Please just move in-I need to be inside this tight cunt all day.”

“H-Harry oh god.” You let out a loud moan as his pace begins to quicken.

“You feel that don’t you baby?” He asks as he leans down and places his lips to the side of your neck. “Feel how perfect we are together-how good we are together.” He mumbles against the soft sensitive skin of your neck as his thrusts turn more deliberate as if he’s trying to really prove his point with every swirl and rock of his hips making your mouth fall open.

“So good together.” You moan making Harry smile against the side of your neck as you wrap your other leg around him trying to pull him even closer. In that moment as you feel Harry give you a few harsh thrusts making the tip of his cock hit the spot that has your toes curling you begin to get overcome with a strong feeling of completion, as if being connected with Harry in this way feels like the final piece you didn’t even know you were missing to the puzzle that makes up your heart has been put in place.

Harry was the missing piece.

“I knew you’d feel it eventually baby.” Harry mumbles in your ear as he gives you a hard thrust of his hips. “Knew you’d love me by the end of the night.” He can’t hide the smugness in his voice as his lips kiss up your jaw until they are hovering right over yours. “Come on sweetheart tell me you love me and I’ll have you seeing more than just stars-I’ll have you seeing your whole future with me.” His eyes stare into yours, his hips still for a moment as you give him a smile that tells him exactly what you’re about to say.

“I love you.” Your voice is shaky and you barley get it all out before Harry’s lips are on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he can taste the words that just rolled of your tongue with every brush of his own against it.

“I love you too. So much-never letting you go.” He murmurs as his hips find a new pace, filled with a burning desire to have you come apart for him. “You’re mine aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine baby tell me this pussy is mine-these lips are mine. All of you is mine.” You let out a cry of his name as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, your walls clench around him as you come undone with a harsh thrust of his hips.

“Yes I’m yours-I’m all yours Harry.” You pant as he fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts turning quick and relentless as he chases his own release.

“Fuck-I’m gonna fill you up so nice you’re gonna feel me dripping out of you for days.” He groans as your name tumbles out of his mouth over and over as you feel the warmth of his release coating your walls deep inside you. “Oh god you’ve ruined me baby-never gonna be able to go a day without being stuffed inside of you now that I’ve gotten to experience it.” You let out a little giggle as he practically falls on top of you, feeling a sense of comfort from the weight of him being firmly pressed against you.

“I guess it’s a good thing you asked me to move in then.” You tease making his chest vibrate as he lets out a chuckle. Moments later you feel him let out a sigh as your hands start running up and down his back, you feel him begin to relax under your touch.

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers as if he’s worried talking any louder might shatter the comfortableness of the moment the two of you are in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” That’s the last thing you remember saying before you close your eyes and drift off, sleep taking you quicker than you expected.

You let out a soft sigh as you stretch your limbs, the feeling of a velvety soft set of sheets under your hands has your eyes snapping open and your head lifting up from the pillow you were sleeping on. Your eyes dart around the room, a room you know very well isn’t yours but then you roll over to your side and you’re met with something solid, a chest to be exact. You stare at the butterfly that’s in front of your face and slowly reach out and place your hand on it, as if testing to see if it’s real life or still a dream.

“M’ticklish so watch those hands baby.” A deep sleep coated voice mumbles making your cheeks get warm as the arm that you just now realize is draped over you pulls you closer making you have no choice but to rest your head back down on the pillow so you’re now face to face with the green eyed man you spent the night with.

“Uhm good-good morning.” You say shyly making Harry let out a soft chuckle.

“Good morning love-I said a lot of crazy stuff to you yesterday didn’t I?” He asks and when you just nod he lets out a groan as he turns his head to hide his face in his pillow. “I can’t be held responsible for everything I said you-you had this weird power over me.” You laugh and reach over to brush some hair out of his face when he turns to face you again.

“It actually was a uh perfume oil that I-”

“Oh god the sugary forest oranges-can’t think about how good you smelled or we’ll have a big problem to deal with.”

“So you uhm didn’t mean-any of it then?” Harry quirks a brow at you as you try to hide your disappointment, suddenly feeling very vulnerable as you lay in the arms of a man that you felt such a strong and loving connection with who is now possibly telling you it was all because of the perfume you had on.

“Oh baby no no that’s not what I meant.” You feel him pulling you into his chest as he rolls over to his back. “I meant everything I said I just normally wouldn’t have let all that out the first night we spend together that’s all.” He reassures you making you let out a sigh of relief, Harry places his lips to the top of your head. “You’re my soulmate love. The reason my heart beats-the air in my lungs and the one I’ve been secretly writing all my love songs about.” You smile against his chest as your hand draws mindless patterns over the skin above his butterfly tattoo.

“So you really love me?” You ask as you tilt your head so you can look at him.

“I love you so much I don’t even like it when you’re asleep because it means I can’t talk and love on you.” The way he’s staring straight into your eyes tells you he’s not joking but you can’t help but feel a small little giggle bubble up from deep in your chest making him let out a huff. “I sound fucking obsessive don’t I? But really I can’t help it. It’s just how I feel when it comes to you.”

“It’s okay Harry.” You give him a smile and it’s like he knows exactly what you want so he leans down until his nose is bumping into yours. “I love you too.” Harry smiles before you press your lips against his and you have to laugh as you pull away at how just a simple twenty four hours ago you were walking through a farmer’s market hoping to find some new little trinkets and some flowers but you ended up leaving with the person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with.

[water-lemon-alex]

INANIMATE INSANITY S4 SPOILERS!

THIS POST WILL BE VERY LENGTHY! I’ll be sharing my thoughts, theories and headcanons, as well as some clips!

And yes, we have Menu content.

OH MY GODDD THIS EPISODE WAS SO FUN! (i say, as i’ve seen the leak) Of course, not what I expected it to be, I just hope that Episode 2 will tie more loose ends that the first episode gave…

Now my thoughts:

I like how Bot was the one who took the role of MePhone4 in the play, from one artificially intelligent life form to another. Also, “IT’S NOT A PHASE, DAD!” OHHH THAT JUST CONFIRMED IT ALL, MEPHONE WAS GOING THROUGH IT WHILE HIS DAD WAS CONTROLLING HIS EVERY MOVE. I also enjoyed Toilet’s performance here.

It does make sense that they’d bring a competition element since it was like their only purpose. What I do like about it is that we might get to see more of characters that were early boots in their own debut seasons and never appeared again, like Lifering and Soap. I’d personally like to see the Cherries more…

It does disturb me on how much screentime Fan got this time around, especially since he’s already a character who gets enough screentime. (Especially S2.) And he’s the “moderator” for the games? No wonder they made a figure for him… Also, is it just me or is this just Brian self-projecting onto Fan?

How on earth did Poppy come to be? Like… HOW??? Did Cobs have a backup plan to sneak a part of him into the show in case his plan to dismantle the show failed?

I knew that they wouldn’t be able to run a society very well anyway, like why would they build a whole community right after they got out of MePhone’s grasp, without absorbing what they got out of the experience. Not too much room to breathe.

Taco is veeeery unstable at her job. Good god.

I LOVED “WELCOME TO THE OSC”!!! The OSC pun is a little too on the nose, I mean, people wouldn’t shut up about the abbreviation the second Suitcase won. But the song? OHHHHH MY GOD, their vocals are lovely! AND ESPECIALLY OJ’S!!! This is the first time we get to hear Patrick’s OJ singing, considering how OJ is a theater kid according to Patrick themself 😭

I’ve been speculating on who and who would not be in S4’s games. The S1 rejects would definitely be in, and the early boots, honorable mention to Bomb, Salt and Pepper in particular because they never made it to another season without even being in the Top 5 😭 The S1 Top 5 also did not make it past another season except OJ. But OJ will of course be on the sidelines as a guide since he already won.

The urge to make another Menu Squad AU with this. Don’t do it, Lemi. Don’t think about… Taco being a receptionist at a restaurant where all the food in the community comes from, thus OJ would visit every now and then, and…. oh god.

Bonus thing that i forgot to add in because it was too funny not to include, but THEY JUST LEFT COBS’ CORPSE ON THE GROUND. AND DIDNT QUESTION IT. WHAT IS THEIR PROBLEM /silly

BONUS: Screenshots and clips I took from me going insane!

3/4 of the Menu Squad menbers got in the same frame, and that makes me so happy 🥹 as expected, they don’t have Taco. Darn.

TACOJAY HAD AN INTERACTION!!!!! OH!! MY!!! GOD!!!!!!!!! NOBODY TALK TO ME.

I’m so happy with the Menu Squad content that we got from this episode alone, THEY EVEN HAD THE WORD MENU IN THE EPISODE!!!! ohhh i’m so ill

OJ’s line, “Just because not everyone could be trusted didn’t mean I couldn’t trust anyone” hit SO HARD since S1 was my favorite season, this is definitely referring to the people who had “betrayed” him in the past, in the case of S1 Balloon and S1 Bomb, maybe Taco has a part in this? The last part might refer to Paper, who he did trust until the end?

TACO HAS AN ORANGE LAMP NEXT TO HER OH MY GOD IM… She does act so weird that even Soap noticed.

Paper looks so silly with the sparklers. He’s definitely a stage hand and performer / actor in this community, I love it when he shows more of his creative side like how he’s a big fan of Warrior Cats 😭

Someone save Pickle, please. Why does he keep breaking his leg. What is he up to.

Overall, the episode was fun to watch. Not the best, but cool nonetheless. Can’t wait for Ep. 2!

[lavalamphoarder]

lord have mercy I FINISHED IT YAYYY🎉🎉🎉

Some fanart of @blackkatdraws’s Narrator, Black!! I’ve been wanting to draw him for a while and got smacked with some sudden motivation this weekend, so here we are! :] His color palette and design are so nice, I had a blast with this

[tobeholyistobeempty]

hey so since i’m in the season of ovulation here is degrading simon riley feeding my size kink. i’m not ok send regrets. 18+

“beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

——-

yeah. you’ve pushed it. simple as that.

and god, you knew better. you really did. but some might say you’re a sucker for punishment. others might say you’re a masochist.

you think it’s probably a bit of both, when it comes to simon.

maybe it’s because he’s a big mean brute. emotionless. big ol wall of mass and muscle. tough bloke like him don’t feel a thing, yeah? at least in your mind. makes it easy to needle - easy to poke and prod and toss little jabs about his eyes or mask or whatever slivered sign of life he might be displaying that day.

he’s contractually obligated not to kill you, might you add. that brings a level of safety you got comfortable with.

but what you didn’t get comfortable with — what you couldn’t possibly ever get comfortable with, is the size of him in your fucking guts. the growl of him in your ear. the clutch of him around your throat.

even big dead-eyed men like simon have a limit. and by the grace of god, you’d found it. the bottom of this particular mine shaft, if you will—

“y’alright down there?” his voice is slick. fuckin slick with glee. a first for him, you’re sure. “still with me, sweet’eart?”

you can practically feel the smirk barring those teeth to your neck. you try to toss something smart assed back, something to keep it goin, but he’s got your wrists pinned behind your back and his cock stretchin your walls in a way that screams he shouldn’t even be able to fit — yet you’re clenching around him like you’d die without it.

all that comes outta you is a moan.

and he laughs. bastard. fuckin filthy rasp right against your ear. “tha’s what i thought. mm. s’what i fucken wanted.”

your eyes roll. he’s so deep your hips hurt. he presses a palm between your shoulder blades to pin you harder to the floor of his barracks. all that pent up aggressions got you leakin down your thighs. pathetic. humiliating. delicious.

“tha’s it. fucken stunned now, yeah?” he thrusts deeper. free hand smacking your ass til it stings. “always mouthin off. startin shit—fuck—y’knew what this was. you’ve always known what’d it take t’shut you up.”

you hiccup when he hits your gspot. over and over. so goddamn good it hurts. “fuck—fuck you—“

“yeah. y’are.” his hips jerk, hissing against the back of your neck. “feelin every inch of me, aren’t you? go on. fuckin tell me how i feel. wanna hear y’say it.”

you bite your tongue. squeeze your eyes shut. he fucks deeper. harder.

“say it.” another smack to your ass.

“big—“ you gasp, choking on it. “fucking—huge—“

he growls like you’ve fed him. “tha’s right. eight inches buried so deep in your tight little cunt y’forgot how to lie.”

youve never heard him talk like this and all you can do is whimper - the airs gone thin. every inhale is like sandpaper scratching at your throat. every thrust is like being punched open. and when every sound you make comes out as something pathetic you know you’ve lost.

you twist your head to try and adjust for reprieve but he fists your hair to still you. “y’wanna tell me again you can’t take it? huh? wanna tell me m’too big?”

he is. he totally is. but it’s delicious pain. makes your eyes water and your walls flutter. something about you can’t help but egg him on.

“s-shut up—“

he slams forward. breath cuts sharp against your neck. “wrong answer.”

you jolt. cry out. the heat is a wildfire across your skin. “s-si-mon—“

“try again.” he breathes, curling his fingers from your hair to your jaw. “or i’ll just keep pushin till y’feel it in your fuckin spine.”

he makes good on the promise with a bruising thrust. you wail with it. vision blurring blue. “fuck! fuck i wanted this—but you’re so—you’re too—fuck please—“

and it’s that last little word. the syllables that slip past your teeth presenting pleas on a silver platter, that make him moan. fucking moan.

“oh yeah. shit. now we’re gettin somewhere.” he exhales with it, shifting just to drag at your walls and angle deeper. “beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

you long to tell him to shut up, fuck off, goto hell — any other circumstances you might have. but the first fuck with simon riley after months of pushing and prodding ain’t one to be won. you’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow. the monster can only be poked so many times before it wakes with vengeance.

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[hearts4hughes]

PLEASE some rafe is an asshole to everyone but reader fluff!!!!

everyone hates him. your friends think he’s rude. your neighbor crosses the street when he sees him coming. even the barista at that coffee shop on main visibly flinched when rafe smirked and said “don’t fuck up her drink again.”

and okay, fine, he can be a dick—he likes being a dick. it gets him what he wants faster, and he hates small talk, and he genuinely doesn’t care if anyone likes him—as long as you do. and you do.

you hear his voice before you round the corner. it’s sharp, disdain curling off every syllable. whatever conversation was happening on the boneyard bench before you got there has clearly gone downhill fast.

“jesus, topper,” rafe snaps, “do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

topper’s standing, arms out like he’s trying to defend himself, but rafe’s leaned back on the bench, legs wide, jaw tight, murder in his eyes. you pause for half a second. then you move. without saying a word, you slip between them and drop onto the bench beside rafe. it’s casual, innocent, like you didn’t just sit next to a loaded weapon.

he doesn’t react right away. not verbally, at least. but his hand finds your knee almost instantly. it settles there like it belongs, thumb rubbing over your skin in a slow circle. like he wasn’t just seconds away from strangling his childhood best friend.

topper blinks. “oh. hey.”

you give him a polite smile. “hi.”

rafe doesn’t look at topper again. he doesn’t need to. the shift in him is obvious, almost absurd. his posture eases, his voice drops an octave. “hi, baby,” he says, like the word tastes good.

“hi, rafey.” you blush with a grin. “you done verbally assaulting your friends?”

“depends,” he mutters. “you gonna keep me from finishing the job?” you roll your eyes, but your hand slips into his anyway, fingers threading through his lazily. he squeezes once, like he’s already won something. “he was being an idiot,” rafe mutters under his breath, mostly to you now. “saying dumb shit like you wouldn’t be able to handle…”

“handle what?”

“nothing,” topper cuts in quickly. “it was a joke, dude.”

rafe levels him with a look that could kill a lesser man. “it wasn’t funny,” he says flatly. then, turning to you, he melts. his eyes soften, his lips curl into a smile. “you okay?”

you nod. “just tired.” rafe hums in reply. his hand moves, slides around your shoulders like it’s second nature, pulling you closer. you end up curled into his side, chin tucked near his collarbone, and he kisses the top of your head like it’s just another tuesday.

“rest,” he says, mouth brushing your hair. “i’ll deal with him.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you murmur, voice muffled by his shirt.

he smirks. “you like it.” god help you, you do.

topper stands awkwardly for another beat, then finally mutters, “i’ll just…go.”

“great idea,” rafe calls lazily, already playing with the hem of your sleeve like he didn’t just verbally eviscerate someone two minutes ago. as soon as topper’s gone, he exhales—long and slow—and rests his cheek against your head. “thanks for saving his life,” he murmurs. “i was close.”

“you’re awful.”

“i know,” he whispers. “but i’m nice to you.” it’s true, and when rafe is nice, it’s not performative—it’s real. it’s in the way he runs his fingers through your hair, in the way he always has a hoodie for you before you ask, in the way he’d go to war for you and sleep soundly after.

rafe cameron is an asshole to everyone—except you. and he doesn’t even knows how not to love you.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.���

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[screampied]

HOW JJK MEN DEAL WITH YOUR ATTITUDE….

sukuna, nanamin, toji, getō, gojo. jujutsu kaisen men vs your bratty attitude in bed.

2.7k words of pure filth, not yet proofread srry! ☆ total wc ☆

☆ tags ☆ afab!reader, brat-taming, unprotected sex, dirty talk, facefucking , overstimulation, hair pulling , hitting it raw, semi-public sex, 18+ mdni!

☆ a : n ☆ I just wanna get dicked down by fictional men

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN

“ya got some nerve, woman,” sukuna spits, watching you with bright eyes as you just bounce up and down on his lap, your dampened lips tremble as his dick squeezes past such a sweet spot. two hands of yours gripped onto both sides of his thighs, the top of your teeth softly bites down on your bottom lip once a moan slip out from sukuna gifting your pussy with a single spank. “all that talkin’ and ya can barely ride me without me guiding your hips.”

“fuck you s-sukuna.” you’d hiss out, and his base just slams back into you, your weight shifts a bit as you’re growing more stupid, a gasp leaves your lips once you feel him reach a rough hand between your legs, slowly, just to rub circles against your clit. “you’re.. fucking small anyways.”

his warm breath wafts against your neck once he lets off a laugh, watching you struggle to keep up with his pace. yet, grows a bit stern for a second, grabbing ahold of both of your hips to make you stop - do nothing but sit in such dismay. “repeat that again for me, girl?”

“i said-” you started, and he’s stuffing you full of thick inches, your nails dig and dig into his thighs, and sukuna brings a hand up to your mouth. “you’re small, k-kuna.”

“i’m small yet you still fuck me, in case you forgot about that part.” sukuna mutters, his tone was full of rasp that it was a bit sexy, especially when you’re taken by surprise once he shoves you lightly on your chest and the very palm of his hand smacks against your ass, “i’m small yet you probably couldn’t even take both of my dicks if you tried, whore.”

a hiss leaves from your lips again, and you start to whimper once you feel the tip of his swollen head swipe against your achy entrance. “just.. stop talking and fuck me then.”

“mm. no. i’ll fuck ya when i feel like it,” he replies immediately, and you’re just stupidly enough laid flat against your chest, facing forward while sukuna’s entire frame is against you, just barely. just as he’s about to go in, he stops, leaving you with the biggest pout imaginable. “and right now, i don’t feel like it.”

“wha-”

you feel the weight of the bed shift a bit, hearing sukuna pull up his pants, readjusting his belt and you sit up with your eyebrows curling up in disappointment. “where are you going? i didn’t even g-get to cum yet.”

“that sounds like a you problem, princess.” he says, staring down at you with red slick eyes. bastard. his tone carried such arrogant tease, it made you throb and it was so annoying, even still. “don’t think i’ll be able to make ya cum with a dick this small. go ahead and use those fingers of yours. you’re a big girl.”

and sukuna leaves the bedroom, leaving you, naked, confused, and even more horny than you already were before.

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“my love, thought i told you to wait, i’m in a… call.”

his words slow for a moment once he looks down, seeing you buried underneath his home office work desk, on your knees and giving him that needy look of pure want and desperation. your eyes was just begging, he stares with near widened eyes once he sees you playfully unzip his black slacks. “little.. minx.. okay, fine. just.. try to control yourself for me?”

you and nanami both knew how you’d get though, especially whenever you were to go down on him. you wanted him to touch you, let alone fuck you but he just had to have a stupid important business company meeting. he relaxes for a moment, giving you one final glance before averting his attention towards his bright screen on his laptop as if you weren’t taking him in your mouth at that right given moment.

“fuck,” he groans, leaning back against his black cushioned chair, he can’t help but stare for a bit at seeing his fat tip disappear after each inch. your tongue swirls against against the plump head, tasting his pre-cum and moments later you gag from feeling him reach way back against your throat. “…you.. better wipe that damn smile off your face.”

he was half right, the tiny smile poking against thet corners of your lips as your head started to slowly bobble up and down, taking him with tears already starting to form in your eyes from how good it was. “uh.. kento. are you listening? we need your input for the week's product.”

“p-pardon?” he groans, and his tip continues to hit against the back of your throat, your mouth’s happily being stuffed full, wet sloppy noises of your throat getting fucked, by this point nanami’s got a fist full of your hair, shoving you with ease yet just enough force to where his dick tickles your uvula, making you gag again and again. “i’m listening.. sorry,” he huffs out, and you’re being pushed against him again and again, it’s so sloppy and messy you’ve got drool pouring down the sides of your mouth, “my um.. pet, keeps distracting me, you know?”

the other employees on the call laugh at nanami’s poor attempt of a joking lie, and momentarily his thigh bounces and he bites his lip while trying to maintain focus on his screen. “right, right. anyways, as we mentioned…” and the boring conversation continues, nanami’s staring at you, you’re being a good girl taking him fully, that sloppy tongue of yours just toying with his tip and he’s close - you can tell from the way his grip tightens in your hair, dragging you closer against him and you’re breathing through your nose.

nanami grows quiet for a bit, you keep a long gaze towards him as your knees dig into the ground, probably marks on them by now and moments later he shoots in your mouth, warm ropes of his cum coat on your tongue and it catches him off guard. “….y-yeah no, that sounds good.” he swallows thickly, squeezing the small black mouse that connected to his laptop—just eager to click the red decline button to end the meeting call.

you sucked him dry, his eyes close for a moment and he’s still holding onto your hair, swaying his thumb against your mouth once he takes his dick out to rub and smear his erected cock against your lips. beep. he left the call, and he lets off a sexy low grunt, finally staring at you again. “show me your tongue, baby. let me see the mess you made.”

you stick out your tongue, and nanami gets hard again even though he’s flaccid at the moment, he slaps his fat tip against your tongue and your reaction is so enthusiastic, he watches his own cum nearly pour out your mouth and he brings a hand towards your chin to cup your cheeks. “swallow,” and you do, eager enough and he gives you a head pat before you gasp, pushing you closer towards his crotch area again. “need to feel that mouth of yours again, love. make me cum at least two more times and i’ll think about touching that pretty needy body of yours, okay?”

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

“am i goin' deaf or did ya really just say that, brat?” toji says, and you moan once he’s got you bent over the armrest of the couch like some slut. in this case, you were from how loud you were from each thrust he gave you. you’re just screaming out his name practically from how good he’s hitting you from the back. deep deep strokes that makes your back go up a bit. “still think your ex fucks better than… me?”

“you h-heard me,” you shot back, barely being able to keep up your act, his dick has you stupid and feral, mouth watering, it was just so filthy. he’s so big and thick, stretching and molding out your walls with each second, you feel him throb inside you and his base smacks back against your pussy, he groans from it before chuckling at your broken words. “he can.. last longer than you.”

toji scoffs. “tch,” and your mouth opens a bit once he deepens the angle, getting more thorough with his hits against your cunt. you get dizzy from how good he fucks you, you’re whimpering from his cock at this point, whimpering for more and toji grows cocky. “now girl, let’s not lie.”

his sassiness throws you off, and you’re basically being fucked into the mattress, face being shoved against the cushions.

“f-fucking asshole,” you whined, and he spanks your ass, you let off a soft noise once you feel him pin your wrists behind your back, he’s so deep you can feel his thrusts kiss against your pussy numerous times, you get shivers.

“…sayin' that yet here ya are slutting yourself out on me, that’s…kinda ironic sweetheart,” toji smirks, and he’s got your pussy losing itself, he was right, he and you both knew that. no one could fuck better than toji, especially with a size like his—he could fuck you right to sleep, his dreamy strokes would ease about anyway. “how ‘bout i pump this cunt full and show your little boy toy what he’s missin'.”

you’re too fucked dumb to reply, and toji’s pace grows more and more erotic. the couch creaks and creaks, and your head’s just spinning.

“f-fuck.. cum- gonna cum toji.”

“not on me you aren’t,” he mumbles back, and you’re mood immediately shifts to confusion once he flips you on your back, his hovering over you with a fixated witty grin. “oh don’t give me that look, sweets. you brought this on yourself, and my feelings are hurt so it you think i can’t last, maybe your ex can do better.”

“h-huh?” you whimpered, watching him grab your phone from the nightstand. “what are you doing? finish fucking me..”

“callin' mr. lover boy,” still balls deep yet stopping his thrusts, with a few clicks, toji dials a number before pressing the phone against his ear. “hey buddy. hope ya aren’t busy. but you remember your girl right? i’m-fucking-her-by-the-way-but-that’s not-important. but she says you last longer than me. ain’t gonna lie, man to man, quite frankly, i’m offended.”

SUGURU ☆ GETŌ

“fucking…” he cursed, kissing his teeth in annoyance, he pulls over the car to a more secluded area away from public eyes, he gets you out before staring at you with an annoyed expression. even pissed off, geto was still heavily attractive. “trying to.. get me off while i’m driving? you wanna get us both killed?”

“maybe…” you fake whined, a smile going on your lips, striding towards him to playfully run your hands up his shirt to feel his toned abs.

geto gives you a glare before with a swift arm movement, he turns you around and pins you against the hood of his car. “you just woke up and chose to be a brat today, huh. someone needs to get put in their place again. you never learn, do you.”

he had no shame fucking you out in the open, despite no cars were driving nearby, anyone could probably stumble upon the two of you though. it was so filthy, your boyfriend fucking you rough and deep against the hood of his car, lazily pulling your skirt up, not having the decency to pull down your panties. “s-suguru,” you moaned, not expecting him to be so worked up, your panties were pulled to the side and he’s pumping your sweet tight cunt full of his dick. “someone’s gonna see us.”

“someone’s gonna see you,” he corrects, giving your ass a mean spank and that makes you moan later before you start sputtering cute whiney little sorry’s before he continues to spank you ever few seconds, grunting from his deep strokes that made you almost go limp against his hood. “what are you sorry for?”

he was teasing you, your hands remained planted on top of the the warm over-heated vehicle, you feel your mouth grow dry and you feel yourself coming close. “for- for trying to stroke you while you were trying.”

“that’s sweet,” he says, and you’re just getting pounded from behind, he’s a perfect fit for your smug entrance, using a rough hand to spread your legs a little wider for him. you could sort of feel the soft fabric of his halfway pulled down sweats against your ass each time he hits himself against you, “but i don’t believe you’re sorry. you’re just saying sorry so i can let you cum, is that right, pretty?”

you squeezed your eyes close for a split second and you hear geto hold back a giggle once he gives your ass another spank. “n-no i’m serious suguru, 'm sorry- please let me cum.”

“pretty please,” he adds, hearing you sigh in frustration. he found it so cute whenever you didn’t get your way.

“…….pretty please, suguru.”

“good, good girl.” he groans, his balls were so heavy, very thick you’re just hungry for him to pump you more, your mouth watered just imagining him over filling your pussy with ropes and ropes of his cum until it’s dripping down your thighs.

but a ear-wrenching siren appears, and you freeze up once you spot a police car pulling up towards the both of you. let’s just say, the both of you were busted.

GOJO ☆ SATORU

“so it’s like that,” gojo frowns, and it’s fake nonetheless, of course it is, it’s gojo. he’s never serious, especially while he’s intimate with you. you’re laid down on your back and gojo’s just so mean. he already came inside you but now he’s just teasing you, admiring his own cum overflowing your cunt with the stupidest grin spreading on his face. “we may not be together anymore but you’re the one beggin' for more all the time.”

“don’t be stupid,” you grumble, giving him a returning glare - and oddly enough, that only turns him on. “you’re only good for a quick f-fuck.”

“oh. soooo you’re just using me,” he pouts, leaning in to give you a kiss, but pauses and that’s when he goes back inside you, barely giving you time to adjust and your nails find its way into the edges of his back. his dick was so lengthy, a perfect fit for your pussy and you whine once he leans into you, body to body, and he’s so warm.

“who knew you were a such a player, baby,” he utters, moving in close to lick a stripe up your neck. “but we both know that isn’t true. you keep comin' back to me 'cause you’ll never find someone who can fuck you deep as good as me. i mean, i don’t blame you…. i’d be pretty pissed too. especially with a size like mine. there there.”

gojo goes on to ramble mid-fuck, like he always does and he’s so annoying, but his heavy size makes up for it entirely.

“i hate you-” was all you managed to spit out, and you moan once you feel gojo press a hand against your tummy, he’s feeling the slight bulge and it makes him smile knowing how big he is. “cocky bastard.”

“ehhh but you love this cocky bastard though.” he sings, pursing his lips together in a mocking way, and he’s fucking you again with his hips rocking and swaying against you, gojo grabs onto your hands, playfully squeezing them before noticing your lip starting to tremor. “oh? you gonna cry for me, princess? forgot how much of a crybaby you were whenever you get close.”

you don’t reply, just lock your legs around his slutty waist and he chuckles at your clinginess.

“….speechless… just… like… that, that’s so cute but sad. thought i taught this pussy better,” he mocks, and you moan right up against his ear from his dick going against your clit repeatedly, you take a few stops to smear your lips together or control your breathing and gojo’s sliding in and out of you, preparing to gift you with another dump of his cum to fill you full.

his inches nearly have you drooling—you want more and more but you’d never flat out say that to gojo satoru of all people. he smooches your cheek and flashes that cheesy cocky grin, before giving you more ropes of his cum, admiring the way your legs shook before spreading your legs open to get a good enough view of the way it drips down your thighs.

“oh…. damn. you’re on the pill…. right?”

“……”

“RIGHT?”

[carnalcrows]

SUB! MINSU HEADCANNONS

pairing: minsu x top male reader (LOOK AT HIS FACEE!! i wanna squish him <33)

Minsu’s quiet—painfully shy, even outside the bedroom. He always seems like he’s trying to make himself smaller, like if he breathes too loudly, you’ll look at him and realize you could do better. You hate that he thinks that. You’ve told him a hundred times how much you adore him, and still—his cheeks burn every time you compliment him. Every praise gets stored away in some sacred corner of his mind, like he's starving for it.

In bed, he’s even quieter. Sometimes you don’t even realize how much he’s trembling until you touch him. His voice is soft, almost inaudible, like he’s scared he’ll say something wrong. But when he does speak? “Can I—um. Can I kiss you?” “Did I… d-do good?” You always stop and cup his cheek and say, “You did perfect, sweetheart.” And the way his eyes flutter shut from just those words? Devastating.

He’s got a big dick, yeah. And you make it so much worse for him by teasing him about it in that low, smug voice that always gets him flushed. “Shame,” you say, eyes dragging down his chest. “All this, and no idea what to do with it. Guess I’ll just have to keep teaching you.” He goes red instantly, buries his face in your shoulder, tries to hide—but he can’t hide the way his hips twitch. He likes it when you talk down to him, even if it flusters him.

He’s not the type to ask for things outright. He just gets soft and clingy. You’ll find him hovering at the edge of the couch while you’re reading, fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know how. When you finally ask, “You need something, baby?” he just nods, sheepishly. It could be a kiss. It could be your cock down his throat. He’ll take whatever you give.

Sir kink is quiet but deep-rooted. He whispers it sometimes without meaning to, usually when you’re being especially firm with him—tugging his hips into place, pushing him down against the mattress, telling him to be still. “Yes, sir,” he breathes, lips parted, and when he realizes he said it out loud, he gets all flustered and apologizes like it’s a crime. You just smile and say, “That’s right. Say it again.”

He lives for physical closeness during sex. Doesn’t matter how he’s positioned—he needs to be able to see you, hold you, bury his face against your skin. You once tried fucking him from behind without holding his hand, and afterward he quietly admitted, “I… I missed you.” Now you make sure to always wrap an arm around his waist or lace your fingers with his. He calms instantly with that grounding touch.

Praise is everything. He didn’t grow up hearing it, so now he drinks it in like water. He can be sobbing, shaking, overwhelmed—and the moment you murmur good boy, he chokes on a moan and nods, like that one phrase makes it all okay. “You’re doing so good, baby.” “You’re taking me so well.” “I’m so proud of you.” He melts under it. It rewires his entire nervous system. He needs it to come.

He doesn’t ask to be tied up. But the one time you gently pulled his arms behind his back and bound his wrists with your belt, he went still for a long, trembling breath—and then moaned so softly you almost missed it. Something about the helplessness, the surrender of it, makes his brain go quiet. He gets so still. So obedient. Like he’s giving you his whole self without needing to speak.

Hair pulling? He’s done for. You learn this by accident—fist tangled in his hair during a rough kiss, and he whimpers into your mouth, hips bucking. When you do it while fucking him, making him look at you even when he’s falling apart? He cries. Literally. Pretty, glassy-eyed tears that you kiss away as you keep telling him how perfect he is.

Despite how shy he is, he’s obsessed with sucking you off. It’s quiet, reverent—he doesn’t even need you hard. Just likes the weight of you in his mouth. The act of worship. You’ll be half-asleep and suddenly feel his breath against your thigh, gentle fingers easing your waistband down. No words. Just a soft sigh as he curls up around your cock like it calms him.

He loves being used. Not in a rough, raunchy way—more like an offering. He wants to make you feel better. Wants to be your comfort. You come home tense, and he’s already stripped and kneeling on the bed, arms folded behind him like he’s not even allowed to touch unless you say so. “You can take it out on me, sir,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I’ll be good.”

The first time you whispered I wanna get you pregnant while deep inside him, he gasped so loud you thought you hurt him. But then he nodded—frantic, teary-eyed—babbling, “Please, wanna try, wanna feel full.” He knows it’s impossible. Still likes to pretend. Still wants to be bred like he’s yours forever.

And when it’s over—aftercare is sacred. You clean him gently, kiss his forehead, cradle him like he’s breakable. “Don’t go yet,” he whispers, scared you’ll leave too soon. If you try to get up, even just to get water, he’ll look so lost that your chest aches. He needs you to stay. Needs you.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @belovedengie @jrxkar @yippee-yippee8 @faggotboulevard @bleedingbl0ssom @green-turtle3 @mazettns @laynnetteii1 (comment to be added)

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 6: OVERSTIMULATION

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, overstimulation (receiving), unprotected piv, handholding omg officer this fic right here /j

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: When you simp so hard...it actually gets you were you want?

ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 2.4k

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: doneeee with my pending kinktober posts omgggg i thought i could use the whole week to procrastinate my days only playing infinity nikki and but then some stuff came up and ive barely been at home T_T but i really wanted to check this off my list before i lost the inspiration ueueueueue

. . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | TWST MASTERLIST

“Ace—“

“Oh, boy. I know where this is going.”

“Did you see Malleus’s—”

“I did, and I don’t want to hear you gush about it.”

“His radiance is unfair, but I’m not even mad about it. And that ponytail? He should wear his hair like that more often, he looks so—”

Fed up with your yapping, Ace forced a spoonful of his lunch into your mouth. “Thank the great seven that the cafeteria's so noisy no one heard anything. I would’ve run away and pretended I didn’t know you.”

You didn’t even bother chewing before you swallowed the lump of food down your throat to continue. “Don’t even let me get started on what I would do if I got my hands in his ponytail.”

Ace groaned in annoyance and opened his mouth to cut you off before you got started, but his face paled when his eyes landed on someone behind you that heard you talk about his liege like that.

“Human! Such unbecoming thoughts…!” was none other than Sebek. Had he not gripped his lunch tray hard enough, it would’ve clattered to the floor. Curse the fae part of his blood that gave him better hearing.

If Sebek was around, then Malleus too…

Was this the end of the renowned Ramshackle prefect? Was this the way your journey into this unknown wonderland would finish? If you were lucky enough, dying was the way to return home…

“Sebek, it’s not polite to interrupt someone’s conversation,” Malleus reprimanded him. “Let’s continue in our way. We’re in the middle of the entrance.”

“Yes, my liege.” Sebek’s infuriated expression calmed down, and he followed him.

“I thought you were a goner!” Ace couldn’t help but laugh, his hands on his tummy.

“Do you think he heard? I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to him ever again.” meanwhile, you hid your face behind your palms.

“That’s what you get for subjecting me to your lovesick babble.” Ace poked your side. “If it serves to console you, he didn’t seem angry. Then again, who knows what a prince is thinking.”

“Maybe I should go apologize.”

“Errh, it’s best not to bring up the topic again, in case he didn’t hear you. Maybe he was thinking of something else and didn’t notice it.” He shrugged and went back to eating his lunch before it got cold. “Do whatever will allow you to sleep better tonight.”

After this, sleeping tonight wasn’t something you were going to be doing much, that’s for certain.

You found yourself at the door of his club before you could decide whether confronting it was a good idea or not. You were just going to say hi and probe his reactions to decipher if he was mad or not. If there was any crackling of lightning happening, you knew that was your cue to run away…

“Prefect.”

Your hand stopped just before you could knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand sweated while you turned the knob and stepped in with caution. You expected a rapid flash of lightning to strike you down the moment you stepped into the empty classroom; instead, Malleus had his hands occupied with stone sculpting tools. His movements ceased when his eyes found yours.

“Come closer. You won’t be able to hear me at that distance.”

You made it inside without being turned into a pile of ash. That was a good start.

“I doubt I’ll have any more visitors other than you this afternoon,” he surveyed you for a second. “You appear to be uneasy. Did something happen?”

“No,” you were quick to deflect. “Uh, you said something about having visitors now?”

“Well, of course. I placed an announcement about a gargoyle tour for today, but, as usual, there’s a lack of invitees. Other than you, that is.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t come here for that—besides, the tour could be interesting. You weren’t against the idea of dipping your toes into the history of gargoyles.

He must’ve noticed your contemplative expression, as he continued with a: “Or did you show up with other intentions?”

“I came here for the tour!” you blurted out. “I’ve always wondered what your club was like, and since you’re knowledgeable about gargoyles, I would like to listen more about them.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Well then, let us begin.”

By the time the tour ended, your worries had gone to the back of your mind, as you were immersed in the eloquent manner Malleus carried his words and shared his vast knowledge in gargoyles.

“I didn’t know there was a difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque. Being honest, they looked pretty much the same to me.”

“Correct, don’t confound the two. Gargoyles are a lot more than mere decoration. Good to know the tour has served as a new acquisition of knowledge for you.”

“I don’t get why people don’t visit your club more often. You’re great at explaining stuff, and I didn’t know gargoyles had this much history behind them. If it were Trein trying to explain this to me in the slow voice he uses during lectures, I wouldn’t have retained half of what I just learned.”

“I agree. The world should appreciate gargoyles more. Now, I’ll hold a pop quiz for you.”

“Oh—”

“It’s in your interest to say the correct answer, or this will be the last time you see me in this hairstyle.”

“Huh?!”

As your thoughts reeled into the implications of his declaration, Malleus threw the first question.

“What does this particular gargoyle represent?”

“A-Ah, that one! The power of metamorphosis, right? The ability to transcend beyond mortal limitations to higher realms of consciousness...something like that.” You were 99% sure that was what Malleus said earlier.

“Why are gargoyle’s expressions, which are commonly regarded as terrifying, like that?”

That was an easier one. “To ward off evil spirits and protect the people.”

“Right answer, although too simple. It also serves as a reminder that actions have consequences,” the way his lips curved with a taunting smile made you think that he did hear you in the cafeteria after all. “Last question: Why do some gargoyles have wings while others don’t?”

This one took longer for you to come up with an answer. You had a faint memory of him explaining it, but it was brief.

“Was it because they’re located in higher to protect places like towers?”

“Interesting observation. They don’t always represent ubication, however. Wings could represent divinity. A lack of wings meant terrestrial creatures.”

“…Did I fail the pop quiz?”

“Even though you could’ve done better, your score is acceptable,” the corners of his mouth quirked up with a barely held back amused smile. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

“I’m sorry for what happened during lunch.”

“Humans are skillful when it comes to deflecting from the truth, even when one’s inquiries are direct. I must admit, I welcome your honest opinion about my hairstyle today. Even if delivered in such an immodest fashion.”

“Did Lilia suggest the change in hairstyle?”

“He did.”

“He’s got a keen eye for this, then,” you nodded. “I… think it suits you. It’s a fresh look on you, which doesn’t take away your princely charms.”

“Princely charms…?” he placed a hand on his chin, in thought.

“I—”

“You sure know how to get in someone’s good graces.” He chuckled. “You’re welcome to thread your fingers into my hair. Just do not dishevel it too much, or I can’t promise what could happen to you if you do.”

Despite his ominous threat, Malleus leaned down to allow you better access to his head. With how close he was, a rush of ardor made you giddy, but you remained calm. You stretched your arm to caress the lush locks, your fingers threading into them. Cautious. His hair was well taken care of, the brush of the strands like silk against your skin.

“Last time anyone dared to caress my head that way was Lilia when I was still a child,” Malleus reminisced in a hushed tone. “Back then, I thought it was patronizing, to an extent. I don’t feel it that way now, however. How peculiar.

Malleus could be rather elusive at times, and, depending on what he would say, you weren’t sure you had understood him right. Yet, on this occasion, he wasn’t against your touches. That’s what you understood.

While in your thoughts, your fingers wandered close to an uncharted zone: the base of his horns.

By the time you noticed, it was late. Malleus raised his head to look at you, the change in his eyes evident.

If not for the pinkish flush taking hold of his cheeks, you would’ve thought you did something you shouldn’t have.

“You may proceed. I don’t…dislike the feeling,” he said, not moving away. If anything, he tilted his head closer to your hand. His throat emitted a low vibration, which you soon discovered was similar to a purr. Dragon fae could do that?

Your hands pressed against his chest when you felt him inch you towards a nearby desk, tools for carving forgotten near its edge.

“It appears that you aren’t aware of it, but my kind doesn’t lower their head to allow just anyone to touch their horns. They’re personal,” His slit pupils stared into yours, unwavering. “Why did you stop your hand? Do you not accept my advancements?”

You felt your mouth go dry with his towering presence. How he caged you in with his bigger figure, looming over you. “I do accept them!” you blurted out.

After you spoke, Malleus’s thumb caressed your lower lip, and his attention shifted there. Mere seconds after, his eyes closed as he leaned in, the message of what was about to happen clear enough. With your quickened heart, you reciprocated the oncoming affection.

It was unfair. Silky hair and soft lips unlike anything you’ve touched before. Typical of a dragon, Malleus soon grew impatient and greedy. Regardless of inexperience, the fervor in his heart made up for it. His fangs were in the way, numerous times threatening to break through your skin despite his efforts to keep the kiss prudent. You were addicted to the feeling of them creating subtle punctures, however.

His hand slithered behind your back to keep you upright; the space between your bodies became none. There was an obvious hardness concealed behind his pants that pushed and grinded against your body. The friction ignited pleasure. You lacked the constraint to avoid grinding against it, the pleasure straight to your clit.

“Does that feel good?”

You nodded, out of breath.

Malleus grabbed your legs and placed them around his hips; the push of his body into yours was stronger now. He moved in tandem with your grinding, the surge in pleasure hooking you to a nonstop movement. Your arms shot to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. His lips and teeth sought your neck to litter it with his own marks. The noise of the desk’s leg creaking against the floor faded to the background; you were close to coming.

His lips engulfed yours, your moan of his name swallowed by him.

In the meantime, you caught your breath and undid the purple belt around his body.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He watched you struggle to undress him, the waves of your orgasm still fresh.

“I need you,” you admitted, finally pushing the coat off his shoulders.

“Glad to oblige.”

He finished the work and nudged your legs open to stand in between them. Thick and long—specially long—his dick was erect with a hefty amount of precum on its head. The size might be a little intimidating, but given how wet you were, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Malleus enclosed you, keeping his arms rigid to prop himself on top of your torso; his ponytail cascaded down his shoulder. You were tempted to reach out and brush your fingers in it. Maybe on another occasion.

A hand went to yours to hold it, which caused you to dart a glance at him, in question. His hand engulfed yours to near completion; if the difference in size wasn’t evident enough from height, this consolidated it. Meanwhile you marveled, Malleus jutted until it was inside of you, pushing your walls to accommodate him. It was no laughing matter—his cock prodded into the deepest part of your cunt, and yet, a couple of inches remained outside.

Malleus squeezed your hand with reassurance, taking note of your breathless state.

Backing down wasn’t an option for you. You needed him. Even if the stretch tiptoed close to pain, this—you wanted it. Even if the buzz from your previous orgasm still thrummed in your body and your clit was tender, you hugged his frame with your legs and offered the final push that remained to take him in until the base. At your encouragement, Malleus huffed from the surge in pleasure, eyes closed to embrace the feeling.

You canted your hips upwards to meet his thrusts; the creaking of the desk’s leg restarted its noise. Malleus gripped your hand with more fervor, lost in pleasure and forgetting about it. In turn, you gave his a firm squeeze. His chest heaved with deep breaths, a low groan making its way out every couple of seconds. He lowered until your chests were squeezed together, the hand that held your hip snaking to the back and grasping your shoulder to impel you harder. The rhythmic onslaught kindled your libido. One step away from the climax.

You came undone beneath him a second time; he didn’t stand a chance with how your pussy clamped down around him. His lips parted with a silent gasp as he came too, viscous cum pumped inside and coating your walls.

“Mal—” Your voice came at a higher pitch than you’re used to. He already came, but his thrusts haven’t stopped. They were slow and deliberate, not allowing a single drop to slip away from your cunt.

He dipped his head to kiss you, his lips encased yours. Albeit less frenetic, it wasn’t any less loving.  Just now, you remember your intertwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” you had dug your nails quite fervently. “I didn’t notice.”

“How do you plan on making it up to me?” 

“Ah…”

“Next time, when you harbor thoughts of such forward nature, I’d appreciate it more if you cofessed them to me only.”

[pucksandpower]

Love Again

Charles Leclerc x widow!Reader

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

Warnings: death of significant other

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” His voice is soft, hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t have a choice.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My love,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours always,

Jamie

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

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

With a shaky breath, you unfold it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You finally opened it,” he says gently.

You nod, unable to speak for a moment.

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

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

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

“What did he say?” He asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The attendant frowns, tries again. Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your chariot awaits,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice soft.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did,” you admit. “And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Leo?” You echo, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Charles.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

But in your dreams, the world shifts.

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

And there he is. James.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

18 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sukunasteeth]

When Sukuna kisses you, it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.

You started out perched on his lap, but by now he's reduced you to a boneless, panting heap in his grasp. His arms supporting you are the only things keeping you from melting against him like liquid lust. You're desperate for a moment of solid ground to catch your breath, but Sukuna is adamant on continuously taking it away from you. His calloused hands inching their way up your shirt, brushing softly against your sides, over your rib cage, skimming the underside of your breasts, all in mesmerization at how soft your skin is.

"'Kuna..." You try to capture his attention, which has been taken by his fixation on how sensitive your ears were to the scrape of his teeth.

You're surprised when he answers with a distracted hum, "Yes, my little doe?"

"I -I need a second." You stutter, your heart is thumping wildly in your chest, despite how intoxicated and incapacitated you feel at his mercy. You were starting to forget how to breathe in his close proximity and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep your head straight with his natural scent acting like a pheromone.

You feel his wicked grin against your neck before you hear it in his voice, "Poor thing. Am I working you too hard? I rarely see you so out of sorts..." 

Sukuna doesn't even try to disguise his amusement at your complete inebriation with his kisses. His tongue presses against the nape of your throat before he follows a line of sweat up to your ear, leaving behind a cold stripe of his saliva against your burning hot skin. He holds you fast when you violently shiver against him, "It's a good look on you."

“Please…” You beg with whatever breath you can conjure for him but it comes out as more of a desperate little whimper. That was Sukuna’s favorite tone of your voice, after all. 

And desperate you were. Sukuna had been devouring you for so long, sucking and nipping and licking at whatever part of your revealed skin interested him. You could feel your legs forgetting how to operate.

You just needed a moment. 

Without his permission, you push away from his chest and manage to get to your feet in front of him. Your legs buckle, but you're able to catch yourself before you fall face first back into him. Sukuna is looking up at you, as kiss drunk as you felt, blinking slowly with a satisfied smile. 

“Give me just one sec-” You’re about to turn away. And then you see it. 

Sukuna had you so entranced with him, had your mind so far away from your body, that you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you had cleanly soaked through your panties on his lap. And there, on that oh-so-comfortable part of his thigh, that had quickly become one of your happy places, was a dark spot on his jeans from your wetness. 

All you could do was stare down at it, mortified. 

Which only has Sukuna following your gaze in momentary curiosity. 

“I-I’M…” You try to catch his attention again with the sound of your voice before his eyes can settle on the new mark, but Sukuna sees it first.

His grin quickly fades and your heart careens into your throat. You feel embarrassment shoot through you like a shot of adrenaline, coloring your already pink face a bright and rosy red. 

The clear solution to the undoubtedly awkward situation is to run, right?

“I’ll be right back-” But you don’t even move an inch before his hand snaps forward and latches onto the front pocket of your (his) hoodie, stopping you in place. 

Your heartbeat thumps in your red-hot ears and you go against every fiber of your being to meet his eyes.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going with my dinner?" The playful lilt of his tone has completely vanished and reveals a deep, dark starvation in its place.

"I work hard for my meals, you know?” 

[jeonstudios]

anatomy of a vampire | 02

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.6k

warnings: none in this part really <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 2/? 

<previous | next>

© anatomy of a vampire is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Only a few days later, Momo knocks on the door to the small administrative office, where you’re busy entering info into a patient’s digital chart. She’s holding one of the clinic’s old phones to her chest.

“It’s Jeon. The guy with the cats.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you accept the phone from her with a grateful nod, quickly pressing ‘unmute’. Honestly, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the man and his kitties for more than a few hours at a time, so the reminder wasn't really necessary.

“Hello?” you greet once you have the device pressed to your ear.

“Hey, it’s… uh, Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. With the kittens.”

You smile at his voice and how it sounds like he isn’t sure of what to say. Not like he’s nervous or anything, just… unsure of his words. But his voice is exactly like you remembered it, deep and smooth, and in contrast to his words: confident.

“I remember,” you say softly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh, mostly, but I’m not sure the smaller one is eating properly.”

The smile fades from your lips, and you use one hand to pull the wheeled chair you’re sitting on closer to the desk in front of you. “Is it trying to nurse? Are mom and siblings letting it?”

“Yeah, I think so, but… I don’t know. I weighed her, but she hasn’t gained much.”

Even though you don’t know the sex of the kitten, his use of ‘she’ doesn’t pass you by.

“What does she weigh?”

“Ninety-five grams.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, pulling up the digital chart from your home visit to find the kitten’s previous weight. Eighty-one grams. “Yeah… I’d really like for her to be gaining a bit more.”

“Would it be possible for you to stop by? Check her out? I’d take her to you, but they’re still so small.”

“Of course, let me check my schedule,“ you say, moving the phone to your left hand, scrolling through the day’s scheduled appointments with your right. “I have patients until five, but I could be at yours at… five-thirty? Would that work for you?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

“Good, no problem! If you can, maybe prepare some way to keep mom cat away. Or at least willing to cooperate like last time.”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and you can practically hear the growing smile in his voice, even over the phone. You smile too, and while you’re definitely a little worried about the kitten, your heart definitely also skips a beat at the thought of seeing the kitten's person again.

The house is warm and toasty, feeling almost like a home, when you step inside, a stark contrast to the chilly old house you visited last time. Jeongguk steps back to let you through, and you slip your shoes off automatically this time, glancing down at the clearly freshly mopped floorboards. 

“You cleaned,” you comment, smiling widely as you lift your head, meeting his eyes.

“I did.”

The way he’s looking down at you as he waits for you to remove your jacket has butterflies frantically flapping their wings in your stomach. It’s just something about him; how he looks and how he carries himself. It’s only been a few days since you saw him, but it’s like he’s even more handsome now. Maybe it’s because he’s only wearing a dark green t-shirt and black shorts, leaving a lot more skin visible. Not that the hoodie and jeans weren’t attractive, because they were, but with bare skin comes more muscles and veins. And Jeongguk seems to be covered in both. 

As he leads the way like last time, you find yourself particularly distracted by his broad back and the veins running down the back of his arms, intricately spanning his forearms. Hot.

“They’re not upstairs?” you ask when you suddenly notice that he's walked past the staircase.

He peers at you from over his shoulder. “No, they’re in here. I started the fireplace, and she moved them all downstairs.”

He guides you into the living room, where the soft and slow crackle from the fireplace reaches your ears and the heat warms your skin through your scrubs.

Someone meows, and you turn your head. There, in the corner, placed at an appropriate distance from the fire, is the grey cat bed you recommended. The whole family is nestled into it, and even though it’s only been a few days, the kittens are definitely more lively.

“Cats like heat,” you confirm, grinning at the sight.

As long as the fire is properly secured from soon-wandering kittens—which it is, considering the black safety screen surrounding it—and the room doesn’t get too hot, you’d say it’s safe. Maybe even preferable, if the house is otherwise on the colder side.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he chuckles. “And read about it online.”

You set your bag down on the floor and lock eyes with Mother Cat. Her big, yellow eyes track your every movement, and while she seems calm enough with you in the room, you’d rather not upset her further.

“What do we do with her?” you ask nodding toward her.

“I figured I can just…”

You watch as Jeongguk approaches the bed, bends down, and lifts what you assume is the smallest kitten. No one protests; neither the kitten nor its mother.

When he turns back to you—the little black kitten presented in his large palm—he notices your surprise.

“I weigh them.”

“And she just lets you?”

Obviously you knew he’s weighed them, but you didn’t realize he could just grab them from the bed without their mother disagreeing.

“...Yeah?”

Your surprised face turns into a big grin and a laugh of disbelief escapes you because that’s so endearing. He can’t possibly be a bad man, right? 

“She really, really likes you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his smile is happy as he motions for you to take a seat on the pale green velvet couch. You do, watching Jeongguk helpfully move your bag closer. The kitten cries a little in your hands, softly wiggling around but not as much as it probably should.

To make sure you didn't miss anything during your last visit and that nothing's happened since either, you gently pry open its mouth, looking inside. If it’s injured or orally underdeveloped in some way, that could cause problems eating. But you can’t see anything abnormal this time either.

“No injuries or deformities…” you mumble, placing the little kitten in your lap as you consider your next steps. There are essentially two options, each with their own pros and cons.

Jeongguk sits down as well, leaving an appropriate distance but facing you so he can see what you’re doing. Simply to make it harder for you to focus, he of course places his arm on the back rest, giving you a pretty show of his impressive bicep and that veiny forearm as it rests between you.

“So, what’s the plan?”

His deep voice breaks you out of it, and you turn your focus back to the kitten, biting your lip as you consider for a moment.

“Well, she looks pretty okay otherwise, so…if you want me to, I can show you how to hand-feed. Hopefully, she’s just had a bad start—maybe being pushed away by her siblings—and she’ll start to gain over the next few days even without help. Otherwise, we can try supplementary hand-feeding. Either you do it, say… twice a day for a few days until she gets back on track, or I take her with me and drop her off at a foster.”

Jeongguk doesn’t answer at first, and when you look at him, you see him watching the kitten in your lap, appearing deep in thought.

“But if she’s not with her mother then she’ll have to be bottle-fed a lot more often, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, every two to three hours or so.”

He lifts his eyes, meeting yours. “And ideally, you don’t want to move the others.”

“No. But we can.”

“To a foster? Are they busy?”

“Yeah. They… have a lot of cats to care for, but it’s something they want to do.”

He lets out a big breath, not disappointed, just as if to finalize his decision-making. “Show me how to do it, and I’ll try for a few days if she doesn’t get better.”

You look at him, trying to see what drives him. Most people who find a stray family of cats would be happy to send them off with a foster, especially if they don’t need to pay any vet bills or spend too much time taking care of them. And while you don’t get the feeling he’s ecstatic to maybe have to care for the kittens, he’s agreeing to it. ...Because he doesn’t want to burden the fosters more than they already are? That’s not a common thought process when it comes to men in your experience, but it's the only reason you can think of. Jeongguk’s dark, nearly black eyes watch you back. He’s… odd. Strange. Maybe not in the most obvious way, but there’s definitely something unusual about him.

“Okay. Here, hold her.”

He takes the kitten from you, watching as you kneel on the floor next to the bag, rummaging through it in search of the things you brought.

“So, this is kitten formula,” you explain, pulling out a small bottle already filled. “You never want to use regular cow’s milk. It can mess with their digestion.”

Jeongguk watches closely as you scoot closer to him, uncapping the bottle.

“You don’t want it too hot or too cold, just warm. Like body temperature.”

“Whose body temperature?” he asks, giving you a crooked smile that has your heart stuttering.

You grin. “Touché. Ours is easiest. You can touch a drop to the inside of your wrist like this to feel the temperature.”

He nods, carefully cradling the kitten in one hand. You can tell he’s being very careful, like he’s afraid of hurting her.

“So this is a good temperature. And when you feed her,” you hand him the bottle before gently adjusting the kitten’s position on his lap instead, “keep her belly-down, like this. Having her on her back can cause her to choke.”

He shifts slightly, focusing intently. “Do I just…?”

“Yeah, bring it to her mouth, just like that, a little tilted. She might not latch right away, so just be patient.”

It takes a few seconds and a little bump against the kitten’s mouth before she realizes what she’s being offered and clumsily opens her mouth.

“Like that, exactly. Just hold still and let her set the pace. Don’t squeeze it.”

Jeongguk glances up at you, dark eyes definitely a tad brighter. Your own smile is wide and encouraging. Slowly, the kitten’s tiny jaw moves rhythmically as she suckles at the bottle, and you catch yourself watching them both more than you probably should. He holds her just right, steady and gentle in his large hands, the bottle angled slightly. Clearly very focused, his eyebrows are drawn and his lips slightly parted.

Seeing him handle the tiny kitten so gently definitely doesn’t do anything to lessen the attraction you’re undoubtedly feeling. It’s just something about that helpless little being in his big hands—and the way the green t-shirt reveals the impressive veins spanning across his thick, muscular arms. Unsurprisingly at this point, veins are definitely one of your favorite things on a man.

To stop yourself before he kicks you out for being creepy, you let your gaze travel across the room instead. He’s obviously cleaned in here too, not a speck of dust to be seen.

“Can I ask… how come you own this house?” you say after a moment, breaking the soft silence. “We all thought it was abandoned. Like, ever since we were kids. And I take it no one’s actually lived here for a while? No offense. I’ve never seen you around either.”

Jeongguk, still watching the kitten in his lap, chuckles lightly. “None taken. It was passed down to me. I haven’t had the intention to live here, but I like this town. I guess I just haven’t been able to decide what to do with it.”

You hum, watching the kitten move its white front paws as if trying to climb closer to the bottle. You figure he must be kind of rich if he can afford to have a house just sit entirely empty in today’s economy, but you don’t mention that, aware that it’s really none of your business.

“Can I ask something?”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“What… mythical creature would you say is most likely to actually exist?”

Well. 

You assumed he’d ask something about the kitten or cats, or even just animals in general. Holding your breath, you put on a strained smile.

“Are you making fun of me?”

He’s quick to shake his head. “No. I’m just curious. You seem really knowledgeable in biology and anatomy and such.”

Biting your lip, you hesitate. Do you want to risk being made fun of? Ridiculed? But would he do that? 

…Fuck it. Knowing a feeding usually takes at least five minutes but sometimes up toward fifteen, you might as well have something to talk about in the meantime. So you reach for your bag again, searching for something you usually only take out when you’re alone or among like-minded friends.

“Technically, like… physiologically speaking, zombies already exist.”

You open the little notebook, separate from the one you enter the patient’s info into, and open it to a page with a large, detailed drawing of an ant. You stay kneeled on the floor, holding the notebook up to him.

“See the stuff coming out of the ant’s head? That’s a fungus. Cordyceps. It infects the ant and turns it into a zombie, essentially.”

“What?” He looks at you, his eyes wide as he then focuses on the page, gaze flitting between the drawing of the ant and the little info box of handwritten text next to it.

“Yeah. It infects the ant through spores. It takes control of its nervous system and muscles directly, making the ant climb toward higher grounds that are more humid and favorable for the fungus. Meanwhile, the fungus feeds on the ant’s insides. When the ant finally dies, the fungus emerges from its head, releasing spores in hopes of infecting a new individual.”

“Oh, that’s definitely a zombie.”

“Right?” you smile, and it’s more genuine this time. Speaking about these things excites you, even if you try not to let it show too much.

“Similarly, there’s a parasite called Toxoplasma gondii that only reproduces inside a cat’s gut. To get there, it infects a bunch of other warm-blooded animals first—especially mice—because they’re easy targets, and cats eat them. Inside the mouse, the parasite hijacks its immune system to get around the body and to the brain where it messes with the mouse’s fear response. It makes the mouse fearless of cats; even makes it seek them out and taunt them in some cases. All so that the mouse gets eaten and the parasite can reach the cat’s gut to reproduce.”

There's a mix of disbelief and amazement in his gaze. “So it makes the mice just... serve themselves up?”

“Mhm.”

“And you drew that?”

“Uh… yeah,” you nod, cheeks warming. 

“Can I see it?”

It’s the way he looks genuinely curious—and not at all like he’s looking for bullying ammunition to use against you—that has you handing him the book. He takes it, trying hard to focus on it as well as feeding the kitten on his lap.

“I’ll take her. Looks like you got the hang of it already,” you offer.

“Thanks,” he says, handing you the kitten first and then the bottle.

Even if he seems… sweet, your heart still beats nervously as you see him inspect the page closer. Or maybe that’s partially why. Looking up to meet your eyes, he curls a finger under the bottom of the page, silently asking for permission.

You nod, turning your attention down to the kitten. She latches onto the bottle again, seemingly fine with being handled by you.

Focused, Jeongguk looks through the following pages, each featuring some of your favorite biological traits. A dog’s nose. A snake’s fangs and its unfixed jaw that allows it to widen and swallow large prey. There’s a great white’s multiple rows of teeth and its ‘retractable’ eye.

“I mean… I’m not saying I believe things like… traditional zombies or werewolves exist…” you resume the conversation, feeling a little more at ease letting your fascination shine through, but also making sure he doesn’t think you’re entirely insane.

“...But?”

“But I find the anatomical aspect of them fascinating,” you continue. “Things like vampires and werewolves and dragons have popped up in folklore all over the world, independently of each other.”

Jeongguk nods, his eyes glued to the pages in your book.

“Again, I’m not saying I think they exist, just that the biology of them wouldn’t necessarily be as out there as people might think. If you think about it, a lot of organisms live on other creatures’ blood. Others go through drastic bodily changes—like some species of fish that change sex depending on population balance or dominance hierarchy. And there’s a frog—the wood frog—that can survive being frozen solid in winter. Like, no heartbeat, no breath, totally frozen, and then they thaw in spring and essentially come back to life.”

“Really?” he asks, eyebrows lifting. 

“Mhm. And to see any of those traits in a humanoid?”

“...Would be interesting?”

“To say the least.”

He turns another page, glancing down at what you can’t see. His expression shifts with quiet amazement. “These are amazing.”

You smile, shyly glancing down at the kitten, “Thank you.”

Suddenly looking up from the book, Jeongguk directs his gaze forward, into the air, as he considers something. “So, if all these things existed, why do you think we don’t have any evidence?”

You shrug. “I mean, that’s definitely the most compelling evidence to suggest nothing like that actually exists. How likely would it be that not only one but maybe multiple supernatural humanoid species could exist without us ever finding any real evidence? First… I mean, maybe we have evidence? Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but it could just be kept from the public’s knowledge for some reason.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.”

“But… say that there’s a kind of humanoid that’s… smart but different from us? If the population is on the smaller side, say a few hundred at most, I think staying hidden could be doable. But it depends a lot on the circumstances. A being that is visually indistinguishable from a regular human would have a much easier time fitting in without drawing attention than something with… I don’t know, horns or something.”

Jeongguk smiles lazily at your dumb joke before he returns to looking deep in thought. “...So they’d hide?”

“I think that would be one of the more plausible explanations, yeah. Humans are scared of the unknown, and we tend to react… irrationally. Especially if the humanoid is something like a vampire that supposedly sustains itself on our blood.”

“Yeah. I guess it could be dangerous for them. There are so many humans as well. Strength in numbers and all that.”

“Exactly,” you nod. 

“So,” he continues, breaking into a wide smile, “do you have a favorite?”

You chuckle, trying to ignore the beat your heart skips at the sight. He’s got such an attractive smile too. It’s very youthful, with white teeth and the charming trait of slightly pointy canines. “A favorite mythical creature?”

The fact that he’s asking you questions as if he genuinely wants to know your opinion, instead of teasing you about your fascination makes you really happy and almost… giddy.

“Uh… vampires. And dragons,” you say without having to think very long about it.

“How come?”

“Dragons because they’re insanely cool and kind of terrifying. Imagine a fire-breathing dragon? Like, an enormous flying dinosaur that breathes fire?”

Jeongguk nods eagerly. “Like the dragon in Harry Potter? The white one at… Gringotts in the later films? Or Smaug?”

“Yeah! But not Smaug,” you disagree quickly, shaking your head. “He’s too human. I don’t like that.”

Not only is he human; he's scary.

Jeongguk tilts his head. “But biologically speaking… Our souls stem from our brains, right? Why couldn’t a non-humanoid—like a dragon if they existed—develop a human or humanoid brain? Or just the equivalent? And the vocal cords and such to talk, of course.”

The little kitten burps in your lap, a sign that she’s done feeding for now. You put the almost empty bottle down on the small coffee table and lift her, dabbing away her little milk mustache with the sleeve of the white shirt you’re wearing under your scrub top.

“I’d rather not think about that,” you admit, almost shivering from discomfort. “If I do, I won’t be able to sleep anymore. There’s just something so wrong with that.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly, a very warm, masculine sound. 

“And vampires being my favorite is not because they’re apparently all sexy,” you declare in order to defend your honor.

He laughs again, and it makes you smile. “They're my favorite because they’re so interesting. Regardless of what portrayal you choose, they’re all fascinating. Being bitten and turned into something that now preys on your previous kind? Or being born to look indistinguishable from your prey? Maybe being allergic to sunlight? Being both stronger and faster than humans while maintaining the same physique, visually? Being… practically indestructible and maybe immortal? Having fangs and venom to perhaps turn someone from prey to predator?”

Your hand pets the kitten’s back while you list off the things you love about vampires. 

“So you’d like to see one if they happened to exist?”

“Oh please, it would be a dream. It’s like, all supernatural elements combined into one,” you explain, the nerd in you frothing at the mouth at the thought of getting to discover the biological secrets of a vampire.

He hums, closing your notebook and laying it on the table. “You said some creatures already live on blood, but is there a possibility a non-human humanoid could manage that?”

You let your gaze travel around the living room again as you think. It’s definitely a complex subject.

“It depends. Looking at humans, we need a certain amount of calories and nutrients to live. We need protein, fats, and carbs—well... mostly protein and fats—and a lot of different vitamins and minerals. Then we need fluids; that’s the most important for short-term survival.

"Blood, of course, contains water, but also protein and some vitamins and minerals. However, it’s neither very calorie-dense nor nutritionally balanced. So technically—if we ignore the risk of bloodborne diseases—we could survive a little while on it, assuming we get enough fluid. And preferably calories too. But drinking enough to meet a regular human’s fluid or calorie requirements? You’d overdose on iron. So we can't do it, but maybe vampires could filter out the iron somehow and maybe just... extract other nutrients more efficiently than us?"

Your brain kicks into a whole new gear as you think about it. It’s truly fascinating; how a similar-looking being could (theoretically) develop to thrive where you can’t.

“What about the carbs and fats, then? Could they survive without those?”

“I don’t know? Carbs really aren't that important, but fats are. Maybe vampires would just be… entirely different? Like, their bodies run on something else other than glucose like ours do. Or maybe they’re just like really huge ticks. Or mosquitos?”

Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows, surprised but clearly amused. “I thought you liked vampires?” 

“I do. I’m just saying? Although, I’d say most people consider both ticks and mosquitos a nuisance at best, so they’d probably dislike vampires too.”

“How would a vampire… eat, then?” he asks, dark eyes looking at you intently.

“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning slightly as you try to follow his line of thought.

They’d just drink the blood, and it would flow down the esophagus into the stomach, just like how a human would nourish themselves. Right? There wouldn’t be a reason for that to change.

“If people dislike vampires…? I figure they wouldn’t… want to be fed on, right?”

Oh.

“I feel like… Say the movies are right and vampires only consume blood, but they’re also very insistent on staying hidden? I’d say they’d have to be killing humans. Or, I don’t know… kidnapping them and farming their blood or something. But meeting a regular human’s daily fluid requirement just by blood every day would be a logistical nightmare if the vampire population is even a fraction the size of the human population. We can’t replenish that quickly, so there wouldn’t be enough to go around, even if there was a way to keep humans alive and only take as much as possible without killing them.”

“So, a vampire population would have to be kinda small," he concludes. "Unless they somehow wouldn’t have the same fluid requirements. Or if they’d be able to consume blood from other sources too.”

“Yeah. Like in Twilight?” you smile. “Where some of them drink animal blood?”

“I haven’t seen Twilight, but yeah. I heard the vampires sparkle.”

You nearly giggle at the look of disbelief he gives you. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely an interesting portrayal. I read the books, and I think their skin is supposed to almost feel like… marble? Cold and hard.”

“Marble?”

“Mhm. I’m not one to deem something impossible, but that aspect feels a little…”

“...Impossible?” he continues, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. I mean, temperature can surely vary, but if the skin is supposed to move at all, it can’t really be that… fixed. Then again, I read them a long time ago, so maybe there was another explanation I can’t remember.”

“Interesting. There are definitely a lot more versions of vampires than any other supernatural creature, as far as I know.”

“Yeah, it’s super fascinating.”

“Wouldn’t you be scared, though?” he asks. “If they existed, why would you want to see one?”

You think about it. You’ve seen so many movies, consumed so much media containing supernatural beings like vampires, and all you ever think about is… how. But you’ve—of course—never had to consider actually meeting one. 

“No, I don’t think so. And honestly, I’d probably be too curious to worry.”

He grins, amused. “Understood.”

Suddenly remembering where you are and what you're doing, you look at your watch, realizing that you need to leave. It’s almost scary how you completely forgot the time. 

“Anyway," you start, looking at the kitten, who seems a lot sleepier. "She’ll lose interest on her own when she’s feeling full. If she falls asleep mid-feed, that’s also usually a pretty good sign. When she’s done, you can wipe her mouth with a soft, damp cloth. If she seems uncomfortable or maybe a little bloated, it’s important to stop feeding. If she does look bloated afterward, you can try to burp her.”

“Burp her? Like a baby?”

Nodding, you take the little kitten in your hands again, positioning her against your chest like you’d do with a baby. “Like this. And then gently pat or rub her back, and she’ll probably burp.”

He smiles, watching the little creature. “Honestly, maybe the most adorable thing I’ve seen.”

You laugh quietly, gently handing her back to him, your cheeks definitely a tad bit warmer. “Right? You wanna put her back with her family?”

Accepting her back, he nods, softly petting her little body. Maybe that’s the most adorable thing you’ve seen.

“If she doesn’t gain or if she seems uncomfortable in any other way, just give us a call. Or if you have any questions.”

“Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem.”

You make sure to pack away the notebook in your bag. The bottle, along with a few packets of formula, you leave with Jeongguk and the kitten.

<previous | next>

author's note: hello my friends! i hope you liked it!! please leave a comment/reblog/ask if you did; i'd love to hear your thoughts and maybe theories.... <3<3<3

[whambamsami]

private show pt. 3

summary: they bang! yay!

pt.1 pt.2

warnings: 18+, smut, language

note: i did not proof read this at all so if it drags/if there are any errors please let me know!! will def be cleaning it up a bit, so so sorry if it's all over the place! love u! <3

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

Bucky doesn’t move.

You jolt.

But Bucky?

He lifts his head-slowly-his breath still warm on your throat, still pressed flush against you, and turns lazily toward the doorway.

Nick is standing there, red-faced, chest heaving, clearly already halfway through a meltdown.

“You think this is funny?!” he snaps. “You drag her in here and start humping her like you-”

“Humping?” Bucky repeats, slow and amused. “That what you think this is?”

Nick glares. “Get off her.”

You don’t move. Neither does Bucky.

In fact, his vibranium hand just slides a little further down your thigh, claiming without question.

“If she wanted me to stop,” he says, gaze still on Nick, “she’d say it herself.”

You lock eyes with your scummy boyfriend- ex-boyfriend- for what you earnestly hope is the last time, and manage to spit out, “Get the fuck out. Don’t ever call me again.”

Nick twitches. Like that hurt. Like he suddenly notices just how uncomfortable it might be to see your partner in a position like that. 

Fair’s fair, you think bitterly. 

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

The silence hits like a slap.

Bucky leans back slightly, cocky and calm as ever, like he’s been waiting for this moment. He looks almost proud.

Hey, Nick?” he says, voice smooth. “Happy birthday.”

Nick’s nostrils flare.

“Thanks for the present,” Bucky finishes, emphasizing with a gentle squeeze on your leg. 

Nick lets out something between a growl and a gasp and tries to step forward, but security is already closing in.

Two massive bouncers step inside, arms crossed, unfazed.

“Time to go, sir,” one grunts in a way that makes it clear that it isn’t an option. 

“Have a good night, Nick,” Bucky calls sweetly as the bouncers drag him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of her.”

The curtains swish behind him, the noise of the club softening again as if the room sighed with relief. 

Your heart is beating so fast you swear you can hear it. 

You’re still shaking- blood buzzing, dress rumpled under Bucky’s unmoving hands, skin flushed.

And suddenly, it all feels like too much. 

You shift out from under him, standing quickly and smoothing your dress down, trying to look like you’re not unravelling from the inside out. Your face is warm from adrenaline, arousal, and now, embarrassment. 

“That was… Jesus,”, you force a little laugh, “that was a lot.”

Bucky still isn’t moving. Just watching you scramble for your purse, for whatever scraps of dignity you might be able to salvage. Not saying anything, like he didn’t almost just pull an orgasm out of you with just his hips and his mouth and the sound of your name in your ear. 

So you continue with your rambling. 

“Anyways, thank-”, you clear your throat. Try again. “Thank you for stepping in. Helping.”

 He tilts his head, like he’s curious. 

“Helping?”

“Yeah, stepping in. White-knighting a little. Very Magic Mike. I appreciate it.”

You flash a smile that feels paper thin. 

That made him laugh a little. 

“You must think really highly of me,” and he slowly rises off the couch, eyes never leaving yours.

That one made you laugh.

“I think you think highly enough of yourself for the both of us,” you quipped.

He steps a bit closer, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Nah, sweetheart. You must think I’m a fucking saint if you think I’d do all that-touch you like that, just to get back at some asshole I don’t even know.”

Your breath catches.

And he sees it.

“Just admit it.”

His voice is low, coaxing. Deadly calm. He leans in a bit, trying to capture your eyes in his.

“You wanted me to touch you. You wanted me to keep touching you.”

He steps closer, fingers grazing your hips like he can’t help but to touch you.

“You still do.”

His mouth is just a breath away from your jaw now, his vibranium hand coming up to cradle your face.

“Say you liked the way I made you feel. Tell me you knew it wasn’t about him.”

You exhale slowly, heat curling in your stomach.

“Maybe I did.”

His smile deepens. Darkens now. More sure.

“Tell me it was about me.”

You blink up at him, pulse thudding in your throat.

But your voice, your defense mechanism, is faster than your fear.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He smirks.

“That’s not a ‘no.’”

“Maybe I just didn’t want to boost your already massive ego.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “if my ego’s big, it’s only because hearing you in my ear, whimpering my name, made it real hard to stay humble.”

His lips brush your jaw as he continues, lower now, nearly growling.

“You sounded so fucking pretty for me. Every little moan, every breath-I’ve been replaying it in my head since the second you stood up.”

You exhale shakily, knees already soft.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Admit it. Say I got in your head. Say you’ve been thinking about it just like I have.”

You swallow hard, eyes flicking to his.

He smiles.

“Say the word,” his voice barely above a whisper, “and I’ll make damn sure I’m the only name you know how to say.”

“Bucky-”

“Tell me you didn’t want me to keep going. That you aren’t thinking about what could have happened if no one walked in.”

You try to glare, but your voice comes out softer than you want.

You take a shaky breath, still trying to hold your ground.

“You talk like you already know the answer.”

“I do,” he growls, brushing his mouth down your neck. “But I want to hear it from your lips.”

You inhale sharply, your head tilting, exposing your throat before you even think about it. 

Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes molten. Looking like he wants you just as bad as you want him.

He wants you to speak, so you do your best, your voice quieter than you expected.

“I did. I do.”

He exhales-slow, rough, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you walked in.

“Thank fucking god.”

Your lips part, and before you can fire anything back, he kisses you.

Not soft.

Not slow. 

It’s heat and hands that don’t know where to stop- one cradling your jaw, the other sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him.

His skin is warm against yours, and you can feel everything he’s gently grinding into you. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re both gasping. 

He doesn’t let go.

“Come home with me.”

His voice is wrecked.

Before you can respond, he’s continuing.

“Not to push you. Not to prove a point. Just to be with you.”, his voice gentler than you’ve heard it all night, “You want space? I’ll give it. You want quiet? I’ll make tea, you can borrow a hoodie, steal some ice cream, and I’ll take the couch and let you have the bed, no problem.”

His arm around your waist tightens a tiny bit, so small you aren’t even sure if he did it on purpose.

“But if you want more…” his eyes flick to your lips, “if you want more, if you want me to touch you in the way I’ve been dying to touch you the second you walked in here, I’ll spend the whole night learning how to get you to make those pretty sounds until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

Your throat goes dry. The world shrinks to him. And you’re staring a second too long. 

You shouldn’t want this. But God, you do. And he isn’t rushing you. Isn’t mocking you. Just standing there, open. Real.

You let yourself nod. 

Bucky’s jaw clenches, like he’s been barely keeping it together.

“Yeah?” His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing your skin. “You sure?”

“If you were serious about that ice cream, then yeah, I’ll go home with you.”

He chuckles, wrapping his vibranium arm around your neck as he starts to lead you out of the private room.

“Oh? The ice cream’s all you’re looking forward to?”

“Hey, I’m fresh out of a relationship. Give a girl a break.”

The walk back to Bucky’s was quick, the cool air of the city a welcome change to the humidity that clung to the club. 

“So…” you ask in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he’s lacing his fingers in yours like it’s second nature, “is Bucky your real name?”

“No, actually,” he chuckles, “it’s James.”

“Are you allowed to tell me that? I thought you weren’t supposed to reveal your secrets,” you tease. 

“That’s magicians, doll. Hope you aren’t going home with any of those,” he nudges you playfully, “And I think I’ve already broken enough rules with you that you’re allowed to know my real name.”

The city moves around you, cars whizzing by, distant voices echoing. None of it touches you. 

Not with the way his hand holds yours like this is the thousandth time he’s walked you home.

“You know,” he says casually, “I almost didn’t ask for you tonight.”

Your heart skips. “Oh?”

“Didn’t think I’d get to you first.”

You smile despite yourself.

“God, you’re a flirt,” and you bump his arm with your shoulder, “I’m already going home with you!” 

“Doesn’t mean I’m done trying,” he mutters, glancing sideways at you as he leads you in the door of a brick apartment building, draped in ivy. Definitely nicer than you expected for a stripper.

You glance back at him. He’s got that look again. Half a smirk, but almost too sincere.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he says softly. “Not tonight. Not after. But you should know… I didn’t pull you for a private dance to piss off your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you interject a little too quickly as he hits a floor number in the elevator.

He smiles at that. Like he’s happy to be reminded that you’re single now.

“I pulled you because I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

And just like that, he pulls you to him and presses a kiss to your temple, so gentle it makes your stomach twist. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. This is me.”

Bucky's apartment was exactly what you didn’t expect.

No neon lights. No mirrors. No flashy displays.

Just exposed brick, warm lighting, a clean navy couch, and a vinyl record spinning low in the corner-slow, sensual jazz that wrapped around you like smoke.

You hovered just inside the doorway, suddenly hyper-aware of how your dress hugged your curves, how your lipstick was probably smudged, how your ex-boyfriend’s voice still echoed faintly in your head.

Bucky dropped his keys in a tray and turned toward you-soft now, slower.

“You good?”

You should probably be thinking about Nick. About what you lost tonight. But all you can think about is how Bucky’s holding you like you’ve always belonged here.

You nodded. Slowly.

“Yeah. Just… catching up with myself.”

He smiled, stepping closer. His hands didn’t touch you yet. But his voice did.

“Remember, I don’t expect anything from you tonight,” he said, calm and certain. “You say the word, and I’ll pour you a drink, sit you on the couch, and let you decompress. No pressure. Ever.”

You stared at him.

This man who had pinned you under his body in a velvet chair and made you moan in public… was also this.

Steady. Safe.

Safe enough for you to feel okay stepping deeper into his apartment and pulling him into a kiss.

It was different, kissing in his apartment. Not like when you kissed in the club. There was no bass-heavy music, no red velvet couches. 

No rules.

Bucky was so gentle. Slow but sure. His hands were settled on your hips like he was afraid to move them, like you might run away if he went too far. 

But when you melted into him, when you arched into his touch, he faltered.

You made a quiet noise against his lips, and he pulled away, panting. 

“You sure?”, he asked, voice low.

“More than sure,”, and for the first time all night, you really were. 

His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently just below your eye. He kissed you again-slower this time, deeper. A hand slid to your lower back, pulling you gently into him, and the other hovered just at your waist like he needed permission before he gripped it.

You gave it.

Tugged at his shirt. Pressed yourself closer, drunk on his warmth, his scent, his taste. 

He broke the kiss.

“Say the word and I’ll stop”, his voice tight, his forehead pressed against yours, “But if you want this…” and his lips were ghosting your neck again, just like they had earlier, “If you want this, I swear to god, I’ll take my time. I’ll make it so fucking good, you’ll forget anyone else ever existed before me.”

You felt yourself gasp, choking back a moan. 

“I want this.”

And god, the sound he made when you said that, like his restraint finally snapped was like nothing you’d ever heard.

He lifted you like you were weightless, and for a second, it felt like you were. He strode toward his bedroom, eyes never leaving yours, and then he’s throwing you on the bed and crawling on top of you, peeling off his shirt before he’s kissing you again, hungrier, deeper. 

His hand reaches out,cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about the whole time I had you grinding on me?”

You nod, barely.

He leans in, mouth ghosting over your cheek, your ear.

“How good you’re gonna taste when I get you on your back, just like you are now,” and he has the gall to nibble your earlobe before he continues, “How tight you’re gonna feel when I finally sink into that pretty pussy,”

But he isn’t finished. 

“How loud you’ll scream my name when I make you come so hard you can’t think about anything but me.”

You blink.

His hands find your waist. 

“Still think I was just being nice, doll?”

You manage to shake your head,

“Didn’t think so.” he smirks.

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s moving down your body, shoving your dress up unceremoniously, the thin fabric of your panties leaving you feeling extremely exposed. His hands stay on your hips, rubbing comforting circles as his vibranium fingers hook under the elastic waistband, teasing before he tug them off of you. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re dripping. And I haven’t even touched you right yet.”

And he looked up at you like prayer.

“Let me taste you.”

You whimpered. Nodded. Spread your legs slightly.

He kissed the inside of your knee. Then your thigh. Higher. Higher.

And when his tongue finally met your center-hot, slow, skilled-you nearly collapsed.

“Fuck, James-”

He stilled at the use of his real name. Just for a second. Then he dived in, deeper, even hungrier than before. 

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he groaned, holding you still as you writhed under his mouth. “Say my name like that.”

His tongue was unrelenting. His fingers teased but didn’t enter, keeping you on the edge for what felt like forever. He moaned against you like he couldn’t get enough, like he meant every lap, every suck, every stroke.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans. “You were made for this.”

“Says the stripper,” you counter, hoping he doesn’t catch how your hips are lifting off the bed, begging for more of whatever he’s willing to give. 

When he finally slid two fingers inside you, curling just right, you couldn't stop a desperate whine from escaping you.

You could practically feel him grinning against you.

“Told you I’d take care of you.”

He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks as he curls his fingers again, once, twice, three times, and you cum hard, legs shaking, gasping, hands tangled in his hair. He only relents when you push his forehead weakly, sensitive from his onslaught on your pussy. 

Your thighs were still trembling, your panties somewhere halfway across the room, and Bucky was grinning up at you from between your legs like he’d just tasted something holy.

He kisses his way up your body, leaving a tender peck on your tender clit as he makes his way up, lifting your dress as he goes, leaving you naked, breasts exposed to him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been holding out on me,” he murmurs, almost to himself as he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks softly, making you arch into his mouth. 

His hands are everywhere-palming your tits, smoothing over your hips, gripping the backs of your thighs as he slides his body flush against yours. His cock, heavy and hot, presses against your inner thigh, and he groans when he feels how soaked you still are.

“That’s all for me?” he rasps, nudging his cock through your slick folds, dragging it slow across your clit. 

You shivered under his touch. 

“Please…”

“Please what?” he teases, biting your neck gently. “Please let me fuck you like I own this pretty little pussy? Or please go so slow and soft until you can’t even think?”

“James, please-”

“You don’t have to beg, doll,” and you feel his hand soothe your thigh as he lines up with your entrance, “You’re getting it.”

He pushes into you, and you feel so full, stretched so perfectly, that your mind goes blank. The only thing you can think of is how good he’s making you feel, with every deliciously torturous drag of his thick cock against your poor, abused pussy. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you swear your vision blacks for just a second when he fills you to the hilt. 

”God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groans, bottoming out, hips flush to yours. “Tightest thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let me go.”

You mewl and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to anchor yourself as he moves, smooth, rolling thrusts, deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Oh, you like that? You like when I fuck you deep like that, huh? You’ll take it, won’t you?”

“That’s it,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Take it. Take all of it. Let me fuck you slow, baby.”

“Fuck, James, you feel so fucking good-”

He cuts you off, his mouth on yours again, and it feels like you’re drowning in pleasure, the haze between your bodies clouding your lust-filled brain. 

When he brings his thumb to your clit, you think he might be trying to kill you. 

“You gonna come on my cock, baby?” he murmurs, voice raw. “Gonna let me feel you tighten around me, make a mess all over me?”

“Yes- fuck, yes, please-”

And when you fall apart again, he feels it-his thrusts stuttering as your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, wet and perfect.

“That’s it,” he groans, barely holding himself back. “Fuck, you ready for me, baby? Want me to fill you up, make a mess in this pretty pussy?”

You’re nodding, barely registering his words before he’s cumming too, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, his whole body shaking from how hard it hits him. 

He doesn’t move right away.

He just lays there, still inside you, breathing hard, arms wrapped around your back.

“You okay?” he mumbles against you, soft now, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Y’did so good for me, sweet girl, so good…” 

You nod. You think you might be boneless.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “I know.”

“You weren’t kidding about not stopping.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, smiling against your skin, “I’ve got all night.”

You wake up wrapped in his arms, legs tangled, sore in the best way, and vaguely aware that you have to leave soon.

The sunlight slips in through the blinds, warm and golden against the navy sheets. You shift slightly, and that’s all it takes,his grip tightens around you, and he hums low against your shoulder.

“Don’t move yet.”

His voice is raspy in the morning. Annoyingly sexy.

You turn in his arms to face him, his blue eyes blinking at you sleepily. You’re swimming in the hoodie he had lent you last night, nothing underneath, and from the way his gaze drops to your bare thigh poking out from beneath it, he notices too.

“Hi,” you whisper, almost shyly.

“Hi,” he whispers back, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, sweet and lazy, “you sleep okay?”

“Like the dead.”

“That’s ‘cause I fucked your brains out.” 

You swat at him, giggling, but he’s faster. He catches your hand in his, leaving a kiss on your wrist.

“And I could do it again,” his voice darkens, “right now.”

He shifts you over a bit, and you can feel him, already hard against your hip.

“Already?” you tease.

“Been hard since I saw you breathing heavy in your sleep,” he mutters against your neck, “Thought about waking you up with my mouth.”

That woke you up.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Wanted you rested”, his lips warm and gentle on your cheek, contrasting his dirty words, “wanted to watch you all soft and warm in my bed for a while.”

His hand slips under the hem of your hoodie-his hoodie- palm grazing your stomach.

“But now you’re awake,” he continues, “and I need to be inside you again.”

You hiss as he grazes your nipple with his thumb, his knee nudging your thigh open. 

“You still sore?”

“A little.” 

“Good,” and you can hear the pride in his tone, “Gonna make it worse.”

When he’s finally exhausted the both of you, he helps you find your dress. Your heels. Your bag.

But your favorite necklace is missing.

“You sure you brought it?” he asks innocently, but there’s a glint in his eye.

You narrow your eyes. “Bucky.”

“I’ll look around later,” he says, guiding you to the door with a soft kiss to your temple. “But hey-guess that means you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

You squint.

“You stole it.”

He shrugs. Smirks.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure I’d see you again.”

“You could’ve just asked for my number.”

“Yeah, but this was more fun.”

“You know, I’ve heard that strippers will rob you blind, but this is just cruel-”

“Oh, shut it, I just need to make sure you’ll come back tonight.”

You laugh lightly.

“To your apartment? Or to the club?”

He wraps you up in his arms again, his voice dropping low and warm.

“To the club,”, he murmurs against your neck, “I’ve got an unfinished private show I fully intend to finish- uninterrupted this time.”

Your stomach flips.

And from the way his arms tighten around you, smug smirk dancing on his lips, he knows it. 

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[gayasswitchbitch]

Searching for Warmth| Ace x F! reader.

Synopsis: It’s freezing ass cold and you can think of only one person that can help.

Warnings: none brah

It was a late night on the Moby Dick. You could hear the ship gently rocking through the waves, and a few snores coming from the room next door. The only thing lighting the room as you tried to doze off, was a candle on the night stand that had burned down to its end. It would be a peaceful night had it not been for the fact that it was absolutely freezing. Lying in bed, you’re tossing and turning, trying to find warmth in any way you can. Your eyes flicker to the candle. ‘Not much left. When it goes out I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it anymore. What will I do?’

As if the universe heard, and hated you, the candles flame gave out. Shivers run down your spine. There’s no way you’d make it through the night like this. It was just too cold. ‘Ace better be feeling real lucky right now.’ You think. ‘Must be nice to have fire powers.’ Suddenly, you get an idea. Is it a good idea? Probably not, but you’re desperate. You decide to ask Ace. ‘He’s so warm, just a hug will do.’ You roll yourself off the bed, wrapping the blanket around you. There’s no way you’d be leaving without it, and make your way to his room.

The hallway is dark and ambient. Not a soul in sight as you walk to Aces room. How the hell is everyone sleeping through this?’ You grumble to yourself.

Upon reaching Aces room, you can see he has a light on. ‘Thank gods hes awake!’ You think.

Knock, knock, knock.

Not but a second later you hear his voice calling from inside. “Come in!” He yells. He figured it would be Marco there to scold him for being up so late. Something about it being bad for your health. He didn’t expect to see you there when the door opened. He’s sprawled out on his bed. His hair disheveled, comic in hand. “Y/n?” He asked excitedly, throwing it to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He hopped off his bed and grabs your hand with one of his and uses the other to gently shut the door behind you both. In truth he just wanted to hold your hand, but he’ll say he was just helping you in.

You sigh. “Okay.. this might sound a little weird okay..”

Aces brows furrow. He’s intrigued. “Yeah? What’s up?” He’s standing across from you and it’s like his eyes are sparkling in the light. It makes your eyes wander to his buff arms down to his shirtless chest and how toned it is. How are you supposed to not make this weird when he looks so pretty? Ace thinks you look just as cute. Your hair is messed up as well, cheeks round and a little red from the cold. He thinks you’re the most adorable thing he’s seen.

“So.. it’s really freaking cold tonight and I can’t sleep because of it and I guess I was wondering if you could give me a hug for just like one second so I could warm up? Please?” He’s silent, like he’s thinking and suddenly you’re too nervous to be in his room anymore. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough and as you try to turn to the door to leave Ace suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“Wait! Of course I’ll warm you up but I don’t think just a hug is gonna do it.”

You look at him confused. What did he mean? A hug should be enough. His body is scalding all the time so it should be enough to hold you over until morning.

“Come here.” He says pulling you to him. Your face is right in his chest and he smells of bourbon. Ace starts to unravel the blanket. The cold air is hits you like a train.

“Ace! What are you doing?” You yelp. He answers by walking to the edge of the bed and flopping himself down, simultaneously bringing you with him. He lays on his side and without thinking you scoot yourself closer to cuddle to his chest again. He then warps the blanket around the both of you and squeezes himself closer while holding you.

He lets out a sigh of relief, like he had been the cold one. “Is that better?” He asks.

It’s a good thing he’s holding you so close. He can’t see the way your face is bright red, and it’s not due to the sudden heat. “Yes, but I only wanted a hug you didn’t need to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t want you to be cold all night.” He chuckles and you notice his heart beating faster and his breathing is heavier.

“Your heart is pounding…”

He laughs. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice that. Seeing you looking so cute, like a sad little penguin waddling in here all bundled up, it drove him mad.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He laughs. “There’s a pretty girl in my bed and I’m nervous.”

You scoff at his words. You didn’t even want to be in his bed! (Liar) you only wanted a hug. “You’re the one that practically threw me on here!”

“Yeah yeah. I don’t see you complaining.”